《The Vampire & Her Witch》


 Chapter 1 - 1: A Shallow Grave

    Cold rain poured from the sky, turning the ground soft and slick as a battered woman struggled to pull herself from a shallow grave. Bloody hands clawed at the earth clutching at the root of a nearby tree as she struggled to pull her head above the damp earth.


    Inch by inch, Ashlynn Blackwell emerged from the sodden soil, gasping for breath the instant her head emerged from the earth. Around her battered hands and arms, faint green light flickered, flowing from her body to the tree roots she clutched.


    Slowly, moving at a speed that felt slower than a snail, the roots of the tree bent and twisted, wrapping themselves around Ashlynn''s arms. Pain flared in her shoulders and all along her battered body when the tree began to pull her from the shallow grave her husband''s knights had dumped her in.


    As Ashlynn fought to escape the sodden earth, her thoughts were mired in the conversation she''d had just twelve hours ago when her mother tried to reassure her that this wouldn''t happen.


    Ashlynn had paced nervously in the bridal suite, dressed in the most beautiful white gown and wearing the finest jewelry her family could adorn with her as she prepared to wed Owain Lothian, the eldest son of the Marquis Bors Lothian.


    "Mother, what will I do if he sees the mark?" Ashlynn asked the only other person in the room as she fidgeted nervously with the lace at the ends of her sleeves. "How can I hide it when we, we¡­"


    "Just do as I''ve taught you," her mother sighed, crossing the room to take Ashlynn''s hands in her own. "Dim the lights in the bridal suite and slip into your bed before you remove your shift. It''s your first time, he won''t be suspicious if you''re overly shy about showing him your body."


    "Once you bare your chest to him, he''ll be too eager to ravish you to bother looking closely at the rest of your body," she said, sounding confident and experienced in front of her blushing daughter. "The important part is to bear him a child as soon as you can," she emphasized.


    "Owain is a good man," her mother reassured her. "He won''t kill the mother of his child, even if she bears the mark of a witch. Once it''s too late, he''ll keep your secret."


    "But, what if I just tell him? I''ve never used my powers, I haven''t even learned anything about witchcraft," Ashlynn insisted. "Shouldn''t I be honest with my husband if we''re to spend our lives together?"


    Back at home in Blackwell County, things had felt so much easier. She''d made it to her twenty-first birthday without anyone ever discovering her secret. Admittedly, she''d spent most of those years rarely leaving her family''s estate, content to leave responsibility for social functions to her younger sister while she spent her days in the family''s vast library.


    Now, however, she''d come all the way to the frontier of Lothian March. The handsome lord she''d only met at a pair of formal balls was about to become her husband for the rest of her life.


    For two years they''d written letters to each other every month but how well did he truly know her? The love they''d built felt too thin and fragile to support the weight of her secret. Now, on the day of her wedding, she was afraid that it would all come crashing down around her.


    "My dearest daughter," her mother said, placing a hand gently on her daughter''s cheek. "If you tell him tonight, before he consummates the marriage, things may go very badly. Lothian March is much closer to the demons than Blackwell County."


    "Young Lord Owain and his father have fought the demons personally so the fear they have for witches is even greater than back home. If he thinks that you''re the same as the demons he''s fought then he won''t hesitate to execute you," she said, her voice becoming cold.


    If her daughter failed here, if she confessed before securing a future with Young Lord Owain, it would spell doom for more than just Ashlynn. When she saw understanding in her daughter''s emerald eyes, her stiff expression softened and she continued.


    "It''s only through having his child that you can escape that fate. I''ve done the best I can to prepare you," she said in a softer tone. "Now, calm yourself. Your father will be here soon to walk you down the aisle and you mustn''t let him see you anxious," she said.


    Just twelve hours ago, the sounds of wedding bells had filled the air as she walked down the aisle before all the lords and ladies of the March of Lothian and their guests to marry the man of her dreams. She stood before the High Priest as he read the rites and her heart soared when Owain slipped an antique ring on her delicate finger.


    Even six hours later, after the feast and the ball, she could still feel the touch of his lips on hers as she prepared herself for her first night with her husband. Her mind was filled with dreams of laughing children and a loving family. She was ready to give all of herself to Owain.


    Once he entered the bedchamber, however, her dreams had been torn away along with her bridal undergarments.


    Someone had told him. Somehow, he knew. It could only have happened after they said their vows. It might have been during the ball or at the feast, she had no way of knowing. Whenever it happened, the words someone whispered in her husband''s ears had sealed her fate.


    The Owain that entered their bedchambers was like a man possessed. The smell of strong wine clung to his breath as he shouted at her, demanding the truth from her. Hot tears spilled from his eyes even as spittle flew from his lips.


    When she protested, he turned violent, pinning her to the wall and tearing the clothing from her body until the truth was revealed.


    There, on her hip, in the shape of an ash tree, lay the Mark of the Witch. As an infant, her father had attempted to cut away the mark, even attempted to burn it away with a branding iron, but the mark always returned.


    From her earliest memories, her mother had insisted that she never show anyone the mark, going so far as to bathe her child personally instead of allowing servants to attend to her.


    It wasn''t until years later that she realized what the mark meant. When she was old enough, she swore to her parents to never become a witch, to never usurp the power that belonged to the Holy Lord of Light.


    She''d done everything she could to be a dutiful and devout daughter, dedicated to her family and she was prepared to offer the same devotion to Owain on the night of their wedding.


    Yet no matter how she sobbed, no matter how she pleaded, Owain wouldn''t hear it. Blow after blow from his powerful fists rained down on her body when he saw the birthmark on her hip. When she fell to the ground, punches turned into kicks and stomps as Owain vented his feelings of hurt, betrayal, and rage on the body of the woman he''d taken as his bride.


    To Ashlynn, it felt like the beating lasted for an eternity filled with sharp pains and bitter sobs before Owain summoned two of his knights.


    "Take her away," he commanded fiercely. He turned his back to where Ashlynn lay on the ground in a crumpled heap as though he couldn''t bear to witness what he''d done with his own hands.


    "Take her body into the Vale and burn it there," he said hoarsely. "I will not have a witch buried on my father''s lands. Scatter her ashes to the winds and crush her bones. Leave nothing that could haunt us later."


    "Shouldn''t we bring her to the High Priest?" Sir Tommin, the older of the two knights, asked his lord. "The Church¡­"


    "The Church will launch an inquisition if they find out that I married a witch," Owain spat, rounding on his loyal retainer with fury he thought he''d fully vented when he beat his wife to death.


    "You do this quietly and you never speak of it again or you''ll find a place beside her in the Vale," he hissed, barely holding himself back from shouting loudly enough to be heard by others outside the bedchambers. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    What could the knights do but agree? Within a decade at most, the old lord would retire and pass the rule of the march to Owain. Defying him now would not only doom them but their families as well.


    Ashlynn was quickly wrapped in a bedsheet and taken from the lord''s manor. The knights loaded her into a cart and raced down the ancient road along the river until they''d passed beyond the borderstone and into the lands still ruled by heathen demons.


    The night was cold and moonless and rain that had been a slight drizzle when the knights left the manor had turned into a downpour by the time they reached the forest of the vale. Now, no matter how much they doused Ashlynn in lamp oil, they couldn''t strike a spark to burn her unmoving body.


    "She''s already dead," Sir Broll told his companion, giving her body a fierce kick to prove his point. "Let''s just bury her and be done with it."


    That one moment of negligence proved to be Ashlynn''s salvation. Despite the terrible beating she''d suffered, a dim flame had begun to burn in Ashlynn''s heart.


    It can''t end like this, she thought. She couldn''t let it end when she didn''t even know who betrayed her. More than that, she refused to die without taking Owain with her.


    She couldn''t. She refused. Stubbornly, she clung to the last glimmer of life within her chest while she was jostled along the road in the cart. She did nothing as she was kicked and beaten before the knights dumped her into a shallow grave. Even as they began to cover her in damp soil, she did nothing until minutes had passed since she felt the last shovel full of earth dumped on her body.


    When she finally began to struggle her way free of the earth she clawed at the earth with more than just her hands. Fueled by hurt and anger, she tapped into the long-dormant power slumbering in her chest, forcing it outward with her struggling hands.


    She didn''t know how to properly use that power. At the moment, her mind was too clouded by pain and soul-wrenching grief to think clearly about what she wanted her power to do. All she knew was that she had to escape this grave, and the trees responded to her desires, using their roots to help pull her from the earth.


    Now, free of the shallow grave, Ashlynn clutched at the dirty bed sheet she''d been buried in and staggered towards the ancient road. She wasn''t sure where she was going or how she would survive but she knew one thing and she repeated it over and over again in her mind as though it were a magic spell.


    She wouldn''t die tonight. She wouldn''t die tomorrow. As long as there was breath in her body, she refused to die until she dragged the people responsible for this night into a grave along with her.

 Chapter 2 - 2: The Lady of the Vale

    In the years before humans began to conquer this continent, the Vale of Mists had been one of the few passes between the lush lowlands of the east and the arid lands west of the Umber Mountains. Countless streams converged in the Vale, joining to form the river humans named the Luath. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Lightning rippled across the sky above and rain continued to fall, washing the dirt from her dull blonde hair and soaking through the stained bedsheet that clung to her skin.


    It had taken her far too long to reach the roadway that ran alongside the river, staggering from tree to tree through the forest until she emerged like a ghost in the night.


    Now that she arrived, however, she had to make a decision about where to go. More than anything, she yearned to follow the roadway downriver, returning to the March of Lothian where she could eventually make her way home.


    There were a number of small villages along the river where she might be able to beg for clothing and a place to shelter from the storm. From there she could¡­ could what? Write to her parents? Beg for help returning to Blackwell County?


    Owain might believe she was dead but someone had betrayed her secret. As much as she wanted to deny it, it could even have been a member of her own family. She doubted that it would have been her father, he was the one to arrange her marriage to Young Lord Owain in the first place.


    But what about the others in her family? She hated the thought that her mother might have, but in recent years her mother had devoted most of her time and affection to her younger sister Jocelynn. Or perhaps it had been Jocelynn herself?


    Ashlynn didn''t want to believe it could have been either of them. She would much rather believe that it had been one of their retainers or servants who had discovered her secret and revealed it when they arrived in the March of Lothian.


    No matter who had betrayed her, if she revealed herself to her family now, without knowing who it was then she risked falling into a trap prepared by the traitor.


    The alternative, however, was even more terrifying. Deep in the Vale of Mists, demons lurked and with them a ruler humans called the Demon Lady of the vale. Ashlynn had read a few accounts of the battles fought between the Lothian family and the demons of the vale and they frightened her to the bones.


    According to the records, the demon who ruled the vale feasted on the blood and flesh of children and the elderly, snatching the most vulnerable in the dead of night. She was a demon capable of tearing through a knight''s armor with her clawed hands to rip out their still-beating hearts.


    Turning to the demons should be a death sentence for a human but¡­ was a witch really human? The Church didn''t think so, or at least, it taught that witches were humans who had been overtaken by the magic of demons.


    To the Church, witches might as well be demons even when they were born to human parents. If that was the case, she might be able to find a home with them.


    It was impossible to know. Alone in the dark, cold and wet, covered with nothing but a dirty bed sheet, there was no answer to her questions about traitors or demons.


    "If I could d-die either way," she said through chattering teeth, her body trembling in the cold. "I''d r-rather be killed by demons than by my own kind." At least, she imagined, it would hurt less to be killed by an enemy than the people she thought of as her own people.


    Turning resolutely upstream, she returned to the edge of the forest, her bare feet sinking into the soft damp soil as she shuffled her way from tree to tree, huddling for shelter against the persistent rain. The smell of damp earth and cedar filled her nose as she stumbled her way through the night.


    How she managed to keep moving after suffering such an extensive beating was something she didn''t entirely understand. Strangely, each time she felt herself flagging as though she couldn''t push on any further, ready to sink to the ground under one of the great trees of the forest, a few deep breaths of the tree''s rich fragrance would drain a portion of the fatigue from her body and give her the strength to make it a few trees further ahead.


    Unfortunately, the process couldn''t go on forever. Each time it felt like she was able to purge less and less of her fatigue. Eventually, after what felt like more than an hour of walking, Ashlynn sank to the ground against the trunk of a mighty cedar tree, wrapping her arms around her trembling legs that refused to carry her any further.


    The rain had finally stopped and the clouds began to part, revealing a starry sky and a slender crescent moon.


    In the distance, she thought she heard the clatter of horses on the ancient roadway but she dismissed it as wishful thinking. How many times since she started trudging towards the demons had she imagined her family coming riding up in the night to rescue her from her fate?


    It was wishful thinking born of dire circumstances. Her toes and feet had become numb with cold after slogging through the damp soil and she could no longer feel the tip of her nose or her fingers. The pain of cracked and bruised ribs forced her to take shallow breaths and her blood thundered in her ears with every step she forced her abused body to take.


    Yet now that she''d stopped walking, the sound of horses became even louder, accompanied by the creek of a carriage racing along the road. The sound came from downriver, in the direction of the March of Lothian.


    For a moment, hope flared in her chest, giving her the strength to raise her head and look at the roadway in the direction of the sounds. Had her family really come to her rescue? Perhaps Owain felt regret for his actions and had come to retrieve her body?


    When the carriage finally pulled into view, however, Ashlynn''s hopes were crushed beneath its wheels.


    The carriage itself was large enough to carry four to six people in relative comfort and the windows of the carriage had been fitted with expensive glass and dark lace shades, marking it as something fit to carry the most prestigious of passengers.


    It was the door of the carriage, however, that sent chills racing down Ashlynn''s spine. On any carriage in the kingdom that served a noble house, the doors would be adorned with the noble family''s coat of arms.


    Demons, however, didn''t use anything like human heraldry. Instead, their carriages, banners, and other emblems were marked with a glyph that represented the name of their demon lord. Ashlynn had never studied demon heraldry but in preparing to wed the future Marquis of Lothian, she''d learned the glyph that represented the Demon Lady of the Vale.


    It was the very same glyph she saw now on the door of the carriage that had just come to a stop when it reached her. Ashlynn''s heart raced as a cloaked figure descended from the driver''s seat of the carriage to open the door.


    For a moment, when the door of the carriage opened, Ashlynn felt like she was staring into an infinite abyss of darkness. The word around her fell away until she couldn''t hear anything but the motions of the occupant of the carriage. She couldn''t feel anything as though she''d come adrift from her own body and even the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears felt dull and distant.


    Then, as if a rose had blossomed in darkness, Ashlyn watched a pale figure emerge from the carriage. Far from the hideous monster that she''d feared, the woman who stepped out of the carriage was the most beautiful person Ashlynn had ever seen.


    Dark hair fell in soft curls to frame a delicate face with skin as pale as polished alabaster and lush lips painted a dark plum red. Ashlyn''s breath caught when her emerald eyes met the woman''s midnight blue eyes that sparkled like they held the stars of the night sky.


    "It seems like this trip isn''t a waste after all," the beautiful woman said in a voice that was rich and musical. "You don''t need to fear me, Child of the Earth," she continued, drifting forward with an inhuman grace.


    "Come with me," the mesmerizing woman whispered, her voice sounding like it was right next to Ashlynn''s ear even though the woman had yet to step off the roadway. "Let me help you. You don''t belong among people who would torment you for the gifts you were born to."

 Chapter 3 - 3: An Irresistible Offer

    For several breaths, Ashlynn couldn''t move or speak as she was captivated by the woman who emerged from the carriage. Her heart thundered in her chest and her body trembled with the desire to do something. Pain wracked her body turning the edges of her vision black and muddling her thoughts as she struggled to figure out what to do.


    Part of her wanted nothing more than to flee before this otherworldly woman could tear her heart from her chest. Another part of her begged to open her mouth and accept the woman''s offer, desperate to latch onto the ethereal beauty as though she was a rope thrown to a drowning woman.


    "You, you''re the D-demon Lady of the V-vale," Ashlynn said, forcing her words through chattering teeth.


    Hearing the title, a momentary frown flickered across the other woman''s face before her expression returned to a calm, impassive mask that revealed nothing of what she thought or felt.


    "We do not use the term demon," the woman said calmly. "But yes, I am the Eldritch Lady of the Vale. You may call me Nyrielle. Your name is Ashlynn, isn''t it? You were Young Lord Owain''s bride?"


    "Y-you know me?" Ashlynn gasped, the surprise temporarily driving back the fog of pain that clouded her mind. How could this demon know her name?


    "Do you think I wouldn''t come to see the bride of the next Marquis of Lothian?" Nyrielle asked, as though it were natural for a ruler of an enemy kingdom to visit a wedding. "You know too little of me and much of what you believe are lies."


    "If you really knew about me," she continued. "You would understand that you have nothing to fear. Words will not make you believe," she said, shaking her head as she watched Ashlynn tremble from both cold and fear.


    "Thane," the Eldritch Lady said, turning to face the cloaked figure who drove the carriage. "Place her in the carriage and fetch my cloak for her. We shouldn''t linger on the road."


    "Your will," the man said, bowing briefly before he turned towards the shivering Ashlynn.


    Before Ashlynn could part her lips to protest, the man called Thane vanished from her sight, appearing the next moment as he knelt in the soft soil at the base of the tree, reaching out to scoop up the trembling woman.


    Seen up close, his features under the hood were strong with a square jaw and dark brows that hovered over piercing, almost predatory amber eyes. If he''d worn a beard, Ashlynn would have called his features rugged but not even a trace of stubble marked his flawless porcelain skin.


    "Forgive my rudeness, Earth Child," he said, gently lifting her from the ground as though she weighed nothing at all. In the time it took for Ashlynn to blink, they''d arrived beside the carriage as Thane set her gently on a step.


    "I''ll fetch you a cloak," he reassured her. "But that sheet has been doused in oil," he said, stepping away to retrieve a cloak from a trunk at the rear of the carriage.


    A moment later, Thane returned, holding up a dark cloak lined with rich purple satin. "I won''t look," he promised, turning his head away and holding the cloak high enough to give Ashlynn a moment of privacy. "You can let go of the sheet now."


    It was a simple gesture, one she would have expected from any well-trained servant of a noble house, but seeing a demon behave in such a refined manner shook Ashlynn deeply. The Church taught that demons were savage and uncultured, constantly warring with each other in an endless battle to claim the throne of the strongest.


    The simple gesture managed to shake her free of the paralysis that gripped her when Nyrielle offered to help.


    Moving stiffly and gritting her teeth against the pain of her injuries, she stood and peeled the wet sheet off her skin, dropping it to the ground and with it, the last remnant of her identity as Young Lord Owain''s wife.


    The ring he''d placed on her finger once belonged to Owain''s grandmother and he hadn''t hesitated to strip it from her along with her mother''s pearl necklace when he believed that he''d beaten her to death. Now, she truly had nothing from the life she led before.


    The pain of that loss blended with the pain of her battered body, leaving her feeling cold and numb from her wet skin to the core of her heart.


    As soon as the bed sheet hit the ground, Thane gently wrapped the soft cloak around Ashlynn, scooping her up in his arms and placing her gently on a padded seat in the carriage. Moments later, Nyrielle stepped into the carriage and took a seat facing Ashlynn.


    "I cannot easily heal your injuries," the Eldritch Lady said gently as the carriage began to move. "But I can stop you from feeling pain," she added, reaching out with a pale hand, touching Ashlynn between the brows.


    The instant her fingertip made contact, Ashlynn felt like she''d been plunged into a cold bath, pulling a painful gasp from her swollen lips. The next moment, however, a warmth began to flow from Nyrielle''s fingertip, soothing all of the aches and pains like a soothing soak in a hot bath.


    "Thank you, your ladyship," Ashlynn said, sinking into the cushions of the carriage and relaxing for the first time since this day began. Now that the Eldritch Lady''s magic had soothed her hurts, the fog of exhaustion she''d barely managed to hold at bay with the combination of pain and desire for vengeance began to overwhelm her.


    "I''m sorry," she said softly, her eyes growing heavy. "I need to¡­"


    "You need to stay awake," Nyrielle interrupted, her finger leaving the younger woman''s brows to trace down along her neck, then moving lower, pulling the cloak aside until she could rest her hand over Ashlynn''s chest.


    "Your will to live and your clumsy use of magic has carried you this far," the Eldritch Lady said. "But your fight isn''t over yet. Death clings to you, inches from claiming your life," she explained, startling Ashlynn out of her fatigue.


    "A person can do many amazing things when they balance on the edge of the knife between life and death," Nyrielle continued. "You''ve drawn strength from the forest to keep yourself alive but now that your desperate flight has ended, you cannot surrender."


    "No, I can''t die now," Ashlynn said, firming up her resolve and fighting off the fatigue that threatened to pull her down into an eternal sleep. "Not until I can drag the people who did this to me down with me."


    "Vengeance isn''t a bad thing to live for," Nyrielle said, her painted lips forming a faint smile. "But it would be such a waste for a Child of the Earth to throw her life away just to kill a few petty people who feared her power."


    "Is ''Child of the Earth'' what you call witches?" Ashlyn asked, her exhausted mind struggling to understand the unfamiliar term sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It''s what we call young ''witches'' who have yet to master their powers," Nyrielle said. "You need guidance and practice before you can be called an Earth Mother. If you wish, I can help you take your first steps on that road. I can also heal your wounds and help you obtain your vengeance."


    "Of course I wish it," Ashlynn said, reaching up to clutch Nyrielle''s hand. "Please, I''ll do whatever you wish in return."


    "Whatever I wish?" Nyrielle said, her midnight blue eyes roaming over Ashlynn''s figure underneath the cloak. In the blink of an eye, she moved from her own seat to a place next to Ashlynn, her body pressed up against Ashlynn''s and her lips just inches from the younger woman''s ears.


    "What if I want you in return? I can heal you," the Eldritch Lady whispered. "But I must form a bond of blood between us. Would you pay that price? Would you become mine for the rest of my life?"


    "Don''t you mean the rest of my life?" Ashlyn asked, turning to look at Nyrielle in confusion.


    When she met the other woman''s eyes, they seemed like they''d grown larger, the whites of her eyes turning dark and her pupils swelling to become a deep abyss ringed by midnight blue that Ashlynn felt she would drown in.


    "I mean what I say," Nyrielle said, lifting her hand from Ashlynn''s chest to gently cup her cheek. "Accept my offer, become truly mine, and you will live alongside me for all of my days. Your parents, your sister, Young Lord Owain, and any of his children or grandchildren will become dust in tombs before my life ends."


    "Is it worth it to you?" Nyrielle asked mildly. "Not a few decades of service, but centuries, bound to me by an unbreakable bond of blood."


    "Everyone you wish to kill for your revenge will die, one way or another, but you won''t. You''ll accompany me until no one even remembers the day you claimed your vengeance or that you were once a human noblewoman."


    "For that brief moment of vengeance," she asked again, her lips curving seductive smile at the thought of possessing a woman who could grow into a powerful witch. The more she considered a future with Ashlynn, the more her smile grew, revealing sharp fangs. "Would you give me all of you?"

 Chapter 4 - 4: Blood Bound

    The single lantern in the carriage cast dark shadows that danced over Nyrielle''s lithe figure, cloaking her in darkness that made her seem even less human than she had before baring her fangs.


    When she stepped out of the carriage, Ashlynn had thought that the books she''d read about the Demon Lady of the Vale couldn''t possibly be about the ethereal beauty who strode out of the darkness like a savior.


    Now, however, staring into the starry abyss of the other woman''s eyes while her figure seemed to blend with the dark shadows, Ashlynn''s heart was seized by the icy grip of reality. Despite her elegant looks and refined manners, Nyrielle wasn''t human.


    "Vampire," Ashlynn whispered. Despite the fatigue dulling her mind, the flash of fangs and Nyrielle''s mention of a ''bond of blood'' was all she needed to match up the legends she''d read about demons who lived beyond death, feeding on the blood of the living.


    "You''re going to make me like you, aren''t you," Ashlynn said, seeking confirmation of her suspicion more than asking a question. "Like Thane," she realized. No wonder they seemed nothing like the demons she''d read about. They were humans who had been turned into vampires.


    "Make you a Vampire?" Nyrielle said with a musical laugh. "My darling Ashlynn," she purred, placing a finger beneath the younger woman''s chin and lifting slightly as though to expose her delicate neck. For a moment a look of desire flickered across her face before she suppressed her desire to ravish the beauty in front of her.


    As bruised and battered as Ashlynn was, it did nothing to make her body less captivating to the Eldritch Lady. Instead, with so much blood so close to the surface it turned her into an almost irresistible delicacy that she had to force herself to resist.


    "As tempting as it would be to drain every last drop of blood from your body," Nyrielle said a moment later once she''d suppressed her desires and her face returned to a placid mask. "I would never dream of spoiling you that way."


    "You don''t realize how special you are," she continued, moving her fingers from under Ashlynn''s chin to brush a stray wisp of hair from the young woman''s brow. "If I made you a vampire like Thane, you would lose the magic that makes you so extraordinary."


    "You have a gift, Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered, coming close enough for her breath to tickle the hairs on Ashlynn''s neck. "You should be cherished and nurtured so that you and your gift can flourish. Thane is powerful beyond what humans can comprehend but he is nothing compared to what you can become."


    "I-is it really that great? I thought this power was a curse," Ashlynn said bitterly, struggling to accept the vampire''s words. All her life she''d been told to hide her mark, to never touch the power of demons, that she was cursed, and that she would have to work twice as hard to earn redemption from the Holy Lord of Light.


    Now, Nyrielle called it a gift and said she was to be cherished. It was so hard to accept that Ashlynn felt there must be something more to this, something that the vampire stood to gain from her by making this offer.


    "If you aren''t going to make me into something, someone, like Thane," she began, stumbling slightly and reminding herself that Thane wasn''t a mindless demon like she''d been taught but a person who had once been human. "What are you going to do to me? What do you get out of it?"


    "I get you," Nyrielle said, as though it was all the explanation Ashlynn needed. Seeing that the answer didn''t satisfy the young woman, she paused as she tried to find the best way to explain what she meant. There were so many gaps in what Ashlynn knew that things that had long ago become common sense to her must seem strange and foreign to the young woman.


    "A vampire is an existence that has moved beyond death," she said after thinking for several moments. "But a Child of the Earth is a person who can channel the magic of life. If you became one of my progeny like Thane, you would die and lose your ability to channel the magic of life." When she saw comprehension beginning to form in Ashlyn''s emerald eyes, she continued.


    "If I were like Thane, the progeny of another vampire, there would be nothing else I could do to save your life," she explained. "You would lose your magic but you would continue to exist to pursue your vengeance. But Ashlynn, you''re far too special to spoil in that way when there is a better option."


    "Form a Pact of Blood with me," she whispered, tracing her fingers down along Ashlyn''s neck to rest on the swell of her bosom above her heart. "Become my Seneschal, the first among all those who serve me."


    "Do this and you will gain a measure of my powers to wield on my behalf, including the power to heal your own wounds."


    "And if I do this," Ashlynn said, her face heating at the intimate way Nyrielle touched her. "You''ll gain access to my power as well? To the power of life?"


    "A measure of it, yes," the vampire said smoothly. "The pact will strengthen us both, so long as you surrender to me you will gain everything you desire and lose nothing that makes you special."


    "This is an offer that only Vampire Royalty can make," she added. "And we can only bind one person as our Seneschal our entire lives. To me, I can''t think of anyone more worthy than you," she said, her hand slipping within the folds of the cloak to wrap around Ashlynn''s slender waist in a gentle embrace.


    "I cannot force you," Nyrielle whispered, bringing her lips close enough to brush against Ashlynn''s as she spoke. "But I promise that I will never let you regret choosing to give me your everything."


    Ashlynn trembled in Nyrielle''s embrace, her mind struggling to keep up as the other woman''s soft words and gentle caresses overwhelmed her senses. Half a day ago, she felt like nothing could compare to the feeling of Owain''s arms around her when he kissed her in front of all the lords and ladies who attended their wedding.


    Now, her heart melted as she listened to Nyrielle insist again and again that she was special, unique, and deserved to be treasured. Owain had promised to fight for her, to defend her armor and shield her from anything that would bring her harm. Nyrielle promised that she would never let her regret binding herself to the powerful vampire.


    Owain told her that she was beautiful and that she would be a good mother to his children. In letters, when she told him about the books she read and the things she studied, he told her that he would relieve her of those burdens so she could enjoy life with the ladies of the march.


    Nyrielle spoke of treasuring and nurturing her, helping her to learn how to use her gift. She promised they would grow stronger together. Perhaps there was truth to the records that said demons always pursued greater strength but the part that caught her attention was when Nyrielle mentioned growing together.


    Owain, she realized, would have protected her but he would never nurture her. The work she''d done to study governance and the administration of a lord''s fief were things he saw as burdens to relieve her of. One day she might gain the title of Marquess but the skills she''d developed to help her husband rule his march would be entirely wasted.


    "You''ll let me help you?" Ashlynn asked, hoping to hear the answer she longed for. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I''ll rely on you," the vampire said. "Just like you''ll rely on me."


    Ashlynn''s vision became misty as Nyrielle''s words pulled tears from her eyes. For a moment she hesitated. Everything she wanted when she left home to marry Owain, offered to her on a silver platter. More than that, if she accepted Nyrielle''s offer, she wouldn''t have to hide the secret of her power, instead she''d learn to use it.


    The price, however, was to bind herself eternally to a vampire. To give up not just her homeland but her humanity, serving Nyrielle for centuries to come.


    Even if her family hadn''t betrayed her, they would never accept the woman she''d become. Her father might even lead the charge to hunt her down in order to redeem her family in the eyes of the king and the Church.


    But what was the alternative? She could feel her body''s strength fading. Nyrielle''s magic kept her from feeling the pain of her wounds but she was still balancing on the edge of a knife between life and death.


    If she didn''t make a choice soon, she might lose the chance forever, slipping into the dark oblivion of death that awaited everyone who existed outside the Holy Lord of Light''s graces.


    Taking a deep breath, she made the decision that would change the course of her life irrevocably.


    "Then I''ll become your Seneschal," Ashlynn said firmly. "For long as we both live."

 Chapter 5 - 5: Becoming Hers (Part One)

    Half an hour after rescuing Ashlynn from the side of the ancient roadway, the dark carriage thundered through a series of towering gates set in mighty stone walls that protected the people of the vale from human attack.


    "Stop here," Nyrielle commanded, gently wrapping her arms around Ashlynn to carry her out of the carriage. "There''s an Ancient Oak not far from here," she told Thane as she exited the carriage.


    "I will take Ashlynn there, her pulse is weak and I fear that we''ll run out of time," she said. "Move swiftly. I need warm water and a cloth to wash her and a dress for her to wear. Choose something of mine that would suit her."


    "Mistress," the amber-eyed man said, kneeling at Nyrielle''s feet. "Forgive me but if time is short, shouldn''t you take her now?"


    "I refuse to treat her that way," Nyrielle said firmly. "She is to become my Seneschal. This moment is important and I will not shame her by rushing it."


    "She''s already suffered too much from a husband who treated her like chattel," she said, gently stroking Ashlynn''s hair. "I will not do the same. Go quickly and bring what I require."


    "Your will, Mistress," he said before the shadows grew deeper around him and he vanished into the night. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Just a little bit longer," Nyrielle said softly, dashing off into the night at a speed too fast for the human eye to follow. Her midnight blue eyes glowed faintly as she wove her way through the dark forest until she reached one of the oldest trees in the vale.


    When she arrived at her destination, the Ancient Oak towered over the two women. More than a hundred feet tall with a trunk as large as a small cottage, the tree stood atop a small hill near the source of a twisting stream.


    Few things in this world could make Nyrielle feel young but the Ancient Oaks of the vale had been ancient when her grand-sire first became a vampire. Standing next to it, underneath its broad canopy, she couldn''t help but feel like a small child seeking shelter under an elder''s cloak.


    "Ancient one," she said, setting Ashlynn at the base of the tree next to its mighty roots. "I''ve brought one of your children, but she is very weak. I fear she will not survive forming the blood pact to save her life," she said solemnly.


    Next to her, Ashlynn watched with blurry vision, struggling to resist the pull of the abyss as Nyrielle knelt beside her. The vampire drew a slender silver blade from her waist and cut deeply into her palm before making a fist and holding it over the roots of the tree.


    "Ancient One," Nyrielle said formally. "I offer you a piece of my eternity. Please grant her a portion of your strength so that I can save her from the cruelty that she''s suffered."


    When the blood dripped onto the root, rather than splattering as it should, the drop of blood was absorbed directly into the ancient tree. Moments later, the leaves of the ancient tree shook as though blown by a wind no one else could feel and a soft green glow descended from its branches, wrapping around Ashlynn like a warm blanket against the cold night air.


    When the energy enveloped her, Ashlynn''s pulse grew stronger and her breathing became less ragged. Several of the small cuts and scrapes she''d suffered during her escape from the shallow grave healed, leaving only a trace of dried blood behind on her tender skin.


    "Thank you, Ancient One," Nyrielle whispered, turning her attention back to Ashlynn and gently stroking her hair. "It won''t be long now. Once we form our pact, you will gain a semblance of my healing ability. Your life will become tenacious and these injuries will fade within a day or two."


    "Mistress," two voices called as Thane returned, accompanied by another vampire.


    "Thank you, Thane," Nyrielle said, taking a covered bucket of hot water, soap, and a cloth from him. "Please search the area and ensure that nothing will interrupt us. Zedya can assist me with anything else that I require," she said, turning her attention to the other vampire.


    Unlike Thane whose appearance was striking and predatory, were it not for her flawless pale skin and deep amethyst eyes, Zedya would be described as plain or common anywhere she went. Even the elegant dress she wore seemed incongruous, giving her the appearance of a servant dressing in their master''s clothing.


    "I brought two options, Mistress," Zedya said, holding up a pair of elegant gowns that could have been worn to the most extravagant of royal balls. Each one glittered with carefully set gemstones, reflecting the soft glowing light of the Ancient Oak. "Would you prefer green or lavender for our new Seneschal?"


    "Let her choose," Nyrielle said, putting all of her attention on Ashlynn as she pulled back the cloak to reveal the entirety of the young woman''s bruised and battered body.


    Seeing the extent of her injuries, Nyrielle marveled at the young woman''s ability to cling to life. Bruises covered almost every inch of her torso, stretching from her rounded hips and narrow waist all the way up to her full bust.


    From the unnatural way her chest moved when she drew breath, it was also clear that several of her ribs had been broken. Further up, one eye had turned dark purple and was so swollen that it couldn''t fully open, and Ashlyn''s bow-shaped lips had been split by what must have been a heavy blow.


    "This may sting," she whispered, dipping the cloth in warm soapy water as she began to wash the dirt from Ashlynn''s tear and dirt-stained face. "I''m sorry I won''t be able to paint your face for you," she said softly, straining to keep the heat of desire and hunger from her voice.


    "But to me, even like this, you are beautiful," Nyrielle whispered.

 Chapter 6 - 6: Becoming Hers (Part Two)

    Ashlynn shivered under the other woman''s touch, her face heating at the compliments. At the moment, she felt anything but beautiful but she heard nothing but sincerity in the vampire''s words.


    Nyrielle worked gently, washing her with lavender-scented soap that blended with Nyrielle''s own floral scent enough for Ashlynn to believe it must be the same one that the vampire herself used.


    For some reason, the realization struck her as one of the funniest things she''d ever considered and she couldn''t help but giggle while Nyrielle washed the dirt from her back and shoulders. She''d never once imagined what kind of soap a demon preferred and never expected to find the answer so pleasant.


    "Oh?" Nyrielle said, a wicked grin forming on her lips that displayed a flash of fang. "Did I find a ticklish spot? I''ll have to remember it," she teased, tracing a finger along Ashlynn''s spine.


    "No, not ticklish," Ashlynn said, trembling at the other woman''s touch. "It''s just, I never considered what kind of soap a vampire might prefer. I like it," she added quickly. "I think lavender suits you."


    For a moment, Nyrielle''s hands paused before she continued washing like nothing had happened. "Zedya brought two dresses for you, you should look at them and pick the one you prefer," she prompted.


    "The green one," Ashlynn said as soon as she saw the two dresses. "I know they''re both yours," she added, leaning back as Nyrielle washed her hair and allowing her mind to drift as the energy from the Ancient Oak strengthened her. "But I think I''ll always remember you smelling like lavender. You won''t mind if I don''t wear your favorite color, will you?"


    "Lavender isn''t my favorite color," Nyrielle said, her hands pausing again. "It was my mother''s favorite. She kept a garden full of lavender," she said wistfully, blinking away moisture that collected in her eyes as she returned to washing Ashlynn''s hair.


    "Oh, I''m sorry," Ashlynn said, realizing she''d touched something sensitive. "Then, what is your favorite color?"


    "There''s a moment," Nyrielle responded after a brief pause. "It''s the moment before the sun peeks above the hills when the sky blushes like a ripe peach. It''s as much of the sun as I''ve ever seen, but I find it beautiful even if what follows is deadly."


    "So it''s true? You really can''t live under the sun?" Ashlynn asked. "Will that be true of me too when I become your Seneschal?"


    "You don''t need to worry about that," Nyrielle said, helping Ashlynn to stand and taking a towel from Zedya to gently pat her dry. "One of the reasons a vampire takes a Seneschal is to have someone who can act in the light while we''re confined to the dark."


    Once she was dry, it didn''t take long to help her into the emerald green velvet and silk dress. They left the bodice loose enough that it barely stayed in place, both to prevent putting pressure on her injuries and because Ashlynn was fuller in the chest than Nyrielle was.


    The dress was also too long for Ashlynn, dragging in the soft grass beneath the oak tree, but she didn''t need to move much to take her place facing the vampire she was about to bind her life to.


    Between them, Zedya stood with a silver dagger in one hand and a silver goblet in the other.


    "There are ancient words for this ceremony," Nyrielle said. "You wouldn''t understand them and the words themselves aren''t what carries the power anyway. Instead, I''ll give you my promise and you can give me yours," she said, taking the silver dagger in her hand and cutting into her palm for a second time this evening, spilling several drops of blood into the goblet.


    "As your Mistress, I promise to shelter you beneath my wings, to share my strength with you, and to treasure you as the first among all who serve me," she said formally. "More than that, I promise you a place in my heart that none can take from you. From now until the end of my life, you are mine and I am yours," she finished, passing the goblet to Ashlynn.


    "Do you want help with the blood offering?" Zedya prompted, uncertain whether or not the injured witch had the strength to complete her part of the blood pact.


    "I can do it," Ashlynn insisted, taking the silver dagger and cutting deeply into her own palm. While Nyrielle''s magic and the magic offered by the Ancient Oak strengthened her and stopped her from feeling the pain of her existing injuries, they did nothing against the pain of cutting herself deeply enough to bleed into the goblet.


    Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, Ashlynn gritted her teeth and pushed on with the ceremony, opening her eyes and squeezing her hand into a fist to drip blood into the goblet.


    "As your Seneschal, I promise to dedicate my life to your service," Ashlynn said, imitating the oaths knights offered to their lords to structure her promise. "I will go the places you can''t, walking in the light while you shelter in darkness. I will be your hands, your sword and your shield to use as you see fit," she said, hesitating before she added something that belonged to a wedding vow more than it belonged to a knight''s oath.


    "The whole of my heart belongs to you, from now until the end of our lives," she said, a smile forming on her split lips for the first time since this nightmare began. "I am yours and you are the only one I will give my heart to."


    With a smile on her own lips, Nyrielle raised the silver goblet to her lips, taking the smallest sip she could and allowing the mixture of her and Ashlynn''s blood to meld with her own. The greater portion of blood, she left in the goblet for Ashlynn. After all, the more of her blood the young witch was able to absorb, the more she would benefit from it.


    Ashlynn took the goblet with trembling fingers, raising gently to her split lips before tilting it up and drinking the viscous, metallic-tasting liquid. Moments later, fire erupted within her belly, racing to her heart before flowing out along her arteries until every inch of her body felt like it had been enveloped in flames.


    The sensation lasted for only a moment before it overwhelmed her. The darkness that she''d fought off for so long finally claimed her vision, pulling her into blissful unconsciousness.


    Nyrielle moved with inhuman speed, gently catching Ashlynn before she could fall to the ground. For a moment, she feared that it had been too much for the young witch to bear but when she caught her, she felt the other woman''s heartbeat, stronger than it had been all night and drawing stronger as she assimilated the strength she''d been given.


    "Rest now," she whispered to the sleeping woman. "I''ll take you home," she added, turning back toward the abandoned carriage where Thane waited to bring them the rest of the way into the vale. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 7 - 7: A New Day

    Dawn had nearly broken by the time Nyrielle tucked the exhausted witch into bed, leaving her in the care of her loyal retainers before retreating deep within the ancient castle to rest for the day. That evening, she returned to Ashlynn''s bedside but found the young woman still fast asleep.


    Many of her minor injuries had healed, revealing a face that was elegant with a delicate nose and jawline and lips that were pert without being overly full. Her breathing was slow and steady even if it was still shallow and her pulse had become strong and even.


    "Alert me if she wakes," Nyrielle commanded one of the servants, turning to leave the room. "Tend to her needs if she has any while I''m away."


    Still, by dawn, Ashlynn showed no signs of waking, sleeping deeply and comfortably while her wounds healed.


    "You better not be a morning person," Nyrielle whispered as she stroked the young woman''s hair. Sunrise is time for bed," she said before retreating to her own bed chambers for the day.


    Hours later, when the sun rose well above the tops of the hills bathing the misty valley in a diffuse silvery light, Ashlynn''s emerald eyes fluttered open, taking in the place she''d woken.


    The bed she''d slept in was soft and luxurious, roomy enough for two or even three people to share without bumping into each other in the night. Posts at each corner of the bed held up soft lavender curtains that had been pulled back to allow her to see the rest of the room.


    Along one wall, two large windows filled with the largest panes of clear glass that Ashlynn had ever seen flanked a door set with more glass that opened onto a terrace. The wall opposite the bed held a large fireplace and two soft-looking sofas that faced each other across a polished wooden table.


    There were three other doors in the room, two of which stood open to reveal a luxurious bath and a wardrobe large enough to hold an entire season''s worth of clothing. Because of her secret, Ashlynn had attended very few balls or banquets, but she imagined that the wardrobe was large enough to fit every gown her sister had worn for a year with room to spare.


    Throwing back the soft blankets that covered her, Ashlynn found that she''d been changed into a soft peach-colored dressing gown. She also discovered that while her body ached in a number of places and drawing a deep breath still produced a twinge of sharp pain in her ribs, the bruises and scrapes had almost completely faded from her skin.


    Underneath all of that, she felt something strange in her chest, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. It was almost like an echo or like there were two hearts beating within her chest. When she felt her pulse at her neck, however, everything felt normal.


    "I wonder where," she began, thinking about where Nyrielle might be only to realize that she knew. She was certain that Nyrielle was somewhere hidden from the light, perhaps in a room underground or deeper in the building in a room without windows. But when she closed her eyes and thought about the second heartbeat in her chest, she felt like she could point toward the place where Nyrielle was.


    She could be wrong, she might just be imagining it, but answers would have to wait until the evening when she could see the vampire again. Until then, she firmly pushed down any thoughts of the mystical bond she now shared with the Eldritch Lady and focused on more immediate concerns.


    Before Ashlynn could ring the bell on the bedside table, she heard a sharp knock on the room''s third door followed by a high-pitched woman''s voice.


    "My Lady, may I enter? Lady Nyrielle asked me to tend to your needs," the voice called.


    After she gave permission, Ashlynn''s eyes opened wide and she quickly covered her mouth before she said anything untoward.


    When Nyrielle had taken her, she''d met two other vampires, both of whom appeared to be human before they became vampires. The person who entered the room was short, barely four feet in height, but their stature was the least shocking thing about their appearance. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Two curved horns emerged from the woman''s hair, sweeping backward like the horns of an ewe. Further, though she wore loose skirts below her fitted bodice, the feet that peeked out from her skirts as she walked were cloven hooves.


    "Is something wrong, My Lady?" the woman asked when she saw the other woman''s reaction. She''d been told, of course, that the young woman recovering from her injuries had become Lady Nyrielle''s Seneschal and that she was a Child of the Earth, but she couldn''t figure out why the young woman looked so startled to see her.


    "I''m sorry," Ashlynn said, struggling to quiet her racing heart and reminding herself that this was the place Nyrielle had brought her and there shouldn''t be any danger here. "Aside from Lady Nyrielle, I''d only met Thane and Zedya. I hadn''t thought that there would be other demons in her household who weren''t vampires," she explained.


    When she spoke, the diminutive woman wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips with a pained expression.


    "My Lady," she said stiffly. "I apologize for my rudeness, but please do not refer to us as demons. That''s a word humans use for us, not one we use for ourselves."


    "I''m sorry," Ashlynn said. Nyrielle had said something similar but she thought it was about her title when she said that she was an Eldritch Lady and not a Demon Lady. She didn''t realize that ''demon'' wasn''t an appropriate term at all. "Then, what should I call you?"


    "My name is Heila," the horned woman said politely. "I''m a member of the Horned Clan."


    "Heila, thank you for correcting me," Ashlynn said, her ears burning in embarrassment. "I grew up among humans," she said, realizing that after accepting the blood pact, she likely couldn''t count herself as such anymore. "I''ll probably make several mistakes in the days to come. Please forgive my ignorance and correct me when I''m wrong."


    A smile blossomed on Heila''s face as she realized she likely wouldn''t be punished for correcting the new Seneschal. She''d been prepared to accept any punishment when she objected to being called a demon but it seemed like this new member of their household wouldn''t be as vindictive as other Eldritch Lords were known to be.


    "My Lady," Heila said. "You must be famished. May I fetch you a meal?"


    "Please," Ashlynn said, only now realizing how hungry she was. "I''ll wash up while you do."


    It wasn''t until after she''d finished washing and exploring the wardrobes where she found a few elegant skirts, loose breeches, and bell-sleeved blouses that Ashlynn realized she might have made a horrible mistake when she asked for a meal.


    In the books the Church provided about demons, it mentioned that they were primitive, frequently feasting on raw flesh including the entrails of their defeated opponents. Others were said to subsist on insects or bitter fruits.


    Seeing Heila''s refined manners and the elegant room she''d woken in, Ashlynn was quickly coming to realize that the things she''d learned growing up were likely riddled with falsehoods but she still had no idea what the people here actually ate.


    Heila called herself a member of the Horned Clan and her horns resembled those of a bighorn sheep. Did that mean she ate grass and leaves like a sheep or did she eat other things? She didn''t know and hadn''t asked.


    When the diminutive woman returned, however, the only thing that surprised Ashlynn about the food was the size of the portions. Thick-cut bacon was piled high next to an equally tall stack of fluffy pancakes along with soft poached eggs served on toast with ham.


    "Isn''t this a bit too much?" Ashlynn said even as she began nibbling on the savory, smokey bacon.


    "Lady Nyrielle left instructions that you were to be given large portions of meat to help rebuild your body," Heila explained, suppressing the urge to giggle as she watched Ashlynn eat. Even though their new Seneschal protested the portions, she hadn''t stopped eating since she sat down with her meal.


    While she ate, Ashlynn resolved to forget everything she thought she knew about the people who had been on this continent long before humans arrived. The first human settlers had only reached the eastern shores three hundred years ago and for much of that time, they had been united by the Church in a series of crusades to ''cleanse the lands'' and claim them for ''righteous men.''


    Now, however, it seemed that nothing was as she''d been taught and she would have to be ready to learn again from the beginning if she was going to live her new life among Nyrielle''s people.

 Chapter 8 - 8: Lothian Plots

    While Ashlynn enjoyed her sumptuous and hearty breakfast, a very different scene was unfolding in the office of Marquis Bors Lothian.


    The office was grand and stately, with one wall almost completely occupied by large windows that gave a view of the inner keep and the sprawling City of Lothian below it. Trophies covered another wall including the ancient banners of demon lords slain by the family''s founding ancestor when he established the March of Lothian.


    Compared to his greatest ancestors, Bors'' own trophies were more humble. A polished skull taken from a horned demon slain in battle against the forces of the Demon Lady of the Vale sat next to a stuffed panther-like head taken in a different battle against the Cat Demon of Airgead Mountain.


    Some might think that the trophies were an attempt to prop himself up next to the accomplishments of his forefathers but Bors knew differently. He kept the trophies as reminders of the work he had to finish.


    The Marquis himself was solidly built though his body had become softer after celebrating his fiftieth birthday and the armor he''d once worn to fight against the demons of the vale would no longer fit without making adjustments.


    Still, while his body had softened, his mind had sharpened. Now as he sat behind the desk his great-grandfather had carved from the trunk of one of the vale''s sacred Ancient Oaks, he turned that sharpness to the mess his eldest son had created.


    "Is it done?" Bors asked the young lord who sprawled in a comfortable chair as though the events of the past few days were inconsequential. "You''ve seen her family off?"


    "It''s done, they''re gone," Owain said having just returned from the tedious chore. "The Countess Blackwell wasn''t happy but her husband is a smart man, they''ll play along."


    "They''ll play along because the alternative is to face an inquisition from the Church," Bors sneered. As much as he hated how much his family relied on the Church, there were times when currying its favor proved useful. "What about the girl, Jocelynn? Can she be trusted to keep her mouth shut for the next two months?"


    At the mention of Ashlyn''s sister, Owain frowned, sitting upright for the first time since he''d entered his father''s office.


    When Jocelynn had found him during the ball, she''d been as nervous as a startled kitten, calling him Brother-in-law and insisting that she was entitled to a dance with the groom before he retired to accompany her sister for the night.


    "I cannot bear to see her sink her wicked claws into you," she''d whispered after telling him that she''d seen the mark of the witch on her sister''s hip when they visited the baths. "All this time, she''s avoided people, hiding herself away in a library full of books. I suspect she''s long made a study of witchcraft."


    "Now that she''s here, what will happen to Lothian if she fells its mightiest protector? Without your strength to lead your people, the demons will ravage the march and everyone in it," she''d said. "You mustn''t let her harm you."


    Now, hearing his father''s sharp tone, he worried that Jocelynn''s warning would be misinterpreted as something other than a pure, almost noble attempt to save him and the march from the claws of a witch.


    "Without her warning, I might have been deceived by the witch," he said, refusing to use Ashlynn''s name. "We''re lucky she found me at the ball to confide in me."


    "That doesn''t mean that you should trust her, quite the opposite. She was willing to betray her sister to earn your favor. Who''s to say she won''t betray you to win favor with someone else?"


    "She''s not that clever, father," Owain said dismissively. "She''s been infatuated with me since we met at last year''s harvest festival. She told me about the witch because she wanted to protect me, nothing more than that."


    "Don''t underestimate women''s schemes," Bors said, glowering at his son. Sometimes, he wished that Loman had been born first. He''d promised his second son to the Church almost as soon as the lad was born but it wasn''t until both men were adults that he realized that his younger son had been the one to inherit all of his talent.


    Owain might be the stronger of the two and he''d proved his skills with a sword in skirmishes with the Horse Lord''s forces in the south on more than one occasion. When it came to ruling a vast territory, however, Bors found Loman''s careful examination of problems and broader perspective to be much more important than the ability to lead soldiers on the battlefield.


    Now, the only way that Loman could return to the family was if something unfortunate happened to Owain. As ruthless as Bors was in fighting the demons, he would never harm one of his sons to favor the other.


    "How many generations has our family fought the Demon Lady of the Vale without rooting out her wickedness?" Bors said. "She''s weaker than the other Demon Lords but that hasn''t stopped her from making a mockery of our family''s soldiers in virtually every battle."


    To turn the March into a Duchy and claim a seat on the ruling council had been the goal of every generation of Marquis to follow the first, yet the Demon Lady had worked relentlessly to thwart the Lothians at every turn.


    If he wanted to become a Duke, he needed to control the headwaters of the River Luath, yet she''d constructed so many defensive barriers in the steep-sided vale that a direct assault became almost impossible.


    If he turned his attention to the rich metal deposits of Airgead Mountain, she flew to the aid of the cursed cats and bled his forces from the rear. And, while he''d never been able to prove it, he was convinced that it was the heretical vampires she''d spawned from his own citizens who were responsible for spying on his movements and providing information to the Horse Lord who constantly raided their farms in the south.


    The other Demon Lords were bad enough with their fierce armies and powerful commanders but the meddling of one woman had stymied the Lothian family''s rise for generations.


    "Father, I think it''s a bit extreme to compare a silly little girl like Jocelyn to an ancient hag like the Demon Lady of the Vale," Owain said, thinking of the pure and innocent look on Jocelynn''s face when she confided in him at the ball. "She''s barely eighteen, all she cares about is having the prettiest dresses and finding the best husband."


    "And she wants you to be that husband?" Bors said skeptically.


    "She does, I told you, she''s been infatuated with me since we met." If there was one thing Owain was confident of, it was his natural charm and stunning good looks.


    When he wore his armor to battle, he resembled a hero from the pages of a storybook with strong features and flowing chestnut hair. When he attended balls, his carefully tailored tunics clung to firm muscles that women yearned to cling to. Not once in his life, since he was a young man coming of age, had he ever lacked for the company of adoring women.


    "Besides, doesn''t it work out for us that way?" Owain said, holding up his hand and ticking off his fingers as he made his points.


    "We still secure a tie to the Blackwells and their connections to the merchant families on the coast. We gain control of one of the only people to know that I was briefly married to a witch. Moreover, keeping her close gives us leverage against her parents to stop them from telling the tale if they ever wanted to drag us down with them."


    Owain might not be as thoughtful as his brother Loman, but he wasn''t a fool. In the hours after he ordered his knights to dispose of the witch''s body, he''d racked his brain for a way to salvage his father''s plans. To break the stalemate they''d been locked in with the demons for generations, the Lothians needed vast sums of money.


    Raising a greater army would require not only experienced soldiers but superior arms and armor, engineers, and siege engines to tear down the fortifications in the vale and more. The Blackwell family might not be personally prosperous but they were incredibly well connected with the merchant families who traded across the sea and they directly controlled one of the busiest ports on the coast.


    The Blackwells weren''t fools to be taken advantage of either. They''d openly offered to support the Lothian''s campaign against the demons in exchange for the ability to share in the glory and rewards that came with victory. Ashlynn''s marriage to Owain had been the foundation on which their alliance would be built.


    Now, however, Owain would need to rely on Jocelynn if he wanted to secure the support of the Blackwells, especially after what had happened to their eldest daughter.


    "Fine," Bors said, conceding the point. "I''ve found a servant who resembles Ashlynn enough to pose as her so long as she''s only seen from a distance. In a month''s time, we''ll announce the joyous news that your wife has conceived and is withdrawing to a villa in the hills until the birth of her child."


    "As soon as we do that," the silver-haired man continued. "Send for Jocelynn so she can ''keep her sister company'' during her pregnancy. Come winter, we can announce her tragic death in childbirth."


    "Do you want me to stay at the villa the entire time?" Owain asked, a smile spreading on his face when he imagined having both the serving girl and young Jocelyn to himself in the remote villa.


    "No, of course not, you have other duties to attend to," his father said, scowling at his son. "Once Jocelynn reaches the villa, you''ll need to leave for Blackwell County. There are several people that I need you to meet with¡­"


    S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 9 - 9: Dining with a Vampire

    Once Ashlynn had finished her breakfast, as much as she wanted to explore her new home, a full belly and a warm fire in the hearth combined with a soft and comfortable bed enticed her back to sleep.


    "You should rest, my Lady," Heila said when Ashlynn looked torn about returning to bed immediately after her morning meal. "Lady Nyrielle will want to see you after sunset and you still need to rest to heal."


    "You can ring the bell if you require me, otherwise, I''ll come draw a bath for you before sunset so you''re refreshed when you dine with her ladyship."


    Hours later, Ashlynn was woken from a comforting, dreamless sleep by the sound of splashing water filling the large copper tub in her washroom.


    "Do you need help washing, my Lady?" Heila asked when she entered the room.


    "No," Ashlynn replied. "I''m accustomed to washing and dressing myself," she explained. The mark of the witch on her hip made it impossible for her to have servants attend to her at home. She''d thought it was normal at first until her younger sister grew older, retaining several servants to attend to her every need.


    "I wonder if she''ll miss me," she said as she stepped into the rose-scented water. "I wonder if Owain will even tell them what happened. I hope he doesn''t retaliate against them."


    She''d prepared herself to leave her family when she married Owain but there was a difference between moving away to live with her husband and coming back from the edge of death to serve a powerful vampire.


    Tears dripped from her eyes into the warm water of the bath as thoughts of home and her family overwhelmed her. She was still here, alive and well, but it was impossible to reach out to her loved ones. If she wanted to, she could pen a letter to her family tonight but she could never have it delivered.


    "I''ll return one day," she promised herself before dunking her head beneath the water''s surface and scrubbing away the tears. "Just not yet."


    After washing, she dressed herself in a loose-fitting cream-colored dress with bell sleeves and pale green lace before following Heila to a windowless room located much deeper in the castle.


    Two hearths burned in the opulent room and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the room so brightly that you could forget how far the room was from outside light. A long table of polished cedar dominated the room with space for more than a dozen guests to dine, yet only two places had been set, one at the head of the table and one to the left of it.


    Several paintings adorned the walls, showing scenes like an Ancient Oak glowing faintly against the night sky or a silvery waterfall spilling into a pool of water that reflected the moon. Each of the paintings seemed to show different parts of the Vale of Mists and all of them reflected the vale at night.


    "Her ladyship will join you momentarily," Heila said, offering a brief curtsey before excusing herself from the room.


    Ashlynn didn''t wait long before the door opened again to reveal her savior and Mistress, the Eldritch Lady Nyrielle.


    Seeing her again, Ashlynn''s doubled heartbeat quickened, her senses drowning in the powerful aura that flowed from Nyrielle. The vampire had traded her black dress from the previous night for one of deep royal purple trimmed in spills of golden lace that matched the gold pendant dangling above her modest bust.


    When Nyrielle entered the room, Ashlynn immediately felt unworthy, as though she stood before a queen or goddess. Quickly standing from her chair, she gave a deep curtsy, lowering her head and fixing her eyes on the hem of the powerful woman''s dress.


    "My Lady," she said, relying on the etiquette she''d been taught and saying nothing more until the enchanting woman gave her permission to speak.


    "Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, placing a finger under Ashlynn''s chin and gently lifting, drawing her gaze upward. "Before others, you should call me ''Mistress'', but in private like this, please call me Nyrielle. There aren''t many people who call me by name," she said wistfully. "I want you to be one of them."


    "Nyrielle then," Ashlynn said as she stood. Meeting Nyrielle''s midnight blue gaze, however, she found herself once again drowning in the other woman''s eyes, her mind drifting and unable to find the next words she meant to say.


    "Take a seat, join me," Nyrielle said, a playful smile forming on her lips. When she took her own seat, she pulled back on her aura as much as she could, dimming her presence until she could pass as a mortal, if beautiful noblewoman.


    "In time, you should find my presence less overwhelming," she said, her dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "But I won''t deny enjoying the way you looked at me when I entered the room. You''re looking much better yourself," she said after giving Ashlynn an evaluating look. "I''m glad to see our bond has given you the strength you needed to heal."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, slowly regaining her composure after Nyrielle withdrew her aura. "I owe you my life."


    "We settled that when we formed our pact. I''m happy that you''re grateful," Nyrielle said, ringing a bell to signal servants to bring in the first course of their meal. "Now that you''ve recovered and your life is no longer hanging by a thread, do you have any regrets?"


    "About our pact? No, none at all," she said.


    Before she could continue, the doors opened again and several servants, each dressed in dark purple livery and sporting curled horns similar to a ram''s, entered carrying several aromatic dishes. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    While her breakfast had been sumptuous with an extra portion of meat, the dishes set before them now were as elegant and refined as anything she''d eaten at the Marquis'' manor.


    Spring leek soup topped with fresh toast and melted cheese alongside a refreshing salad of spinach and ramps formed the first course, leaving Ashlynn''s mouth watering in anticipation.


    "Go ahead," Nyrielle said, laughing lightly as she began with her own soup. "When I told Georg about you this morning he promised to deliver his very best for our first dinner together."


    "Is Georg another member of the Horned Clan?" Ashlynn asked, enjoying the crisp and refreshing salad before diving into the rich soup. "Are all of your servants members of the Horned Clan?"


    "No, Georg is from the Clan of the Great Claw," Nyrielle said, pleased that Ashlynn was already adjusting to her new home and not referring to her people as demons. "But before that, you looked like you had more to say when I asked if you had regrets."


    "I, I regret that I can''t return to my family. I never even said goodbye," she said, her eyes misting as she spoke. "When the ball ended, I told them that I''d see them off when they returned home but¡­"


    "Would you like to visit them? It isn''t impossible you know," Nyrielle said gently.


    "Truly? But, if we do, if Owain told them what happened¡­"


    "There''s time," Nyrielle said, reaching out to take Ashlynn''s hand in her own. "Not now. Long trips are best made in the fall and winter months when the nights are longer. You need to take some time as well."


    In truth, a trip from the Vale of Mists to the coastal Blackwell County would be more than just long. It would take several days by carriage and they would have to move carefully to ensure that Nyrielle had a safe place to shelter during the day.


    Moreover, she wouldn''t be able to bring any of her Eldritch guards to protect her during the journey. To make the trip safely, she would need to rely on Ashlynn to protect her during the day while they traveled at night. For her new Seneschal, however, if the trip would put her heart at ease, Nyrielle was willing to take the risk.


    "Right now, you''ve just begun to touch your magic," Nyrielle said gently. "And you''re only drawing on the shallowest levels of our pact. It will take years to master your powers but by the end of summer you should be able to learn enough to make the trip to your homeland safely."


    "And even if you haven''t learned enough, I''ll go with you," the vampire promised.


    "I still don''t understand," Ashlynn said, setting down a spoonful of the velvety leek soup before it reached her lips.


    "Why do you do so much for me? Next to you, I feel like a stray cat, picked up by the roadside and taken to a nice home. I appreciate everything you''re doing for me but I don''t understand why. Please, tell me what it is you want from me that makes all of this worth it to you."


    When she married Owain, she knew that it was a union born of politics. She''d worked to grow a love for Owain for two years, writing letters and attending balls together when they could make the travel arrangements work, but she never forgot that the marriage happened because her father and Bors Lothian wanted to form a binding alliance between their families.


    She understood all of that, and she accepted it. Now that she had forged an even more intimate and binding relationship with Nyrielle, she struggled to understand the other end of the deal. She felt like she''d gained too much, a new life all together and one that was no less luxurious than the one she would have led as the Marquess of Lothian.


    For this kind of relationship to be fair, Nyrielle must have stood to gain something valuable, she just didn''t know what it was.


    "You want to know what I stand to gain from you?" Nyrielle said, setting down her fork and leaving her salad half-finished. "Very well. If you think that you''re ready, I''ll tell you the truth."

 Chapter 10 - 10: Nyrielle’s Story

    "Have you studied history?" Nyrielle asked, leaning back in her high backed chair and swirling a goblet of dark red wine in one hand.


    "I have," Ashlynn said hesitantly. She''d spent much of her life in her family''s libraries and she''d been taught by her tutors that a ruler must know the history of their people if she was to guide them to a better future.


    At the time, she''d believed that learning history would help her to rule alongside her future husband, but reality disabused her of that notion. Owain had no interest in her help to rule, he preferred that she dedicated her time to raising children instead.


    "But I think much of what I''ve been taught may be wrong, or at least incomplete," she said. "Your people are nothing like what''s written in the history books."


    "Tell me what you know of the early days of your homeland, when humans had just arrived here," Nyrielle prompted, ringing a bell and signaling to the servants that they could bring the next course. She''d eaten very little of her own meal but for her, the only purpose to eating was to enjoy the flavors and the ritual of sharing a meal with company.


    Ashlynn collected her thoughts while the diminutive horned staff took away what little remained of her first course and replaced it with delicately arranged slices of tender venison covered by a rich and peppery sauce.


    "The Kingdom of Gaal was founded almost two hundred and fifty years ago," she began after the servants withdrew, answering in the same tone as she would have used to answer a question posed by her tutors at home.


    "But humans arrived nearly fifty years before that. They came from many different countries in the old world and when they arrived, they fought each other as much as they fought the, um, local clans," stumbling slightly as she worked to remove the word ''demon'' from her vocabulary.


    "It wasn''t until King Baoithin the First received a holy mandate from the Church of the Holy Lord of Light that humans united together against the local clans," Ashlynn said. "The Church teaches that mankind must follow the path of the sun, beginning in the east and conquering to the western shores until all lands are ruled by the chosen people of the Holy Lord of Light."


    "And do your history books tell you what happened to the humans who didn''t want to be ruled by your king and the Church?" Nyrielle asked between bites of succulent meat. "Did they tell you what happened to the people who fought back against unification or the ones who refused to wage war on the local clans?"


    "The history books mention a few examples," Ashlynn said. "They mention a witch who joined with the local clans, betraying her humanity to slaughter the king''s armies. There are other tales of humans betraying their humanity, usurping the power of the Holy Lord of Light to bewitch their own kin."


    "I imagine your history books tell you that those heretics were all defeated, captured and burned at the stake for their sins, don''t they?"


    "They do," Ashlynn acknowledged, a suspicion growing in her mind. "They didn''t all die though, did they? Is that where you came from? Were you one of the humans that joined with the local clans?"


    "Me? No," Nyrielle said, putting down her utensils and looking off into the distant past. "I was never human to begin with. My parents were. They fled from the Church and their ''holy flames'' until they reached the Vale of Mists and found shelter here with my grandsire."


    For a moment, she paused, her delicate fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine goblet. Her lips parted but no words came before she closed them again, sifting through memories of her earliest years before sipping her wine to chase away the bitter taste that accompanied the events of those years.


    "My grandsire, Torbin, was the Eldritch Lord of the Vale of Mists at the time," she continued, returning to her meal and speaking between bites. "For all that he was a brute, he believed that humans would come here eventually to conquer his nation."


    "He took my parents in and made them his progeny so that he could learn the ways of humanity from them and to prepare for the war to come. I was born not long after that."


    "But war didn''t come for a hundred years," Ashlynn said, caught up in the other woman''s story. "Caun Lothian, the first Marquis of Lothian fought against the clans near the Vale of Mists. He died without breaching its defenses but his eldest son, Cellach, continued the war and established the March of Lothian''s current borders."


    When her father arranged her marriage to Owain Lothian, she''d read every available record and history book that covered the rise of the House of Lothian. Their victories, their defeats, the knights who earned glory and titles in their fight against the local clans, she''d studied every bit of it in preparation for her marriage to the heir apparent.


    "Caun Lothian died for his hubris, crushed by my grandsire''s claws," Nyrielle said. "But Cellach learned from his father''s mistakes. He promised to build the grandest temple to the Holy Lord of Light in all the frontier and to give the High Priest of the temple the same powers as a viscount within the March of Lothian if the Church would send him enough priests to defeat my grandsire."


    "I married Owain in that temple," Ashlynn said softly. Half of the venison lay untouched on her plate as she became completely absorbed in Nyrielle''s tale. The entire dining room felt distant as she imagined what things had been like so long ago and how different they were from what she''d been taught.


    "It really is the grandest temple in the frontier," Ashlynn said. "It''s even grander than the greatest temple in Blackwell County where I grew up. The spires are topped with gold and the stained glass windows are more than fifty feet tall. I didn''t know it was built to garner support from the Church."


    "I''m sure that Cellach is recorded in your history books as an extremely pious man," Nyrielle said. "His priests killed Torbin and Cellach himself captured my parents while they bought me the time to escape. He burned them at the stake in front of his army, calling them heretics and traitors to the human race."


    The words Nyrielle said were simple, but when Ashlynn looked at her she saw a heart wrenching anguish behind the other woman''s eyes.


    Ashlynn had just been torn away from her family and the hurt that came with that loss was greater than anything she''d ever felt, even knowing that they were still alive. But she was only twenty one years old. What must it have been like, she thought, for Nyrielle to lose the parents that she''d loved for more than a hundred years?


    "The history books say that Cellach was murdered in his bed by the Eldritch Lady of the Vale," Ashlynn said softly. "They say that his chest was torn open, his heart crushed, and the whole of his body dismembered. It was your revenge against him for your parents, wasn''t it?"


    "It was," Nyrielle said, gazing into her empty goblet before refilling it from the crystal decanter on the table and taking a deep drink of the rich wine. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But revenge is a never ending thing," she added, turning her midnight blue gaze on Ashlynn. "It isn''t the Eldritch way to slaughter the innocent. Cellach''s sons were in their tender years, less than a decade old. I killed Cellach for my parents and I slaughtered his priests for my grandsire but I left the rest alive."


    "I''m sure you know the rest of the story from there. Every decade or two, the current Marquis of Lothian raises an army to expand his lands and exterminate any of the Eldritch people his army can reach."


    "Hundreds die on both sides before he retreats in glory with whatever victories he can claim," Nyrielle said. "Titles and lands are bestowed on new heroes to take the place of the nobles who die in his crusade and the cycle repeats itself a decade or two later."


    "You asked what I get out of taking you in and making you my Seneschal," Nyrielle said, returning to the original topic.


    "Your revenge on Owain is an opportunity for me. My grandsire took in my parents to better know his enemies before they arrived. That knowledge allowed him to defeat Caun Lothian in an overwhelming fashion."


    "Now, however, my nation has been locked in a stalemate with the March of Lothian for generations of human rulers. The continual wars don''t achieve real victories but they constantly bleed my people, preventing us from returning to the heights we reached in my grandsire''s days."


    "You, my darling," Nyrielle said, reaching out to rest a hand on Ashlynn''s cheek. "Are the advantage I need to break the stalemate. Not only do you have tremendous potential as a Child of Earth, you''ve studied the March of Lothian better than most humans who live there."


    "Do you understand now just one of the reasons why I would go so far to possess you?"

 Chapter 11 - 11: Delicate Relationship

    "Don''t touch me," Ashlynn snapped, drawing back from the enchanting vampire''s hand and staring at her in horror.


    "Is that really what I am to you? An advantage in your war with the Lothian family?" Ashlynn said, her vision growing hazy as her eyes brimmed with tears. "It''s fine if you want me to help you hurt them."


    "I don''t mind that you hate them as much as I do. It''s better that way," Ashlynn continued, standing from her seat and dropping her napkin on the table so she could back away from Nyrielle.


    "But don''t touch me like you feel something for me if you don''t. You don''t have to lie to me to gain my help, you don''t have to act like you cherish me or anything else," she cried, her voice becoming hoarse and strained the more she spoke.


    Worse, the more distressed she was, the less emotion she could see on Nyrielle''s face. The vampire''s placid expression was no different than a mask, her midnight eyes staring at Ashlynn the way a bird watched people bustling below. The bird couldn''t understand the people or why they went to and fro and in Nyrielle''s eyes she saw no understanding of her own distress.


    The romantic dinner and gentle words during the first course had lulled her into a pleasant dream of living the rest of her life with someone who cared for her, maybe more than Owain ever could. Now, however, the mask had slipped, revealing a cold, inhuman vampire beneath it. One who would use her as a tool to fight her enemies and then¡­ then what?


    If somehow they managed to defeat the Lothians, what use would Nyrielle have for her after that?


    "I will serve you," Ashlynn said, turning away and walking toward the door. "I will do as you say and we will take our revenge together. Just don''t act like I''m anything more than a tool to you when¡­."


    Her voice broke off when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back into a soft embrace before she could reach the door.


    "Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered in her ear. "Please don''t misunderstand. I told you the truth you asked for but it isn''t a complete truth. Come back, stay with me until dinner is finished, and let me tell you the rest."


    "There''s more?" Ashlynn said, not entirely sure she wanted to hear more. Nyrielle''s lavender fragrance filled her nose and her embrace was soft and comforting even if she felt a little cold.


    Part of her wanted to trust, to hear what else Nyrielle had to say but she was afraid the vampire would only make things worse.


    "I won''t compel you," Nyrielle said, relaxing her hold until it was so light that Ashlynn could easily slip away. "But I would like it if you would listen."


    "I don''t think I can eat any more of the venison," Ashlynn said, feeling almost petulant when she said it. It wasn''t her dinner''s fault but returning to it now felt like returning to the moment Nyrielle explained how useful she would be in fighting the Lothians.


    "You don''t have to," Nyrielle said softly, pulling on Ashlynn''s hand and guiding her back to her seat before ringing a bell to summon a servant.


    "Tell Georg that his venison was delightful and that I spoiled Ashlynn''s portion with hurtful words," she told the diminutive horned man. "And ask him if he can send something sweet and comforting to help me apologize to Ashlynn."


    "When you meet him, don''t let Georg''s fierce appearance fool you," Nyriall said as she helped Ashlynn back into her seat. "He''s very anxious about disappointing me, especially when I have guests. I don''t want him to think he failed you when I''m the one who ruined dinner."


    "You care that much for the person who cooks for you?" Ashlynn said, surprised at how genuine the vampire sounded when she spoke. That she knew his name already said a great deal about her to Ashlynn.


    She didn''t think Owain or even her younger sister knew the staff of their manors well enough to name the person who cooked for them. Ashlynn herself only knew because she spent so much of her life caring for herself that she''d become acquainted with most of the household staff at home.


    "I''ve known Georg since he was a cub the size of a house cat," Nyrielle said, pouring a fresh goblet of wine for Ashlynn before returning to her seat. "I knew his father just as long, and his father before him. Georg''s family has served in our kitchens for five generations."


    "You''ve met Heila. Her family is the same. She''s one of six daughters and she has four brothers. The Horned Clan tend to have very large families but I know them all."


    "How many people are here?" Ashlynn asked, still uncertain about how large the ancient castle was. The walk she''d taken from her bed chambers to this dining room hadn''t been long but she''d passed several other large rooms on her way.


    "Five hundred or so in the castle," Nyrielle explained. "More than twenty thousand in the nation, though I don''t know all of my people by sight. I visit all of the villages in the vale at least once a year, but some people grow up so quickly that they''ve changed entirely in what feels like a blink."


    Ashlynn tried to imagine what it would be like to rule over so many subjects and to come to know them all. Not just their names and faces, but to know their families like she knew Heila''s or Georg''s.


    She wasn''t just talking about twenty thousand people but several generations of twenty thousand. The more she thought about it, the more overwhelming it felt, to the point that she could barely believe it.


    "So, am I like Georg to you? Or like Thane? How do I fit into your world?"


    "You aren''t like either of them," Nyrielle said, reaching out to take Ashlynn''s hands in her own only to stop short and withdraw at the last moment. "At least, I hope you won''t be like any of them."


    "Ashlynn, we do not know each other well. I cannot claim to love you, and if I did you would be right to call me a liar. But it is no lie to say that I find you alluring," she said, looking directly into Ashlynn''s emerald eyes.


    "It also isn''t a lie to say that I want to treat you with affection. People like Thane are my progeny, they can never truly stand beside me. Georg, for all that I treasure him and his family''s loyalty, has served me his entire life."


    "But you, Ashlynn, you are a Child of the Earth, one who will grow to be just as powerful as I am. Perhaps even more powerful. Between people of equal strength, there is an opportunity for affection to grow into love, if we let it."


    "I won''t deceive you, I desire your power to face my enemies and that isn''t limited to just the Lothians. But I also desire your affection, and maybe one day your love," she finished softly.


    "I don''t know what to say to that," Ashlynn said. She''d thought that when Nyrielle touched her tenderly before they formed their pact that perhaps it had been love at first sight.


    Her mind had been foggy and strained from fighting to stay alive. Balanced on the edge of death, her savior had glowed in her sight, radiant, beautiful, and tender after she''d been viciously wounded by the man she just married.


    Now that the crisis had passed, she found her feelings tangled in Nyrielle''s multiple motivations. What she heard in the vampire''s voice felt genuine, almost lonely and she wondered if anyone had been able to give her affection in the hundred years since the death of her parents.


    Once again, Ashlynn felt herself becoming overwhelmed when she tried to understand the perspective of such an ancient being.


    A knock at the door interrupted further thoughts, followed by the entrance of a large pot-bellied bear of a man carrying a silver platter covered by a polished silver dome.


    Ashlynn had tried to figure out what a person from the Clan of the Great Claw might look like, but when she saw the towering man enter she realized that she still hadn''t adjusted her expectations enough.


    While he wore a neatly fitted tunic and breeches that strained slightly over his large belly, his most striking features were his massive furry paws tipped by wickedly pointed claws and a visage that greatly resembled a brown bear.


    "Georg," Nyrielle said warmly. "You didn''t have to come in person."


    "Nonsense," the bearish man said, quickly crossing the room with long strides to set the covered dish between the two women. "My Lady asked for my help to apologize, how can I not come in person?"


    "Lady Ashlynn," he said, turning to face the startled young woman and bowing deeply. "Little Heila told me that you come from Blackwell County. I''ve never been able to try a Blackwell pear tart, but I''ve heard of them. I hope you enjoy the tart I''ve made with strawberries and hazelnut cream," he said, lifting the silver dome to reveal a pair of delicate refined tarts. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn''s gaze shifted from Georg to the desserts and back again, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to reconcile the contrast between the bearish man and the delicate confections. His appearance had caught her so completely off guard that it was hard to hold on to the tumultuous feelings that gripped her heart.


    Part of her wanted to round on Nyrielle, to say that she wasn''t a child to be bribed with sweets. Another part of her looked at Georg''s anxious fidgeting and couldn''t bring herself to make things difficult for him when he''d put in so much effort on her behalf.


    And a third part, tiny, but growing, smelled the fresh crisp strawberries and wanted nothing more than to dive into the delicate treat and ignore her complicated feelings until she was done with the treat. After all, the pastry hadn''t done anything to earn her ire.


    "Georg," Ashlynn said, her voice still unsteady from her conversation with Nyrielle. "I don''t think I''ve ever been served something so beautiful, even at my wedding."


    Nyrielle smiled as she watched an almost childlike delight overcome her young Seneschal when she started to devour the luxurious hazelnut creme and fresh strawberries.


    Desserts couldn''t ease all the pains that came with their delicate, still-forming relationship, but it seemed like it had blunted the sharp edges, at least enough to give her more time to ease into things.


    Maybe it had been a mistake to say as much as she had tonight but given time, she felt that she could make things right between them. And if there was one thing she had plenty of, it was time.

 Chapter 12 - 12: Important Questions

    When Georg had entered the dining room, the air was thick with tension between the two women and the bearish man had looked distinctly uncomfortable while he waited to see if they enjoyed his confection.


    Seeing his discomfort, Ashlynn praised not only the delicate and refreshing tart but everything else she''d eaten that night as well. Still, it wasn''t until Nyrielle smiled at the other woman''s delight that Georg''s shoulders slumped visibly in relief before he cleared away the dishes and made his exit.


    Several minutes passed in silence after he left while the two women regarded each other across the dinner table. Nyrielle seemed to be in no hurry, content to give Ashlynn the time she needed to compose herself.


    The distraction offered by dessert had helped Ashlynn gain some distance from the intense conversation with Nyrielle but now she''d come right back to where they left off. The ancient feeling vampire was right, there wasn''t love between them. They barely knew each other and if Ashylnn was honest with herself, her heart still aches over what Owain had done to her.


    It was too soon for love, from either of them. But could there be love? She didn''t know. At the moment, all they shared in common was a hatred of the Lothians and a desire for revenge. It was enough to establish a partnership, perhaps even a friendship, but it was far too little to form the foundation of a lasting love.


    "What did you mean when you said that your parents were human but you never were?" Ashlynn asked suddenly. As soon as she said it, she covered her mouth, realizing that the question was likely rude, but she hesitated to take it back. She really wanted to know how different they were, starting from the very beginning.


    Nyrielle''s lips twitched at the question. It wasn''t the question she expected the younger woman to ask but she could tell that Ashlynn was trying to understand.


    "It''s a reasonable question," she reassured Ashlynn before the other woman could say anything further.


    "Among all the Eldritch races, Vampires are unique. Anyone can become a vampire, even humans. As long as another vampire first drains them of all of their blood and then grants them a drop or more of their own blood, the new vampire will perch forever on the line that divides life from death."


    "But if it takes a vampire to make a vampire," Nyrielle said rhetorically. "Where did the first vampire come from to make all the progeny that followed? No one really knows where the first vampire came from, but sometimes, a person is born a vampire."


    "So, even though you look human, you never really were," Ashlynn said. "The other night, you said that if you were a vampire like Thane, the only way you could save me is by making me a vampire," she said, struggling to recall the exact words Nyrielle had used. "But you''re different because you were born a vampire?"


    "Humans would call me a Vampire Queen or something similar. My grandsire used the term ''True Vampire.'' All other vampires are progeny who can trace their lineage to the true vampire that started their line."


    "There aren''t many of us. I''ve only met three others like myself and all of our circumstances have been different. Some things we have in common, like the ability to form a bond with a chosen Seneschal, but much is unique to each of us."


    "Do you, do you have to kill people by drinking their blood in order to live? Or is that just another lie invented by the Church?" Ashlynn asked, finally bringing up one of the questions that had haunted her from the morning when she first woke.


    At first, she''d been inclined to dismiss it as utter fabrication, but hearing Nyrielle talk about draining a person of all their blood to make them into a vampire brought back her uncertainty.


    Ashlynn firmly believed that many of the stories she read were fictions and exaggerations but at the same time, Nyrielle had admitted to the brutal way she''d murdered Cellach Lothian. Clearly, not everything in the books was untrue.


    "The best lies contain a kernel of truth," Nyrielle said, smiling widely to display her fangs. "Vampires aren''t truly alive and we must sustain ourselves on the blood of the living. We don''t need to kill, however. As long as the blood is rich and strong, we can take so little from a person that they''ll return to perfect health within a few days."


    Hearing Nyrielle''s words, Ashlynn''s hands tightened under the table, clutching at her dress to prevent herself from shaking when she asked her next question.


    "Will you, will you drink my blood?"


    "Is that a request?" Nyrielle teased. "My darling Ashlynn, you have no idea how much I struggled when I washed your wounds. So much blood, so close to the surface of your skin," she said. When she spoke, her voice grew strained and her pupils flared wider as she recalled the scene and the smell of fresh blood that clung to Ashlynn''s tantalizing figure that night.


    "The taste of your blood when we swore our pact is like comparing Georg''s tart to a common biscuit. Even now, you tempt me," she said, the sharp nails on her fingers digging into the arms of her chair.


    Hunger and desire rose within her, taking a greater amount of will to subdue than usual. The blood of a Child of the Earth was just too potent and tempting, nearly overwhelming her restraint.


    Ashlynn''s pulse quickened, some part of her mind screaming at her to run from the predator sitting across the table from her. The faster her heart beat, the more she realized the echo of another heartbeat within her chest raced along with it. It was as though she could feel Nyrielle''s hunger and desire responding to her own racing pulse.


    "Calm yourself," Nyrielle said, pulling her eyes away from the pulsing arteries in Ashlynn''s delicate neck which had become even more prominent and enticing when the young woman''s heart raced with fear.


    "I can''t promise that I will never need to take your blood when you are unwilling but I do not wish to. One day, I hope you will indulge me, but I can tell it''s too soon for that."


    Again, Ashlynn grew quiet, staring at the paintings on the wall to avoid meeting Nyrielle''s gaze. Whenever Nyrielle looked at her with that calm, placid expression, that otherworldly detachment bewildered and sometimes infuriated her. But now, seeing the naked hunger and desire on the vampire''s face actually frightened her.


    The tranquil landscapes in the paintings helped her to regain her composure. One of them even depicted a small village nestled between two hills. The painting was incredibly detailed, including several members of the Horned Clan, walking about the village or harvesting grapes from the terraces on the hillside.


    These are the people she cares for, Ashlynn reminded herself. When she looked back at Nyrielle, the vampire''s expression had returned to the calm placid mask that she was quickly coming to hate. Underneath it, she''d seen care, concern, and compassion but she''d also seen the hunger of a predator.


    It made it hard for her to know which face represented the other woman''s innermost self. Was the kindness and compassion a thin veneer worn by a dangerous predator, or did the predator only emerge when provoked? More importantly, was the predator within Nyrielle a danger to her?


    "Can you give me some time before we see each other again? Just a few days," she added quickly. "I don''t know how to feel around you and it''s hard to think when you''re so close to me."


    "Of course, as long as you follow one command from me, you can have as much time as you need."


    "What is it you need me to do for you?" S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I had hoped to begin tutoring you tonight," Nyrielle said a touch sadly. Standing up she turned away from Ashlynn, hiding from the uncertainty and lingering fear she still saw on the other woman''s face.


    "There''s so much for you to learn about your own power and about the powers you''ve gained from me. Lessons on sorcery and witchcraft can wait for a while, but lessons about the changes your body is going through can''t."


    "Healing is the least of what you''ve gained from me, my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, placing her hand on the door to leave. "Now that you''ve healed, your senses will become sharper, your body stronger¡­ It will be like all of the changes your body went through when you transformed from a girl to a woman, only more intense and more dangerous if you cannot adapt to the changes."


    "I''ll send Thane to tutor you in my absence. You can trust in him, he won''t dream of touching someone I''ve claimed as my own. It may be painful at times," Nyrielle warned her. "But even if it hurts, these are lessons you''ll have to learn, the sooner, the better."


    "What is it that he''ll be teaching me?" Ashlynn asked, unsettled by Nyrielle''s warning.


    "You''ll see soon enough," Nyrielle said, stepping outside the dining room and quickly shutting the door behind her.


    As much as she wanted to be open with Ashlynn, even she couldn''t make herself say the words.


    At the moment, she realized that she held far too much power over the young woman. Whenever her hunger flared or she said something that wasn''t understood the way she meant it, Ashlynn grew more and more afraid of her.


    The difference between them was too great and Ashlynn still hadn''t recovered from the trauma of what Owain had done to her. As long as the young woman felt powerless and trapped by her circumstances, she could never truly open up and trust, much less return any affection she was given.


    The only solution she could think of was to tip the scales forcefully.


    Thane would have to teach Ashlynn how to fight a vampire.

 Chapter 13 - 13: Tutor Thane

    Ashlynn sat alone in the empty dining room, trying to understand whether or not she''d made a terrible mistake. The way Nyrielle had left, turning away from her and leaving without an explanation felt cold and almost wounded.


    "This is why I need time," she said softly. Clearly Nyrielle wanted to foster a relationship with her and maybe she''d been looking forward to tutoring her in the use of her powers as a way to do that.


    Now, by asking for time, she''d snatched that away without understanding that some things couldn''t just be postponed. If that was the case, she could understand why Nyrielle might be hurt, but then why couldn''t she just explain?


    "Maybe I should ask if we can still have dinner together," she thought before shaking her head and discarding the notion. That would just send a mixed message and it would deprive her of the time she needed to sort out her own heart.


    She''d asked for time. Nyrielle had given it. Instead of second guessing herself, she should use the time to come to terms with her new life. Who knows, maybe Nyrielle had granted her request because she needed time as well.


    "My Lady," Heila called, opening the door to the dining room. "Are you well? You''ve been sitting here for some time."


    "Have I?" Ashlynn said, startled out of her own thoughts. "I didn''t realize."


    "Sir Thane awaits you," the diminutive woman said, rubbing her hands anxiously. "I''m supposed to help you change before bringing you to him."


    "Well then, let''s not keep him waiting," she said, sighing heavily as she was led away from the dining room.


    When she returned to her room, the outfit that Heila had prepared for her could almost pass as men''s garb. Dark brown loose breeches that tucked into soft soled knee high boots were paired with a loose fitting tunic that laced tight at the wrists.


    Everything about the outfit was practical, allowing for ease of movement without getting caught up in decorative touches.


    After dressing, she was guided to a small outdoor training yard. The flagstone pavers of the yard had been worn smooth by centuries of weather and footsteps, and the torches surrounding the yard cast flickering shadows across the equipment arranged around the periphery of the yard.


    "Welcome Lady Ashlynn," Thane said smoothly when she entered the yard.


    When she''d first met him, Thane''s figure had been obscured by a dark cloak and she''d been weak enough that she remembered little about him other than his gentle strength and piercing amber eyes.


    Now, however, he was dressed in an outfit similar to her own, accented by a dark purple sash at the waist. The laces of his tunic were left loose at the top, exposing a hint of his muscular chest and his long brown hair had been tied back in a neat ponytail where it couldn''t distract from his strong, sharp features.


    "Sir Thane, I''m sorry if I''ve kept you waiting long." Ashlynn said politely.


    "Not long," he said mildly. Turning away from her, he gestured for her to follow and brought her to a table filled with an assortment of different swords. The weapons ranged from delicate daggers to large, two-handed blades that were generally used by fully armored knights.


    What made the blades unique, however, was that all of their blades were made of a dull black metal that didn''t reflect the flickering torchlight. When Thane said nothing, Ashlynn reached out to pick up the smallest blade on the table, a dagger no longer than her palm.


    "So heavy," she said, lifting it awkwardly. "So this is Darksteel. This collection must have cost a fortune," she marveled.


    In the kingdom, Darksteel weapons were highly prized trophies. The strange metal was said to never dull and to be virtually unbreakable. Little was known about how the Eldritch people forged these blades but the Church taught that they were the product of dark magic.


    Because of that, while it was permitted to own them and display them as trophies, no one dared to wield the powerful weapons even if they were strong enough to do so.


    "Darksteel isn''t as rare as you might think," Than said, smiling as she inspected the other weapons on the table. "The difficulty is that even among the Eldritch peoples, few are strong enough to wield it."


    "Is that what you''re going to be teaching me? How to fight with these weapons?"


    "Eventually. First, I want to learn about what you already know," he said, gesturing at the table full of weapons. "I don''t know much about the Blackwells. Was your family one where women were also trained in weapons? Do you already have some fighting skills?" S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, never," she said, her brows raising in surprise. Neither she nor her sister had ever been trained in weapons. In fact, even her father had very little training in fighting. He claimed to have fought one duel in his youth over her mother''s honor, but her mother said that the silly fight between boys barely counted as a duel.


    Blackwell county was too far away from the frontier to have a need for many soldiers. All of her family''s achievements came from several generations ago during the earliest years following the founding of the kingdom. That was part of why her family valued an alliance with the March of Lothian so much. It would open a door for them to gain new honors that were otherwise out of reach.


    "Are there noble families that train their daughters to fight?" Ashlynn asked. "I''ve never heard of one."


    "Maybe the tradition died out," Thane said, tracing his long, slender fingers over an elegant rapier. "My sister was an accomplished fencer in her day," he said wistfully. "She couldn''t set foot on the battlefield, but I never once bested her while I was alive."


    "You were a noble then?" Ashlynn asked. She knew that Thane was one of Nyrielle''s progeny but she had no idea what kind of people her Mistress selected when making new vampires or why she chose them to begin with.


    "A third generation knight," he responded quietly. "It was a long time ago. Now, it seems like my sister''s dream has become further away rather than closer. If you''ve never heard of women learning to fight then I can''t imagine that there are any women who have become knights."


    "Not exactly," Ashlynn said, thinking back over the books she''d read about the Lothian March. "Dame Navaeh was a commoner who was knighted for defending her village heroically when Sir Adrian fell in battle. She used his sword and shield to protect the common people as they fled. I''m sure there are others like her who have become knights for their heroism."


    "But she never returned to the battlefield after that, did she?" Thane said, shaking his head. "My sister wanted to prove that women had a place in battle. She said that just because women couldn''t fight the way men could didn''t mean they couldn''t master their own methods."


    "What happened to her?" Ashlynn asked.


    "She proved that women can fight," Thane said, lifting the heavy rapier and whipping it through the air to pierce an imaginary opponent. "She killed a baron who tried to force himself on her. The Marquis of the time had her executed for the crime of magnicide."


    "Oh," Ashlynn said, putting down the heavy dagger. "I''m sorry," she said, unsure how she should respond when he didn''t sound as pained as she imagined she would be if someone had ordered her own sister executed.


    "Don''t be," Thane said, putting down the rapier and forcing back unpleasant memories before turning to face Ashlynn. "She claimed justice for herself when she killed the man who assaulted her. She died with a clear conscience, and the man who executed her is long dead and buried."


    "Now, the important thing is that she taught me things that are useful to you," he said, offering her a cheerful smile. "You''ll have advantages she never did, but your stature isn''t that different to learn some of the techniques she once used."


    "Before you learn to fight, however, we have to rebuild your body. Mistress Nyrielle believes that most of your energy has gone to healing but now that you''ve recovered, we need to give your body direction to rebuild itself."


    "I brought these weapons so you could decide the direction we should build towards," he explained. "My sister trained to fight duels. I first trained to fight against the Eldritch peoples and later to fight against the armored knights and soldiers of the Lothian''s armies."


    "Does Mistress Nyrielle expect me to fight knights and soldiers like you do then?" Ashlynn asked, looking from Thane to the weapons on the table.


    The one thing that she and Nyrielle currently had in common was their desire to take revenge on the Lothians but until now she hadn''t given any thought to how she would extract that revenge.


    One thing she knew, Owain needed to die. He''d beaten her almost to death just because she was born with the mark of the witch. She refused to let him go on living after that.


    But how she would take his life was something she hadn''t begun to consider, much less how she would claim revenge on whoever betrayed her by telling him about the mark.


    Now, looking at the assortment of weapons before her, she wondered if Nyrielle expected her to hack her way through an army of soldiers and guards to reach Owain. Unlike her, Nyrielle hated the entire Lothian line. Maybe she wanted to see the entire march in ruins before killing its rulers.


    As much as she''d studied war and battles, she''d never imagined herself taking part in either. As the wife of the next Marquis, she''d expected that when her husband went to war, she would oversee the march, administering to the needs of the lords and common people.


    Now, however, Thane was asking her to choose how she wanted to fight and she had no idea where to begin.


    "If I''m going to fight on battlefields," she said, reaching for the large two handed sword after a few moments of consideration. "Shouldn''t I learn something like this?"


    "Mistress Nyrielle didn''t ask me to teach you to fight on battlefields," Thane said, shaking his head. "My sister defended herself from someone who wanted to force themselves on her," he reminded her. "Mistress Nyrielle asked me to make sure you could do the same."


    "Whether it''s protecting yourself from men like your former husband, or protecting yourself from her," he added. "As long as you can keep yourself safe, then I''ll have fulfilled her desires in teaching you."

 Chapter 14 - 14: Transcending Human Limits

    "Defending myself against Mistress Nyrielle?" Ashlynn said, her eyes open wide in disbelief. "Maybe in a hundred years but I don''t think I''ll be a threat to any of you any time soon. I''ve seen the way you move and you carried me like it was nothing."


    "Besides, even if I was strong enough and fast enough, there''s no way I could become skilled enough to be a threat to her."


    If Thane had stopped at the notion of protecting herself from men like Owain, she would have found it credible. She might even have been enthusiastic about it. But Thane, with his casual grace and the way he easily handled the Darksteel weapons told her that he was far beyond men like Owain.


    "We''re not invulnerable, you know," Thane said gently. "We''re durable, but that doesn''t mean we don''t feel pain. We don''t age but that doesn''t mean we can''t die."


    "Besides," he added. "Defending yourself doesn''t always mean killing the other person. I don''t genuinely think that Mistress wants you to kill her some day," he said with a light laugh.


    "I can''t speak for her desires, but, in her own way, I think she''s trying to give you the ability to do something that none of her progeny can do. She wants to give you the ability to tell her ''no.''"


    "Can''t I already do that without learning this?" Ashlynn said, gesturing at the table full of weapons. "It''s not like I''ll have one of these monster swords with me at dinner," she said, reaching out to the two handed sword to make her point.


    When she attempted to lift it, however, she was only able to raise the hilt a few inches off the table before it slipped from her grasp, dropping back to the table with a loud thud.


    "See? It''s not realistic at all," she said, her shoulders slumping in helplessness.


    "That''s because you haven''t developed your gifts yet. Come, sit with me," Thane said, turning away from the tables and bringing her to the opposite side of the yard where several straw wrapped posts stood to be used as practice targets.


    Sitting on the ground and leaning against the post under the moonlight, Thane momentarily looked more like a young lord out for an evening of mischief than an imposing vampire. Gesturing for her to take a seat against another post, he plucked a long piece of straw from behind his back and twirled it in his fingers as he spoke.


    "Before the night is over, I need to assess your current physical state and give you methods to train yourself during my sleeping hours. Before that, it feels like you need to learn about the blessings that can come with your bond to Mistress Nyrielle."


    "She told me that I would become stronger and my senses would become sharper," Ashlynn said, comfortably sitting on the flagstone ground and resting against a post of her own.


    For a moment, she tried to sit properly as a lady should before remembering that she was wearing breeches and Thane didn''t seem to care about what was ''proper.'' Instead, she copied his relaxed posture and looked at him for an explanation.


    "Let''s start from the very basics then," Thane said. "Vampires like our Mistress have a number of gifts that are common to all vampires. This includes strength, speed, durability and physical senses that transcend human limits."


    "There are others besides those. Our Mistress is gifted at mesmerizing others, the practice of sorcery and more. When she creates progeny, however, we don''t inherit all of her gifts. Instead she''s able to bestow one of her specific gifts on her progeny along with the things that are common to all vampires, though the strength of those gifts varies."


    "Wait," Ashlyn said, holding up a hand. "Just how many different powers does Mistress Nyrielle have?"


    "Several," Thane said, a wide grin forming on his face that flashed a hint of fangs. "It''s not my place to tell you about all of them, I''m sure she wants to surprise you. We should come back to the things you need to know."


    "No, wait," Ashlynn insisted. "At least give me an example of what you mean when you said she passes on one specific gift so I can understand what those gifts are like. What gift did she give you?"


    "Would you like a demonstration? I promise, it will be harmless," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.


    "Why do I feel like you''re going to trick me? If you can''t just tell me then never mind," she said, refusing to be drawn into whatever trap he was trying to lay for her.


    "You will come to learn one day that small amusements are like bright sparks in the darkness of long decades," he said, puffing his chest up and wagging a finger in a mockery of a wise old man.


    "Mistress gave me the Voice of Command," he said proudly. "It''s the power to compel another person to act so long as they hear and understand your words."


    "It''s not absolute, it can be resisted by those with strong wills and the more opposed a person would be to following a command, the harder it is to force things through," he said, a grin forming on his lips that displayed a hint of fangs. "I wouldn''t use it to hurt you but I''m fairly certain I could have made you cluck like a chicken."


    "You, why would you do that to me! That''s the silliest waste of a power like that I''ve ever heard," Ashlynn protested.


    "Because it would have made you laugh, like you''re doing now," Thane said, his grin growing wider. "My Lady, I started from the wrong place entirely. I thought that you would be eager to take revenge on your former husband and that you''d jump at the opportunity to learn weapons but that isn''t you at all, is it?"


    "I don''t know," Ashlynn said. "All I ever wanted to be was a good wife and a good noblewoman. Mother told me that I''d have to do twice as much good in my life as a normal person to earn redemption from the Holy Lord of Light and I tried so hard to be a good person."


    "Owain didn''t care about any of that. He didn''t just trample me, he trampled everything I''d worked for, all the studying I did, he threw it all in a shallow grave along with me," she said bitterly. Tears spilled from her eyes and her voice grew sharper as she spoke but she was far from done.


    "Now, everyone is telling me what I have to do. I''m alive and I''m grateful," she said, giving Thane a quick glance to make sure he didn''t take her words as an insult. "But I haven''t chosen one thing for myself since I got here."


    "Someone picked the clothes in my closet for me. You even told me what to wear to my lesson," she said with an accusatory glare. "It doesn''t even matter that it''s the right outfit for practice, or that I enjoyed Georg''s cooking, or any of the rest of it. Even when they''re the right choices, I didn''t get a say in it¡­ I didn''t choose¡­ this," she said, throwing up a hand helplessly.


    "Eat your vegetables," Thane said with an understanding look. "Wash behind your ears. Don''t spoil your dinner by sneaking rolls from the kitchen¡­It feels like we''re treating you like a child doesn''t it?" he asked gently.


    "I''ve been thinking," Thane continued when he saw her nod. "I was remembering how hard it was for me to adjust after I became a vampire."


    "I accidentally crushed things because I didn''t know my own strength. I even ran into a wall getting out of bed because I moved too quickly," he said with a self deprecating chuckle.


    "All of these things were hard for me, so I thought I''d help you the same way I helped Marcell when he became a vampire. I didn''t think about the fact that you''re different from us," he sighed. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I can''t stop the changes that you''ll go through, but let''s start over on what we''re going to do about it. I''ll explain the concerns I have, then you can tell me how you think we should address it. It may not always be a good idea but I can at least explain why and if there''s no harm in trying, you''re welcome to prove me wrong."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, wiping the tears away on the billowy sleeves of her tunic. "I know I''m young compared to all of you but you''re right, I was starting to feel like I was being treated like a child. Mistress even apologized to me with sweets," she said with a laugh.


    "Sir Thane, I promise to be a good student. I just need to be able to make some choices for myself as we go."


    "You don''t need to call me ''sir,''" Thane said, shaking his head. "You don''t need a tutor, you need a big brother. I''m sorry if it''s rude, but¡­ my little sister is long gone and I know you''ve been torn away from your family too. So, if you want, you can lean on me instead."


    "I''d like that," Ashlynn said, sliding across the stone ground to sit next to Thane and leaning on his shoulder. "I''d like that a lot," she whispered.

 Chapter 15 - 15: Little Things

    For the next hour, Ashlynn poured out her grievances. Not about her treatment at the castle but about Owain, her work to prepare for the wedding, the way he dismissed her interests in letters¡­ All of the things that had burdened her heart she spilled like wine from a broken bottle, soaking the shoulder of Thane''s tunic in the process.


    "I''m sorry," she finally said when she felt like she''d vented out even her pettiest of grievances. "Thank you for listening."


    "Feels better, doesn''t it?" Thane said with a slight smile. "You might not have died, but you came close enough. I don''t know anyone who has died that didn''t have a belly full of unspoken grievances they needed to vent out after dying."


    "So, what now?" Ashlynn said, smiling along with Thane. She''d grown up on stories of vengeful ghosts with grievances but now it seemed that she''d become one herself. Having company who understood though, it wasn''t as bad as she''d have thought.


    "I''ve wasted so much of the night," she apologized. "It will be sunrise in a few hours and you''ll need to rest for the day."


    "Listen to an explanation and then we can plan a solution," Thane said simply. "Tonight we plan and tomorrow we start to take action, though perhaps you could stay up for a few hours after dawn to get a few things done. It''s up to you really."


    "You''re in control," he said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.


    "All right," she said, blotting away the tear streaks on her face. "Start with your explanation."


    "Originally, I thought we should decide how you would fight and then determine how to bring out your strengths to suit that fighting style. Now, we''ll go about it the opposite way," he began. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The key to developing your powers over the next month is to push yourself beyond your current limits again and again. A thousand years ago, vampires were shaped by their circumstances. Vampires who were relentlessly pursued by hunters after becoming a vampire developed speed, endurance and skills at hiding."


    "So if the circumstances were different, their powers developed differently?" Ashlyn said. "Then a vampire who was confined might develop the strength to break free of their shackles, or one who was kept in darkness would develop better sight at night?"


    "Exactly so," Thane said, ruffling her hair affectionately. The more time he spent talking to her, the more he felt that she resembled his sister in some ways. Not enough to ever mistake her as his lost sibling, but enough to be more relaxed around her.


    "Now, we''re more deliberate when a person becomes a vampire. I mentioned Marcell earlier. He works as one of Mistress Nyrielle''s scouts and spies. We worked hard to train his speed and agility and helped him develop his senses as well. Now, he''s deadly with a bow or a pair of knives and he comes and goes like the wind."


    "You mentioned the next month," Ashlynn said. "Is there a time limit?"


    "Yes and no. We never stop growing, but like human children, the way we develop early in life shapes how we can grow later in life. At the next new moon, any areas where you haven''t developed at all will become much more difficult to develop. If you don''t train your strength between now and the new moon, you may never wield a Darksteel blade."


    "The new moon after that ends your period of rapid growth. After that, its slow gains over the decades and centuries."


    "That''s why you were in such a hurry to push me," Ashlynn said, finally understanding. "You don''t want me to miss out on any of my growing period."


    "Now you get it. So little sprout," he said warmly. "Where will we plant you to flourish? You have limited time, it''s impossible to improve everything, but we can work to make sure you don''t lose any opportunities."


    "If I said I wanted to become strong enough to wield that giant sword, what would you have done with me?" Ashlynn asked. She didn''t truly intend to master such a massive weapon, but just lifting it felt so impossible that she wondered how Thane would have helped her to make it possible.


    "Do you see the stacks of iron balls along that wall," he said, pointing at several lumps of iron that ranged from the size of a hen''s egg to the size of a small melon. "There are a variety of uses for them. Holding them in your hands with your arms stretched out until your arms feel limp and then doing it again with heavier ones. Throwing them at targets and working up in weight and distance and so on."


    "It isn''t very interesting but actual fighting lessons wouldn''t begin until after your blossoming period. The important thing is the pushing," he emphasized. "Your body will recover quickly and each time you hit your limits you''ll recover to be stronger than you were before."


    "You''re right," she replied, nodding along with his explanation. "You''ve refined the process into an organized system of strengthening and reinforcing. It must have taken hundreds of years to refine things so well but when you live for hundreds of years, one person can develop much more knowledge without needing to find a successor to carry on their research. It''s, it''s really impressive," she said softly.


    "So, do you really want to wield that big sword?"


    "Maybe not that big," Ashlynn said, her face heating as she remembered the look on his face when she dropped the sword. "But when I kill Owain, I want to do it with my own hands," she said fiercely. "And if he''s wearing armor, I want the strength to cleave through it."


    "I can help you with that. What else?"


    "It doesn''t matter what I do so long as I exhaust myself and push past my limits, right?" Seeing Thane''s nod, she continued. "Then I want to spend some time training with Georg in the kitchens."


    "You, you what?" Thane said, blinking in disbelief at her suggestion. "Why?"


    "Because Georg has a delicate touch and makes amazing food," she said. "To do that, his senses of touch and taste must be extraordinary. His precision and small movements should be very refined."


    "A kitchen is full of all manner of sights and smells. Sounds too. One of the cooks at home could tell if the oil was too hot by listening to the sound it made when he put food in the oil."


    "So you want to use time in the kitchens to train your senses," Thane said. "It''s unusual but I don''t see why it would hurt to try. That isn''t the only reason though, is it?"


    "I want to choose what I eat," she said. "I know it seems very small, but I want to have a hand in at least some parts of my life."


    Hearing the resolution in her voice, Thane reached up and gently stroked her pale blond hair before giving her shoulder another squeeze.


    "Then how about I add some endurance training tomorrow. We''ll go on a very long walk. You haven''t been into the town yet," he pointed out. "You want to choose what to eat, you also want to choose what to wear. Muireann used to drag me all over the place to shop for things. By the end of the day, I felt like my legs were on fire and my arms ached from carrying everything."


    "So you want to do the same to me?" Ashlynn said in mock indignation. "Bully," she added, punching his muscular shoulder. "Will you help me redecorate my room too?"


    "As long as it isn''t too close to sunrise. Mistress gave you a room with a magnificent view but I prefer my chambers without windows."


    "It''s a deal then. Let''s go see Georg," she said, standing up and dusting herself off. "I hope he doesn''t mind me in his kitchen."


    "I think you''ll give the poor man a fright," Thane said, already imagining the panicked expression on the bear''s face. "But after that, I think he''ll be glad of your company."


    Above them, at a window overlooking the training yard, Nyrielle watched the pair leave the yard to put their plan into action.


    "You''re taking so many things from me Thane," she said softly. "But this is good too."


    "Zedya," Nyrielle called, turning to the second oldest among her progeny. "I have something to attend to for the next several days. See that I''m not disturbed. If Ashlynn asks after me, tell her that she''s free to do as she pleases as long as you or Thane approve."


    "And during the day, Mistress? We cannot watch over her while the sun is up."


    "Heila can tend to her," Nyrielle said, walking in the direction of her own chambers deep within the ancient castle. "But it''s better if you and Thane leave her too exhausted to do much during the day, just to be safe."


    "Your will, Mistress," Zedya said, dropping into a deep curtsey as her Mistress vanished into her chambers.

 Chapter 16 - 16: Witness

    While Ashlyn''s night in the vale came to a close with the rising of the sun, in the City of Lothian, early morning bells rang at the temple of the Holy Lord of Light.


    Grand spires, one oriented in each cardinal direction, rose high into the sky like sentinels guarding the central spire of the grand temple. Gold covered the top of each spire, shining in the early morning light as though the Holy Lord of Light himself had reached out to touch the temple.


    Originally built to secure an alliance between the Lothian family and the Church, the temple was more than just a place of worship and prayer. Occupying the highest hill in Lothian City, the temple complex was large enough to serve as a fortress if needed, and the outer walls that ringed the temple had been built with that need in mind.


    When it was originally built, the Church claimed that the temple would serve as a last bastion of hope should the city''s defenses fail against the demons. To the Lothians, however, it represented a powerful warning. Should the Lothians ever make an enemy of the Church, that enemy would possess a fortress and army within their own city walls.


    This morning, in the bailey within the walls of the temple, one hundred soldiers in gleaming coats of mail formed neat ranks on either side of the roadway leading to the temple. When the massive iron clad gates opened, all hundred men knelt, bowing their heads low.


    It could have been a welcoming honor guard for the Marquis or at least one of the Barons of the march, but at this temple, at dawn each day, the soldiers assembled to welcome a different sort of guest.


    Entering through the gates, dozens of the poorest and most destitute citizens of the City of Lothian shuffled onto the temple''s hallowed grounds. Some of them were old pensioners, soldiers from previous wars against the demons who had fallen on hard times.


    Others were travelers who had come from outlying villages just to visit the temple in the morning. Many of them hadn''t washed in days if not weeks and most of them moved with difficulty, whether from old wounds or recent illness.


    At the head of the soldiers, a tall handsome man wearing white and gold robes stood to receive the city''s needy. The man''s dark hair was cut short and neatly, eschewing the longer styles preferred by the nobility, and his brown eyes radiated a gentle warmth as he surveyed the approaching commoners.


    "Please, everyone, be welcome before the light of dawn and may the blessings of the Holy Lord of Light shine upon you," the man said, holding a gleaming golden staff up high to catch the early morning light and reflect it on the commoners.


    "Praise to the Holy Lord of Light and Lord Loman," several people in the crowd said.


    "Please, I have forsaken my worldly titles. Here, I''m just Brother Loman. Come," he said warmly, gesturing to the shuffling group of people. "Gentlemen may follow me, women may follow Sister Elsbeth by the gates," he explained, gesturing at a young girl in plain white robes who beckoned to the women in the group.


    "We have warm water for washing, hot food and medicine if anyone is sick," the young woman called. "Please, don''t be shy, all are welcome who seek the aid of the Holy Lord of Light."


    "Ya see?" One man said, tugging on the travel stained clothes of a companion from the outlying villages. "Ah tol ya, twas worth rising before da sun. Hot meal an a wash is what ya need."


    His companion attempted to speak, perhaps to agree or thank the other man, but broke off in a series of ragged, retching coughs before managing to croak out the word "medicine."


    "Yes," Loman said, taking the coughing man by the shoulders and helping him to walk. "We have medicine for the wet cough, and for the pains it brings. First a wash and then the healers will tend to you."


    The ritual seemed familiar to several of the people in the crowd but some still marveled as they were brought away to be fed, washed and prayed over by the Church.


    In truth, the practice was still new to the temple. Loman Lothian had made a number of suggestions over the years, and the High Priest had quickly come to value the results of listening to Loman''s ideas.


    The morning act of charity could be easily understood as a means to curry favor with the common folk if one was cynical, or it could be seen as a righteous duty if one was pious. To Loman, however, the morning ritual was about much, much more than tending to the poor.


    Tending to the poor, after all, didn''t require a hundred soldiers to present themselves as though receiving a dignitary every morning. Loman had explained that the soldiers were there for two reasons. First, to remind the holy guard that they served all people. They bowed their heads to the poor to remain humble. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Second, he wished to display the strength of the guard to the common people. When demons attacked, he wanted the people to believe that the Church was mighty enough to protect them.


    His reasons didn''t stop there, but just those things were enough to convince the High Priest to open the Church''s coffers and spend both time and money every day to tend to the poor, and that was the most important part to Loman.


    Near the end of the morning session, one man wearing a stained hooded cloak and an old, battered uniform from the Marquis'' army lingered, beckoning for Loman''s attention.


    "Soldier, can I help you?" Loman asked when he reached the man.


    "My Lord is looking well," the soldier said, briefly pulling back his hood to reveal a face much younger and in better health than Loman had expected to see. "My Lord, will you hear my confession?"


    "Sir Tommin? Why are you here," Loman whispered, placing an arm around the other man and guiding him to a smaller room within the temple itself. "And why have you come in disguise? The Holy Lord of Light asks us all to come openly into the light with truth in our hearts. This isn''t right," he said, his dark brows lowering as he frowned at his brother''s protector.


    "Lord Loman," the knight said, throwing back his hood before kneeling at Loman''s feet and bowing his head. "It is because the truth has been hidden that I had to come see you. Your brother accused his wife of witchcraft and murdered her on their wedding night. He commanded me to dispose of her body."


    "No," Loman whispered, dropping to his knees and grabbing the knight by the shoulders to look directly into his eyes as if hoping to see deception reflected there. "Say that again. You must tell me everything that happened."


    Tommin kept his story brief. He hadn''t seen Owain beat his wife to death, he''d only arrived after the deed was done. He also explained the struggle they had in burning her body during the storm and that he''d considered going back to complete the deed but lacked the freedom to do so.


    "I told his lordship that we should report the matter to the High Priest but he refused. He said there would be an inquisition. My Lord, I am not a perfect man," the knight said, lowering his head to the floor. "But I try to be a good man before the Holy Lord of Light. Please, tell me, what must I do?"


    Loman''s mind worked furiously as he looked at the knight bowing before him. Tommin was approaching forty and had been Owain''s personal guard for almost twenty years. Never once in all those years had he taken action against the man he''d sworn to defend even at the cost of his life.


    Now, however, the poor knight was torn between his duty to Owain and the Lothians and his faith and duty to the Holy Lord of Light. Loman couldn''t imagine the torment in the poor man''s heart in the days that had passed since the wedding. From his haggard look and weary eyes, clearly Tommin hadn''t rested comfortably since he returned from disposing of Ashlynn Blackwell''s body.


    "I understand why you came to me," Loman finally said, resting a hand on the man''s lowered head before helping him to stand. "Of everyone you could tell, I''m the only one who is both a man of the church and a Lothian. You''re hoping that I can find a way to help you serve both aren''t you?"


    "I''m ashamed to admit it but I''m afraid, My Lord," the knight said. "Your father knows what happened. He''s keeping everything quiet. They''ve dressed a young girl up to resemble the Blackwell woman to hide that the, the¡­"


    "Murder," Loman said. "She wasn''t tried or convicted of witchcraft. Only the Church can do that. If my brother did as you claimed and killed her in their bed chambers, then he committed murder."


    "A man may only take life on the fields of battle or honor, or in the defense of his life and family," Loman recited from the Church''s scriptures. "My brother should have brought her here for a trial."


    "Not just murder," Tommin said, his voice trembling. "Magnicide by the son of a Marquis. He killed a noblewoman. Even if he''s pardoned for it, he must be tried and he cannot be tried by his own father. But, if I speak out against him¡­"


    "I understand," Loman said, lowering his head. "I wish I could say that you have nothing to fear, my father is a just man. But he is also a practical man with all the failings that men who rule come to possess. I cannot promise that he would not kill a witness to protect my brother," he admitted, even though it pained him greatly.


    "I need to make arrangements," Loman said after thinking for a few moments. "Protecting you will not be easy. Come and see me again in two weeks. And Sir Tommin," Loman said. "Write down everything you remember about where you buried Lady Blackwell while the details are fresh in your mind."


    "Without a body to prove my brother''s crime," he said sternly. "You won''t be able to petition the king for justice."

 Chapter 17 - 17: Settling In

    Four days had passed since Ashlynn''s dinner with Nyrielle and in that time several things had changed in notable ways.


    Thane had been true to his word and the very next night he escorted her through the small town outside the castle walls. It was her first time leaving the castle since she arrived and her first time truly seeing the place where she''d been living.


    The innermost parts of the ancient fortress had been carved into the rock of a towering cliff by the first Eldritch Lord of the Vale of Mists, more than a thousand years before Nyrielle was born. Since then, the simple stone fortress had been expanded again and again until it extended outwards from the cliff face with five towers of different heights surrounded by an outer wall more than thirty feet high.


    To Ashlynn, the towers resembled the fingers of a hand, as though the cliff itself was reaching out to pull people into the deep tunnels where Nyrielle, Thane, and the other vampires made their homes.


    The castle was so deep in the Vale that the River Luath was little more than a stream running past the castle walls and through a small town that lay between the castle''s walls and a shorter outer wall.


    "I know that there isn''t much here compared to a city like Lothian or Blackwell," Thane said when he brought her into the small town. Low buildings lined both sides of the river, many of them constructed as shops with stout stone walls for the first story and a wooden framed home above topped by a thatched roof.


    "One thing that you won''t find in Lothian or Blackwell, however, is this," Thane said with a grin that revealed a hint of his fangs, taking her into a large communal building where several villagers had set up tables to barter and sell goods.


    "Before humans came, the Vale of Mists was one of the best places to begin a journey across the mountains. People used to trade all manner of things at a great bazaar here."


    "Now, the original town was burned to the ground by Caun Lothian but the tradition remains, even if there''s much less to trade," he said, walking over to one table attended to by a gray-furred woman from the Clan of the Great Claw.


    "Old Esme," Thane said warmly. "Where''s Peadar? Why is your son making you work when you should be taking your ease?"


    "Sir Thane, you shouldn''t be calling me ''old'' when you''re older than I am," the old woman teased. "Peadar is still waiting for the snow in the high passes to melt. In a month or two, we should have plenty of new silks and jewelry. I''m afraid I don''t have much to entice you with today."


    "It''s fine," Thane said, stepping aside and pulling Ashlynn forward. "Ashlynn is new to the vale and she''s never seen anything made across the mountains. I''m sure you''ll have something to catch her eye."


    The experience had been eye-opening for the young woman from Blackwell County. She was no stranger to the trade of exotic and foreign wares. Blackwell County traded extensively with nations across the sea and many strange and exotic goods flowed through their lands on their way further inland.


    This, however, was her first time seeing things made by the different Eldritch nations. While the selection of foreign-made goods was limited, she still returned home with a new sash and scarf of emerald green and a richer purple than she''d ever seen before.


    Elsewhere in the bazaar, she was able to purchase more practical skirts than the ones that had been provided for her along with tops that she wouldn''t require assistance from Heila to lace up. While the clothing that Nyrielle had selected for her was beautiful and even fashionable, it reflected the sensibilities of nobility who were accustomed to dressing with the help of servants.


    While Ashlynn was a noblewoman, to hide her mark, she''d never had the privilege of relying on someone to help her manage the intricate layers and array of laces that couldn''t easily be reached. Instead, she preferred more common garb that was comfortable to spend long hours wearing while she studied in the library.


    The rest of her life experienced subtle shifts as well. Georg not only welcomed her eagerly into the kitchens, he conspired with Thane to find ways to sharpen her senses while she worked alongside him in the kitchens.


    The pot-bellied bear took great delight in preparing dozens of delicate dishes, each one no more than two or three bites in size and then asking her to identify the ingredients or methods he''d used to prepare them.


    Under his watchful gaze, she found the dark and misty world of the vale becoming richer and more vibrant every day. It was as if she''d had cotton in her ears, gauze over her eyes and mittens on her hands for all her life and suddenly they were ripped away to reveal a more vivid world that she hadn''t fully experienced before.


    During the day, Heila helped her to explore the castle''s interior, showing her not only the multiple gardens and formal areas but the areas used by the soldiers who trained rigorously against the day when humanity decided to launch another of their periodic assaults on the people of the Vale.


    While powerful fighters like Thane and Nyrielle herself could have a substantial impact on the overall battle, it was impossible for the few powerful figures to be everywhere when the Lothians brought thousands of soldiers to assault the vale. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When that happened, the brave soldiers from the various Eldritch clans donned their armor and manned the walls in much the same way a human army would.


    The greatest treat for Ashlynn, however, was the discovery of the ancient keep''s library. Row upon row of shelves holding tomes dozens to hundreds of years old called to her like a siren luring sailors at sea. Her only frustration was that most of the books were written in Eldritch languages that she wasn''t able to read.


    "You can help me with that, right Heila?"


    "I''m sorry, My Lady," the horned woman said. "I don''t read much, only the most common words used to label things or write out important lists. I can help you find the books that you can read though, I''m sure there are several that you haven''t seen before. Maybe her ladyship can help you with the rest."


    Mention of Nyrielle pulled a brief pang of regret from Ashlynn''s heart. Even though she''d asked for the time apart, it was hard to forget the way they had parted after the tension-filled dinner.


    She still felt that she''d been right to ask for time apart and the progress she was making at adjusting to her new life seemed to support her decision.


    Of course, it wasn''t all wondrous. While helping with mundane tasks in the kitchen helped to rebuild her body in some ways, there was a limit to what she could achieve through normal activity.


    After two days of making adjustments to her life in the ancient castle, she returned to Thane''s training yard for four hours every night to build her strength, agility, and flexibility.


    "I have a sword in mind for you," he said one evening, showing her a curved and heavy bladed falchion. "Small enough to be worn on the hip and carried most places, large and heavy enough to pierce or cleave into an armored knight should you need to face Owain in battle. What do you think?"


    Reaching out for the darksteel weapon, Ashlynn still found it to be incredibly heavy but unlike the two-handed sword, she was able to lift it off the table and hold it upright as long as she used both hands.


    "You think I''ll become strong enough to wield this?"


    "I know you will," Thane said, taking the heavy weapon from her. Turning around, he swung the sword in an arc almost too fast for Ashlyn''s eyes to follow, cleaving through a target dummy wearing a full coat of mail as cleanly as Georg''s knives cut vegetables.


    "You''re stubborn like my sister was," he said, turning back to her and placing the sword in a leather scabbard before passing the heavy weapon over to her. "As long as you have a goal, you''ll do whatever you need to in order to make it happen."


    Like this, Ashlynn began to slowly adjust to her new life among the Eldritch. For four days, Nyrielle respected her request to be left alone, giving her the time and space she needed to adjust to her circumstances without confronting the complexities of their delicate relationship.


    Several times, Ashlynn felt the presence of the second heartbeat within her chest growing faint when Nyrielle left the ancient castle in the middle of the night. Logically, it shouldn''t have troubled her. Nyrielle was not only incredibly powerful, she was her own person, free to do as she pleased.


    Ashlynn was sure that there was a reason for the vampire to be leaving the vale every night, but when she became certain that Nyrielle was going far enough away to reach the nearest human settlements, she couldn''t help but feel anxious until she felt the other woman''s presence drawing closer again.


    As Thane had reminded her, vampires, even ones as powerful as Nyrielle, weren''t immortal. They could be killed, and in the frontier, virtually every village and town had at least one priest of the Holy Lord of Light. While the common knights might not be a threat to Nyrielle, any priest who could call upon their holy magic certainly would!


    It was those four days of increasing anxiety that made her relieved when, as the sun set on the fifth day, her door opened to reveal the alluring figure of the powerful vampire.


    "Ashlynn, my sweet," Nyrielle said, her voice carrying with it a hint of strain. "I need you to come with me tonight."

 Chapter 18 - 18: Just Watch

    "Ashlynn, my sweet, I need you to come with me tonight."


    When she heard the words, Ashlynn''s heart froze and her mind tumbled to a stop, the book she''d taken from the library slipping from her hands to land on the bed beside her.


    She''d been waiting to approach Nyrielle but still hadn''t resolved how she felt about the other woman. Her heart warmed when she thought of the tender caresses and whispered words of affection that Nyrielle had lavished on her only for her heart to plunge into her stomach whenever she recalled the cold, expressionless mask she''d seen too often on the vampire''s face.


    Now, however, Nyrielle was anything but expressionless. While she still possessed the tall, regal bearing that accentuated her slender frame, she lacked the elegance and refinement she''d possessed in all of Ashlynn''s previous encounters with her.


    A loose, puff-sleeved dress hung from Nyrielle''s delicate shoulders, the soft black fabric making her already pale skin look bone white. Dark tresses of hair flowed behind her without any decorative combs or hairpins and her waist lacked the familiar corset or even a waist cincher.


    She looked as though she''d dressed in a hurry and rushed to Ashlynn''s room as soon as the sun had set.


    Ashlynn''s heart quaked as she took in Nyrielle''s appearance and the look of strain on her face. Already, the vampire''s eyes had begun to glow with a faint midnight blue radiance that lured her into the dark, inky depths of her pupils.


    "All right," Ashlynn breathed, agreeing before she realized she was doing it.


    In the next moment, she returned to her senses, instantly wishing to protest but it was already too late. She wanted to resist, to tell Nyrielle to ask her first rather than instantly submitting but by the time the thought had fully formed, Nyrielle had slipped behind her and scooped her up off the bed like she was fetching her bride.


    "Where are you taking me?" Ashlynn asked as Nyrielle raced through the ancient castle, leaving the front gates in a blur and heading down one of the many trails leading through the forest of the vale. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Caoirigh village," Nyrielle said. "It''s their turn next. You don''t need to do anything, just watch."


    "Watch what? Why do you need me?"


    "I need you because I''m hungry," Nyrielle said, flashing along the trail faster than a horse could gallop. Trees whipped by in a blur and the wind of their passage frightened several birds and small rodents but Nyrielle didn''t seem to care as she pushed herself to reach the village faster.


    "This is your fault," the vampire said, briefly glancing at Ashlynn while she ran. "I should have been able to go another day without feeding," she continued, looking away from Ashlynn before the sight of her graceful, exposed neck could tempt her into stopping now.


    Nyrielle trembled as she ran, fighting to block out the sound of Ashlynn''s pulse in her ears, refusing to acknowledge the young woman''s tantalizing scent that blended rosewater and trepidation. Her lips parted revealing fangs that had grown longer but she bit her bottom lip and suppressed the hunger that threatened to overwhelm her mind like thick fog.


    It wasn''t only that she needed to slake her thirst sooner than she expected. When she woke this evening, the gnawing hunger that clawed at her mind surged with a strength she hadn''t experienced in years. It was as though she''d gone days beyond the point at which she should have eaten.


    Now, the hunger within her threatened to break free of her control. She dared not contemplate the carnage that would be left behind if that happened, particularly not when she was carrying Ashlynn in her arms, and so she put even more of her limited energy into rushing toward the village.


    "It''s because of our pact," Ashlynn realized. "All of the strength I''ve been gaining when I train with Thane, that''s coming from you, isn''t it?"


    "Your first lesson in sorcery. All energy must come from somewhere. Everything you do has a price that must be paid," she explained, trying to distract herself from the hunger. "This should be a temporary problem. It will pass in a few moons when you finish the blossoming of your power."


    "Do you," Ashlyn began, stopping short a moment later, afraid to give voice to the thought that had sprung unbidden to her mind. Once it had, however, she couldn''t rid herself of it and the increasingly pained look on Nyrielle''s face sent a shiver through her.


    "Do you need my blood?" she asked, turning to look away from Nyrielle, afraid to see her expression while at the same time offering up her slender neck.


    Before Ashlynn could second guess herself for making the offer, Nyrielle turned, stopping her dash through the forest to press a bewildered Ashlynn up against a nearby cedar tree. Their bodies, one flush with warmth and the other cold as the early spring air, pressed up against each other.


    With one hand, Nyrielle captured Ashlynn''s wrists, pinning them against the tree above her head. With the other hand, she cupped Ashlynn''s face, lifting ever so lightly until her midnight eyes stared directly into the young woman''s startled emerald gaze.


    For a moment, both women held perfectly still before Nyrielle moved, her lips pulling back to reveal elongated fangs as she lowered her head toward Ashlynn''s neck.


    Ashlynn screwed her eyes shut, telling herself over and over again that she had offered this, had asked for this. She had no right to be afraid now, no right to regret even if it had been a careless offer.


    Yet, no matter how much she told herself that she had accepted it, her body screamed at her to run, flee, escape in any way she could from the predator about to devour her.


    "Don''t tempt me," Nyrielle breathed, her lips brushing against Ashlynn''s neck. Her tongue flicked out, tracing along the tender flesh of the other woman''s neck, feeling her pulse quickening as she savored her taste.


    "I told you," she breathed. "Tonight, just watch."

 Chapter 19 - 19: Caoirigh Village

    "I told you," the vampire whispered, her lips inches from Ashlynn''s ear. "Tonight, just watch."


    A heartbeat later Nyrielle had scooped Ashlyn up in her arms again, racing along the trail to reach Caoirigh village before she completely lost control of her hunger.


    A few minutes later, once Ashlynn had managed to calm her racing heart, they arrived at a small village surrounded by terraced hills covered by grape vines.


    Despite how flustered she felt after nearly becoming Nyrielle''s meal, it took only a moment for Ashlynn to recognize the village from the painting on the dining room walls.


    Rough wooden huts with thatched roofs dotted the hilly landscape with winding dirt paths snaking their way from hut to hut. Torches burned at every doorway, casting a warm flickering light over the village and blending the smell of woodsmoke with the faint mist that hung in the air throughout the vale.


    Small garden plots stood next to most of the huts and several chickens wandered through yards, clucking softly and pecking away the ground. At a glance, she also thought the village looked larger than it had been when it was painted with several additional huts and a new covered well that wasn''t in the painting she had seen.


    For a moment, the village struck Ashlynn as strange or incomplete. Behind small fences, she noticed several children, held back by mothers or fathers so they didn''t run out of their yards, but that was normal for any village receiving a visit from their liege lord.


    It wasn''t until they''d reached the wooden wall surrounding the village that she realized why it felt incomplete. Though the huts were of a similar size to what she might see in a human village, the families of the Horned Clan were much larger than human families. Only their small stature allowed them to have a third again as many people in this village as you would have found in a human village of this size.


    But no human village of more than a few hundred people and certainly not one of this size, would lack a shrine or small temple dedicated to the Holy Lord of Light. Yet here, not only was there no temple to the familiar human deity, it seemed like they had no temple or shrine at all.


    Any additional observations she might have made were interrupted when Thane strode out from the gate in the village''s wooden wall, taking from Nyrielle''s arms and helping her to regain her footing after Nyrielle''s hasty sprint through the forest.


    "I''ve told Village Elder Rauiri," Thane said, taking Ashlynn''s hand in his own and leading the way into the village. "He was honored to offer an additional villager to slake your thirst. I asked for one of the village guards to go first," he added. "Just in case." S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you, Thane," Nyrielle said, composing herself as best she could as she moved toward the center of the small hillside village. "Elder Rauiri," she said a moment later, greeting the stoop-shouldered man with large curled ram''s horns and a scraggly gray beard who stood at the front of a small group of villagers.


    "Thank you for accommodating me. Who is making the offering today?"


    "Hanno," the horned elder called, waving forward a sturdy young man with dark hair, a close-cropped dark beard, and heavy-looking curled horns. "Hanno defended the village six nights out of seven through the entire winter. He slew a mountain lion that tried to claim the life of a lost child and rescued the lost lamb before harm could come to her. He deserves this honor."


    "Hanno," Nyrielle said, kneeling down to better match the short warrior''s height and calling him over. "This is your first time as an offering, you were too young before. Have you prepared yourself?"


    "My life is yours, my Lady," he said hoarsely. He''d seen the Eldritch Lady of the Vale when she visited before. He''d even witnessed others in the village serving as the offering but this was the first time he''d come so close to her.


    "You will feel pleasure," Nyrielle whispered in his ear, placing a hand on his chest directly over his heart to feel his pulse race beneath her fingertips. "If the pleasure becomes pain, you must cry out," she said forcefully. "If you do not, I may harm you."


    "Our lives are free and happy because of you, my Lady," Hanno said. "Even if there is pain, I will not cry out," he added, puffing his chest up beneath Nyrielle''s hand.


    "Hanno!" Elder Rauiri snapped, racing forward and pulling the young warrior back from Nyrielle. "Forgive him, my Lady, he must not understand," he said bowing deeply before he rounded on the young warrior, slamming his horns against the other man''s skull, splitting his forehead, and sending him sprawling to the ground.


    "Moritz is already prepared to step up when you reach your limit," the horned elder said, reaching down and dragging the young warrior back up to his feet. "Our Lady called for two! That means she has weakened herself, using her powers to fight our enemies. If you do not cry out, she may claim your life."


    "If you cannot promise then you cannot be an offering," the elder said fiercely. "You are not being brave. Your death would pain her because she doesn''t wish to claim your life. If she needed a life to be offered, she would have taken mine or another who is close to death. Now, promise me or I will find another to take your place."


    "I, I apologize," Hanno said, trembling before the elder''s fury. He had been told, of course. His father often repeated the tale of the time that Lady Nyrielle reached their village wounded from battle and his grandfather offered up his life to aid her recovery.


    The whole family had been proud of that sacrifice, but it was precisely because it happened so rarely that it was so notable. What he had just done cheapened his great grandfather''s sacrifice and worse, insulted their Eldritch Lady.


    "I will cry out," he promised, lowering his horns in submission.


    "Good," Nyrielle said, moving swiftly and grabbing a fistful of his tunic to lift him off the ground. The delay was straining her limits and the scent of blood from the wound on Hanno''s forehead had only made matters worse.


    "See that you do," she whispered before plunging her fangs into his neck and drinking deeply¡­.

 Chapter 20 - 20: Offerings

    "What''s going on," Ashlynn whispered to Thane, clutching his arm when she saw the bearded elder headbutt the young man called Hanno. "Why is the elder so mad?"


    "Because Hanno offered his life when our Mistress didn''t ask for it. It''s complicated."


    "Then teach me ''big brother,''" Ashlynn said, pinching his arm. "I offered myself on the way here. She, she nearly took me, but she didn''t. She said that tonight I should just watch. So what is it that I''m watching? I need to understand."


    While she spoke, Nyrielle grabbed the young warrior, lifting him to her lips and sinking her fangs into his neck, spilling only a trace of blood down the man''s neck. The moment her fangs pierced his skin, his eyes screwed shut and his body tensed before relaxing the next moment as though he''d been enveloped in a soft and comforting embrace.


    "Mistress visits each village in the vale four times a year to receive an offering," Thane explained. "Think of it like a tax paid by the villagers to their liege lord. To be selected is an honor and many villages hold competitions to choose the person to make an offering."


    "So this Hanno was chosen for his accomplishments during the winter. But what was the bit about pain? Isn''t it noble to endure pain to sustain your liege lord?"


    "No," Thane said, shaking his head. "When we partake of a person''s lifeblood, the experience is deeply pleasurable, at least at first. As long as our will is stronger than the will of the other person they will lose their ability to struggle, like you can see now," he added, pointing at the limp figure of Hanno as the horned man dangled in Nyrielle''s grip.


    "If we drink too deeply, it will threaten a person''s life. No matter how weak their will is, everyone possesses a strong instinctual drive to survive. When we take too much, the pleasure ends, replaced by an agonizing pain, like fire spreading through the veins while being stung by thousands of bees. The pain shocks the person awake, breaking them free of our grasp and giving them the strength to fight for their lives."


    "You, you sound like you know that pain," Ashlynn said, looking at Thane''s face only to find that his gaze had never left Nyrielle and Hanno, watching calmly despite the earlier drama.


    "Mistress told you how we''re made, didn''t she? Each of her progeny has experienced the pain of being drained to the very last drop of our life''s blood before she bestows her blood upon us. If we cannot overcome that pain and submit, the process will fail and instead of being reborn as a vampire we would have died."


    "Look," Thane said, pointing at Hanno. The horned man''s face which had been slack with pleasure was now tensed, contorting itself into a mask of pain. His hands clenched, turning into tight fists, his nails piercing his own flesh but drawing no blood. "He should cry out now so that Mistress knows to stop."


    "Can''t she sense that he''s starting to struggle? Why does he need to cry out?"


    "Normally, perhaps, but not when she''s this hungry," Thane said. "That''s why she warned them and why the elder disciplined him."


    "Then, why isn''t Hanno doing anything?" Ashlyn asked, raising up on her toes and clutching at Thane''s arm.


    "He should be," Thane said, frowning at the young man who had bitten his lip to prevent himself from crying out.


    "Do you think he''s trying to become like you?" Ashlynn asked. "Trying to last until the last drop of life is drained away so that she can turn him into a vampire?"


    "He hasn''t earned that," Thane said, his scowl deepening. "Why would he think that she would save him from such a foolish thing?"


    "Because young people do stupid things when they''re smitten," Ashlynn said, thinking of how she''d felt the first time she saw Owain looking handsome and regal atop his horse when he arrived at Blackwell Manner.


    She''d filled her head with hopes and dreams of a life that would never have come to pass even if she didn''t have the mark of the witch because she was too dazzled by the image of Owain in her mind to notice the reality of the man before her.


    "Why isn''t anyone stopping her? If he dies, she won''t turn him into a vampire, will she?"


    "No, if he dies then it''s his own fault," Thane said coldly. "And no one is stopping her because no one has the right to interfere with her. Everyone in the vale is her subject to do with as she pleases."


    "But she doesn''t want to kill him," Ashlynn insisted. "They prepared someone else for her so she wouldn''t kill him, didn''t they?"


    "It doesn''t matter. It''s up to Hanno to either give up his foolishness or die for it."


    As much as she wanted to, Ashlynn couldn''t understand. Maybe she understood the villagers, at least a little bit. Defying your liege lord was a terrifying thing and most common folk wouldn''t dare to speak out against a lord as powerful as Nyrielle.


    What she didn''t understand was why Thane wasn''t doing anything. If the villagers could be excused because they feared her, surely one of her own progeny was close enough to her to speak out yet he did nothing. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, it isn''t," she said, letting go of Thane''s arm and racing across the soft earth toward Nyrielle and the horned man trembling in her grasp.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said loudly, reaching out and grabbing hold of Nyrielle''s arm. "You''re hurting him! Let him go!"


    The moment Ashlynn spoke, Nyrielle withdrew her fangs, licking her lips delicately and removing the trace of blood from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes which had become inky pools of midnight blue slowly returned to normal and her expression returned to the placid, mask-like countenance that so often infuriated Ashlynn.


    "You didn''t cry out," Nyrielle said coldly, extending her arm and holding. "Why?"


    "My. Life," Hanno struggled to say. "Yours. Forever."


    "You stopped me from killing him," Nyrielle said, turning her gaze away from Hanno and searching Ashlynn''s eyes for a trace of fear. When she looked, however, she only saw determination reflected back at her. "Why?"


    "Mistress Nyrielle wished for this man to live," Ashlynn said, stepping back and dropping into a low curtsy the way her mother had once taught her to when speaking to senior nobles. "If Mistress Nyrielle wishes for him to live, how can he be allowed to die?"


    "I see," Nyrielle said, a smile blossoming on her face. "Then, since I wish for him to live and you have saved his life, I should offer his life to you. What would you do with it?"


    Ashlynn turned her gaze away from Nyrielle, looking closely at Hanno''s drained and defeated expression. Whatever strength he''d possessed to resist the pain of Nyrielle''s bite had left him, leaving him looking pale, sickly, and withered in her grasp.


    "Can he recover?"


    "If tended to, he can recover by winter," Nyrielle promised.


    "He tried to force your hand, defying your will," Ashlynn said slowly, recalling the occasions she''d seen her father hold court and pronounce judgment. "You can offer me his life but if I take him into my service then I''ve rewarded him rather than punishing him."


    "Then what will you do with his life?" Nyrielle asked.


    All around them, from the village elder to the youngest children, everyone seemed to hold their breath, leaning forward and waiting for Ashlynn to pronounce judgment. Aside from the village elder and a few others, no one had been told about this young woman who accompanied their Lady but she seemed close enough to call Lady Nyrielle''s name directly without being punished. That alone made her an extraordinary figure in their eyes.


    Now, everyone turned their attention to Ashlynn, waiting for her decision.


    "Since he wishes to die for Mistress Nyrielle, he can be permitted to do so," Ashlynn said formally after thinking for several moments. "Thane," she said, turning to face the vampire who had helped her to find her way in the vale.


    "Some soldiers are lucky to defend their own homes where they can be close to their families," she said. "But other soldiers are assigned to the most dangerous places, unable to see their loved ones while they risk their lives in their lord''s service."


    "Is there such a place where he could be sent after he recovers?"


    "There is," Thane said, a warm smile forming on his face as he nodded at Ashlynn''s choice. "Since Mistress feels that he will need until the winter to recover, we can take him to the castle to heal, keeping him from the comfort of his family until he is ready to serve elsewhere."


    "Mistress," he said, raising an eyebrow and looking at Nyrielle. "Is that acceptable?"


    "I''ve already given his life to my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, dropping Hanno''s limp figure to help Ashlynn get up from her curtsey. "Since it''s the will of the woman I chose as my Seneschal, see that it''s done."


    "Now, await me, darling," Nyrielle whispered into Ashlynn''s ear. Now that she''d fed on Hanno, her voice was no longer strained and she seemed to have regained much of her strength. "I still have one other to savor before I can dine with you tonight."


    "You won''t refuse my company tonight, will you?"

 Chapter 21 - 21: Walking in the Dark

    Thankfully, things went smoothly with the second offering from the village. Nyrielle stopped herself before the young woman showed any discomfort and they left soon after.


    "Will you walk back with me?" Nyrielle asked. "Or Thane can walk you back if you prefer."


    "Hold my hand," Ashlynn said, looking down the dark trail to avoid meeting Nyrielle''s gaze.


    "Oh? You want me to escort you through the forest like a knight escorting his lady?" Nyrielle teased.


    "I can''t see as well in the dark as you can yet," Ashlynn said. While her senses had improved over the past several days, she was still far short of Thane or Nyrielle''s ability to move freely through the dark.


    At the castle, where the mists of the vale were thin and there was a clear view of the night sky, she was confident in her ability to move about outside, even without torches. In the forest of the vale, however, the evening mists grew thicker and it was hard to see the sky through the branches, turning the forest into a maw of darkness, ready to devour her as soon as she left the lights of the village torches behind.


    "I''ll walk back with you, but you have to help me," she said.


    "If my darling needs my help, then how can I refuse?" Nyrielle said, wrapping an arm around Ashlynn''s waist and pulling her close.


    Holding out a hand, Nyrielle''s eyes began to glow as she softly whispered a string of words in a language Ashlynn didn''t recognize. As she spoke, the mists swirled around her feet until three balls of mist began to glow like small lanterns, floating up and slowly circling around the two women.


    "Will these do?" Nyrielle asked.


    "It''s perfect," Ashlynn said, watching the drifting balls of glowing mist with wide eyes.


    The light produced by Nyrielle''s conjuration wasn''t bright enough to draw attention from other creatures that lived in the vale but gave off enough illumination to see the trail a few feet ahead, allowing her to avoid roots, stones or other hazards she might trip over in the dark of night.


    "Thane, tell Georg we''ll have dinner in an hour."


    "Of course, Mistress. My Lady," Thane said, turning to Ashlynn. "Do you have any requests for Georg?"


    "I still miss fish," Ashlynn said, thinking over the conversations she''d had with the cheerful cook the past few days. "If he managed to get the trout he mentioned yesterday, that would be wonderful, otherwise, he can surprise us."


    "I''ll be sure to tell him," Thane said with a smile, bowing to both women before he vanished into the darkness.


    "Here I thought I was sending you to him in order to study," Nyrielle teased. "I didn''t think you were the one training him," she said.


    Mist swirled around them as they walked, combining with the soft soil to dampen the sound of their footsteps in the darkness. Even the sounds of the village quickly faded away, enveloped by the blanket of fog.


    "It''s not training," Ashlynn said, her voice quieter than she intended as if to respect the stillness of the forest at night. "It''s just that I want to make some of my own decisions. Here, everything moves as you want it to, everyone does as you wish. They''ll even stand there while someone dies because they won''t defy your will," she said softly, thinking back on the scene at the village.


    "But you''ll defy me. You raced out to save that young man, while everyone else watched."


    "That''s not defying you," Ashlynn said, shaking her head. "That''s helping you do what you wanted to do at a time when you couldn''t. Besides, wasn''t it my fault you were so hungry? How could I let you kill that boy when you didn''t really want to."


    "If he died, it would have been his own fault. You understood what he was trying to do."


    "And you would have felt guilty about it," Ashlynn said, squeezing Nyrielle''s hand gently as they walked. "You would have remembered the boy who died because you were too hungry to stop himself."


    "You think I would blame you for that?" Nyrielle asked, pausing to look at Ashlynn''s face, worried she''d see more fear in the young woman''s eyes. Had she misunderstood her young Seneschal? Was it just self-preservation that caused her to act in the village?


    "No," Ashlynn said, pulling Nyrielle along as she continued to walk. "I''ve talked to people at the castle and in the town about you. And I remembered what you said about Georg and Heila''s families. You talked about how they''d served you for generations and you even knew all their names."


    Ashlynn paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself before she continued.


    "You''ve lost control of your hunger before, haven''t you? You''ve killed people you didn''t mean to. That''s why you wouldn''t touch me even when I offered myself to you on the way to the village," she said.


    "You also remember everyone. I don''t know what that feels like," she said, her voice growing softer. "But, if I asked you to, I''m sure that you could name everyone you killed that you didn''t mean to kill."


    "You''re kind," she said, stopping and turning to face the vampire, reaching out and cupping her cheek. "Even when your nature makes it hard for you to be. I didn''t want you to carry the hurt of another person''s death."


    "In just five days, you''ve come to know me so well?" Nyrielle said, leaning into Ashlynn''s tender touch.


    "I can feel you," Ashlynn whispered, her hand sliding down from the other woman''s cheek to rest on her chest, directly over the vampire''s heart, feeling it beat through the soft, velvet fabric of the other woman''s dress.


    "I can feel your heart beating in my own chest. I''m starting to understand, at least a little, how it feels when you''re worried, or angry. Or relieved because you didn''t hurt an innocent boy, even though it was his own fault."


    "And what does my heart feel like now?" Nyrielle asked. Gently, she wrapped both arms around the younger woman and pulled her close, her slender fingers tracing over the rougher fabric of the blouse Ashlynn bought for herself.


    Ashlynn''s breath caught as Nyrielle''s touch sent shivers down her spine. The vampire''s fingers left trails of tingling sensation even through the fabric of her blouse. She could feel the softness of Nyrielle''s velvet dress against her cheek, the subtle scent of lavender mingling with the earthy dampness of the forest.


    Nyrielle''s hands stopped at the hem of Ashlynn''s skirt and curled slightly as though she had to hold herself back from venturing further.


    Ashlynn trembled slightly when Nyrielle''s fingers stopped, feeling Nyrielle holding herself back from going further. Her own heart raced, its rhythm echoing the double beat she felt from Nyrielle.


    They''d come far enough away from the village that the warm torchlight no longer reached them. Darkness and the scent of damp earth enveloped them while thick mist swirled around their feet, cool tendrils caressing their ankles.


    The glowing orbs of mist cast a soft light across Nyrielle''s features, highlighting the sharp angles of her face and the depth of her midnight-blue eyes.


    The entire world fell away, leaving just the two of them, together in the darkness. Ashlynn could feel every point of contact between them - Nyrielle''s arms around her waist, her own hands resting on the vampire''s shoulders, their bodies pressed close in the cool night air. She could feel the rise and fall of Nyrielle''s chest and hear the beat of the vampire''s heart, matching the echo within her own chest.


    "You''re worried," Ashlynn whispered, closing her eyes and resting her head on Nyrielle''s chest. Just an hour ago, when Nyrielle had carried her, the other woman had been as cold as the night air, but now, flush with warmth after feeding, she felt just as warm as any living person should.


    "You''re worried about me."


    "You''ve been afraid of me," Nyrielle said softly, reaching up to gently stroke Ashlyn''s hair. "Tonight¡­"


    "Tonight you gave me a look at another side of you. A side I might be even more afraid of," Ashlynn said. "And I am afraid. But I''m not afraid that you''d ever choose to hurt me. You''re too kind for that. Even when I offered myself, you still wouldn''t take me because you might have hurt me." Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You put a lot of trust in me for five days," Nyrielle said. "Are you sure you know me well enough for that?"


    "No, not sure," Ashlynn answered, pulling back to meet the other woman''s midnight gaze. "But I want to trust you. Tonight, you helped me understand you better. You didn''t hide the frightening part of yourself, you showed it to me instead."


    The image of Nyrielle''s face, tormented by hunger as she pressed her up against a tree flickered through Ashlynn''s mind but she firmly pressed it down. Frightening as it had been, she reminded herself that despite the hunger, Nyrielle had still refused to harm her or place her in danger. If Nyrielle could fight off her hunger for her, then she could suppress her fear for Nyrielle.


    "So, tonight, I''ll stop hiding from you," Ashlynn said. "You said there were things you wanted to teach me," she added, tugging on Nyrielle''s hand and pulling her back onto the trail. "I think I''m ready to learn."

 Chapter 22 - 22: Witchcraft and Sorcery

    "Do we really need to use such a large and formal dining room for the two of us?" Ashlynn asked when they returned to the ancient castle for dinner.


    After the intense moment they shared in the forest, both women pulled back, perhaps realizing that they were approaching a point neither of them was ready to cross. While they didn''t pull apart completely, the two women spent the remainder of their walk through the forest enjoying companionable quiet, holding each other''s hands as they navigated the dark and winding trail.


    "Where would you prefer to dine?" Nyrielle asked, taking her seat at the head of the table. "I don''t think it would be kind to Georg if I tried to take a meal at the small table in his kitchen."


    "I was actually thinking of the gardens in the east wing," Ashlynn said. "The days are growing warmer. The primroses should be blooming soon. Wouldn''t it be nice to have a meal under the moonlight?"


    "We can try if you like," Nyrielle said, smiling. As long as Ashlynn was willing to spend time with her, she was willing to do much more than moving dinner into the garden. "But the rainy season won''t end for another three months. Do you mind if it rains on our meal?"


    "My terrace then," Ashlynn countered, her face heating slightly. She still hadn''t sorted out where Nyrielle fit into her notions of propriety and good manners. They weren''t married but they were bound even more intimately than a married couple ever could be. Nyrielle wasn''t a gentleman but she frequently treated Ashlynn like a lover.


    An unmarried woman would never dream of doing something so forward as inviting a gentleman to take a moonlight dinner on her bedroom terrace. Inviting another lady wasn''t scandalous but it was very intimate.


    But could Ashlynn really consider herself an unmarried woman anymore? She still didn''t know. Her relationship with Nyrielle didn''t fit into any of the neat boxes she''d been taught growing up so she had to figure it out as she went. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I''d like that," Nyrielle said, reaching out and giving Ashlynn''s hand a gentle squeeze while servants brought in the first of the dishes Georg had prepared for them this evening.


    Knowing that Nyrielle had visited one of the villages to feed, Georg had prepared a delicate salad of pickled vegetables and sweet beets that the vampire preferred in order to cleanse her palette from the metallic taste of her actual meal in the village.


    "Since we''ll be on your terrace," Nyrielle said between delicate bites. "I can begin your lessons in sorcery. It''s important that you get some practice during the blossoming of our bond. I may not be able to help you learn witchcraft but it should at least give you a place to begin exploring the powers you were born with."


    "What''s the difference between sorcery and witchcraft?" Ashlyn asked, pushing the beats around her plate until they formed a small pile away from the rest of the tender pickled vegetables.


    "Sorcery uses your own life''s energy to affect the world around you," Nyrielle said. "You have to be careful not to overdraw yourself with sorcery or you can cause yourself significant harm. If you keep within your limits, however, it''s no different from exerting your muscles. You''ll grow tired, but you will not harm your life."


    "Sorcery can be learned by anyone with a little bit of talent and study. That''s why your church hates it so much," she added. "They''re afraid of the common people coming to possess the power to create their own miracles."


    "Witchcraft is the power you were born to and it''s a rare gift," Nyrielle continued, setting down her utensils and ringing the bell for the next course when she realized how little Ashlynn was enjoying the first one.


    Admittedly, the salad was an old recipe that she''d grown up with. It was one of the few things that Georg wasn''t allowed to change no matter how much he felt like he could improve it. If Ashlynn didn''t enjoy it, she''d just have to tell Georg to prepare something else instead, but she wasn''t about to remove it from the menu.


    "So, only people who possess the mark of the witch can learn witchcraft?" Ashlynn asked, sipping the cool, crisp white wine that Georg had sent along with the salad.


    "Not exactly," Nyrielle corrected, pausing when Georg himself entered to present a delicate filet of trout in a rich, buttery herb sauce. "Something new?"


    "Something Lady Ashlynn described from her home. I hope you enjoy it," he said, bowing deeply before retreating to a corner of the room, shifting nervously from foot to foot as he watched for their reactions.


    "I miss the taste of the sea," Ashlynn said. "Growing up, it was normal to have fish in at least one course. Soup, stew, shrimp on salads or a bowl full of muscles, there was always something fresh from the sea."


    Slowly, cutting a small piece of the flakey fish, Ashlynn took a delicate nibble, closing her eyes and savoring the buttery richness of the sauce along with the firm, succulent texture of the fish. It was different than what she had at home, Georg used different herbs in his butter sauce and the fish itself was different but it was delightful in its own ways and it felt like she''d grabbed hold of one of the things she thought she lost after leaving Blackwell county.


    "Thank you, Georg," she said. "It''s wonderful."


    "I''ll have a new soup for you to try tomorrow," the pot-bellied man added, a toothy grin blossoming on his face as he rubbed his paws together in excitement. He''d cooked for Nyrielle for most of his life. By this time, he knew her tastes well.


    Cooking for Ashlynn, however, opened up so many opportunities for him to explore, and her own presence in the kitchens had turned into an unexpected delight. As to Nyrielle''s impression of the new dish, he only needed a single glance at the gentle expression on her face when his Lady saw Ashlynn''s delight to know that she would be happy with it as long as Ashlynn was.


    "So, you were saying that the mark isn''t necessary to learn witchcraft?" Ashlynn asked, returning to their previous conversation after Georg excused himself.


    "The mark is a manifestation of your connection to the earth," Nyrielle said. "The stronger the connection, the more likely it is to manifest in a mark like yours. There are some people, commonly called ''hedge witches'' and sometimes ''hearth witches'' who have very minor talents in witchcraft."


    "You, however, are a Child of the Earth. The power you can wield is many times greater than what those humble witches can. You see" she said, retrieving the bottle of wine. "Sorcery uses the energy of a person''s own life. Like the little bit of wine in my goblet, you only have so much," she explained.


    "But witchcraft can call upon the energy of all living things," she said, pouring more wine into her goblet, filling it until it began to overflow. "The limits are as vast as your reach and your ability to shape the energy that you can gather."


    "The earth chose you," Nyrielle finished, setting down the bottle and looking deeply into Ashlynn''s emerald eyes. "Some Earth Mothers claim that they are chosen to defend the earth. Some believe that you are like the fruit of a mythic tree, able to spread new seeds of life and magic wherever you go."


    "When the snow in the passes finishes melting, I will take you across the mountains to meet with an Earth Mother," Nyrielle promised. "Until then, we can start with sorcery."


    For perhaps the first time in her life since she learned about the mark of the witch, Ashlynn felt her heart quiver in excitement about her unique gift. Far from the unholy terror the Church spoke of, the way Nyrielle described it, witchcraft was as natural and wondrous as a flower blooming among the thorns.


    She was certain there were dangers ahead. If there weren''t, it didn''t make sense for the Church to fear it so much. But, thinking of the Ancient Oak tree that helped to heal her the night she became Nyrielle''s, Ashlynn felt that there was far more beauty and wonder ahead of her than danger.

 Chapter 23 - 23: Intimate Magic

    Ashlynn''s lessons didn''t begin until the following evening when Nyrielle joined her for a simple meal on the terrace, overlooking the misty vale and the River Luath. A crescent moon hung overhead and the cool night air made Ashlynn grateful for the warm fur-trimmed cloak in her closet.


    The cold might not bother Nyrielle who wore one of her elegant black dresses, but Ashlynn had yet to find a way to ignore the chill.


    "I''ve prepared a book for you," Nyrielle said, opening a leather satchel filled with supplies and withdrawing a slender leather notebook that looked freshly made. "I considered translating one of the classic texts in the library for you, but I thought it would be better to write something just for you."


    "You wrote this just for me? In a single night?" Her fingers traced over the soft leather cover before opening the notebook and flipping through pages of delicate, flowing script and clearly drawn diagrams.


    "Not a single night," Nyrielle said, smiling at the look of wonder she saw blossoming on the other woman''s face. "A few nights. I was just waiting for you to be ready."


    "So, where do we begin," Ashlynn asked, setting the book down and giving Nyrielle her full attention.


    "Sorcery requires three things," Nyrielle began, her expression becoming serious. "The first is energy. I mentioned this the other night, that sorcery uses the energy of your own body, but the more you practice, the more energy you''ll be able to hold and the more energy you''ll be able to release at once."


    Seeing Ashlynn draw breath to ask a question, the vampire placed a finger gently on the young woman''s lips. "Basics first, questions later."


    "Energy is the easiest to understand," she said. "The next one is a little more abstract. All sorcery needs an anchor. An anchor can be anything but magic can''t just exist on its own or it will dissipate."


    "Yesterday, when I created lights for us, I used the mist of the vale as an anchor, attaching my energy to the mist. If I tried to create a light made of pure energy, it would have lasted for a moment and then faded away. Mist is fine for a temporary anchor, but if you want to create a lasting enchantment you need to use a sturdier anchor."


    Reaching back into the satchel, Nyrielle produced a polished crystal sphere the size of an apple and set it on the table. "We can use this for practice later."


    "The final thing you need is called ''The Shape of Will.'' You have to form a strong concept of what the magic will look like and do, giving your magic shape and enforcing your will upon it before it can take life."


    "Sorcery doesn''t need formal incantations or ritual circles," Nyrielle explained. "But those are tools that help us to shape our will. The words I spoke last night describe the swirl of mist, the color of the light, and the way they should follow us."


    "So, if I wanted to," Ashlynn said, unable to hold back from asking a question. "I could design my own sorcery. My own incantations or rituals, as long as they helped me to shape my will?"


    "Exactly," Nyrielle said with a smile. "That''s why I wrote you a simple guide. It''s best, eventually, if you develop your own magic. What I gave you in that book are things to get started with. It will help you establish a foundation that you can build on."


    "At the same time, creating your own magic is dangerous," Nyrielle warned. "Remember what I said the other night. All magic has a cost and it must be paid. If you aren''t careful, you can accidentally create magic that has a higher cost than what you''re prepared to pay."


    "What happens then? Does the magic fail?"


    "Only if you lose control of your will," Nyrielle said. "More often, if a sorceress creates magic that requires too high of a price, the magic will drain her life until it succeeds or the sorceress dies in the attempt. You could age your body by years or decades while your magic feeds on you."


    "That, that sounds terrifying," Ashlynn said, imagining herself growing old and frail while a mystical storm of her own making raged around her, draining her very life away. The thought of it sent a chill down her spine and curbed her enthusiasm for rushing ahead.


    No wonder Nyrielle looked so serious when we started. Mistakes could be deadly.


    "Then, how do I begin?" Ashlynn asked, placing a hand gently back on the book. "Should I read this first?"


    "You begin by feeling energy," Nyrielle answered, moving to stand behind Ashlynn. Guiding her to stand, Nyrielle wrapped her arms around Ashlynn lifting her blouse and untucking it from the waistband of her skirt.


    "What are you¡­?" Ashlynn started, her pulse quickening as Nyrielles delicate fingers continued their work, lifting her shift and brushing her soft skin with the tip of a sharply pointed nail.


    "I''m going to guide you," Nyrielle breathed against her neck, her fangs brushing against Ashlynn''s tender flesh. "It''s better if there''s nothing between us," she added, suppressing the hunger that rose within, her breath catching as she forced herself to hold back, focusing on the cool energy within her instead of the warm woman in her embrace.


    "You can stop me if you wish," Nyrielle whispered. "I will protect you. No matter what, say the words and I will withdraw my magic and keep you safe from your own."


    "No," Ashlynn said with a gentle shake of her head. "Keep going." Her heart trembled as desires built within her. A desire for the power of sorcery swirled around the desires evoked by Nyrielle''s closeness, offering to fulfill all the promises that her arranged marriage never could.


    The mixture of desires was intoxicating, melting Ashlynn''s resistance to Nyrielle and leaving her wanting only one thing. More.


    Slowly, one cool hand slid higher along Ashlynn''s trim waist pulling a gasp from her pert lips as the hand came to rest over her sternum. The other hand tugged at the waistband of her skirt, pushing it down until Nyrielle''s palm lay across her navel and the tips of the vampire''s fingers brushed the mark of the witch on her hip. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Here," she whispered, her lips inches from Ashlynn''s ear, the scent of her lavender soap filling Ashlynn''s nose. "This is where you''ll find the energy you need. Close your eyes. Just feel."


    Slowly, a dark midnight blue flame spilled along Nyrielle''s arms, tracing its way over the dark satin of her gown before reaching the splayed fingers of her hands.


    "It''s cold," Ashlynn said, biting her lower lip at the sensations stirring within her. The feeling of something cool sank deeper into her chest and lower, like the caress of a cool breeze on damp skin raising goosebumps along the line that ran between her navel and her sternum.


    Her chest rose and fell against Nyrielle''s cool hand, her breathing becoming quicker and shallow as her heart beat faster. Within her chest, the echo of Nyrielle''s heartbeat pulsed faster, quivering with a combination of desire and hunger that stirred the vampire''s cool, mystical energy.


    "That''s my energy," Nyrielle said. "It''s cold because I''m not alive. But you are. I need your warmth, my darling. Your life. Feel the cold within you," she said, curling the fingers of the hand on Ashlynn''s sternum and tracing the tips of her fingernails along Ashlynn''s ribs.


    "Wrap your warmth around the cold."


    Slowly, Ashlynn brought her hands up, tracing them along Nyrielle''s soft satin sleeves until her hands rested over the vampire''s, pinning Nyrielle''s cool hands to her warm flesh. Gently, her fingers traced over the back of Nyrielle''s hands, working their way along her fingers until she reached her smooth, polished nails.


    Heat built with Ashlynn, starting lower than her navel and spreading upward, rising toward her chest like a growing tree, spreading its branches wide from the center of her chest. Her arms warmed and her palms grew slick as she imagined herself becoming a mighty tree that could shelter Nyrielle from a cold winter storm.


    More heat built within her core, flowing down her legs like the roots of a tree until her toes curled in her soft leather boots, like her toes needed to sink themselves into the soft soil of the vale of mists.


    Green flames enveloped her body, gently warming her like a warm summer breeze, dancing around the dark blue flames of Nyrielle''s energy, entwining each other but never blending, always just a thin line separating the two.


    "This is your power," Nyrielle said softly. "This is what you were born to. Now that we''ve raised your power to the surface," she whispered, her fangs brushing over the surface of Ashlynn''s neck, directly above the arteries carrying her heart''s blood and pulsing with their racing heartbeats.


    "It''s time to give your power shape," she said, speaking not just to Ashlynn, but to the deeply yearning energy swirling between them, building and building in intensity, crying out for release.

 Chapter 24 - 24: A Glimpse

    Ashlynn trembled in Nyrielle''s embrace, surrounded by vibrant green and midnight blue magical energy, every inch of her soft skin felt like it was being caressed by warm and cool breezes. It was as though she stood naked on the terrace even though she was still fully dressed.


    "It''s time to give your power shape," Nyrielle whispered, pulling Ashlynn''s mind away from her pure physical awareness of their intermingling magical energies and bringing her back to the lesson.


    "What do I do now," Ashlynn asked, her voice thick with desire as she struggled to regain her focus.


    "Interlace your fingers in mine," Nyrielle said, spreading her hands wide over Ashlynn''s body. "Draw all of that warmth into our hands," she said, bringing her fingers back together and trapping Ashlynn''s delicate digits between her own.


    "Use each breath you draw to gather a little bit more," Nyrielle suggested when Ashlynn seemed to struggle to direct the flow of energy. "Draw it all in first. Then tell it where to go."


    Slowly, starting from the tips of her toes, Ashlynn began to pull back the energy she''d raised. Still envisioning a great tree, she imagined herself raking leaves from around the roots of the tree, gathering up the energy and pulling it toward the center of her being.


    "That''s it," Nyrielle breathed. Shifting her position, she slowly drew upward with the hand that had slipped beneath Ashlynn''s skirt, following the flow of energy until all four of their hands rested just under the young witch''s full bust.


    "Now, grasp the energy you gathered there and bring it out with me."


    Moving slowly, patiently so as to not disturb Ashlynn''s delicate concentration, Nyrielle guided their hands out from under Ashlyn''s blouse, bringing them to rest on either side of the crystal sphere she''d produced at the beginning of the lesson.


    "Open your eyes," she whispered.


    Ashlynn''s lashes fluttered, her emerald eyes momentarily dazzled by the brilliant flickering green and blue glowing flames that swirled around her and Nyrielle''s hands. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw, for the first time, the manifestation of the power that had haunted her like a curse since birth.


    Far from being dark, wicked, or unholy as her parents and the Church had taught her, the gently flickering green flames were warm, soothing, and felt as natural to her as the cool spring air filling her lungs.


    Even Nyrielle''s darker, colder flames didn''t feel the least bit wicked. Instead, the midnight blue flames felt like the cold stillness of a winter''s night, full of potential slumbering beneath the snow.


    "Your first spell is only three words," Nyrielle said. "Start with the anchor, the crystal sphere, then express your intent. Like this."


    "Crystal. Blue. Radiance." With just those three words, the midnight blue energy that danced and intermingled with Ashlynn''s energy withdrew, flowing from their interlaced fingers into the crystal until it began to glow brightly, casting a pale blue light over the terrace.


    "Now it''s your turn. Imagine what you want to happen and then make it happen."


    With a deep breath to steady herself, Ashlynn took a moment to observe the glowing crystal and the light it cast, like a lantern with blue glass. That was what she wanted, something simple, practical, and most importantly, small enough to carry very little risk. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Crystal. Green. Radiance," she intoned, imagining the crystal''s light shifting from blue to green when her own energy entered it.


    The power she''d gathered surged within her, dancing along her fingertips like sparks from a flame as the energy flowed into the crystal, bringing a soft, green glow to the terrace.


    The next moment, however, the glow shifted, returning to blue, then green again as Nyrielle and Ashlynn''s energies resumed their dance, flowing around each other within the crystal but never blending.


    "Why is it doing that?" Ashlynn asked. "Did I do something wrong?"


    "No, nothing wrong," Nyrielle said, pulling their hands back and wrapping their arms around Ashlynn''s slender waist. "Our energies crave each other. They''re bound by our pact, seeking each other, unable to harm or extinguish the other but also separate, unable to blend together."


    Ashlynn blinked, carefully considering each of Nyrielle''s words. Everything had flowed so smoothly and naturally when the vampire guided her energy to this point but somehow, seeing their energies locked in a dance that kept them apart weighed on her like the tragedy of an unfulfillable promise.


    "Why can''t they blend," Ashlyn asked, turning in Nyrielle''s embrace to meet the vampire''s midnight gaze. Their magic felt so close, so intimate that she wasn''t sure when she asked whether she was really referring to their energies, or whether she meant something more. "What''s keeping them apart?"


    "There''s a barrier between all things, my darling," Nyrielle said, taking a hand to gently caress Ashlynn''s face, moving a lock of blond hair out of her way to gaze into the other woman''s emerald eyes. "Most sorcerers are like this, able to cooperate but unable to truly combine their powers. This is already a very good result."


    "You said most," Ashlynn said, turning to look back at their flickering, dancing magic. "But not us? Can''t we do more because of our bond?"


    "We can," Nyrielle said after hesitating for several moments. "But to do so requires piercing the veil that separates our energies. It''s not enough to rely on the blood that we exchanged when we formed the pact. At least, not right now."


    Ashlynn''s eyes flickered over Nyrielle''s impassive face, and for the first time, she didn''t mind the mask. Nyrielle''s voice was quiet, and restrained, and her face didn''t show a trace of emotion, as if she didn''t wish for her own desires to cloud Ashlynn''s decision.


    Standing in the other woman''s embrace, she could feel a slight tremble along Nyrielle''s arms, a twitch from a hand that longed to caress and return to the soft skin underneath her simple blouse. She could see the faintest hint of Nyrielle''s fangs protruding from her soft, slightly parted lips.


    "You fed last night," Ashlynn said, turning her head to rest it against Nyrielle''s chest, listening to the vampire''s steady heartbeat. "You''ll be able to control yourself tonight," she continued softly. "It, it wouldn''t be dangerous to me."


    "Nothing would please me more than to savor your taste, my dear," Nyrielle whispered, gently stroking the other woman''s hair and holding her head against her chest. "But do you want to see our combined magic so badly that you''d give me that taste?"


    "I''m already yours, aren''t I?" Ashlynn said, feeling the last of her lingering attachments to Owain crumble. It wasn''t truly Owain that she was attached to. It was the idea, the dream of a future together that she grieved more than anything.


    Even if it hadn''t been the idyllic future where she helped him to rule and was instead the future where she raised a family of loving children, it had been a future she understood and could see herself in.


    Ever since the moment she woke in the Vale of Mists, she''d struggled to imagine her future as Nyrielle''s Seneschal. She didn''t understand what it meant to be blood-bound to a vampire of her power or how her abilities as a witch figured into their delicate relationship.


    Now, it wasn''t their combined magic that she wanted a glimpse of. It was her own future that she wanted to see more clearly.


    "I want to know," Ashlynn said, pulling her head back to look at Nyrielle. "I want to know what it''s like to be really yours. To offer up my blood and power to you. To see a hint of what our future holds."


    "I see," Nyrielle said, her impassive mask falling away to reveal a warm smile in the cool green and blue light of their magic. "Then I won''t hold back."


    Gently, Nyrielle''s delicate fingers traced along Ashlynn''s face, sliding lower to push her blonde hair away from her slender neck. The whites of Nyrielle''s eyes darkened until they became twin midnight orbs, sparkling like the night sky and holding a ring of the deepest, richest midnight blue that Ashlyn had ever seen.


    Those eyes enveloped her world as Nyrielle''s mouth descended, her tongue gently tasting Ashlyn''s tender flesh before her mouth opened wide and her fangs pierced deeply into the young witch''s neck.

 Chapter 25 - 25: Once Bitten

    The moment Nyrielle''s fangs pierced Ashlynn''s neck, a searing hot pain enveloped her, spreading from the bite down to her shoulder and to her temple as though her head were gripped by one of Georg''s powerful claws.


    The next moment, a soothing cold chased after the burning pain, relaxing her muscles and banishing the pain before she could finish drawing breath to cry out.


    A thin trail of blood spilled from the bite, tracing down her slender neck and pooling along her clavicle. Ashlynn, however, barely noticed the sensation as other feelings began to overwhelm her.


    Her heartbeat grew louder in her chest, not faster, but pulsing with never before felt strength. Her face heated and flushed red as blood rushed to her head, driven by the need to pump even more hot, thick, red liquid into Nyrielle''s waiting mouth.


    The vampire''s tongue danced across Ashlynn''s neck like a kitten licking cream, unwilling to let more of the delicious nectar escape her lips. Compared to a member of the eldritch races, human blood was weak and thin, forcing vampires who subsisted on humans to feed more often than those who fed on the eldritch clans.


    Ashlynn''s blood, however, was rich, potent, and energizing, filling Nyrielle with a euphoric rush of power and magical energy.


    As Nyrielle quietly swallowed, Ashlynn''s mind began to drift, lost in the sensations enveloping her body. From the top of her head to the soles of her feet, she felt a soothing cold spread through her body, like plunging into the sea on a hot summer day.


    The second heartbeat within her chest grew louder, and with each beat, her body pulsed with a gentle sense of comfort and relief.


    Opening her eyes, Ashlynn found herself hanging limply in Nyrielle''s embrace, the sounds of soft sucking emanating from her neck as the vampire drank her fill.


    Gently, as if she was afraid to disturb Nyrielle, she wrapped her arms around the other woman, her hands sliding along the soft satin of Nyrielle''s dress until she reached the woman''s gently curving shoulders, clinging to them tightly as though she was afraid to fall. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As soon as Nyrielle felt the young witch cling to her, her own hands began to wander, gently lifting Ashlynn''s blouse and slipping a hand beneath. Her fingertips glided along Ashlynn''s tender flesh, barely touching the surface of her skin and pulling a gasp from the young woman''s lips.


    Warmth began to build deep in Ashlynn''s chest, and lower in her most intimate of places. Her body trembled, yearning for more of Nyrielle''s touch. At the same time, she dared not move, nor even speak as she hung helplessly from the vampire''s bite.


    It felt like the most intense moment of her life, stretched to an eternity that blotted away any memory of hurt she''d ever experienced. It felt like all the warmth and affection she''d received her whole life had been gathered into one moment and wrapped around her like a soft blanket.


    It felt like it had just begun when, as suddenly as it had started, it came to an end. Nyrielle pulled back, gently licking her neck to clean away the last of the blood before turning Ashlynn''s face toward her own.


    Nyrielle''s plump, lush lips brushed against Ashlynn''s, her tongue, still red with fresh blood, teasing against the witch''s lips until they parted for her.


    For a moment, Ashlynn froze, her whole body becoming stiff, tasting a mixture of her own blood and a lingering sweetness that clung to Nyrielle after dessert. Slowly, she melted into the kiss, clinging tightly to the vampire as though she was afraid of being abandoned after the meal had ended.


    How long the kiss lasted, Ashlynn couldn''t say, only that when Nyrielle finally pulled back, looking at her with midnight blue eyes that had lost their otherworldly depths, she was breathless and tingling from the tip of her head to the toes curling in her soft leather boots.


    "We''re not done yet, my sweet," Nyrielle whispered, turning Ashlynn to look out over the Vale of Mist and pulling her close.


    Raising one hand, Nyrielle began to speak, soft, rounded, and ancient words. The midnight blue energy dancing around her nimble fingers grew brighter and more intense the longer she spoke.


    Out in the vale, beyond the outermost wall of the castle town, the mist began to swirl, rising from the trees and gathering higher into the sky. The night was cool and clear but under Nyrielle''s direction, a cloud began to form over the vale, higher and higher in the sky until it began to flicker and tremble with lighting.


    "This is my magic alone," Nyrielle said. "But with yours, it can be so much more."


    More words spilled from the vampire''s bloodstained lips and the cloud began to change shape. Giant feathered wings of cloud formed first, followed by clawed talons and the sharp-beaked head of a raven. Lightning crackled in its eyes and between its talons, looking like it could descend from the skies with the fury of a storm.


    The next moment, Nyrielle lowered her hand, her energy flaring a dark viridian green that was neither hers nor Ashlynn''s but somewhere in between before the Raven in the sky began to fall apart. Its wings, talons, and fearsome beek all returned to ordinary mist, falling from the sky like a light spring shower.


    Ashlynn''s eyes shone in the darkness, open wide from the beginning to the end, holding her breath when the mighty raven took shape and only releasing it when the last drop of rain fell from the sky.


    Her heart pounded in her chest and her lips tingled from Nyrielle''s kiss. In her mind''s eye, she began to imagine the day she returned from the Vale of Mists, descending on Lothian City with the force of a storm at their command.


    More than that, in a small corner of her mind, she began to imagine a time after the Lothians had paid for their crimes when she could return to Nyrielle''s embrace and feel her soft caress upon her skin.

 Chapter 26 - 26: Hidden Movements

    After the demonstration, Ashlynn slumped against Nyrielle, her entire body feeling drained and cold in the early spring air. The green light she''d added to the polished crystal faded, leaving only Nyrielle''s pale blue light to illuminate the terrace.


    "That," she breathed. "That was amazing."


    "That was a beginning," Nyrielle promised, gently scooping Ashlynn up in her arms and carrying the young woman back into her bed chamber. "You should rest now," she said after gently setting the young witch down atop the soft feather-filled mattress.


    "Stay with me? Just until I sleep," Ashlynn pleaded, hanging onto Nyrielle''s hand. The moment on the terrace had been so intense that she wanted to cling to it just a little bit longer. To feel Nyrielle''s soft touch a little longer, or even just linger in the other woman''s presence.


    "I''ll help you sleep," Nyrielle said, gently helping the young woman out of her blouse and skirt until nothing remained but her soft shift. Pulling a heavy blanket up and tucking Ashlynn in, she added a thin trace of power to her voice and whispered "Sleep."


    Within a few heartbeats, Ashlynn''s emerald eyes drifted closed and her chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of deep sleep.


    "I wish I could stay," Nyrielle whispered, gently stroking Ashlynn''s hair. "But tonight, there are things that need to be done."


    Sweeping out of Ashlynn''s room, the vampire raced through the night, leaving the Vale of Mists far behind and venturing into the lands ruled by the Lothians.


    Each year, more humans came to the marches along the frontier, drawn by the offers of various marquises. A wealthy man who established and defended a village in the frontier could be elevated to the rank of knight, and granted lands and the rights to rule over them.


    Other members of the nobility, particularly second and third sons who were unlikely to inherit, also flocked to the frontier in the hopes of establishing a cadet branch of their family and a title of their own.


    For the past several nights since Ashlynn''s arrival, Nyrielle had prowled through those frontier villages, quiet as a breeze whispering through the eaves. This night was no different, though the power she gained from Nyrielle''s blood allowed her to move even faster and penetrate deeper into Lothian territory than she''d otherwise have dared to.


    When she started this quest, her motives had been pure and pragmatic. It wasn''t hard to foresee certain troubles and eliminating them before they could become tragedies was better than leaving matters to fate.


    Now, however, after what she''d shared with Ashlynn tonight, her mission became much more urgent and even more personal.


    Finally, in the third village of the night, she found what she''d been searching for.


    Standing outside the window of a small crafter''s house on the edges of a village, she blended a trace of energy with her voice and spoke to the young woman sleeping quietly in bed.


    "Come outside," she commanded, firmly enough to wake the other woman and quietly enough that others in the village couldn''t hear. "I''m waiting for you," she added. "Hurry."


    A few moments later, a young woman with ashen blond hair and a slender build walked out of the home she shared with her family, scrubbing sleep from her eyes and standing in the doorway wearing nothing but her shift.


    "Who is it? Why are you waiting for me?" she mumbled. "I told Sir Liam, I''m not some cheap thing he can summon whenever he wishes. If he truly wants to be with me, he should come himself¡­"


    "Hush now," Nyrielle commanded, her eyes glowing with power and slowly turning dark as she studied the other woman. "You''re taller than my Ashlynn," she murmured. "But not by much. Show me your hands."


    Under the pale moonlight, the vampire inspected the young woman''s slender hands, smiling when she found few calluses or signs of manual labor. The sign that hung on the home bore the symbol of a needle and thread used to advertise the services of seamstresses and embroiderers.


    In the hundreds of years that she''d been alive, Nyrielle had encountered countless people who resembled others, even when there was no blood relationship between them. While Ashlynn''s blonde hair was uncommon in the frontier, this was actually the third woman that Nyrielle had found who both closely matched Ashlynn''s build and features. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The first, however, had been the daughter of a tanner. Her limbs had been so darkly stained with dye over the years that no one would ever mistake her for a nobleman''s daughter. Likewise, the second had worked in the kitchens of a local baron and her body bore countless scars from the embers of a hearth.


    This woman, however, had lived a gentle life by the standards of the common folk. Dressed in fine silks and seen from a distance, people might easily mistake her for Ashlynn. The resemblance, at least, was close enough for her purposes.


    "Sleep," she commanded, scooping up the young woman in her arms and vanishing into the night.


    An hour later, after returning to the forest of the Vale of Mists, Nyrielle set the young woman down and shook her awake.


    "What? Where am I? You, who??" The woman asked rapidly, her head turning from side to side as she took in her surroundings and the strange woman in the forest with her. Her bare feet scrambled against the soft soil of the forest as she scrambled backward, pressing herself against the rough bark of a nearby tree as she struggled to her feet.


    "Did Liam send you?" the young woman asked, realizing something must be horribly wrong. "He, he''s trying to get rid of me, isn''t he? Or is it his father? I swear, I''ll never tell anyone¡­"


    "Do not speak," Nyrielle commanded, instantly silencing the other woman whose eyes grew wide with fear as she began to rapidly back away from Nyrielle.


    Twigs snapped as the young woman fled, sounding unnaturally loud in the still and quiet night. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, urging her to turn and run but she dared not take her eyes off the strange woman who seemed to drift silently through the forest, never letting her out of sight.


    "This will be over soon," Nyrielle said, appearing before the other woman in a flash, her fist striking out and knocking her to the ground. "But it will hurt before it''s over," she added, her voice cold and face expressionless.


    "If you have resentment in your heart, direct it at Owain Lothian," Nyrielle said, striking out again. In her mind, she recalled every wound on Ashlynn''s body when she''d first found her stumbling through the dark and rain. Again and again, she struck out, inflicting the same wounds on the young woman that Owain had inflicted on Ashlynn until the young woman lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, barely clinging to life.


    Slowly, the woman turned her head, peering at Nyrielle with swollen eyes that seemed to shout the question "Why?"


    It made no sense to her. What did the Marquis''s son have to do with her? Unless Liam''s father wanted her out of the way to arrange matters between Liam and someone Owain Lothian favored? She just couldn''t understand. Was what she and Liam had done really so wrong to deserve this?


    Nyrielle, however, provided no answers, lashing out with a brutal kick that shattered ribs and pierced the young woman''s heart.


    "It isn''t just," she said, scooping up the young woman''s body and discarding her shift in the woods. "But one day, someone may come searching for my Ashlynn in the grave they dumped her in. It would spoil far too much if they found it empty."


    "If you raise again to haunt someone, then you can haunt Owain Lothian," she said as she placed a hand over the young woman''s body. "Without him, there would be no need for you to have died in such a painful way."


    Slowly, dark red energy began to spill from Nyrielle''s fingers, pouring into the young woman''s flesh. After a few moments, a birthmark began to form on the woman''s hip. She didn''t do anything to replicate the scars on Ashlynn''s hip from the misguided attempts to remove the mark of the witch, but when she was done, a remarkably similar mark adorned the unnamed woman''s flesh.


    Hopefully, Ashlynn would never come to know what she had done. Even she found it distasteful when the young woman had done nothing to deserve her fate. But when had the Eldritch people ever done anything to deserve what humans did to them?


    "Ashlynn doesn''t see the world that way," Nyrielle said. "At least, not yet. Maybe one day she''ll understand," she whispered, carrying the young woman''s body into the night.


    Maybe, if the day ever came when Ashlynn did find out, she could find a way to forgive her for doing this to keep her safe from the people who would hunt her if they found an empty grave.

 Chapter 27 - 27: Life in The Vale

    Following the night that Nyrielle fed on her, Ashlynn began to truly adjust to life in the Vale of Mists.


    The notebook that Nyrielle had given her to learn sorcery proved to be full of both intriguing and useful ideas and profoundly frustrating to try to read.


    "Drawe a cycrle on¡­ I don''t even know what those letters are," Ashlynn muttered one evening as she prepared for dinner with Nyrielle. "M?sture ta¡­ forget it," she said, firmly closing the book. "I''ll ask her to read it to me again and write out my own copy."


    When the vampire had mentioned writing out a book for her instead of translating a text written by the Eldritch clans, she''d been overjoyed, thinking that it would be easy to devour the contents of the notebook and begin her exploration of sorcery.


    Once she started reading, however, she realized that while Nyrielle''s speech remained fairly modern, she still wrote and spelled words in much the same way she had more than two hundred years ago.


    As an educated noblewoman, Ashlynn prided herself on having read all of the literary classics, some of them even in direct copies of the original text. That didn''t prepare her, however, for Nyrielle''s more casual use of outdated writing, especially when she didn''t have a ''modernized'' copy to compare to!


    Still, once she received some help decoding the archaic writing, she began to make real progress in learning sorcery. The book began with simple spells for creating lights, forming shapes from the mist, and making objects float through the air. All of these things were incredibly useful for living in the almost permanently misty vale.


    The one that got her attention, however, was something she felt like she''d seen both Nyrielle and Thane use on multiple occasions.


    "Thane," she asked one evening, panting in exhaustion after completing another of his sets of his strengthening exercises. "Answer a question for me?"


    "Orange," the vampire said, smirking as he put away the heavy iron balls that he''d been throwing back and forth with Ashlynn to improve not only her strength but her agility and reaction time as well.


    "What?? That makes no sense," Ashlynn protested.


    "Well, you''ve never asked for my favorite color," Thane teased. "I assumed that you''d finally come around to asking, so, orange. It reminds me of the pumpkins in the fields and autumn leaves."


    "I''m sorry," Ashlynn said, her face heating. "I''ve been treating you like an encyclopedia again, haven''t I?"


    "I don''t mind it," the vampire said, dropping down to sit on the ground next to her. "But I''ve started to feel like you save up things you don''t want to ask Mistress Nyrielle and bring them all to me. You could try asking Zedya you know, or Heila, or Georg¡­"


    "But you''re the one who offered to be my big brother here," Ashlynn reminded him. "And I''m not half as annoying about asking questions as my little sister was."


    "Fine then, what''s your question," Thane relented.


    "I ran across a spell in the book Mistress Nyrielle wrote for me," she began. "It uses the mist of the valley as an anchor for darkness, then wraps the mist around the body like a cloak. I wondered if that was how you pulled off your vanishing trick whenever you slink away into the night."


    "I''m not ''slinking into the night.''" Thane protested, giving her a playful shove. "But it is similar to what we do. The difference is that, once you''ve practiced enough, you can use the air itself as your anchor and it becomes like a reflex to use."


    "Why do it at all though? It''s not like you need to hide in the dark here in the vale."


    "Because it''s more than just hiding," Thane explained. "Once you master what''s in that book, you can see about going further. Not everyone is good at the next steps. Anchoring darkness to air is one part of it, making yourself as light as mist is another part of it. The spell is called ''Darkwind Shroud'' and it''s what lets us move so quickly through the night."


    "That sounds even more useful," Ashlynn agreed. "How hard is it to learn?"


    "Hard," he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "You''re making good progress, you know. You don''t have to rush ahead to all of the things you''re discovering. If you want to move like the wind, you need to have reflexes better than a cat and eyes that can spot where you can place your feet as you dash through the night. You have to bring together all of the things you''re learning and more before you can do that."


    "Besides, why would you want to?" Thane asked. "I thought you were learning sorcery as a method of figuring out your own witchcraft."


    "I''ve been holding off on that," Ashlynn admitted.


    It wasn''t that she didn''t want to learn how to use the power that was uniquely hers. In fact, several times, she''d felt the energy within her bubbling to the surface when she tried to use plants as an anchor for any of the sorcery she was practicing.


    It was just that Nyrielle''s warning about the consequences of over-drafting her magic lay heavily on her mind. Right now, she was in no rush. Everyone had made it clear that, until her second new moon in the Vale, she needed to focus on strengthening herself and developing the powers that came from her pact with Nyrielle.


    As much as Ashlynn yearned for control of her life and her destiny, that didn''t mean she would defy good sense once things were clear to her. Witchcraft would just have to wait, at least until the summer.


    "Besides, Mistress Nyrielle said she was going to speak to an Earth Mother on the far side of the mountains for me," Ashlynn added. "I know it will take time for her to make any arrangements, but until then, I already have so many other things to learn."


    "Would you like to get started on one of those things?" Thane asked, standing up and dusting himself off. "I had a pair of wooden swords carved to use in practice," he said, walking over to a corner of their training yard and returning with a pair of wooden weapons.


    The blades themselves were narrow at the crossguard and flared wider along the curved length of the blade, making them tip heavy and a touch awkward in Ashlynn''s delicate hands.


    "You really think this is the right fit for me?" she asked, giving the wooden weapon a few clumsy swings. Her strength had grown enough that the weight wasn''t any particular strain but the strange balance felt more like swinging an ax than a sword.


    "It''s less elegant than a rapier like my sister''s," Thane admitted. "But you''re not her. You''ll actually get to fight our enemies. You can''t cleave through a breastplate with one of those, even if you become as strong as I am and wield one made of Darksteel," he explained.


    "But armor has weaknesses at the joints and other places where heavier armor becomes cumbersome. Take a man''s wrists, his elbow, his knees and you''ll find a darksteel falchion more than capable of severing a limb."


    "You say that so calmly, like it''s an ordinary thing to do," Ashlynn said, more discomforted by Thane''s tone than the topic.


    "The humans won''t ever stop coming for us, Ashlynn," he reminded her gently. "Maybe Bors Lothian has had his last ride, he''s getting on in years. But your former husband will raise an army one day if you don''t kill him first. When he does, that army will assail our walls and we won''t have a choice to stay our hands."


    "For now, don''t think about chopping limbs if it bothers you," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulder and leading her to a straw covered post. "We''ll start with the basics and you can beat up a scarecrow."


    As much as she appreciated Thane''s attempt to lighten the mood, his words lingered with her long after she''d exhausted herself swinging her wooden sword at the straw target.


    For her, matters with Owain and the Lothians were personal. If she thought of the people who had to die by her hand, at the moment, she considered only four. Owain Lothian, Sir Tommin, and Sir Broll who had dumped her in the shallow grave, and whichever person had betrayed her secret to Owain on the night of their wedding.


    But beyond that, she wondered about life afterward. Killing Owain would achieve a portion of her vengeance but in the end, the march would just pass to his younger brother Loman. Worse, as a priest of the Holy Lord of Light, Loman was even more likely to raise an army against them than Owain was. Killing Owain alone wouldn''t protect the vale or stop a war.


    When she returned to her bed in the morning, she began to wonder what it would truly take to put a stop to things. Nyrielle had spent more than a hundred years fighting the Lothians¡­ Ashlynn might hate Owain, but she had no desire to do the same.


    The sun rose and she pulled the thick curtains around her bed closed to block out the light without ever finding an answer. Any further thoughts, however, were interrupted when Heila entered the room. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My Lady," the horned woman said, dropping into a deep curtsey when she realized that Ashlynn was about to go to bed.


    The diminutive woman''s next words, however, banished Ashlynn''s fatigue like a bucket of cold water.


    "Sir Marcell has returned from Lothian," Heila said, holding out a folded parchment. "Lady Nyrielle said you should read his report yourself."

 Chapter 28 - 28: The Value of a Spy

    In the two weeks she''d spent in the Vale of Mists so far, Ashlynn had heard mention of Marcell several times. According to Thane, the vampire progeny that had trained as a spy and assassin was the youngest of Nyrielle''s progeny, if someone the age of her grandfather could be considered ''young.''


    Thankfully, Marcell was young enough that his writing lacked the archaic spelling that plagued anything Nyrielle wrote, even if his tight, cramped handwriting came with challenges of his own. Clearly, he was accustomed to writing on small slips of paper to be sent by carrier pigeon. When she read the words of the report, his concise writing only added to the feeling.


    For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the hearth and the rustling of pages as Ashlynn sat with the heavy parchment of Marcell''s report. Her eyes scanned from the top of the first page to the bottom and moved to the next before returning to the first page of the report and reading again, tracing her finger along the tightly spaced words as though afraid she''d missed one.


    Marcell clearly understood that reliability was important. Each snippet of information held a notation; ''widely known'', ''two independent sources'', ''unreliable rumor, but widespread.'' The picture he wove in those two pages spoke of countless conversations with everyone from castle servants to disgruntled pensioners and even a temple acolyte.


    Sadly, as much as she wished for news of her family, the report contained only a single line that Owain had seen them off alone with speculation from servants that she must have had an ''intense'' wedding night.


    The first time she read the line, she nearly crumpled the report. Her hands tightened on the pages, creasing them sharply before she forced herself to relax. Marcell only reported what he heard and it wasn''t like servants had never gossiped about her before.


    Still, the implication that she had ''enjoyed herself'' with Owain too thoroughly to see her family off added to the pile of smoldering embers burning in a corner of her heart. Even after she was dead, it seemed, Owain would still find ways to wound her.


    When she finally finished, Ashlynn sank deeply into thought, completely forgetting Heila''s presence until the diminutive woman prompted her with a question.


    "Should I bring tea and breakfast?" Heila asked hesitantly. "Will you be staying up?"


    "I, I don''t know," Ashlynn said after a moment. "Could you answer a few questions for me Heila? You can join me up here," she added, patting the fluffy down bed. "There''s plenty of room."


    Though she looked uncomfortable at being so informal, as one of Ashlynn''s few daytime companions, she''d come to realize that Lady Nyrielle''s Seneschal wasn''t accustomed to having a personal servant and often forgot about the differences in their status. Sine that was the case, she''d given up on teaching Ashlynn the ways of the castle and acquiesced to her requests, even when they weren''t strictly proper.


    "I''m not entirely surprised that Owain is concealing news of my death," Ashlynn began. "From Marcelle''s report, many people have reported seeing ''me'' visiting the library or touring one of the gardens with Owain."


    Even though she''d firmly carved any affection she once held for Owain out of her heart, the news that someone was dressing up as her, wearing her old clothing and acting like his affectionate wife in public still felt like salt grinding into wounds that had only just begun to heal. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Most of these reports come from servants or people who are distant from the Lothians themselves," Ashlynn said. "Do you know if Marcell has been able to enter the Lothian Manor directly?"


    "It''s impossible, my Lady," Heila said, shaking her horned head. "The Manor is as old as Lothian. After Lady Nyrielle killed one of their lords to avenge her parents, they say that priests of the human god consecrated the entire manor. Now, neither Lady Nyrielle nor any of her chosen ones can enter there."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, returning to the pages. "No wonder there''s so little news to confirm this other bit. If Marcell can''t enter the Lothian Manor, there''s no way he can enter the Temple."


    The second piece of news was little more than a rumor. While Marcell had noted that many people observed a dignitary arriving from the Holy City, no one seemed to know who he was or why he had come to visit the March of Lothian.


    Only a single temple acolyte, who spoke out of turn after being given a copious amount of wine in a tavern, mentioned that the dignitary represented the Holy Inquisition.


    Given the mark that had been part of her since birth, Ashlynn had always been wary of inquisitors, even when they presented a kind and affable exterior. She''d heard plenty of stories from her father about commoners and noblemen alike who had fallen into the grasp of the inquisition only to emerge as battered and broken men if they emerged at all.


    "So why are the Lothians pretending that I''m still alive?" she wondered aloud. "Are they buying time for the inquisitor to arrive before announcing what happened, or is it completely unrelated?"


    "I don''t know my Lady," Heila said. "The temple is all but impossible to spy on. Even people who have been mesmerized by Madame Zedya are unable to cross the threshold. The temple is too strongly protected against us."


    "What about the Summer Villa?" Ashlynn asked, looking at the last note in the report. "Marcell mentioned that the Lothians have been sending enough supplies there for an extended stay but the family hasn''t stayed there often since the death of the late Marquess. Could Marcell sneak in there?"


    "I don''t know, my Lady," Heila said. "I don''t know if anyone has ever needed to. Would you like me to find out?"


    "No," Ashlynn said, folding up the pages and setting them aside. "I imagine that I''ll be able to speak with Marcell directly this evening. He must have arrived very close to dawn if Mistress Nyrielle didn''t summon me. Any more questions will just have to wait until dark."


    "I see," the horned woman said, hopping off the bed. "Then, would you like a light breakfast before you turn in?"


    "Only if you join me Heila," Ashlynn said with a smile. "Didn''t you mention that one of the young men working in the barracks was trying to catch your eye? How well informed are you about our military forces?."


    "As well as anyone in the castle, my Lady," Heila said, her face heating at the mention of the young man trying to catch her eye. Rayk wasn''t even a proper soldier even though he worked closely with the people who were. He worked for the quartermaster, tending to the equipment and supplies of Nyrielle''s army.


    "What is it you wish to know?" Heila asked, hoping to deflect attention away from her love life.


    "Lots of things," Ashlynn said, getting out of bed and moving to the small writing desk in her room. "How many soldiers we have, how far away we can send them on raids, that kind of thing."


    "My lady?" Heila asked, her mouth opening wide in shock.


    "Something is happening at the Summer Villa," Ashlynn said. "It''s a much easier place to attack than the Lothian Manor. I think," she said, beginning to sketch out her thoughts. "Maybe we should go and take a look."

 Chapter 29 - 29: A Powerful Gathering

    That evening, for the first time since she began her magic lessons on the terrace with Nyrielle, Heila brought word that dinner would be in the formal dining room. Moreover, this time, several others would be in attendance.


    Since Heila gave her the impression that things would be more formal, she submitted to the horned woman''s suggestions and selected a midnight blue dress trimmed in black satin and lace along with sapphire jewelry.


    Originally, she felt like the dress was too dark when she found it in her closets but now, it reminded her of Nyrielle''s magic. Dark, flowing and a bit mysterious. She drew the line, however, at allowing Heila to style her hair.


    The intricate updos that Heila arranged were stunning, to be sure, but they always left her with the feeling that a bird had made a nest of her hair. Besides, when she wore her hair down, Nyrielle was more likely to run her fingers through it.


    When Ashlynn arrived at the formal dining room, she found that seven of the twelve places at the large cedar table had been set. Nyrielle had already arrived, and was accompanied by both Zedya and a vampire that she had yet to meet.


    "My darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, beckoning for her to join them. When she did, Nyrielle disregarded all propriety, placing a hand on Ashlynn''s cheek and drawing her into a deep, sensual kiss that sent shivers down her spine and left her breathless.


    "Allow me to introduce you," Nyrielle said while Ashlynn recovered from the kiss. "This is Marcelle, one of our most important sources of information."


    "My Lady," the gentleman said simply, offering a polite bow.


    Despite the formality of the occasion that Ashlynn had been led to expect, Marcelle''s attire could be mistaken for that of a moderately successful merchant. Loose black breeches tucked into short ankle boots and paired with a dark maroon tunic matched well with the loose curls of his short black hair and pale skin.


    It wasn''t until he stood up that Ashlynn realized how stunning his looks were. Where Thane''s features possessed a rugged and handsome manliness, Marcelle''s features were soft and delicate enough to be nearly feminine. Moreover, though she knew that he was of a similar age as her grandfather, if she hadn''t known, she''d have taken him for a youth of sixteen or seventeen years old, younger even than her sister Jocelyn.


    "Sir Marcell," Ashlynn greeted politely, doing her best to pretend that Nyrielle hadn''t just kissed her in front of a man she''d just met. "I read your report. Thank you for everything you did to gather so much information, I know it can''t have been easy."


    "Ah, I''m too late to make introductions," Thane said, entering the room followed by two other men. "Ashlynn, watch yourself around Marcell. He''s a rascal and a cad, and there isn''t a game of chance that he can''t cheat you at."


    "And Marcell," Thane added. "Be good to Lady Ashlynn, I''ve taken her as my little sister which makes her your big sister from now on," he added with a wink at the other vampire.


    "That¡­ makes no sense," Marcell muttered.


    "Ah, hem, boys?" Zedya interrupted, gesturing for people to take their seats now that everyone had arrived.


    The two men who arrived with Thane had very little in common. Though Ashlynn had heard of both men, this was her first time meeting either of them.


    The most striking of the two was a member of the Clan of the Great Claw called Bassinger. He was a towering individual with dark fur sprinkled liberally with gray who stood nearly eight feet tall. His dark tunic bore a gold badge in the shape of a sword and shield, and unlike the pot bellied Georg, his body seemed solid and muscular.


    The other man, called Jakob, by contrast, was one of the shortest members of the Horned Clan that Ashlynn had ever seen. His hair had turned completely white and one of his horns had broken, missing the last third of its curl. He walked with a cane that was as gnarled as the man himself and his tunic bore a badge similar to the first man''s, though in this case it was in the shape of a stone tower.


    The badges marked the two men as among the most important of Nyrielle''s direct servants. Bassinger held the office of ''Commander'' and all soldiers within the Vale of Mists answered to him if Lady Nyrielle or her progeny weren''t in command.


    Jakob, on the other hand, was titled the ''Marshal of the Vale.'' While he had fewer men under his command, he also had broad authority within the vale to maintain the peace. With only twenty thousand people in the vale, there weren''t many constables or peace keepers, but some disputes between the people were inevitable, particularly when young ones decided to lock horns.


    Seeing both men here along with three of Nyrielle''s seven progeny made it immediately clear to Ashlynn how important this meeting was. Looking back at Marcelle, who seemed to be taking his ease in one of the high-backed chairs, Ashlynn couldn''t help but wonder if his report contained more information than was in the written copy she''d been provided.


    "Thank you, everyone, for coming on short notice," Nyrielle began. "Old goat, I know it''s not easy for you to make the trip up to the castle, but I appreciate your council."


    "Bah," Jakob snorted. "You''re one to call me an ''old goat,'' My Lady. But tell me young man," he said, turning to Marcell. "Is it really true that the humans have sent out one of their Inquisitors?"


    At the mention of the inquisitor, a hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Marcell. The young vampire frowned, sitting upright in his chair and reaching for a bottle of wine on the table, pouring himself a drink before he answered.


    "I don''t know," Marcell said reluctantly after a deep swallow of fragrant wine. "The acolyte who told me about it was young and junior, he hasn''t met the person who arrived from the Holy City in person."


    "Even if he''s not an Inquisitor," the young vampire added. "He met directly with Loman Lothian when he arrived at the temple. He didn''t meet with the High Priest or with Bors Lothian, he went to Loman."


    "You think that Loman Lothian suspects his brother?" Zedya asked, running a delicate finger around the rim of her goblet. "Do you think he knows that Lady Ashlynn is a Child of the Earth?"


    When Zedya spoke, Ashlynn struggled to suppress the icy grip of fear that wanted to close around her heart. Even if the Inquisitor knew about her, here in the Vale of Mists, there was little he could do. She might have lost her family, but she was much less vulnerable now than she''d been when she had to work so hard to conceal her secret.


    "I don''t know," Marcell said, putting his goblet down forcefully enough to spill a few drops on the table. "It could just be some kind of power play between the Church and the Lothian family. Maybe his target is his father Bors instead of Owain or our Seneschal." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The only thing I know for sure is that an Inquisitor is almost always bad news," he said.


    Hearing his words, Bassinger nodded, his bushy brows lowered in a scowl. "War," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Nearly every time an Inquisitor has arrived in Lothian, they''ve come to beat the drums of war."


    "And if they know what Lady Ashlynn is," Zedya added, her bland face looking pensive. "If they deduce that she''s here, then war will come for us sooner than later."

 Chapter 30 - 30: Forming Plans

    "I''ve made arrangements," Nyrielle said, instantly drawing the attention of everyone around the table. "They shouldn''t discover my darling''s presence as long as she''s safe within the Vale."


    "What kind of arrangements did you make?" Ashlynn asked.


    "Just a little trick, a diversion to keep their attention in their own borders," Nyrielle said cryptically, her face an impassive mask. "Marcell," she said, turning to the young vampire before Ashlynn could ask more questions about her diversion.


    "Your report mentioned that they were sending supplies to the summer villa. Do you think that Owain is planning to hide from the Inquisitor by going there with the woman he''s dressed up as my Ashlynn?"


    "It''s not impossible," Marcell mused. "If Owain Lothian knew that an inquisitor was coming, he might have made moves to see himself out of the city until things blow over. It would help to keep from exposing their fake Lady Blackwell as well."


    "The young lord is playing with fire if he moves to the Summer Villa now," Bassinger said. "It''s still in the one hour zone for another two weeks."


    "One hour zone?" Ashlynn asked, unfamiliar with the term.


    "Apologies, my lady," the Commander said, gesturing to a servant and whispering brief instructions.


    "I''ll have maps here in a few moments," he said, turning back to Ashlynn. "After so many years fighting each other, the Lothians are well aware of how far from the vale Lady Nyrielle''s progeny can move in a single night and still return to safety before dawn," he explained.


    "The Lothians call it the ''Summer Villa'' because, during the summer, it''s impossible for any of my progeny to attack their villa and make it home safely," Nyrielle added. "It''s located in the foothills of the mountains, private and beautiful, but it''s only safe for the Lothians to occupy during the months when daylight is shortest."


    "We track the amount of time that Lady Nyrielle''s progeny would have available to fight at any given time of year," Bassinger explained, taking a map from the servant and unrolling it on the table.


    "Right now, days are getting shorter. In two weeks, there won''t be much safe time at the Summer Villa at all. In a month, just going there and coming immediately back would be the limit."


    As Ashlynn looked at the map, she marveled at the work that Nyrielle''s people must have put into it. Not only was the map more detailed than any map of the area she''d ever seen but the concentric rings marking different dates of the year and travel times were impressive.


    When she''d read the history of the battles between the Lothians and the forces of the Vale of Mists, they often mentioned the powerful lieutenants of the Demon Lady of the Vale. While they were never mentioned by name, there were several mentions of singular ''demons'' who had once been human that showed up in the night and decimated any force that wasn''t prepared to resist them.


    The Lothians might not understand things as well as Nyrielle''s own people did, but the dance had clearly gone on long enough for both parties to learn the steps well. No wonder Nyrielle desired Ashlynn''s help to break the status quo.


    "It doesn''t make sense for Owain to go to the Summer Villa just to avoid the Inquisitor," Ashlynn said, looking at the map. "If he really wanted to hide from the Inquisitor, he''d go to Blackwell County."


    "Why would he do that?" Zedya asked. "Most people don''t know of your ''death'', but he certainly does. How could he go to your home to avoid the inquisition?"


    "Marcell''s notes mentioned that he saw my family off alone," Ashlynn said, gaining confidence in her reasoning. "Whether they know the truth or not, the effect is the same. He''s maintaining the appearance that I''m still alive and with him. As long as the Lothians intend to keep selling the lie, then there''s little reason for him to abandon his plans." S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You know what young lord Owain was planning before your wedding?" Jakob asked. "And it has something to do with Blackwell County?"


    "Originally, Owain and I were supposed to spend a month touring the March of Lothian," Ashlynn said, gesturing to the map. "After that, we would visit Blackwell County so that Owain could meet with several of the merchant families there."


    "The Marquis of Lothian wants the support of the coastal merchants to strengthen his army," Ashlynn explained. "With support from my family, he can make his case directly to the merchant families."


    "Bors Lothian wouldn''t give up on his ambitions. Ashlynn is correct," Nyrielle said with a smile. "Whatever is happening at the Summer Villa, it likely isn''t an attempt to conceal Owain from the Inquisitor."


    "That leaves us right back where we started," Thane said. "We don''t know if it''s truly an Inquisitor in Lothian, and if it is, we don''t know their purpose. We also don''t know what they''re preparing at the Summer Villa and whether or not it''s related."


    "What if we could find out?" Ashlynn asked. "Since the Summer Villa is still within the one hour zone, couldn''t we spy on things there?"


    "You still haven''t adapted to nightlife, my sweet," Nyrielle said gently, placing her hand on Ashlynn''s. "That one hour is in the dead of night. Even if Marcell could slip undetected into the Villa, most people would be asleep. There''s little he could learn."


    "I know," Ashlynn agreed. "But what if I went?"


    "What?" Thane blurted out. "Ashlynn, you''re the person we can least afford to expose to the Lothians. How could we send you there?"


    "It''s not as bad as you think," Ashlynn said quickly, reaching into a pouch at her waist and pulling out a page of notes. "I have a plan, or the beginnings of one, if you''ll listen," she said, turning to Nyrielle for permission to continue.


    "I''ll indulge you, my sweet, but I won''t agree unless you convince me," Nyrielle said, offering a fleeting smile. It seemed like Ashlynn was no longer content to act passively in the face of events. Or perhaps she never had been and she was simply too overwhelmed by the many changes in her life to show her real strengths.


    "I understand," Ashlynn said, grateful to be given the opportunity. Thus far, she''d felt like nothing but a burden, learning and training but doing little to contribute. Now, she finally felt like she had something to offer. More than that, it would let her learn more about what was happening in the world she hadn''t entirely left behind.


    "If they''re sending supplies to the villa, then there are several servants coming and going," Ashlynn said. "I can join them to spend a few days in the villa, learning what''s happening from the inside. I just need a little bit of help."


    "You need one of us to carry you there," Thane said. "But Ashlynn, we have time enough to deliver you, but we wouldn''t be able to protect you while you''re there. You''d be on your own."


    "Not entirely," Ashlynn said, turning her attention to Commander Bassinger. "Commander, do you think you could hide a few of your men in the forest nearby? Not enough to attack the villa, but enough to help me escape if things go badly."


    "It''s risky," the Commander said, scratching the fur along his chin. "The humans have placed a bounty on our heads. Any Eldritch head is worth ten silver pennies, and enough of them can earn a commoner a knighthood."


    "It''s not impossible to camp in the woods for a few days," he added. "But any hunter that stumbles across us is powerfully motivated to attack. An arrow that could kill a boar or stag can just as easily kill one of us."


    "How many days do you think you could wait safely in the woods for me?"


    "None," Bassinger said flatly before his face split with a wide grin. "But we could handle the risk for three days. Four at most. After that, they''ll notice that anyone we have to kill to stop from reporting our presence has gone missing."


    "Sorry if I''m asking something obvious," Marcell interjected. "But, Lady Ashlynn, can you really pose as a servant? I don''t mean any disrespect, but servants are highly skilled at what they do. I''ve never met a nobleman who can do what their servants do for them."


    "My darling is different," Nyrielle said. "I sent her to Thane so he could teach her to fight. She insisted on going to the kitchens to study with Georg. It seems your willfulness is coming in handy, my dear."


    "I wouldn''t have thought of this if it wasn''t for Georg''s lessons," Ashlynn admitted. "But, with a little bit more practice, I''m sure I could pass for a kitchen hand. Does that mean you''re willing to let me try?"


    "Your plan needs some refinement," the vampire said, her lips parting in a smile that revealed her fangs. "But it has enough potential that we should give it a try."

 Chapter 31 - 31: Preparations

    After fleshing out details for Ashlynn''s proposed mission to spy on the summer villa, the group moved on to other topics once Georg''s first course arrived.


    It seemed like the cook understood that this would be a working meal. Rather than one of his usual menus of refined dishes, he sent several platters of cured meats, cheeses, dried fruits, and crusty bread that people could nibble on while remaining engaged in conversation.


    "My Lady," Jakob asked, setting aside a plate of vegetables that seemed to have been prepared almost exclusively for him. "With an inquisitor in Lothian, should we begin calling the young ones to arms? We''ll need time to form them into a proper army."


    "If the Lothians are going to attack us this summer, then we should start calling up all of the able-bodied youths to train," Bassinger agreed. "There aren''t many veterans of the last war that are still capable of fighting on the front lines but there are plenty to act as teachers."


    "I don''t think the Lothians will attack this summer," Ashlynn interjected. "Next summer at the earliest. Marquis Bors needs more time to build his forces."


    "What makes you say that?" Thane asked. He happened to agree with her, but he wanted to give Ashlynn the chance to establish herself with the rest of this group.


    "The Blackwells offer a considerable advantage to the Lothians," Ashlynn said. "But it isn''t one that can be utilized quickly. The Blackwells don''t have a large standing army. In fact, half of their soldiers serve aboard ships that protect the coast and inspect ships coming to port. They couldn''t be deployed this far inland even if they wanted to."


    "What the Blackwells offer is a bridge to the old countries," she explained, tearing up a piece of bread and placing two pieces close together then dropping several others on the opposite side of her plate.


    "Given time, the Blackwells can bring over shiploads of men eager to prove themselves against the ''demons'' of the Frontier. Perhaps the reason the Inquisitor is in Lothian is to secure concessions from Marquis Bors about new territories in exchange for bringing over more of their miracle workers from the old countries," she added.


    As she spoke, Ashlynn set several nuts next to the ''old countries'' before gathering them up and sliding them across the table to ''Blackwell'' and then to Lothian.


    When she mentioned ''miracle workers'', however, there was an audible hiss from several people in the room. The Church had its own titles for such individuals, ''Blessed One'', ''Living Saint'', and so on depending on the individual. All of them, however, were able to wield a form of magic that they claimed was granted by the Holy Lord of Light.


    Whether it was true or not, Ashlyn increasingly believed that they were just sorcerers in the service of the Church, it was undeniable that their magic was particularly potent when used against the Eldritch peoples.


    Nyrielle in particular adopted a grim expression at the news. It was these very ''Holy Men'' who the Lothians had recruited to capture her parents and burn them at the stake. Their magic had also claimed the life of her grandsire. If the Lothians obtained their support again, she didn''t dare imagine the nightmares that could unfold.


    The news that the Blackwells would facilitate bringing over more of these ''miracle workers'' was worse than being told the Lothians had doubled the size of their army.


    "My marriage to Owain was the beginning of this," Ashlynn said bitterly. "A formal declaration of alliance with a goal to raise a greater army than has been assembled in generations."


    "You''re saying that we have time," Jakob said, stroking his white beard and thinking. "In that case, my Lady, perhaps this year we should do the opposite of preparing for war. We can draw down Bassinger''s forces, send more men back to the farms to clear more land so we have greater strength going into next year."


    "I think that''s premature," Nyrielle said after thinking for a few moments. "I want two weeks'' time to prepare for Ashlynn''s mission. Once she returns, we should know more. We''re making too many guesses right now."


    "During those weeks, we need to make other preparations," she added. "After she returns, I intend to take Ashlynn to visit the Mother of Thorns."


    Several gasps rippled around the table followed by a series of nods as people considered the implications of the move.


    "I''ll begin preparing your escort," Bassinger said. While agreements could be made with other Eldritch Lords, it was best to assume that no nation other than your own was truly safe.


    "I''ll prepare a tribute for Lord Ritchel and High Lady Erna," Nyrielle said with a heavy sigh. "Jakob, please send some of your men to the villages and ask for volunteers for me. I''m afraid that I''m going to drain myself substantially to prepare a gift that the High Lady will accept."


    "What about the Mother of Thorns?" Zedya asked. "When you brought me to her, she charged a considerable sum to tutor me."


    "My Ashlynn is different," Nyrielle said. "I brought you to her so that you could emulate witchcraft with sorcery. The price I paid was an apology for something she considered to be a mild desecration of her life''s work. Ashlynn, on the other hand, is a Child of the Earth. The Mother of Thorns should be much happier to receive her."


    As the conversation moved into the details of making a trip into the territories controlled by the Eldritch nations that no human had ever visited, Ashlynn found herself increasingly unable to offer anything to the discussion.


    When it came to fighting the Lothians, she had a good deal of relevant information and experience, but in matters relating to the Eldritch peoples, she barely knew anything. If it had been just her and Nyrielle, or her and Thane, she would have asked several questions along the way. Now, however, she could only watch things unfold and file the information away for later.


    "I expect that the Mother of Thorns may require Ashlynn to stay with her for a few weeks to months," Nyrielle said toward the end of the conversation. "If that''s the case, I''ll seek out my great grandsire and his progeny. They may be willing to cross the mountains to aid us."


    "Either way, Ashlynn and I will return before the first frost," Nyrielle emphasized. "I won''t have us trapped on the far side of the mountains through the winter. Now, time is limited. Everyone, you know what you should attend to, please see it done. Ashlynn, my darling, please stay." S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Nyrielle waited until she and Ashlynn were alone in the room before reaching out to capture the young witch''s hands, startling her out of whatever thoughts had consumed her while the others left.


    "I had no time to ask before the others arrived, but, are you well?" Nyrielle asked.


    "I am, why wouldn''t I be?" Ashlyn said, puzzled by the question.


    "You performed very well tonight," Nyrielle said, cupping Ashlyn''s face with a cool hand. "But I''m worried about your eagerness to spy on the Summer Villa. If you run into Owain and his pretend wife, what will you do?"


    "Isn''t it obvious?" Ashlynn said, clenching a fist. "If the opportunity presents itself then I''ll take it. I''m not as weak as I was before. I don''t think Owain himself will show up, but if he does, then I''ll claim his life!"


    "My darling, my heart that beats next to mine, you can''t," Nyrielle said. "Owain will have his day, but if you provoke the Lothians by murdering him at the Summer Villa, we''ll be under attack before we''re ready. More people will die," she said.


    "You want me to wait until we''re ready?" Ashlynn asked, trembling as she forced down the fire that ignited when she imagined killing Owain. "When will that be? This winter once we''re back from across the mountains?"


    "Perhaps," Nyrielle said. "I won''t make a promise about when. The time will be ripe when it''s ripe, and Owain will die by your hands, this I promise you," she said, drawing the trembling woman into a gentle embrace. "But we aren''t ready yet, and you aren''t either."


    "If you can promise me that you will only act as a spy, then I will help you prepare to visit the Summer Villa," she said firmly. "But if you can''t give me your word that you''ll do no harm to Owain, even if you see him, then I cannot let you go."


    "A wise ruler never forgets the whole of her nation," Ashlynn said softly, closing her eyes against the swirl of emotions in her chest.


    "The information is too important," the young witch said after she''d regained her composure. "Even if I encounter Owain, I will let him live for now."

 Chapter 32 - 32: Within the Grave (Part One)

    While Ashlynn made plans with Nyrielle and her council, elsewhere in the Vale of Mists, not far from the border of the March of Lothian, another group was also seeking the lost young lady Blackwell. Or at least, they were seeking her remains.


    Sir Tommin wore his full armor, though he covered it with a dull cloak. In one hand he carried a lantern and in another, a heavy flagged mace, ready to strike at any demons who discovered their intrusion into the vale.


    Behind him, both Loman Lothian followed, dressed as always in the gold and white vestments of his faith, though he joined Sir Tommin in covering his conspicuous outfit with a cloak of his own.


    Waiting for the past several weeks for his message to reach the Holy City and for the Church to send a representative with their reply had been agonizing for both men. Sir Tommin''s confession weighed on Loman''s heart like a stone. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Loman had never been a devious man. Clever, yes, and he always tried to return multiple benefits from a single action. But when he schemed, he schemed openly. He hadn''t hidden the benefits that the Church stood to reap from his charitable efforts, he''d advertised them to the High Priest directly. As long as both sides stood to gain, he didn''t see any reason to conceal his motives.


    But when his father sent an invitation to join the family for a small gathering, he couldn''t bring himself to go. The thought of confronting his brother and saying nothing turned in his stomach like a viper, constantly biting at him until he sent a message to his father that he''d undertaken a holy vigil and wouldn''t be able to leave temple grounds for some time.


    Now, however, as he trudged through the misty forest at night, he felt like he would at least be able to put part of his heart at ease.


    Behind him, four other men carried lanterns and three of them carried tools for digging. The man leading them, an Inquisitor named Diarmuid, wore robes similar to Loman''s own, though the Inquisitor''s robes had also been trimmed in red alongside the gold.


    "Here it is," Sir Tommin said, pointing to a small mound of earth at the base of a tree. "You can see, the grave hasn''t even sunken yet."


    As soon as he pointed out the tree, Tommin''s feet felt like they''d become glued to the soft earth, unable to take another step closer. The sound of rain and the echo of thunder from that night filled his ears and an icy hand gripped his heart.


    If he''d followed his lord''s commands that night, if they''d burned the body and scattered the bones, he wouldn''t be standing here now. At the same time, if he''d done as he''d been commanded, there would be no proof of Owain''s crime.


    Now that he found himself here again, he found it impossible to approach the proof of his failures, standing rooted to the ground like he''d become one of the giant trees in the misty forest.


    "Stand aside," Diarmuid commanded forcefully. At thirty years of age, he was a senior enough member of the Inquisition that it had been some time since anyone brought him traipsing into the wilderness in the dark of night to examine a report of witchcraft.


    In Diarmuid''s experience, nine in every ten reports of witchcraft or demons invading were lies and outright fabrications. When the Inquisition arrived, they found victims who had been "murdered by demons" were, in fact, murdered by jealous rivals or jilted lovers who sought to blame demons to escape justice.


    Now, hearing that the son of a Marquis had murdered his bride on their wedding night, the hawk nosed Inquisitor felt like he was about to unearth more of the same. Perhaps they would find that the woman in question was pregnant with another man''s child, or that the young lady had walked in on her husband taking liberties with a maid.


    Diarmuid expected many things, but he didn''t expect to unearth the body of a witch tonight.


    "Oh Holy Lord of Light," the Inquisitor intoned formally. "Today, we bring your light to the darkest of places. May you watch over us in this land of demons as we seek to reveal the truth where there has been deception."


    "Forgive us as we desecrate the grave and body of one of your chosen children to discover if she is wicked or virtuous, and know that we do this with your blessing to protect your chosen children from further harm," he concluded. "Light illuminate us all."


    "Light illuminate us all," the others intoned formally before the three men with shovels began to dig.


    As the shovels bit into the earth, a sickly sweet odor began to permeate the air, growing stronger with each layer of soil removed. The wet squelch of mud and the scrape of metal against earth filled the air like claws tearing at the night


    Loman''s stomach churned as the scent filled the air. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool night air, and he found himself unconsciously stepping back, leaves crunching beneath his feet.


    "Sir Tommin," the Inquisitor said, stepping away from the grave and gesturing for the knight and Loman to follow him. While the knight seemed to be holding up well enough, it was clear that the grim scene was beginning to overwhelm the young priest.


    "You''re doing a bold thing right now," he praised, setting a hand on Sir Tommin''s shoulder. "When confronted with the choice between fealty to one''s liege lord and piety before one''s god, most would choose the former."


    "I have fought demons, Inquisitor," the knight said, bowing his head respectfully. "I have seen the horned ones and the ones with great claws, the ones with the bodies of horses and with the faces of jackals."


    "I know that evil walks among us and that without the Holy Lord of Light and his Temple, we would never have come so far in cleansing these lands. My father would never have become a knight, and I would not be who I am today if not for the Church."


    "With faith like that," Diarmuid said, "twenty years ago, you would have surely ascended to great heights within the church. Now, it is the best I can do to support your petition to take a Templar''s oath."


    "That alone is enough," Sir Tommin said, dropping to one knee and bowing deeply. To him, there was no other choice. Serve the Church or serve a murderer. The former meant he would have to leave his wife and child behind to fight under the banner of the Holy Lord of Light.


    The latter meant that he and his family could be killed at any time to ensure his silence. Perhaps to the Inquisitor he seemed pious, but Tommin couldn''t bring himself to see it that way.


    "Inquisitor Diarmuid," one of the digging men called. "We''ve recovered remains. The body is wrapped in a fine bedsheet, soaked in oil, as Sir Tommin described. The bedsheet may very well have come from young lord Owain''s marital bed chambers."


    The three men who had dug the grave all stood back, not a single one of them willing to lift the body up out of the earth. The mist of the forest swirled around the grave, flowing into the shallow pit as though the body within was breathing in the mist to rise again.


    One of the men made a nervous gesture to ward off evil and all of them looked to the Inquisitor, waiting for him to approach where they dared not go.

 Chapter 33 - 33: Within the Grave (Part Two)

    "I see," Diarmuid siad, pulling back the cowl of his cloak and running a hand through his thick black hair as he walked back toward the grave. The thick smell of rotting flesh mingled with the damp loamy smell of the earth to produce a scent that he was all too familiar with. Only the crisp scent of cedar in the air and the cool spring mist did anything to alter the familiar stench.


    Pulling back the sheet, he gently rolled the young woman''s body over, his eyes going wide at the number of vicious wounds on her body. The cold season had slowed the decay enough that the bruises and cuts inflicted by Owain''s merciless beating could still be clearly seen.


    "Is she¡­" one of the diggers asked, making a gesture with one hand to ward off evil while the other covered his nose to block the thick, cloying stench of decay.


    "She has a mark," Diarmuid confirmed, examining the birth mark on the woman''s hip. "But I''m not sure that it''s a mark of the witch. People are born with all sorts of blemishes and it doesn''t make them wicked."


    As a young acolyte in the Inquisition, Diarmuid had been present countless time when sobbing, broken-hearted mothers brought their infants to the Church to hear a pronouncement about one blemish or another. In virtually every case, the Church pronounced the child innocent and provided a blessing to the relieved parent.


    Sometimes, he wished that he''d remained an acolyte, with no greater responsibilities than reassuring parents that their children weren''t overtaken by demonic magics. If he had, he wouldn''t be in places like this, standing in the dead of knight over the body of a woman who had died for the mark she''d been born with, whether she was a witch or not.


    "This looks like the mark of the Witch of the Forest," Loman said, fighting down the urge to empty the contents of his stomach and looking at the naked body of his late sister-in-law. Inwardly, he wished he could see her as just a victim of a crime or a demon in human form like any other witch. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Yet, no matter how much he tried, when he looked upon the broken and battered body that had been dumped into a shallow grave without the dignity of a burial garment or a memento to take on the journey to the Heavenly Shores, he couldn''t remain cold and detached.


    Her face was bruised and battered almost beyond recognition but the last time he''d seen that pale blond hair it had been topped with a bridal veil. The last time he saw those delicate features, they''d been radiantly smiling as if the day she married his brother was the happiest day of her life.


    Now, Loman clung desperately to the shape of the mark on the woman''s hip. So long as it was a genuine mark of the witch, even if his brother had committed an error by killing her instead of bringing her to the church, he could forgive him for what he''d done. If it turned out that it wasn''t, that it was just a normal birth mark¡­ Loman didn''t know how he could face his brother again.


    "Doesn''t that mark form in the shape of a tree?" Loman asked, pointing at the mark on the woman''s body and hoping that Inquisitor Diarmuid would give him the confirmation he sought.


    "You''ve been reading the Sealed Histories," the Inquisitor said, giving Loman an appraising look. "I didn''t realize you had risen high enough to be given access to those records. Yes, whenever a Witch of the Forest is born, she bears the mark in the shape of a tree. But, this mark is different. See here," he indicated, pointing at two slender lines at the bottom of the birthmark.


    "The mark is irregular and bulbous on one end, narrow in the center and has slender protrusions at the bottom," he said, speaking as though he was lecturing junior temple acolytes despite the grim setting. "It resembles a tree, but a Witch of the Forest is marked with a tree that has five roots, corresponding to the powers of Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Wood. The length of each root can tell you about which of her powers are stronger," he said.


    Within the records kept sealed by the church there had been a number of powerful witches who challenged both the rule of the king and the power of the Church. Those records were kept sealed so that the common people and even the nobility didn''t realize how close their kingdom and faith had come to crumbling before the strange powers of powerful witches.


    Now, however, when he compared the mark on this woman''s body to the ones that had been recorded in those histories, what he saw didn''t match what he''d read.


    "This mark is similar, but it has only two strands and they do not truly resemble roots. They may just be stretch marks from growth," he said, frowning as he examined the area closely. "Whether she was a virtuous woman with an unfortunate birthmark or a lesser or unknown form of witch, I cannot say," he finally said after several minutes.


    As much as he wanted to pronounce her innocence, the mark was close enough to leave him uncertain. The Church had cataloged many forms of witch over the centuries, particularly before witches were eradicated in the old countries. It was possible that this was a mark of a witch, just not one that had ever been seen here in the new world.


    "My Lady Blackwell, if you truly are innocent, then I apologize for the desecration that will come," he said, offering a brief prayer over her body. "Wrap her back up and bring her back to the temple. I''m afraid I''ll need to remove the flesh with the mark and take it back to the Holy City with me. We have more records there on other witches and their marks."


    "Then, what will we do with her body?" Loman asked, his knees weak at the thought of the inquisitor cutting into a dead body.


    The Holy Lord of Light taught that a body should either be interred in the earth, offered up in flames or entrusted to the deep if buried at sea but in all cases, the body was sacred as the last remnant of the living upon the earth. To carve up a corpse and send part of it away¡­


    "We''ll keep her in a crypt beneath the temple. She must be sealed away until we know if she was a witch," the Inquisitor pronounced. He didn''t mention the other things he would do to the body. Clearly he had already disturbed the two men who weren''t familiar with the inquisition''s methods.


    Diarmuid, however, wouldn''t rest until he had solved what had happened here. If Owain had killed a witch, he should be lauded for it. If he''d murdered a woman to hide his own affair or because she carried another man''s child, then circumstances were very different and the consequences would be dire.


    Until he knew for sure, it was impossible to take action against the son of a Marquis. But perhaps this would turn out to be one of those rare occasions when there really was witchcraft at play, and if so, he wouldn''t rest until he found it.


    Diarmuid couldn''t say whether it would be better for the dead woman to be proved a witch or not. While the Inquisition claimed to be above such things, he was well aware of forces within the Church who would love an excuse to pull Owain down from his seat as the heir of Lothian so they could install Loman as the next Marquis.


    Placing one of the Church''s priests into one of the highest offices in the land would be as good as taking control of the March of Lothian for the Church itself. For some people, the outcome would be so desirable that the truth wouldn''t matter.


    Others had invested greatly in the growing alliance between the Blackwells and the Lothians. That alliance would fuel the next crusade against the demons, expanding human territory and fulfilling their destiny. Anything that jeopardized that crusade had to be squashed, whether it was the truth or not.


    Diarmuid didn''t care, one way or another. All he wanted to discover was the truth. Once he obtained that, the consequences weren''t his concern.

 Chapter 34 - 34: First Parting

    Two weeks after the dinner with Nyrielle''s council, Ashlynn sat alone in one of the castle gardens, waiting for the sun to set. Her hair had been freshly dyed black and her clothes were simple, roughly made items taken from one of the human villages closest to the vale.


    For the past two weeks, Ashlynn had immersed herself in preparation for her mission to infiltrate the summer villa. Most of her waking daylight hours were spent in Georg''s kitchen, working alongside the bear of a man in everything from the preparation of elegant dishes to the cleaning of pots and pans.


    At the same time, her nights were consumed with lessons from Nyrielle and Thane. The lessons she received in sorcery included some of the magic that Marcell used in his work as a spy while Thane ran her ragged, practicing to escape from pursuit should things go wrong.


    Both Nyrielle and Thane would have been happier if she''d had an additional week or two to prepare but when Marcell returned with word of several servants being transferred to the villa, they realized that their window of opportunity might be closing. Now, as Ashlynn sat in the garden, awaiting the setting of the sun, she hoped that the preparation had been enough.


    Today was a rare day in the Vale. Several days of rain had cleared away the mists leaving the air cool and crisp when the clouds finally drifted away. In the past month, there had only been a handful of days like today where Ashlynn could actually see the sun, even when it was directly overhead.


    The constant fog and the shift in her schedule to being awake until dawn made her time in the vale seem like a surreal dream. A dream that, now that she was preparing to return to human lands, she didn''t want to wake up from.


    "The primroses are in bloom," Ashlynn said when a breeze stirred and Nyrielle appeared beside her in the final moments of fading daylight.


    "You like them?" Nyrielle asked, a hand reaching out to take one of Ashlynn''s hands in her own.


    "I don''t know that I like them," Ashlynn said, keeping her eyes on the delicate flowers and refusing to meet Nyrielle''s inquiring gaze. "I admire them though. They''re always the first to bloom like they have to come out and show the rest of the garden that it''s okay to open up."


    "They''re not the prettiest flower, but they''re the first look at beauty in the garden, here or at home. In a little bit, the more stunning flowers will open up and the primroses won''t be noticed, but for a little while, they''re the only ones in the garden and they can bask in all of our attention."


    "You''re far too beautiful to compare yourself to a primrose," Nyrielle breathed, reaching out and gently turning Ashlynn''s face to face her. "Even with your hair dyed black and the rough clothing, you''re still my orchid in the night. You just needed the right environment to blossom."


    "I never said I was a primrose," Ashlynn said, her face heating. "Only that I admired them. They have the courage to be alone. I need a bit of that right now," she whispered, leaning into Nyrielle''s touch.


    "You know that you don''t have to do this," the vampire reminded her. "As valuable as it may be, as much as you may learn, we have survived many years without being able to place a spy like you among the humans. We can find other ways."


    "No," Ashlynn said firmly. "I need to do this for myself as well as for you. If I don''t¡­"


    Her voice trailed off with the things she couldn''t bring herself to say. After a month in the Vale of Mists, living among the Eldritch, she felt like she was losing touch with what it meant to be human. The only people she''d encountered in the vale who had once been human were Nyrielle''s progeny and they were each otherworldly in their own ways.


    She wasn''t sure if she could still think of herself as human, not after everything she''d learned about her own powers.


    Her blood bond with Nyrielle was still growing stronger, and the power she gained from it had yet to reach its limits. Already, she possessed the same physical strength as her father''s knights, and even in the rough terrain of the vale, she could match the speed of any member of the Horned Clan when she raced through the forest.


    She wasn''t like Thane and Nyrielle, with power that transcended human limits, not yet at least, but she had moved far beyond what anyone would expect from a delicate noblewoman. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    That distinction made this moment even more important to her. She wanted to step back into the human world at least one more time while she could still feel like a part of it. Before her growing power could twist her perception of the humans she''d once been.


    "I''ll be waiting for your return," Nyrielle said softly, drawing Ashlynn into a warm embrace. Nyrielle had fed frequently these past two weeks, though she hadn''t fed on Ashlynn since the first time. Whatever sorcery she was working on to prepare her tributes to the other Eldritch lords demanded not only much of her time but drained her significantly in the process.


    "Leaving is harder than I thought," Ashlynn said softly, her arms wrapping around Nyrielle and holding her tightly. For a moment, all she wanted to do was listen to the sound of Nyrielle''s heart beating, letting it soothe her in a way the echo she carried in her own chest never could.


    "Do you want me to carry you to the villa tonight instead of Thane?"


    "No," Ashlynn said, shaking her head slightly against Nyrielle''s chest. "You have work to do, and so do I," she said, pulling back. "Thane and Zedya can take care of delivering me."


    "Such a willful Seneschal I''ve gained," Nyrielle said, leaning in close and taking Ashlynn''s soft lips in her own.


    At first, the kiss was gentle and innocent, but the longer it lasted, the deeper it grew as if their lips and tongues clung to each other in an embrace all of their own. A slight prick from Nyrielle''s fangs spilled a few drops of sharp, metallic blood from Ashlynn''s lower lip, sending a shiver down the younger woman''s spine and stirring a heat within her body.


    The kiss lasted until the last light of the sunset faded from the sky as neither woman was willing to step back from the moment. Only the arrival of Nyrielle''s progeny held Ashlynn back from going further and wrapping herself around Nyrielle to cling to her Mistress with her entire body.


    While Nyrielle might not care for the thoughts of others when displaying her affection for Ashlynn, the young witch was still enough of a noblewoman to shrink away from being so bold in full view of others.


    "Thane," Nyrielle said when she finally pulled back from the kiss. "You have the final decision when you arrive. If you assess it too dangerous, you bring my darling home, no matter what she says, you understand?"


    Despite the determination she could feel radiating from Ashlynn and Thane''s positive assessment of her skills and preparations, Nyrielle still couldn''t entirely put her heart at ease with Ashlynn''s departure.


    The presence of an Inquisitor conjured too many painful memories of loved one''s lost to be cavalier about the threat posed by one of the Church''s highly-trained zealots. If Thane detected even a hint of such a person, she expected him to sweep Ashlynn off her feet and bring her home whether the young witch was willing or not.


    "Your will, Mistress," Thane replied with a slight bow. "If I see any sign that the Inquisitor is there or that there''s extraordinary danger, I''ll bring her directly back."


    Ashlynn looked like she wanted to protest, but she held her tongue. That the villa was being prepared for use by the Inquisitor was one of the many speculations that had formed while she prepared for her mission and one that could prove the most dangerous for the vale.


    If the Inquisitor was present, she felt that it was even more important to gain information but she understood that the man presented not only the greatest danger to Nyrielle''s progeny but to herself as well. Since that was the case, she accepted Nyrielle''s arrangements, even if she felt like she could avoid being discovered.


    "I''ll return soon," she promised, stepping away from Nyrielle to join Thane and Zedya.


    "I know," the vampire said, smiling slightly with a mixture of pride at Ashlynn''s growth and sadness at her departure. "I''ll be waiting. Now go, the night is short and growing shorter."


    A moment later Thane scooped Ashlynn up into his powerful arms, whisking her away into the darkness of the night.

 Chapter 35 - 35: Infiltrating the Summer Villa

    The night was cold and crisp and Thane''s body lacked the warmth to ward off the chill Ashlynn felt as they raced through the night to the distant Lothian villa. Hours passed in near complete silence as neither of Nyrielle''s progeny spoke for the duration of the trip, leaving Ashlynn alone with her thoughts.


    From what she had read when preparing to marry Owain, she knew that the Summer Villa had been a treasure of the Lothian family for generations. While they referred to it as a villa, the combination of outer and inner walls gave the luxurious manor several attributes of a country fortress and a number of storied battles had even been fought at the villa.


    Because of Nyrielle and her progeny, the Lothians had never been willing to engage in protracted sieges that lasted through the dark winter months. Doing so only invited disaster when the most powerful of Nyrielle''s forces were the least restrained. Instead, wars between humans and the Eldritch nations tended to be brief but intense affairs fought in the late spring to early fall.


    During that time, the Lothian family made it a habit to send vulnerable young heirs or cousins of the main line of the family to the Summer Villa. It was located far enough from any of the major battlefields to become a place of safety, and at the same time, it prevented the Church from offering to fulfill the same role.


    While young Lothian heirs would have been incredibly secure within the walls of the temple in Lothian City, they would also become hostages that the Church could use to pressure the Marquis. Bors Lothian, like his father and grandfather before him, had no intention of giving the Church any more influence in the march than they already had and so the tradition of sending the family to the Summer Villa in the late spring persisted to this day.


    When Ashlynn arrived at the villa, it loomed large against the stars of the clear night sky, occupying the top of a hill with a commanding view of both the lowlands and the distant forests of the foothills. Walls nearly thirty feet high stood like silent sentinels in the dark, wrapping themselves around the grand manor like a scarf of stone draped over the uneven hilltop.


    What surprised Ashlynn was that the villa was already more active than she would have expected so early in the season. Torches burned at both gatehouses filling the air with the faint smell of woodsmoke and light shone from the windows of several rooms in the manor even at this late hour.


    "Is this going to be a problem?" Ashlynn asked when they paused outside the outer gates.


    "It won''t," Zedya said with a smile. "Excuse me, gentleman," the vampire called, stepping out of the shadows in full display of the guards atop the wall. "My Mistress craves a moment of your attention."


    When Zedya spoke, her amethyst eyes glowed like sparkling jewels in the night, drawing the attention of the men on the wall with an irresistible pull. As soon as she had drawn their attention, Thane made his own move, easily scaling the wall in a few steps to arrive before the entranced men.


    "Open the side gate," Thane commanded, his voice rich and sonorous, landing on the ears of the guardsmen like it was a command from the Holy Lord of Light himself. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes, Lord," one of the guardsmen said, moving awkwardly, as if in a daze while he made his way into the gatehouse to open the small door that would only allow a single person at a time to pass through.


    "My Lady," Zedya said, gesturing for Ashlynn to proceed her into the gate. "I''ll be right behind you as soon as these men have forgotten seeing us."


    Time was limited, so Ashlynn said nothing as she entered the villa, but inwardly part of her shivered at the efficiency with which the pair of vampires gained access to the Lothian fortress. Thane had been given the Voice of Command while Nyrielle had gifted Zedya with Mesmerizing Eyes.


    This was her first time seeing Zedya''s gift in action and the results were impressive. Combined with Thane, however, it was a little bit terrifying. "No wonder the Lothians have never broken the vale¡­"


    Seeing the vale for herself, she''d been surprised by how few people there were to fight off the combined armies of the Lothians and all of their vassals. Even with the advantage held by defenders, they should have been overrun generations ago.


    Now, walking effortlessly into a Lothian fortress because of just two people, she realized why numbers couldn''t tell the whole story. Nyrielle''s forces were much more capable than those raised by the Lothians and she had no doubt that the appearance of any of her progeny could tip a pitched battle in the Vale''s favor.


    Perhaps the only thing that allowed the Lothians to resist an attack on their own home ground was the considerable presence maintained by the Church in Lothian City and throughout the march. If these guards had been Templars instead of ordinary soldiers, Ashlynn doubted their entrance would have been so easy.


    "The servant''s quarters are this way," Thane said once they''d reached the manor itself.


    Fully staffed, the manor could easily accommodate fifty servants or more. At the moment, however, fewer than twenty men and women occupied the two common rooms provided to household staff.


    The beds were simple with mattresses stuffed with hay and each servant had a single wooden box to hold their spare change of clothing and any personal effects they owned. While the men and women slept separately, Zedya quickly woke all of the servants and brought them under her spell, gathering them in the women''s chambers.


    "Remember everyone," Zedya told her enthralled audience. "This woman is called Lynnda and she arrived at the same time as all of you. She''s been here as long as you have," she repeated, ensuring that the people under her sway wouldn''t find anything unusual about Ashlynn''s sudden appearance.


    "Which one among you is in charge of the kitchens," Thane asked one of the numbly standing servants. Turning to the man the servant pointed out, he spoke again, using the richness of his Voice of Command. "Tell me your name."


    "Otis, Lord," a balding man with a thin mustache said, looking straight ahead with glazed eyes while under Zedya''s spell.


    "Otis," Zedya whispered, coming closer to the man. "I''ve heard a rumor. You''ve heard the same rumor. Lynnda is Marquis Bors'' illegitimate daughter."


    "Be good to Lynnda," Thane commanded. "She will assist you in the kitchens but do not abuse her."


    "Why would you tell him that?" Ashlynn asked sharply. They''d told her that Zedya would mesmerize the servants to accept her presence, but no one had mentioned this to her. If they hadn''t told her about this during their planning, what other arrangements had they made without informing her?


    "So that they don''t dare to touch you," Zedya said, stepping close to Ashlynn. "My Lady, please don''t be displeased. I know that you wish to prove yourself without more of our meddling help."


    "If you know," Ashlynn said, raising a brow. "Then why do it?"


    "Because you mean too much to Mistress Nyrielle," the vampire said. "She didn''t command this, but you Thane, and I, we''ve both seen what''s happening. Mistress is happier now than she has been in a very long time. Perhaps happier than she''s been since before she took Thane and I in."


    "I won''t let anyone bully my little sister," Thane added, stepping up to give Ashlynn a parting hug. "And I won''t spoil Mistress Nyrielle''s happiness by risking you. Learn what you can, but remember that your life belongs to our Mistress and is more important than any information you can gather here."


    "Alright," Ashlynn said, returning Thane''s hug before stepping back. "You two should go. You don''t have much time to make it back before daylight."


    Lying down on one of the available beds, Ashlynn closed her eyes while Zedya led the glassy-eyed servants back to their own beds. In the morning, no one but her would remember the strange visitors who had come in the night and left like the wind.


    It wasn''t until almost an hour later that Ashlynn was able to join the servants in sleep. The hay of the bed poked at her and the coarse blanket scratched at her skin and the smell of so many unwashed bodies in a single room was far from pleasant but she knew that if she didn''t get at least some rest before the sun rose, she would regret it.


    Once morning came, she would be all alone among the humans of the Lothian villa¡­ and her real work would begin.

 Chapter 36 - 36: Preparing for Distinguished Guests

    Ashlynn felt like she''d barely gotten to sleep when the sound of someone striking a metal cowbell rang through the servant''s quarters, signaling a start to the day. The embers in the hearth had long burned out and the cold stone floor of the room made her grateful of the thick socks she kept, even though they were far too luxurious for most common servants. Once she slipped her house shoes on over them, no one would ever notice anyway.


    "Lynnda, git out here," Otis called from outside the women''s quarters. "Don''t make e''ryone wait for ya."


    "Commin," she called, dashing for the door while most of the serving women were still changing out of their night clothes. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Otis wasted few words on her, quickly putting her to work, clearing the previous night''s ash from the kitchen hearth, and starting a new fire. From there, the two worked together with a gangly red-haired youth called Ollie to prepare a breakfast porridge for the staff while the rest of the household got to work.


    From what little Ashlynn was able to learn while working in the kitchens, most of the staff had arrived more than a week prior to begin reopening the villa after a winter''s disuse. Much of the cleaning was already complete and wagon loads of supplies had been arriving each day for the past three days.


    "Lynnda," Otis called, waving her over from the large pot where she''d begun to soak several hunks of salt cured pork. None of the cuts in the barrel she''d been given were very good, in fact, half the barrel contained hog''s heads, but Otis had been clear about the markings on the casks she was allowed to open and the others likely weren''t any better.


    "Yer mother musta been important, right? A chambermaid or sumsuch?" Otis asked.


    "She was a wetnurse, mister," Ashlynn said. "For Lord Owain," she added, providing an identity that would place her fictitious mother close enough to Marquis Bors to make an affair between the two likely.


    "Figures," the cook snorted. "Lord Owain''s Steward, Sir Kaefin, is arriving ta inspect tha place this afternoon. He''s bringing a bunch more soldiers along wit all tha fine foods. We should make up somethin'' a little nice for the Steward. Ya ever meet im? Know what he likes?"


    Ashlynn had, in fact, briefly met Sir Kaefin on more than one occasion. While he''d inherited his title and never showed any inclination to go to war himself, his family connections allowed him to secure a place as the head of Owain''s personal staff.


    Ashlynn''s impression of the man wasn''t good. It wasn''t just that he was a soft man who did little to live up to his title of knight. Whenever Ashlynn had been around him, she''d felt like his eyes roved over her body as much as she''d been told his hands did over the bodies of serving women. Just being around him made her distinctly uncomfortable.


    Fortunately, however, if there was one thing he loved as much as he seemed to love beautiful women, it was luxurious food. When he visited Blackwell County with Owain, he boasted repeatedly about the wild game he hunted and the rich flavors of boar, venison and wild turkey that could be hunted in Lothian March.


    "He likes things that are wild and gamey, mister," Ashlynn said after thinking for a moment. "He pays hunters for boar and venison. He also has a very large appetite," she added, though she was certain that Otis already knew that much about the man.


    "We don''t have any of either yet," Otis frowned. "He''s probably bringin'' hunters wit ''im to get ready fer Lord Owain an Lady Ashlynn''s arrival t''morrow."


    Ashlynn had to fight to keep the surprise off her face at the cook''s casual announcement that not only Owain, but the woman who was masquerading as her, would be arriving the next day. Briefly, her hands balled up into fists before she forced herself to relax.


    "Hey, Sir Kaefin didn''a put hands on ya did he?" Otis asked gently, misinterpreting her reaction. "Was that why ya got picked ta come out here? Is ''e tryin'' ta keep tabs on ya? He already spoiled two girls last year," he said, shaking his head. "It won''t do if he spoils ya too, there aren''t enough of us ta pick up slack if ya fall pregnant."


    "He didn''t put his hands on me," Ashlynn quickly said, trying to emulate Nyrielle''s impassive and expressionless face as much as she could. "I just thought, if we can''t give him boar, we can stew the pork jowls with walnuts to make up the flavor a bit. Not enough to pass it off as boar but enough that he may like it."


    "Oh, that''s good thinking," Otis said, grinning widely. "Knew it was a good idea ta bring ya out here this time. Ya'' know what his Lordship likes too?"


    "I do, but, aren''t you one of Lord Owain''s cooks? Haven''t you cooked for him before?" Ashlynn asked, puzzled by how uninformed the man seemed to be compared to what she would expect of a longtime retainer.


    She didn''t expect him to be as skilled as Georg, such a chef likely cooked for Owain''s father, but certainly whoever Owain had sent out here would be better at serving him than this, wouldn''t he?


    "I wish. None of ''em will come out ''ere when Lord Owain isn''t staying long. I''m jus'' an army cook. We''re just to care for Lady Ashlynn till ''er sister arrives with more folks from Blackwell. I imagine they''re bringing all sorts of stuff from the sea fer her ladyship."


    "Enough gossiping," the cook said with a frown. Normally he wouldn''t be so forthcoming with anyone assigned to his kitchen but it wouldn''t do to be too harsh on this Lynnda if it turned out that the Marquis kept tabs on her.


    "Go start cracking nuts, imma have Ollie dig radishes and we''ll see what we can pretty up fer Sir Kaefin ta night."


    "Yes, mister," Ashlynn said, giving a quick curtsey like she''d seen Heila do countless times and turning away to search for the sacks of nuts she''d seen at the back of the larder.


    "Why is Jocelynn coming out here?" she muttered as she began shelling nuts. Just weeks ago, the heavy burlap sack filled with nuts would have been more than she could lift, but now, as she sat down with a rough wooden mallet to begin cracking the tough shells, she found herself needing to focus to avoid crushing the nuts.


    If it were Thane, she imagined, or even Marcell, she had no doubt that either vampire would have simply cracked the nuts in their bare hands without bothering with a mallet at all. Briefly, she tried doing so herself, squeezing the tough shell with her slender fingers until her knuckles turned white.


    "And Owain isn''t staying long? Just what is going on," she muttered, giving up on crushing the nuts bare-handed and retrieving the mallet to take out her frustration at the lack of answers on the helpless nuts.


    There was a limit to what she could learn staying in the kitchens but already the news she''d received was explosive. Clearly, they were hiding away the fake Ashlynn Blackwell, but if her sister was coming out here then it was impossible that her family didn''t know about her death.


    There was no way they could hide things from Jocelynn once she arrived. While the Blackwell sisters had lived very different lives, they were hardly estranged. Jocelynn had even looked up to her older sister until the time she began to develop as a woman and spent more time socializing with the other young ladies of Blackwell County.


    Even if this fake Ashlynn was a perfect lookalike, a single conversation would be enough to give away the ruse. Unless Owain planned to trap Jocelynn here, it didn''t make sense that she''d be in the dark about the impostor.


    Working in the kitchen to prepare for Sir Kaefin''s arrival, Ashlynn''s mind spun furiously as she revised what she thought she knew about matters between her family and Owain. Clearly, Owain hadn''t kept them in the dark if Jocelynn was coming out here.


    The only question was whether they only learned of his attempt to kill her after he did the deed, or if it had been one of her family members who told Owain about her mark of the witch in the first place.


    She still wanted to believe that they''d only found out afterward and that it had been one of the family''s retainers or servants who betrayed her. With her sister''s impending arrival, however, it felt much less likely than before.


    Unfortunately, she only had a few days before she needed to leave the summer villa. If she couldn''t stay until her sister arrived, she could at least target Owain''s other retainers. Sir Kaefin, as Owain''s personal steward, likely knew several things that would be useful to the vale.


    She''d rather target Owain''s personal guards, Sir Tommin or Sir Broll, who had dumped her in a shallow grave in the Vale of Mists. She hadn''t forgotten how roughly they''d treated her ''corpse'' before throwing her in a freshly dug pit and burying her.


    But, since Sir Kaefin was coming out alone first, perhaps that would offer her an even better opportunity.

 Chapter 37 - 37: Different Traps

    Unfortunately, when Sir Kaefin arrived, Otis ordered Ashlynn and Ollie to remain in the kitchens while most of the staff assembled in the courtyard to receive the Steward.


    It seemed like Zedya''s enchantment was doing its work and Otis didn''t dare to expose someone as fetching as Ashlynn to the Steward''s lustful gaze.


    For Ashlynn, it was a mixed blessing. She''d hoped to use delivering Kaefin''s special meal as an excuse to get close to the man. While she lacked Zedya or Thane''s abilities to place him in an unbreakable trance, she''d learned enough sorcery to encourage someone to speak more than they should. She was confident that, given the opportunity, she could pry a few secrets from his lips.


    On the other hand, Otis'' orders meant that she didn''t need to risk being alone with a man who was known to have spoiled several serving women. Just the thought of his meaty paws on her sent shivers down her spine and made her glad for the ability to avoid him until she could approach him in a way that didn''t put her at risk.


    The relief, however, was short-lived when one of the hunters accompanying Sir Kaefin dropped off the freshly gutted carcass of a young buck.


    "Tomorrow, when young lord Owain arrives, we''ll feast on venison," the knight announced proudly, as though he had been the one to hunt the deer instead of the hunters he hired. He also completely ignored the pained look on the cook''s face when he announced that they would need to prepare a feast in a single day.


    "Make sure everything is ready for a feast that begins two bells before sundown," the knight said, poking Otis in the chest with a thick finger for emphasis.


    As a result, Ashlynn found herself in a cold room with Ollie, up to their elbows in fresh meat as they struggled to prepare everything from cuts for roasting to fresh venison sausage. The experience was made even worse by the enhanced senses Ashlynn had carefully developed over the past month.


    The smell wasn''t the worst part of things, the cool room at least muted the worst of the smells from the butchering. Rather, it was her sense of touch that was torturous as her hands became slick with a layer of animal fat that melted under her own body heat while she squeezed minced meat into sausage casings.


    "Say, you ever get a chance to eat any of the things the lords eat?" Ollie asked while carefully separating meat from the bones that would go into a stock pot. "Not sneaking any but, you know, do their lordships ever share a bit with you?"


    "Why would the lords share food with me?" Ashlynn asked, wishing she had some of Nyrielle''s lavender soap to wash up after she was done with her current chore.


    "Well, um, I mean, you''re really pretty," the gangly youth said awkwardly. "Don''t the lords favor pretty women?"


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, giving him a look as cold and flat as Nyrielle''s. "Take a look at my hands," she said, holding up her delicate hands that were covered in fat, bits of meat, herbs, and spices. "If I came up to you and shoved my hands into your breaches for a bit of a feel and then ran my hands through your hair, would you feel favored?"


    "What? Ew, no," he said, shuddering at the idea. "Why would you do that?"


    "That''s what it''s like to be ''favored'' by someone you don''t want touching you," Ashlynn said, thinking of a few lords who had overly ''praised'' her at banquets she couldn''t escape attending after her coming-of-age celebration.


    In a way, betrothal to Owain had been a blessing all its own when she became ''off limits'' to men almost twice her age who thought she might make a worthy bride. Jocelynn, she knew, had suffered even more than she had. As the eldest daughter of a count, Ashlynn had always been marked for marriage to a person of significant status. Outside of peers of a similar or greater rank, few people would make a move on her.


    Jocelynn, however, was often targeted by people hoping to marry up or by people who felt like she was a prize that could be won through acts of exaggerated loyalty. A few of the barons who were her father''s vassals had even suggested that marriage to the younger Blackwell daughter would be a fitting reward for generations of dutiful service, even if the lord in question had never personally done anything praiseworthy.


    When she thought of how her sister must be facing pressure after her ''death'' Ashlynn began to wonder if Jocelynn''s upcoming visit to the Lothian summer villa was voluntary or if she was being compelled in some way. The thought just made her current circumstances worse, stuck in the larder where she couldn''t learn anything about her sister''s visit.


    "So, no food then?" Ollie said weakly. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No," Ashlynn sighed. "No food. But you know, the stuff they serve the lords isn''t that different from the things soldiers get to eat. If you want to eat well, why not serve in the Marquis'' guard? You''re tall and strong, I''m sure they''d take you."


    "I wish," the young man said wistfully. "The only way I''ll get in the army is if there''s a war. Without a war on, the only ones who get to join the guard are the sons of pensioners from the last war. My da was a stablehand and my ma works in the laundry. The kitchens are already a step up in life for me."


    "Couldn''t you strike out on your own if you wanted to?" Ashlynn asked, finally finishing with the sausage stuffing and looking around for a way to wash up before moving on to the next task. "You''re handy with the knife, why not be a butcher in town instead of working in the castle?"


    "I''d never make it," Ollie said, his shoulders slumped. "At least working for their lordships I get a place to sleep and food to eat, even if it''s not great. And I get a silver penny every month. I hear that penny would only let me rent a room in a common house in the city for a month, it wouldn''t even feed me. I''d have to save every penny for years to strike out on my own."


    "Oh, I see," Ashlynn said, frowning at the young man. "What about the smaller towns? Doesn''t a silver penny buy more in the towns managed by the barons?"


    "Sure, but aren''t the barons always under attack by demons?" Ollie said. "I heard that there are demons ten feet tall, covered in fur that can tear a man in two with their claws."


    Ashlynn had to fight from laughing at the image of Georg tearing a person in two with his claws. The poor man didn''t even do his own slaughtering, he had to have one of his assistants in the kitchen snap the necks of chickens and pluck them so it no longer resembled a living bird when he began cutting it up for dinner.


    Still, she had to admit that men like Commander Bassinger were far more deadly and the Vale of Mists didn''t lack for hearty soldiers who could tear through even the bravest knights.


    "So I suppose we''re both stuck where we are," Ashlynn said with more feeling than she intended. Growing up, she''d been trapped by her mark, then trapped by her betrothal. Now, while she felt freer than ever, she was still bound to Nyrielle.


    Her new prison might be a gilded cage with hands tied by velvet ropes but if she ever decided to run away from it all, she had as much chance at succeeding as Ollie did of striking out on his own.


    "It''s not all bad," Ollie said, trying to cheer her up when he felt the mood grow heavy. "This is your first time at the summer villa, right? I''ve come out here every year since I was ten. Tomorrow, at the feast, I can show you one of my favorite spots."


    "You think we''ll get to rest during the feast?" Ashlynn said. "Look at the mess we''re already making. We''ll be cleaning for days."


    "That''s just it though, it''ll be a whole day to clean up. Mister Otis won''t mind if we slip off for a bit to watch the feast. We can listen to the music and there might even be pretty ladies that, um, never mind," he said, realizing that Ashlynn might not be as excited as he was at the idea of peeping on the noblewomen dancing as he was.


    "If you''re sure we won''t get caught," Ashlynn said, flinging a bit of gristle at the gangly youth. "Then I suppose I can go watch with you. But you have to promise me that we won''t get caught by the people at the feast," she insisted.


    With her hair dyed black and not so much as a trace of makeup or jewelry, she was fairly confident that Owain wouldn''t recognize her. Even if he saw her, knowing that Ashlynn Blackwell was ''dead'' should result in him taking her for having nothing more than a chance resemblance.


    Still, going to the feast where not only Owain but his personal guards would be present as well struck her as risky. If she was recognized one-on-one by someone like Sir Kaefin, she felt like she had a chance to manage things, but everyone would be present at the feast.


    "I promise," Ollie said with a wide grin on his face. "There''s no way they''ll see us from my spot."


    "If you''re sure then," Ashlynn said, choosing to put her faith in his promise. Going to the feast was a risk, but she couldn''t deny that it also presented an opportunity to listen in on whatever conversations Owain had with his noble guests. For that alone, she hoped it would be worth the risk.

 Chapter 38 - 38: Owain’s Arrival

    Preparations for the feast continued long into the night and by the time Ashlynn crawled into the straw bed she felt more exhausted than at any point in her life. The sun had set long ago and the dinner they ate amounted to a stew of meat broth with vegetables thickened by old bread.


    Eating such atrocious food while preparing the refined dishes for the upcoming feast was, in Ashlynn''s mind, a special form of torture. To add insult on top of the horrible dinner, Sir Kaefin posted one of his guards outside the kitchens to prevent any of the staff from sneaking food before it could be served to the nobles during the feast.


    The next day started just as early as the last one had and once again Ashlynn found herself hauled from bed early to feed the rest of the household staff. After that, the day turned into a sweltering nightmare as every hearth and oven was lit to cook everything from loaves of fresh bread to meat pies and spit-roasted venison.


    At midday, there was considerable fanfare from the entrance to the villa. Seeing his two young assistants fidgeting, Otis gave them each a few minutes to gawk so long as they remained out of sight of the arriving lords.


    "Follow me," Ollie said eagerly, dashing into the cellars and pulling Ashlynn along with him.


    "But, they''re arriving in the courtyard," Ashlynn said.


    "Mister Otis said to stay out of sight. Come look, you''ll see," he added, entering a cellar and pulling Ashlynn over to the far wall. There, a small window allowed both light and fresh air into the cellar, set just at ground level. The window was only a handbreadth tall, but it offered not only a view of the courtyard but a welcome cool breeze after working in the sweltering kitchens.


    "I told you I know all the best places," the gangly youth grinned, eagerly stepping up to the window and peering outside.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn fumed, searching about the cellar until she found a small cask of pickled vegetables. "I''m not that tall," she said, dragging the cask over to balance on, clutching the iron bars of the window to keep herself stable.


    "Oh, sorry," the gangly youth said without taking his eyes off the scene in the courtyard. "But look!"


    In the courtyard, two dozen armored men had formed into ranks leading up to an elegant carriage emblazoned with the blue and yellow coat of arms of the Lothian family. Two knights stood at either side of the doors to the elegant carriage, one of whom ignited a fire within Ashlynn''s chest.


    "Sir Broll," she whispered, recalling the way he''d kicked her to prove that she was ''dead'' before dumping her into a shallow grave. Some might say that she owed her life to his negligence that night but she would never take such a forgiving view of him. "But where''s Sir Tommin? He should be here too."


    "You know the knights on sight?" Ollie said, his eyes wide. "They still have their helms on!"


    "Sir Broll''s the one with the green cloak and the stag painted on his shield," she said. "The other one I don''t know, but his armor looks pretty old," Ashlynn added, trying to remember any knights who used a bird for their sigil but failing to recall anyone.


    "Look, it''s Lord Owain and Lady Ashlynn," Ollie said excitedly, unaware that the real Lady Ashlynn was right beside him, carefully perching on a barrel of pickled radishes and turnips. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Owain exited the carriage first, his well-tailored tunic conforming to his broad, muscular chest while his tight breeches highlighted the notable bulge in his pants. Most infuriating to Ashlynn, however, was the gentle smile he bestowed on the woman exiting the carriage delicately behind him as he helped her down.


    The fake Ashlynn had her long blond hair arranged in elegant braids and she wore a dark maroon dress with a plunging neckline that had been part of the luggage Ashlynn brought from Blackwell County. Around her neck, she even wore the scroll-shaped pendant Ashlyn had received from a tutor as a farewell gift when she left Blackwell County.


    The woman stood perhaps an inch or two taller than Ashlynn herself and her features were sharper than the real Ashlynn but her figure was every bit as buxom. When she took Owain''s arm in her own and pressed up against him, they gave off a very convincing appearance of a newlywed couple in love.


    As much as she hated to admit it, the woman that Owain had found resembled her enough that if someone was only given a description of her, they might actually believe that she was the genuine lady Ashlynn Blackwell.


    Standing side by side, the differences between the two women would be obvious and Ashlynn didn''t think for a moment that the fake could fool her tutors back in Blackwell County or anyone else who had met her more than a few times, but out here, so far from home, almost no one knew her so well.


    "She''s so pretty," Ollie said, oblivious to Ashlynn''s seething beside him. "Lord Owain is really lucky."


    "That''s odd," Ashlynn said when a footman closed the doors to the carriage. "There''s only one carriage, and there''s no one else with O- Lord Owain," she said, her brows lowering in confusion. "Where are Lady Ashlynn''s attendants? There should be at least another young lady or two from the march with her, shouldn''t there?"


    "Didn''t they say that Lady Ashlynn''s sister is coming soon?" Ollie said, not understanding what the problem was. "Maybe they''re all coming with her."


    "You don''t understand," Ashlynn said, not bothering to explain. Inwardly, however, she wondered what Owain was playing at. Bringing his wife out here alone, without any other women to accompany her, would have created a scandal back in Blackwell County, particularly since he wasn''t intending to stay for very long.


    Was he just trying to minimize the risks of someone figuring out about the deception? It was true that she''d met several of the young ladies of the march when she arrived in Lothian City but surely he could have reached out to some of the country barons to send one of their daughters along, just to maintain appearances sake.


    Unless there was something else going on, it didn''t make sense why he''d allow her to go unescorted. That sort of thing made it far too easy for rumors to form about a lady''s virtue and fidelity.


    "We should go back," Ollie said, when Owain, the fake Ashlynn, and their servants began to enter the manor. "I have an even better spot to watch from tonight. We can see them again then," he added excitedly."


    "Good," Ashlynn said, hopping off the barrel of pickles. "I can''t wait to see what goes on at the feast tonight. Who knows," she added, walking beside Ollie. "Since there aren''t any ladies accompanying their lordships, and no other young lords besides Lord Owain, there might even be leftovers we could sample when we clear away the dishes."


    "No way we''ll be that lucky," Ollie laughed. "The soldiers will snap up all the good bits before we get a chance."


    "You never know," Ashlynn said cryptically as they returned to the sweltering kitchens. "Strange things happen all the time."

 Chapter 39 - 39: A Feast of Oddities

    By the time the feast began, Ashlynn had accumulated several additional observations that didn''t quite add up.


    Not only was the fake Ashlynn traveling without any attending ladies, but the number of attendees for the feast was far lower than she expected. The grand banquet hall would need only a single table to accommodate Owain, the fake Ashlynn, a few knights, and the highest-ranking soldiers stationed within the villa.


    Normally, the common captain or sergeant at arms would be lucky to have a seat at a lower table during the feast. Including them at Owain''s tables felt almost like a desperate attempt to salvage pride and make up the numbers instead of leaving seats empty during the feast.


    Even Otis seemed surprised at how few people would be attending given the instructions Sir Kaefin provided after his arrival. It wasn''t until Ashlynn began preparing large pitchers of wine for the table, however, that she spotted the next oddity.


    "No one has asked us to send wine to be blessed," she realized. In fact, when she thought about the people who arrived with Owain, she couldn''t recall seeing a single priest, chaplain or templar among the entire party. It gave the strange impression that the Holy Lord of Light had withdrawn his protection from the villa.


    "Is he hiding from the Inquisitor?" she wondered. "Or is he hiding the fake me from the Inquisitor?" It was the only thing she could think of that would explain why he hadn''t even brought his personal priest along to tend to matters of faith at the villa.


    As strange as it was, Ashlynn was grateful for the opportunity it offered her. Priests of the Church all received some training in combating the magic of the Eldritch peoples. In Blackwell County, it was seen mostly as a formality unless a person intended to become an Inquisitor or a Templar, but here in the Lothian March, Ashlynn imagined that every man of cloth had at least some ability to counter sorcery.


    Since Owain hadn''t brought any of his priests with him, it meant that Ashlynn didn''t have to be as careful in her use of sorcery to gather information during her stay. When she realized that, she began to make several adjustments to her plan to make use of the things she''d learned from Nyrielle leading up to this mission.


    Once the feast had begun, Ollie led Ashlynn up narrow winding stairs until they arrived on a balcony that ringed the great hall where the feast was held. The scent of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread wafted up from the tables below, making Ashlynn''s stomach growl as if she needed a reminder that servants weren''t allowed to eat until the feast had finished. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The narrow balcony held several ropes and chains that ran to winches on the wall for raising and lowering the many chandeliers in the hall or hanging the tapestries that covered the walls. A layer of dust and cobwebs covered everything that hadn''t been touched to prepare for the feast, making it clear just how rarely people came onto the balcony.


    While Ollie seemed comfortable ducking around the ropes and chains and other obstructions on the narrow balcony, Ashlynn moved with considerably more care as she worked her way toward the side of the room directly above the high table, her fingers tracing over oily chains and rough ropes for extra steadiness as she went.


    The slowness, however, was mostly a pretense. Thane had forced her to navigate much more treacherous terrain at a run and in the dark during her training. What she really needed at the moment was the time to use one of the spells she''d learned from Nyrielle.


    "Left ear, goblet, sound," she said softly, allowing a trace of power to envelop one ear and linking it to one of the goblets of wine on the table. She didn''t dare to target Owain''s goblet directly, but once her magic whispered across the cup in Sir Broll''s hand, she was able to hear the conversation at the table as well as if she''d been sitting at the table herself.


    "... toast to absent friends," Sir Broll was saying as he stood to hold up his goblet. Even without his armor, he was an imposingly large man with thick muscular arms and meaty hands that made the delicate goblet look like it could be crushed in his hands at any moment. "Sir Tommin, may you die a glorious death fighting the demon hordes!"


    "None of that," the elder knight that Ashlynn didn''t recognize said, reaching out to pull Broll back into his chair. The man''s neatly tied-back silver hair and steel gray beard combined to give him an appearance that resembled Ashlynn''s tutors more than a knight but the force with which he pulled Sir Broll back into his seat made it clear that he still retained much of his strength.


    "Sir Tommin has taken a Templar''s oath," the old knight said in a chastising tone that reminded Ashlynn even more of her tutors. "A man of great faith deserves our respect, no matter what age he was when he felt his calling."


    "I don''t think a calling had anything to do with it," Broll said darkly, taking a heavy swig of the dark red, slightly bitter wine. "But I don''t wish him ill. Since he joined the Templars then it should be his greatest honor to die in battle fighting evil instead of collecting dust in a moldy castle."


    "Brat, do you need this old man to show you what a dusty relic from the last war can still do?" the older knight said fiercely.


    "Sir Cathal," Owain interjected before things could get out of control. "I''m sure Sir Broll didn''t mean anything by it. No one has forgotten your service to my father in the last war and I''m grateful you could step in to fill the void left by Sir Tommin''s departure."


    "My Ashlynn is in delicate condition after all," he added, placing a hand over the imposter''s belly. "Knowing that you''ll be here to guard her and my heir growing in her belly is a relief to all of us, isn''t it, my darling wife?" Owain said, giving the imposter a significant look.


    "I feel very safe knowing you''re here until my sister arrives," the imposter said lightly. "I know your lordship will keep me safe."


    "You''re too polite, my Lady," the old knight said, standing to bow. "I''m no lord, just a humble knight of the watchtower."


    "My darling is kind to everyone," Owain said quickly, covering for the imposter''s breach of etiquette.


    No true noble lady would have referred to a knight beneath her station the way she had, but to servants, etiquette was much simpler. Any noble, from the most junior knight to the highest prince could be safely addressed as ''your lordship'' and only the strictest of noblemen would fault them for failing to use an appropriate title.


    "Still, the journey has been taxing on her," Owain said. "My darling wife, perhaps you should retire to our chambers and await me there."


    "Of course, my lord," the imposter said, glancing wistfully at the table full of food before making a quick exit from the hall. Strangely, it seemed like she almost expected to be sent away, as though she''d only come to the feast to be seen but never planned to enjoy it.


    Owain, however, remained in the hall, continuing to feast on venison and pork, drinking fine wine, and sharing boisterous jokes with Sir Kaefin and Sir Broll. Only the old knight frowned at the display of sending ''Lady Ashlynn'' away, but he held his tongue, likely understanding that nothing good would come from questioning the relationship between a lord and his wife.


    On the balcony, Ashlynn frowned at the callus display. Would Owain have treated her that way, just so he could drink and feast with his friends? Or was he doing it because the woman wasn''t really her and he disliked maintaining the charade?


    "Ollie," Ashlynn whispered to the red-headed youth. "I''m going to go back to the kitchens. Lady Ashlynn didn''t eat much. I bet she wants someone to bring her a plate to eat in her room."


    "Do you think so?" Ollie asked, straining to hear what was being said down below. "She looked like she was uncomfortable when she left. Maybe she''s delicate and the carriage ride was too much for her."


    "I don''t think that''s it," Ashlynn said, working her way back across the ropes and chains on the balcony. "I''ll make her a plate. If I''m right, she''ll be happy. If I''m wrong," she said, flashing Ollie a mischievous look. "I''ll have an extra plate of food no one will notice missing."

 Chapter 40 - 40: A Woman Named Samira

    In the kitchen, Ashlynn quickly assembled a plate that included everything from minced onion pie to smoked venison sausage and a handful of small jammy tarts, ducking out with only the briefest explanation to Otis before he could scold her. As she left, she heard the head cook rounding on Ollie for an explanation.


    "Sorry Ollie," she said under her breath as she made her way up the stairs of the villa to the east tower where the fake Ashlynn should be staying with Owain. Hopefully Zedya''s implication that she was Marquis Bors'' illegitimate daughter would prevent Otis from getting too upset at her and taking it out on the gangly kitchen boy for peeping at the feast when they should have been working.


    While she walked, Ashlynn drew a tiny amount of magical energy and laid a simple spell over the food. With luck, it would encourage the imposter to be more forthcoming in answering questions, as though the person she was speaking to was a trusted confidant rather than a complete stranger.


    When she reached the door to Owain''s chambers, Ashlynn paused, her ears perking up at the sound of faint sobbing coming from the room.


    "Owain, you really don''t know how to be good to a woman, do you?"


    Balancing the plate on one hand, Ashlynn gave only the most perfunctory of knocks before opening the door and walking in without giving a chance for the imposter to tell her no or send her away.


    "Excuse me, your ladyship," Ashlynn said, bringing the plate over to the bedside table next to the teary eyed woman. Today, her imposter was wearing a dark blue dress with silver embroidery across the bodice and a matching necklace set with local pearls from Blackwell Bay.


    For a moment, Ashlynn froze as a burning sensation surged from her stomach up her throat, hot words ready to form on her lips. The necklace was a memento from her grandmother and she only ever wore it on somber occasions, yet it hung on the imposter''s neck like a simple decoration as if to mock the meaning of everything she once treasured.


    "Since your ladyship didn''t get to eat much," Ashlynn said, busying herself with the plate and cutting a sausage into several pieces to hide her misty eyes from the woman on the bed. "I thought you might want a plate to eat in private."


    "You can leave it," the woman said, blotting at her eyes and staring out the window at the darkening sky. "I don''t have much of an appetite."


    "Please, your ladyship," Ashlynn said, gesturing at the plate. "You''re carrying his lordship''s child. You shouldn''t be skipping a meal. At least take a few bites for me," she pleaded, turning her misty eyes on the other woman. "I can''t take another beating, your ladyship. A few bites and I can tell Mister Otis that you didn''t go hungry tonight."


    "A few bites then," the imposter said, taking the tip of her knife and spearing a slice of sausage. "Bad enough that I''m suffering here, you shouldn''t take a beating for me," she said, biting into the succulent venison and savoring the rich herbs and spices in the sausage.


    "Thank you, your ladyship," Ashlynn said. "If you''re suffering, maybe a bit of something sweet would be nice. They''re no Blackwell pears but the tarts should be lovely," she suggested smoothly.


    "You''ve had Blackwell pears?" the woman said in surprise. "Tell me, what are they like?"


    "I imagine you''ve had many more of them than I have," Ashlynn said, a faint smile forming on her lips as she saw her magic taking hold of the young woman. "So soft and delicate when they''re ripe that you almost don''t need to chew them, and sweeter than honey all by themselves."


    "But, if you were really Ashlynn Blackwell, you''d know that, wouldn''t you?" Ashlynn said, stepping close to the other woman. As soon as she said it, Ashlynn wished she could take the words back. She hadn''t planned to confront the other woman with the truth because she knew it could blow up in her face.


    But, seeing the fake ''Ashlynn'' sitting there, wearing one of her dresses and her grandmother''s pearls, she couldn''t help herself. It hurt too much and she was already at her limits to just hold back from shoving the other woman down and ripping her grandmother''s necklace off of her.


    "What, wait! That''s not what I meant," the woman stammered, scooting back on the large feather bed. "I just wanted to know what you thought of them and how you managed to get one so far from home! I am Ashlynn Blackwell and I''ll have you beaten for saying otherwise!"


    "No, you won''t," Ashlynn said firmly, taking a seat on the bed close enough to the other woman that she sat on her skirts, pinning her in place on the bed. "You know what it''s like to be beaten for saying the wrong thing, don''t you? Would you really turn in another serving girl to suffer that kind of beating?"


    "You, just who are you?" the fake Ashlynn said, her dull green eyes wide and darting from Ashlynn to the door and back again. "You can''t just come in here and make things up and¡­"


    "Hush, ''your ladyship," Ashlynn said, placing a finger over the other woman''s lips. "You don''t want to raise a panic that someone walking by might hear, do you? You can call me Lynnda and I might be the only friend you have here."


    It took considerable effort to calm herself down and put on a friendly mask toward the imposter. Ashlynn had to remind herself again and again that she''d promised Nyrielle she could do this, that she could get information that would be worthwhile and that she could rise above her immediate vengeance to help the vale.


    When she thought of Nyrielle and the look of hurt or disappointment that she would see from the vampire, or worse, the expressionless mask that told her nothing at all, she found the strength to slow her racing heart. She didn''t have to act for long, she reminded herself. Just long enough to learn as much as she could from this woman.


    "What kind of friend could you be, making up things about me? You should go now and I''ll pretend this didn''t happen," the woman said, her voice growing high pitched and almost petulant as she tried to push Ashlynn away.


    Ashlynn, however, was far from the weak woman she appeared to be and despite the shove, she didn''t budge from her place on the bed.


    "I''ve told you my name," Ashlynn said. "Now you tell me yours. Your real name," she emphasized. "We both know that you''re not really Ashlynn Blackwell or you wouldn''t be sitting alone in this room while Lord Owain entertains his knights." S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Fine," the woman said, her face scrunching up in a pout. "I''m Samira. But you mustn''t tell anyone," she emphasized. "I''ll be worse than beaten if anyone finds out."


    "Oh, I won''t tell," Ashlynn said, picking up the jar of wine she''d brought with the plate. "I came because you''re troubled and you look like you''ve been left all alone here. So tell me, why are you alone in your room while the man you''re pretending to be married to is feasting?"


    "It''s because I''ve embarrassed him again," Samira said, taking a long drink of the heady wine. As she did, a warmth spread from her belly to the rest of her body, heating her face more than the little bit of alcohol could account for. "Can I really trust you, Lynnda?"


    "Of course you can," Ashlynn said, wrapping an arm around the other woman''s shoulders. "Tell me what''s been happening. How did you embarrass Owain?"


    It was hardly the information she most wanted to hear from the young woman, but as long as she could get her talking, she felt reasonably certain that she could steer the conversation to more useful things. She just needed to get Samira to start and let the magic pull her along.


    "It happened a few days ago," Samira said, drinking more of the enchanted wine. "Lord Owain brought me to meet with several women from the countryside. He said I should be friendly with them and just talk about silly women''s things, nothing important."


    "Were you looking for someone to act as a lady in waiting for you when you came out here?" Ashlynn guessed. It seemed like Owain wasn''t as careless as she''d thought, he''d made some kind of an effort to find a companion for Samira.


    "That was the idea," she said, taking one of the tarts and starting to nibble on it. "I didn''t mean to make a fool of him," she pouted. "Those women, they''re just too¡­ too¡­ wicked! I would never cuckold Owain, and I would certainly never announce that I was going to in front of him and all the other ladies," she protested.


    "Tell me what happened," Ashlynn said, biting her lip to stifle a laugh at the image Samira conjured. As much as she hated seeing this woman impersonate her, hearing how badly she''d made a fool of Owain at least took an edge off her resentment.


    "It''s okay," Ashlynn said gently. "Owain will be feasting for hours, you just let it all out and let your friend Lynnda soothe your worries," she said gently. "What led to people thinking that you were going to cuckold him?"

 Chapter 41 - 41: The Skills of a Lady

    "It was fine at first," Samira said, heaving a deep sigh as she looked at the strange, dark-haired servant girl who had seen through her deception. At first, she was terrified that the other woman would expose her, or maybe try to blackmail her for favors.


    The more the other woman spoke, however, the more she felt like she could trust her. Now that she''d decided to explain things, she felt like a weight was lifting off her heart since someone else would finally know what she''d been going through.


    "I used to serve tea for her ladyship before she passed," Samira began. "So I knew the little things like how to hold the cups and where to set things out.I made a mistake right at the start though," she said with a heavy sigh. "I poured tea for the other ladies."


    "One of the ladies acted nice," she continued, her face heating with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "She said that I must have been used to having tea with the Duke''s daughters and other high ladies if I reached out to pour."


    "You''re supposed to be the daughter of a count," Ashlynn pointed out. "And now the wife of the next Marquis. There are very few women senior enough to you to require you to pour during their gathering. You should have let one of the daughters of a baron pour, whichever one was younger or came from the smallest fief," Ashlynn explained. "They probably worked out who that was in advance."


    "They had," Samira said. "A lady named Lottie. Everyone teased her about whether or not she dared to drink the tea I poured for her as if she thought she was better than me. But then the lady who acted nice, Evelynn, she asked me a question and things got even worse."


    "She said that, since I took tea with so many high ladies, I must know about the latest trends, especially about the things from across the sea," Samira said. "So she asked me why merchants from across the sea were paying such a high price for turkey feathers to put in ladies'' hats."


    Inwardly, Ashlynn groaned, already having an idea where this was going. The fuss over feathered hats started two years ago in port cities like Blackwell. It seemed that it was finally making its way out to the frontier where there were more hunters and more wild birds to slaughter for their plumage.


    "Let me guess," Ashlynn said. "You didn''t know, so you made something up?"


    "I just said that it''s a pretty feather and people enjoy feasting on turkey so much, why not have a little something to have as a token to remember the feasts?" Samira said. "But they all laughed at that! It''s just a feather, why is it such a big deal?"


    "Because it''s a turkey feather," Ashlynn said with a sigh. "There aren''t any turkeys native to the old countries. That''s a bird from this side of the sea. If you live in the old countries and you can put a turkey feather in your hat, it means you have the wealth to get something as delicate as a feather shipped all the way across the sea, just to wear it in your hat."


    "But why turkeys?" Samira asked, now genuinely puzzled. "We have golden eagles here that have much prettier feathers than turkeys."


    "Eagle feathers are reserved to royalty," Ashlynn said with a shake of her head. "The same is true of hawk and falcon feathers, and peacocks too. A noblewoman wearing one of those would be mocked for trying to raise above her station at best, beheaded at worst."


    "Over a silly little feather in a hat?" Samira said, blinking her eyes in disbelief. "And they expected me to know all that?"


    "Of course they do, you''re supposed to be the daughter of Count Blackwell," Ashlynn said with a deep sigh. "Wait, don''t tell me that you said you''d wear one of those hats, did you?" Ashlynn said, a feeling of foreboding settling over her.


    "I said that I should have one of Owain''s hunters find a grand turkey for me so I could have a new hat made," Samira said nodding. "And that I''d share the extra feathers with them."


    "No wonder he was furious," Ashlynn said, imagining the look on Owain''s face. He must have turned purple in rage, perhaps just as furious with Samira as he''d been with her when he discovered the witch''s mark. Well, not that furious, she supposed. Samira was still alive. But his pride must have suffered greatly.


    Only a young, unmarried woman would wear feathers in her hat. In Blackwell, her sister and her friends had taken to wearing hats with rock pheasant or grouse feathers, imported from across the sea in imitation of the trend from the old country.


    The feathers, however, weren''t just a sign that they had obtained something delicate from across the sea at great expense. They were taken from birds that were hunted as a way of declaring that they were available to be hunted by men bold enough to court them.


    For Samira to say she wanted a turkey feather hat was as good as saying she wanted a man to come court her and steal her away from Owain! It was as good as advertising her intentions to have an affair.


    "That''s why he rushed me out here," Samira said, her eyes brimming with tears. "He said that, that I''m too stupid to pretend to be Ashlynn Blackwell," she sobbed. "He said that he can''t risk anyone finding out that I''m pretending so I have to stay here without anyone who might catch on."


    "That''s why there aren''t any servants here who are used to serving nobility," Ashlynn realized. "He''s hoping that people won''t notice your mistakes. But, why are you doing all this? Has he told you?"


    "Marquis Bors Lothian told me," Samira said, blotting away her tears with a handkerchief. "He said that someone poisoned the real Ashlynn Blackwell and I have to pretend to be her while they hunt for the killers. He said that they might try again so they''re going to tell everyone that I''m pregnant and that I''ve come out here for safety." Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So you''re trying to help the Marquis to hunt the murderers," Ashlynn said, her heart sinking at how easily this poor girl had been misled. "Do you have family in Lothian? Did Marquis Bors make any promises about them?"


    "He said that if I help them catch the murderers, then he would make me a Dame," she said, her face brightening. "And that I''d be granted lands that my family could retire to."


    "But the real Ashlynn Blackwell is dead," Ashlynn said, finally feeling like she was getting somewhere with this conversation. "Once they catch the criminals, what will happen to you and this charade?"


    "I don''t know," the imposter said. "Owain doesn''t tell me much, especially after I embarrassed him."


    "You should ask him before he goes," Ashlynn suggested, hoping that the magic had made Samira pliable enough to take the suggestion without thinking about the consequences. "Do you like Owain?"


    "He''s handsome and strong," Samira said, her eyes growing bright. "And the way he makes me feel when we make love, it''s like I''ve already reached the heavenly shores."


    "When you¡­ make love?" Ashlynn said, her heart going cold and plunging into the depths of her stomach. "He makes love to you?"


    "Most nights," Samira said with a dreamy expression on her face. "Sometimes during the day. He calls me Ashlynn when he does," she added, placing a hand above her heart. "It''s times like that when I feel like I''m really Lady Ashlynn, like I could live with him as his lady for¡­ Lynnda?" Samira asked, pausing when she saw the color drain from Ashlynn''s face.


    "Is something wrong?" Samira asked. "You look unwell."


    "I''m fine," Ashlynn said through gritted teeth. "You should enjoy the rest of your meal. Maybe ask Owain about your future when he comes back tonight," she added, standing quickly and heading to the door on unsteady feet. The heat from the room''s fireplace suddenly felt unbearable and the crackling of the fire sounded as loud as her own heartbeat, leaving her lightheaded enough to nearly collide with the iron bound wooden door.


    "I''ll come back for your dishes in the morning," she said, unable to make herself offer a curtsey to continue the charade as she fled the room.


    Behind her, a startled looking Samira returned to her meal, nibbling at another of the fruit tarts as she considered what her new friend had said.


    Maybe she was right. Maybe she should ask Owain about the future. Maybe¡­ Maybe there was a way that the charade didn''t have to end, and she could go on living as the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell.


    Right now, she was only pretending to be pregnant to give an excuse for why ''Ashlynn Blackwell'' was staying in the summer villa but¡­ what if she wasn''t pretending? If she could give Owain an heir, she thought, tracing her fingers absentmindedly across her belly, then he''d have to keep her as his wife!

 Chapter 42 - 42: Caught

    By the time Ashlynn returned to the kitchen, she felt like her stomach had been hollowed out and her entire body had gone numb. Otis said something when she entered but Ashlynn didn''t hear a word of it as she headed deeper into the kitchens.


    The food had all been served and much of the excess had been taken to the soldiers and guardsmen that protected the villa. Since that was the case, Ashlynn grabbed one of the heavier cauldrons and a bucket of water to start scrubbing.


    She wished she could scrub the words Samira had said from her ears but no matter what she did, they echoed in her mind again and again. Owain called the imposter ''Ashlynn'' when he made love to her.


    Hot tears fell from her eyes as she scrubbed as if she had to wring out the last of her feelings for Owain out of her flesh like water from a rag.


    It had only been a little over a month since their wedding and already he was taking another woman to what should have been their bed. Worse, it was a woman who resembled her, who he dressed up in her clothes, gave her jewelry, and called her name when she did it.


    Ashlynn''s fist slammed into the cauldron and her body shook with silent cries. More than anything, she wished that she could take her sword and charge into the great hall to claim Owain''s worthless life. But she couldn''t. She had no sword, no armor, no Thane or Zedya to keep the other knights busy while she confronted Owain.


    Even if she was willing to throw away her promise to Nyrielle and the greater mission in order to kill him, she still didn''t have the strength to do it by herself. What little magic she''d learned so far wouldn''t let her kill Owain and make it away safely and no matter how much she hated him, she wasn''t willing to die to drag him down with her.


    "Lynnda," Otis called out, interrupting her scrubbing. "Was Lady Ashlynn harsh wit ya? Did she hurt ya? Noble ladies can be like that, ya know. Even when yer just tryin'' ta make things better fer ''em."


    "It''s fine," Ashlynn said, pulling her head and torso out of the giant cauldron and scrubbing the tears from her eyes. "She just said some hateful things to me. That''s all."


    "Ah, well, see, that''s why ya shouldn''t do things they don''t ask ya fer," he said, scratching his head as he looked at the young woman''s tear-stained face. "Look, I saved ya one of tha tarts," he said, holding out a small, misshapen tart that hadn''t entirely baked properly. It never could have made it to the high table but the soldiers certainly wouldn''t have rejected it.


    "Cheer up," the cook said awkwardly. "Nobles ferget things quick enough. A few days and it''ll be like it never happened."


    "Thanks Mister Otis," Ashlynn said. "My hands are covered in soap and grease," she added, pointing at a nearby table. "But if you leave the tart there, I''ll get it when I wash up."


    "All right," the cook said. "So long as ya do."


    For the rest of the evening, Ashlynn threw herself into the work of the kitchens, cleaning and scouring or banking the fires in the ovens so Otis could bake off a few loaves of bread before they cooled down for the night. Nothing in the kitchens was wasted, not even the leftover heat in the bricks.


    "Hey Ollie," she said as the last of the work was finally finished. "Otis saved us a pair of tarts. I already had mine, yours is on the table."


    "Lynnda," the gangly youth said with a frown. "Don''t lie to me. I saw Mister Otis offer the tart to you for dealing with Lady Ashlynn. I won''t take it from you."


    "I can''t eat it anyway," Ashlynn lied. "Women''s troubles, my stomach isn''t well. You take it."


    "Well, if you''re sure," Ollie said, hesitating as he drew near the cold and misshapen tart. When she waved him on, he eagerly snatched it from the table, wolfing it down in just a few bites. "Sho, sho good," he mumbled with cheeks as full as a chipmunk''s. "So buttery, an sweet."


    "Well, I''m glad you like it," Ashlynn said, chuckling at his comedic and exaggerated expression. "If it made you happy, it was worth getting scolded for."


    "Did she really scold you fiercely?" Ollie asked. "I thought people said she was kind and rarely troubled servants."


    "She just said some hateful things," Ashlynn said, forcing her feelings down to give Ollie a slight smile, as though it wasn''t a big deal. "I just have to see her again in the morning, I promised I''d come back to clear away the plates for her."


    "Do you want me to?" Ollie offered. It had only been a few days that they''d worked together but he was starting to like Lynnda and he felt like he owed her after taking the tart Otis set aside for her.


    "No, go get some sleep," Ashlynn said, heading in the direction of her own bed. "I need to get some sleep too. Tomorrow is another day."


    ***


    The next morning, after rising early to feed the staff, Ashlynn told Otis about her promise to fetch dishes from Lady Ashlynn''s chambers. Hoping to give herself a slightly better excuse for showing up so early, she fetched one of the loaves of bread Otis baked the night before along with a crock of butter, and headed upstairs to the room she''d fled the night before.


    When she arrived, however, her sensitive ears perked up at the sounds of vigorous exertion and lewd moans from the far side of the door.


    "Yes, Ashlynn, like that," Owain grunted. "Smother me in your bosom."


    Ashlynn''s face heated and she froze outside the door. Didn''t Samira say that he made love to her at night? What was he doing starting his day with something so¡­ so¡­. She didn''t have words for it as she heard the sounds of flesh slapping followed by a sigh of release from her former husband.


    "Husband," Samira said. "It''s fine if you finish inside me. You don''t need to pull out like this."


    "Not a chance," Owain panted. "And don''t call me husband. You''re not really her, and I won''t risk you bearing a child."


    "Why not?" Samira pouted. "Don''t I look enough like her? If you give me a child, a real child, not a pretend pregnancy, I''m sure it would look enough like her child that you could claim it as your heir. Wouldn''t that be good?"


    "No, it would be a disaster," Owain snorted. "Samira, don''t mistake yourself because I give you affection. You should understand by now that you could never pretend to be her if we didn''t hide you away in a place like this. Just play your role until the winter and then you won''t have to pretend anymore." Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And then what?" Samira pressed, Lynnda''s words still echoing in her ears to find out about her future once this was over. "What will you do with me once your father catches the people who murdered your Ashlynn?"


    "That depends on you, doesn''t it?" Owain said, almost playfully. "Jocelynn will be here soon. You should make good friends with her while she''s here. When this is over and we let the public know about Ashlynn''s death, after a suitable amount of time, I''ll fall in love with Jocelynn who ''consoled me through my grief.''"


    "We''ll probably be married next year in the spring or summer," Owain continued. "If you''ve done well, and you''ve made good friends with her while she''s here, my father will reward you with a minor title. After that, you can become one of Jocelynn''s ladies in waiting."


    "I see," Samira said, sounding dejected. "So, after this winter, you''ll never touch me again because I won''t be your Ashlynn anymore."


    "Samira, you silly girl," Owain laughed. "Why would I want you to be Jocelynn''s lady-in-waiting if not to keep you close to me? The future Marquis Lothian could never marry a former servant no matter how great her achievements, but that doesn''t mean we can''t be close in private. I''ve already taken your maidenhood, how could I let another man claim you?"


    "That''s why you must gain Jocelynn''s favor when she comes here," he said sternly. "If you don''t, then¡­"


    "Well, well, well, what have we here?" A deep, rumbling voice said next to Ashlynn as she stood near the door to Owain''s room. "Is a little servant eavesdropping where she shouldn''t be?"


    Horrified that she''d become so distracted by events on the other side of the door that she hadn''t noticed someone else approaching, Ashlynn spun, pressing her back against the wall and coming face to face with Owain''s steward, Sir Kaefin.


    "You know," the barrel-shaped man said, pressing his bulk up against Ashlynn and pinning her to the wall. "Doing that sort of thing, it carries a heavy punishment."


    His meaty hand shot out, gripping Ashlynn''s throat. "But I''m a merciful man," he whispered, his hot breath reeking of stale wine. "Perhaps we can come to an... arrangement. One that benefits us both."

 Chapter 43 - 43: Let Him

    Sir Kaefin wasn''t a small man, in fact, it would be a miracle he could still fit into his armor if anyone ever required it of him. His dark hair hung in greasy ringlets and his breath smelled strongly of last night''s wine when he forced himself up against Ashlynn, pinning her to the wall outside Owain''s chambers.


    The plate of bread and butter that she''d brought with her clattered to the floor, knocked from her hands with a sweep of Sir Kaefin''s powerful arm.


    "Pretty little thing to be peeping on your lord and his lady aren''t you," Kaefin said, his gaze roaming over Ashlynn''s generous curves. Thick, sausage-like fingers traced along her jaw as he turned her head to meet her gaze, his deep-set eyes staring into hers from inches away.


    "But you don''t have to listen when there''s a big strong knight right here," he added, pressing his body up against hers. "I can teach you to make those sounds yourself."


    "Y-your lordship," Ashlynn stammered, her face twisting in disgust. More than anything, she wanted to unleash every bit of her new strength, to slap his face and shove him away from her. Doing so in the hallway, however, would only bring more trouble so she forced herself to put on a frightened act and hoped he mistook her disgust as fear. "I-I was just bringing a small breakfast to her ladyship. I promised¡­"


    "Do you think I''m an idiot?" Sir Kaefin spat, slapping Ashlynn''s face with the back of a meaty hand. "I saw you standing there listening for more than long enough to knock and leave the loaf," he hissed, keeping his voice low enough to avoid disturbing Owain.


    Kaefin was well aware of how much his lord enjoyed his morning fun and he had no desire to draw down his lord''s ire for interrupting it over a serving wench.


    "Come with me," he said, snatching Ashlynn''s wrist, dragging her down the long corridor, and glaring at the other servants in the hall to mind their own business.


    Ashlynn''s cheek burned with the force of the slap but she allowed herself to be pulled along, stumbling after Sir Kaefin while her mind worked furiously on a plan to deal with the man. Two other servants they passed on the way both averted their eyes, hurrying out of their way as if they were afraid that they''d be captured along with her. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    If it had been Sir Broll who captured her, or even the older Sir Cathal, she''d have been much less certain of her ability to fight back. Both men were not only physically larger than her and likely just as strong, but were well-trained in multiple forms of combat.


    Sir Kaefin, however, despite his bulk, spent more time hunkered over a writing desk than he did training to fight. He''d been Owain''s loyal toad for so long that his flesh had gone soft and he''d forgotten what it was like to be in any kind of fight. Only his title and vaunted position kept him from having to face the consequences of his brutish actions over the years.


    That title, however, meant nothing to Ashlynn. Stripped of its protection, she felt like he was a mangy dog, dragging her back to his den and unaware that he''d caught a mountain lion rather than a harmless kitten.


    Moments later, Kaefin flung her into his bed chamber, slamming the heavy door shut as she crashed into his comfortable feather bed. Ashlynn''s eyes darted around the room as she fell, taking in everything from the desk littered with scrolls and papers to the jug of wine on the nightstand and the heavy cloak thrown carelessly over a chair.


    In that split second, Ashlynn''s mind raced. She could fight back now, use her strength to overpower Kaefin, and flee. But if she did, she''d almost certainly have to flee the villa immediately after with only the information she''d gathered so far.


    No, she realized, this was likely the only opportunity she would get. She''d intended to find a way to get Kaefin alone to question him, she''d just hoped to be more subtle about it, like she''d been with Samira. Since this had happened, however, she''d have to work with what she had.


    With a deep breath, she made her decision. She''d let him think he had the upper hand, for now. Several thoughts flickered through her mind as she considered what she had to work with, quickly forming a plan to deal with the aggressive steward.


    "Please, your lordship," Ashlynn begged, keeping her eyes wide and putting on an act of being afraid. She backed up on the bed as fast as she could scramble until her shoulders bumped up against the heavy oak headboard.


    "I didn''t mean to do anything wrong. I just, I heard his lordship and her ladyship and they were, um they, and I didn''t want to," she stammered. Her face heated in rage when she recalled the things she''d heard but she was certain that Kaefin took it as embarrassment instead.


    "So you heard Lord Owain''s morning fun," Kaefin said, loosening the leather belt at his waist. "And you imagined yourself getting in on the action, didn''t you, you dirty little trollop? Well," he said, licking his lips and leering at her. "I can give you a taste of what it''s like."


    "But first," he said, cracking the leather belt in his hands. "Spying on your lord demands a punishment. Ten lashes should be enough," he added, snapping the belt again.


    "No, please," Ashlynn pleaded, scrambling into a corner of the bed next to the nightstand. "I''m still pure. Don''t touch me!"


    Kaefin''s heart raced, a wide grin forming on his thin lips as he savored the sight of the woman trembling in fear. This, to him, was the best part. The sight of her panic and fear was almost more exciting than the moment when he''d ravished them.


    Other knights might boast of their exploits on the battlefield, but Kaefin had never wanted the kind of glory that came from putting his life in danger. He lived for the thrill of the hunt, whether he was in the forest with his hunters and dogs chasing a stag or here in a bedroom hunting a frightened girl.


    "I''ll touch who I want, wench," he said, snatching at her skirts and dragging her toward him, already imagining the rewards of another successful hunt.

 Chapter 44 - 44: Turning The Tables

    For a moment, Ashlynn struggled against Kaefin''s attempts to drag her towards him. She kicked at his hands as she slid across the rumpled bed sheets, but Kaefin only took it as a game, leering at her and yanking harder.


    Ashlynn tumbled across the beds and Kaefin leaped forward, reaching for her tunic like a falcon swooping on its prey. Still, Ashlynn fought back, knocking his hands away as he tore at the fabric of her tunic, snapping the laces of her bodice in his attempts to strip her bare.


    The next moment, however, she planted her feet firmly on his bulging gut and shoved, kicking free of him and gaining enough space to scramble back to the nightstand. Quickly, she snatched the jug of wine from the nightstand and rounded on the knight, bringing the jug crashing into his face with all the strength that Thane had helped her to develop.


    Kaefin''s eyes rolled back in his head, the world spinning and his ears ringing with the force of the impact. Shards of the jug cut into his cheek and jowls, spilling blood onto the rumpled sheets and blankets when he fell heavily on the bed. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn didn''t wait for him to regather his senses before she struck out again, this time, with another bit of sorcery.


    "Helpless. Afraid. Obey," she snapped, her emerald eyes glowing green as she imagined her power taking the form of Zedya''s Mesmerizing Eyes. Compared to the vampire who could mesmerize an entire room full of people at once, Ashlynn''s sorcery was still lacking, but for someone as feeble and weak-willed as Kaefin, combined with the pain and disorientation from being struck in the head, it was more than enough to bring him under her sway.


    "You, who are you?" Kaefin stammered, unconsciously mimicking Ashlynn''s earlier movements as he scrambled away from her until his back pressed up against one of the bed posts. "What are you?"


    As soon as Kaefin put hands on her, Ashlynn had faced a decision. She could have fought back and escaped. She was certain that she was strong enough to resist him in the hallway and fast enough to outrun him. It would have brought her mission to an end, but escape wouldn''t be impossible.


    Instead, she allowed him to drag her here, outside of the hallway where she could use her sorcery on him without being seen by others.


    "Kaefin," she said, snatching the dagger that had hung from Kaefin''s belt and pressing the blade up against the terrified steward''s throat. Her sorcery was strong enough to overwhelm his senses, leaving him too frightened to fight back but if she wanted to get answers out of him, she was afraid it wasn''t enough.


    "You''re Owain''s right-hand man. You will answer my questions," she commanded. "What happened to the real Ashlynn Blackwell? Tell me why Owain is parading around an imposter."


    "She was poisoned by assassins," Kaefin said, his voice trembling and his eyes fixed to the blade in her hands. "The Marquis is hunting her killers," he said, his mind racing to figure out a way to escape this terrifying woman.


    Suddenly, it occurred to him that she might be one of the assassins sent to kill the real Ashlynn Blackwell, that she didn''t know until now that the first attempt had succeeded!


    "I, I don''t know anything about the assassins," he insisted, hoping she would believe him. "But, but if you let me live, I can be your spy for you. I can find out what the Marquis knows and tell you. I can be your inside man," he insisted.


    "So you don''t know the truth," Ashlynn said bitterly. It seemed like Kaefin was trusted enough to be let in on the scheme with the imposter but not enough to have been told about her mark of the witch or who actually tried to kill her the night of her wedding.


    "What happened to Sir Tommin?" she asked fiercely, changing the topic. "Why isn''t he here with Owain?"


    "Tommin''s a traitor," Kaefin said, a sour expression forming on his battered face even as the question confused him. Why would the assassin care about Tommin? But when he thought about her strange glowing eyes, even more pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.


    "He claimed to have had a vision of the Holy Lord of Light," Kaefin said quickly. "Tommin said he received a calling to serve the Church. Lord Owain knows that he''s running though. He went straight to Lord Loman and the Inquisitor. It''s you he''s running from, isn''t it? He''s afraid of your powers."


    "I''m the one asking questions," Ashlynn said, pouring more energy into her magic, her emerald eyes flashing with an eerie green glow as she tried to keep him under control. Already, she could feel him pushing back against her, fighting for a way to escape her grasp.


    "Why did an Inquisitor come to Lothian in the first place?" Ashlynn asked sharply. "And why aren''t there any clergy traveling with Lord Owain?"


    "I, I don''t know," the helpless steward said. "Lord Owain won''t say. Only that he was only bringing people out here that he could trust, or¡­"


    "Or what?" Ashlyn asked, pressing the dagger against his neck.


    "Or people that he didn''t care if he lost," Kaefin said quietly, suddenly wondering¡­ if he died here, at this demon woman''s hands, would Owain put him in the second category? Kaefin''s palms were slick with sweat as he clutched the bedsheets, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare.


    If he cried out, she could kill him before help arrived. His only hope, the only thing he could think would work, was to tell her everything she wanted to know and hope that she would leave him alive afterward. As long as she did that, he could tell Lord Owain everything and then they could turn the tables on this horrifying assassin.


    Right now, he just had to keep talking and convince her that he was more valuable as a living pawn than a dead man. As long as he could do that, he could find a way to turn the tables and have his revenge for this humiliation!

 Chapter 45 - 45: Interrogation

    Ashlynn''s heart chilled when Sir Kaefin mentioned people that Owain wouldn''t care if he lost. Suddenly it made sense why such inexperienced servants like Otis had been sent to the Summer Villa instead of bringing his own personal staff. Only close retainers like Kaefin had accompanied him on this journey.


    Owain had hurried out here before it was safe. The soldiers he''d brought weren''t enough to hold the villa against an attack from Nyrielle''s forces but they were likely enough to secure his retreat while everyone else in the villa was sacrificed. Likely the place wouldn''t be truly fortified until Jocelynn arrived in a few weeks, at a point that the nights had grown too short for Nyrielle''s progeny to attack the villa.


    "Since you don''t know about the Inquisitor," Ashlynn said, pressing the dagger firmly enough into Kaefin''s neck to draw a drop of blood. "Tell me about Owain''s plans after he leaves. I''m sure you must know something about that."


    "Know, of course I know," Kaefin said hastily, sweat beading on his brow as the dagger bit into his neck. "Blackwell County, after this, we''re going to Blackwell County."


    "I already knew that," Ashlynn said, feeling the strength of her magic beginning to weaken. "Tell me what he''s doing there. Who is he meeting and what does he hope to gain?" she asked, her voice becoming sharper and impatient.


    Without her magic to maintain his terror, she wasn''t sure that she could keep him suppressed enough to answer her questions. She had to hurry to learn anything she could about the Lothian''s plans to fight Nyrielle before she ran out of energy to fuel her sorcery.


    "He''s meeting with representatives of the guilds," Kaefin said, trying to understand why an assassin would care so much about what Owain was planning in Blackwell County. "The Brotherhood of Armaments, the Fellowship of Wayfinders, the Carter''s Guild, the Iron Mongers, and the Staunch Armorers."


    "I know that he''s preparing for the next war against the Vale," Ashlynn said, taking a fistful of Kaefin''s tunic in her hand and shaking him, slamming his head into the bedpost. She''d never interrogated anyone before and the single lesson she''d received from Marcell before she left didn''t fully prepare her for the situation she found herself in.


    "What is he offering the guilds? It has to be something special if he''s getting the attention of five different guilds at once." Ashlynn asked, ignoring Marcell''s advice to let her victims hang themselves with careless words. She didn''t have enough time for him to ramble on. Even if she was giving away what she wanted to know, she had to have answers.


    "Minerals from Airgead Mountain," Kaefin said, his brows lowering in a frown. The more he spoke to this strange assassin, the more he felt like things weren''t what he thought they were. "He''s taking out everything that''s left from Marquis Bors''s last raid on the mountain to convince the guilds to back the next war."


    Ashlynn frowned at the news, trying to recall everything she''d learned about the profits from the last war but nothing came to mind.


    Ashlynn''s concentration wavered, her magic flickering like a candle in the wind. The strain of maintaining her spell was taking its toll, and she could feel her control slipping as a sensation like pins and needles pricking her skin spread across her chest. She needed to wrap this up quickly, before her spell shattered entirely.


    Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pressed on with her questioning, her voice more strained and less fierce than it had been just moments before.


    "You said ''everything that''s left,''" she said. "How much is that? Is it more or less than the dowry he gave my- gave the Blackwells for Ashlynn''s marriage?" Ashlynn asked, cursing herself when she stumbled and nearly said ''my family.''


    As soon as the words left her mouth, Ashlynn realized her mistake. She saw Kaefin''s eyes widen, his expression shifting from fear to confusion, then to dawning recognition. Worse, her spell was breaking, and with it, her control over the steward.


    Kaefin''s eyes went wide the moment she slipped, several pieces falling into place from the assassin''s strange interest in Owain''s plans to the way she spoke, her voice sounding more and more familiar to him the more they talked.


    He wanted to deny it. It should be impossible but, as he looked at the curvy figure of the woman he''d once envied Owain for obtaining, he couldn''t deny the truth before his eyes.


    "You''re Ashlynn Blackwell," he whispered, his words quiet as if he didn''t entirely believe it.


    "Oh Kaefin," Ashlynn said, her brows lowering as she pressed harder with her hand on his chest, forcing him up against the bedpost. "It would have been better if you''d never realized."


    When she''d started, Ashlynn hoped to have enough magic left to scramble his memories of their encounter. She couldn''t make him forget everything, but she was certain she could make him forget what she''d asked him and what he''d told her. Enough that she could knock him out and slip away while he was unconscious.


    Now, however, it was impossible for him to forget something as shocking as encountering his lord''s dead wife. If she''d had another year of practice, she might have been able to blot away a strong memory like that, but her skills were still far too undeveloped.


    Now that her identity had been revealed, Ashlynn was left with a difficult decision about what to do with Sir Kaefin.


    Zedya, she was certain, could erase her presence from his memories along with any memories of the interrogation. She could likely even weave together something he would believe to explain his injuries.


    Ashlynn, however, had pushed her limited magic to the limit to keep him under her spell for as long as she had. She''d already begun to feel a prickling pain across her chest that suggested any further use of sorcery would begin to incur a permanent price. As is, she would need to go several days without using her magic in order to recover her energy again.


    The information had been worth the cost, but now she faced a moment she''d hoped to avoid. Briefly, she considered trying to force him to take her out of the villa. If she could take him back to the Vale of Mists as her captive, she was certain that they could get even more information out of him.


    She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it occurred to her. It was childish to think that he would remain compliant all the way out of the fortress. One cry for help would be all it would take to doom her escape. That left her with only one option she could think of that would let her get away.


    She''d discussed it with both Nyrielle and Thane. She thought she made preparations for it and hardened her heart to it. She would have her revenge and Owain would die at her hands. Now, however, someone else would die first.


    "You deserve this for what you''ve done to countless women before me," Ashlynn said, more to herself than to Sir Kaefin. Moving the knife from his neck, she traced the tip lower until it was directly over his rapidly beating heart.


    Kaefin had only a single, terrified moment to realize what she intended before Ashynn placed a second hand on the wooden hilt of the dagger and drove it directly into his chest.


    A hot red spray splattered the bodice of her dress, her hands, and sleeves as she struck out a second time and a third before leaving the blade embedded in his chest. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The pain of her assault shattered the spell that kept him too terrified to resist but by the time he regained enough of his wits to struggle, the light had already begun to fade from his eyes.


    "You deserved this," she repeated, ensuring that those words were the last ones he heard.

 Chapter 46 - 46: Hasty Escape

    Now that she''d done it, now that she''d claimed the life of a man who was powerless to fight back against her, Ashlynn''s stomach railed against her, trying to expel the thin porridge she''d eaten for breakfast along with a mouthful of bile. Stubbornly, she swallowed the contents of her stomach back down and took several deep breaths.


    Marcell had warned her that if she ever needed to kill someone, it was best if it looked like something other than an interrogation. Accidents were good, as was anything that prevented people from finding a body. But, when you had no other choice, it was best to make it look like a different sort of crime had taken place, like a robbery, rather than an interrogation.


    With trembling hands, she ripped the dagger from his chest and plunged it in twice more, splattering more blood across herself and the bed sheets in the process. Then, she finished what he had started when he removed his belt and pulled his breeches down around his ankles before tossing his boots carelessly on the floor.


    Before she left the room, she took a last glance around, her eyes taking in everything from the spilled wine and shattered jug to the rumpled sheets. It certainly looked like there had been a struggle but did it look like she''d killed him to defend her virtue?


    Thinking quickly, she stripped one of the broken pieces of lacing from her bodice and placed it in his hand, hoping it added enough to the scene to sell the story she wanted Owain and his knights to believe. Whether it would work or not, she had no idea but it was already too late to do anything more.


    Racing through the castle, she ignored the startled looks of the few servants she passed, using the small servant''s corridors to bypass the guards and enter the kitchen where her eyes desperately sought to find Ollie.


    "Lynnda," Otis exclaimed when she burst into the kitchen looking frantic. "I heard that Sir Kaefin took ya, whot¡­" his voice trailed off as he got a look at the bright red handprint on her face and the bloodstains across her bodice.


    "Merciful Lord of Light on the Heavenly Shores," he whispered, dropping the ladle in his hands as he stared at her. "Whot have ya done?"


    "Ollie? Where''s Ollie," Ashlynn asked, ignoring the stunned cook''s question. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting away before she was captured for killing Sir Kaefin, and for that, she needed¡­


    "Lynnda?" Ollie asked, emerging from the larder with a sack of oats over his shoulder. "Lynnda, what happened to¡­"


    "No time," Ashlynn said, dashing across the kitchen and taking hold of Ollie''s hand to drag him along. "I need your help to get out of here. You know all of the secrets of this place don''t you? You must know a way to get out of the walls unseen."


    "Impossible," Ollie said, staring at her with wide eyes. "I know the servant''s hidden ways, sure, but a secret escape route, only Lord Owain and his knights would know about that."


    "Damn it, lass, tell me whot happened!" Otis roared, slamming his meaty hands onto a chopping block. "Did ya hurt Sir Kaefin? Is he after ya?" Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "He''s dead," Ashlynn said as flatly as she could manage. "That''s why I need to run. He, he tried to¡­"


    "So that''s how it is," Otis said, visibly slumping as his worst fears were concerned. If she''d simply injured him to escape, there might have been a chance that she could plead for mercy from Lord Owain, particularly if her virtue had been at risk.


    Killing a knight, however, could never be excused, even if it was a knight like Sir Kaefin who never truly fought for his lord. A peasant had no right to kill their betters, no matter how overbearing the lords were.


    "Ollie," Otis said in resigned tones. "Take her ta tha salley gate. There shouldn''t be many men there. I''ll distract ''em. Just go."


    "Mister Otis," Ashlynn said. "This is my problem, you should stay out of trouble."


    "Oh, I''ll stay outta trouble," he said, picking up a long-handled metal scoop from the rack of fireplace tools. "I''m blaming this on you," he added, scooping up several hot coals and flinging them toward the heavy burlap sacks of grain.


    "Now run," the cook said. "Ya don''t have much time."


    "Thank you, Mister," Ashlynn said, grabbing hold of Ollie''s hand and pulling him from the kitchen as the bags of grain began to smoke and smolder. "One day, if I can, I''ll pay you back for this Mister Otis," she said as she fled the room.


    "Now, where''s the salley gate?" Ashlynn asked, pinching Ollie to break the gangly youth out of his shocked daze.


    "It''s, it''s this way," the young man said, taking off at a run toward one of the side walls.


    Behind them, smoke began to pour from the kitchens as Otis shouted "Fire, fire!"


    Loud bells began to ring, summoning servants and soldiers alike from all over the villa to fight the growing blaze in the kitchens. In the confusion, no one seemed to notice that Ashlynn and Ollie were headed in a direction that was both away from the fire and away from the well where people gathered to fill buckets to fight the growing fire.


    "Here," Ollie said when they reached the small iron-bound door set in a side wall. It was intended for a single column of soldiers to use when the main gaits were besieged, to give the inhabitants of the villa a chance to fight off their attackers.


    While the main gates would never be abandoned unless circumstances within the keep were truly dire, the few men posted at the salley gate had been among the first to run toward the well to fight the fire, leaving it undefended for Ashlynn.


    "I should get to the well," Ollie said, turning to leave before Ashlynn caught hold of his tunic.


    "Let it burn," she said more fiercely than she intended. "Come with me."


    "Lynnda, I can''t," he said, his face crumpling as he met her sincere gaze. "I need to put out the fire before the villa burns down."


    "If it burns, it burns," she said. "Ollie, someone must have seen you running with me. Right now, they don''t care because of the fire, but when they find Sir Kaefin, if you''re still here, they''ll capture you because you helped bring me here. If you stay, they''ll kill you just like they''d kill me," she said.


    "But, but I didn''t do anything!" Ollie protested, his words piercing Ashlynn''s heart like the dagger she''d used to kill Kaefin.


    It was true that he hadn''t done much to be punished for. In that respect, Otis was far more guilty than Ollie was. Now, even though he hadn''t done much other than befriend her, he was going to lose the life he''d managed to build through years of working for Owain''s family.


    It might be a simple life and one few people would envy, but she wasn''t just pulling him out of the castle when she grabbed his hand, she was pulling him away from everything and everyone he knew and he''d done nothing to deserve it.


    "I just showed you to the gate and¡­" Ollie started, only for Ashlynn to interrupt him.


    "And that''s enough. Now come on," she insisted, dragging him toward the gate with strength that surprised the young man. She resolved to make it up to him afterward but right now, she was too afraid that staying would only cost him his life when Owain found out he''d helped her.


    "We have to get to the forest before they come after us on horseback," she said as they began to run. "The forest will slow them down but if we can''t get there fast enough, we''re doomed."

 Chapter 47 - 47: Into the Forest

    Dragging Ollie along with her, Ashlynn sprinted down the rocky hillside, grateful that the Lothians at least thought to keep a herd of goats on hand to keep the grass and underbrush in check around the villa.


    As the pair sprinted for the forest at the base of the hill, sweat ran down Ashlynn''s back while her ears strained to their limits for the sound of an arrow whistling through the air. Thane had made it clear to her that one of the two most dangerous things she would have to deal with if she had to escape was an archer who could strike at her without even running her down.


    Thankfully, the men who normally manned the walls at this early hour of the day had abandoned their posts to fight the fire that rapidly consumed the stores in the kitchen. Thick black smoke rose like an inkstain on the early morning sky and even as they fled, she could smell the mixture of woodsmoke and burning kitchen oils that made the fire so dangerous to fight.


    Briefly, a chill seized her heart with worry that Otis had become trapped in the fire but she shoved that worry down firmly and pulled at Ollie to run faster. Otis had started the fire, surely he''d gotten clear of it in order to sound the alarm. Even if he hadn''t, there was nothing she or Ollie could do for him now.


    "Slow, slow down," Ollie panted next to her as he struggled to keep up with the fleet-footed Ashlynn. He was already exhausted after staying up so late to clean after the feast, now he could barely keep up with the shorter woman who ran over the rough terrain like a mountain goat with wings. "I can''t¡­"


    "Yes you can," Ashlynn insisted, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the forest ahead. "We can slow down in the forest," she added, tightening her grip on his hand and pulling him along with her.


    They were already halfway down the hill and she had yet to hear any shouts about their flight from the castle but that didn''t mean they hadn''t been noticed. Tree cover, Thane had taught her, was one of the most important things to maintain while evading pursuit.


    The forest would deny archers a long-range shot and it would prevent horses from running her down as she fled. If she could force her pursuers to chase her on foot, the odds became slightly better, even if they were still stacked against her.


    When they finally reached the relative safety of the forest, Ollie stumbled to the ground, his chest heaving and his body shaking as he gulped for air. Even Ashlynn''s chest burned and her heart pounded in her chest loudly enough to drown out the steady second heartbeat that had grown faint with her distance from Nyrielle.


    "Come on," Ashlynn said between deep, steadying breaths. "We need to keep moving." They had managed the most dangerous part of the escape, fleeing the villa itself and reaching the forest, but they were still a very long way from being safe.


    As much as Ashlynn wanted to give herself time to rest, she knew that this time, when Owain''s men were distracted by the fire, was far too precious to waste. Once they put the fire out and took stock of what had happened, she was certain that he''d try to hunt her down.


    "Moving. Where?" Ollie gasped, looking up at Ashlynn through short curling locks of tousled hair. "There''s. Nowhere. To run."


    The gangly youth still couldn''t believe that they were running at all. Didn''t Lynnda know that it was impossible to escape from a lord who wanted to capture you? And even if they did escape, it was impossible to survive in the wilderness so close to the places still infested by demons.


    They might have bought a few hours by running but one way or another, they were doomed. He just didn''t know why Lynnda didn''t seem to understand that.


    "Yes there is somewhere we can go," Ashlynn insisted, offering a hand to pull Ollie up from the ground. "I have friends in the forest," she said, lifting the young man to his feet before she turned and hiked into the woods without offering more of an explanation than that.


    A moment later, she smiled slightly when she heard Ollie''s footsteps crunching through the undergrowth along with her. She knew at least a little bit of what must be going through the young man''s mind at the moment. It hadn''t been that long since she''d made the decision to turn toward the vale of Mists instead of trying to find shelter in human villages.


    Now, compared to her desperate flight through the woods on the edge of death the night of her wedding, this didn''t feel so bad. Ollie just didn''t know how lucky he was that they already had allies waiting for them and she knew how to find them.


    Commander Bassinger had sent a dozen men to camp in the woods during her mission and they kept close enough to the summer villa to see it from one of the nearby hilltops. Now, with a dark plume of smoke rising from the fortress, she was certain that the men waiting for her would be alert and looking for her movements.


    "What kind of friends do you have in the woods," Ollie asked, his long legs allowing him to catch up to the fleet-footed Ashlynn. While he wasn''t entirely sure he believed her, it was better to think that there was help in the forest than to think about the alternative. "Are they outlaws? Freemen?"


    "You''ll see," Ashlynn said, offering no other explanation as she worked her way deeper into the woods. While Ollie might have been relieved if she told him a story about a band of rugged freemen who lived beyond the authority of lords, or a fierce group of outlaws who could fight off Owain''s men, she refused to lie to him.


    She wasn''t willing to tell him the truth yet. They were still too close to the castle and she couldn''t risk him running back to the villa with word of ''demons'' in the forest. She hadn''t believed the truth about the Eldritch people until she met them and she was certain that he wouldn''t either.


    She would just have to wait until they reached Commander Bassinger''s men and the protection they offered. By then, if Ollie had objections, it would be far too late to do anything about them. He might not appreciate her hiding the truth from him, but she could live with his resentment. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    What she couldn''t live with was the idea of him dying at Owain''s hands because he''d become involved in her mission. As long as they escaped, she would find a way to make it up to him, but first, they needed to escape.

 Chapter 48 - 48: Unleash the Hounds

    In the villa, Owain stood fuming in the late Sir Kaefin''s chambers, staring at the corpse of the man who had once been not only a loyal servant, but a close friend from his teenage years. Sir Kaefin had helped him to sneak out of the castle as a youth and even brought him to both his first tavern and his first brothel.


    In many ways, Owain thought of his steward not as a servant but as the older brother he''d never had. One who had been both a confidant, advisor, and guide on the path from boyhood to becoming a man.


    Some people around him had suggested that Kaefin was only using him for his superior wealth and status but Owain had shouted down anyone who dared say that more than once. While he could admit that he spent more of his pocket money when he spent time with the older man, what was the point of having it if he didn''t spend it? And Kaefin had been the one to teach him how to use it to enjoy life.


    Without Kaefin, he might very well have turned out like his dour and studious brother, eternally with his nose in a book and unaware of the joys that life afforded to people like them. In many ways, Kaefin felt like more of a brother to him than Loman ever had. And now, someone had taken that brother from him.


    "Who dared to do this?" Owain growled, turning to face the two other men in the room. The sickly stench of death mingled with the metallic smell of blood and the sour fragrance of spilled wine to make everyone in the room uncomfortable but Owain''s rage burned too hot to care about how uncomfortable they were when he rounded on the other men. "Someone will hang for this," he shouted.


    Sir Broll, much like Owain, had a face that was dark with rage. He and Kaefin had followed Owain for so long that they''d practically become family. To find him here, dead in bed with his pants around his ankles and his own knife in his chest, it wasn''t just tragic, it was a humiliation that could never be forgiven!


    Sir Cathal, however, wore a much grimmer expression as he looked at the fallen steward. He''d already asked a few of the servants who were drawing water to fight the fire if any of them had seen anything when he heard of Sir Kaefin''s murder. The answers he received combined with the scene in the room painted a very clear picture of what had happened.


    "Sir Kaefin did this to himself," Cathal said bluntly, returning Owain''s burning stare without flinching. "I have yet to question everyone, but it''s fairly clear that he dragged a serving girl into his chambers this morning."


    "It doesn''t take an Inquisitor to understand what happened next," the older knight said, pointing at the position of Kaefin''s pants and the broken shards of pottery.


    "The girl must have hit him in the face with the jug of wine," Sir Cathal continued. "Then, she took his knife and stabbed him to make her escape. He brought this on himself."


    "You take that back," Owain said, crossing the distance to the older knight with powerful strides and pointing a finger at the grizzled man''s face. "No serving girl has the right to do this to a knight!"


    -SLAP-


    Sir Cathal held nothing back when his hand flew, slapping Owain with all the strength his arm possessed. Old and retired he might be, but even after decades of service, his body still held the strength and training to strike with enough force to split Owain''s cheek and send the young lord sprawling on the floor. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My lord, that strike is delivered on behalf of your father," Sir Cathal said calmly, as though he were a tutor disciplining an unruly student. "Since my lord is not present to discipline you himself, I will do so for him."


    "You dare!" Owain began, only to be cut off as Sir Cathal continued speaking in a cold, clipped voice.


    "I remind you, young lord, that you are not yet the Marquis Lothian. I serve your father and it is at his command that I''ve accompanied you here, not yours," the old knight said firmly. "Your father asked me to mind you until he can select someone to permanently replace Sir Tommin and I intend to do just that."


    "Sir Kaefin might have been murdered by a commoner," Cathal continued in his lecturing tone. "But it happened because of his sordid actions. Actions that you seem to have no issue with. Perhaps you and he aren''t so different in some respects."


    "Sir Cathal," the other knight in the room said sharply, placing a hand on the hilt of the dagger at his waist. "You''re overstepping. You cannot insult Lord Owain like that," Broll said, defending not only Owain but himself as well. He, Kaefin and Owain had been like peas in a pod for the past several years and to insult one of them was to insult them all.


    "It isn''t an insult to tell a young lord the truth to his face," the older knight said, reaching out to help Owain to his feet. "This is a lesson you must learn, my lord," he continued.


    "A knight, a lord, a marquis or a king, none of these titles make a man impervious to a simple knife in the hands of a common servant," Cathal said, pointing at the knife protruding from Kaefin''s body.


    "If a nobleman abuses his power over the peasantry, the peasants will put an end to his abuses, one way or another," he finished, giving a pointed look at Sir Kaefin''s corpse before looking back at Owain.


    "Your point is taken," Owain said, rubbing his jaw. The words stung more than the slap had but arguing about them with a man his father had sent to ''mind him'' would gain him absolutely nothing. He might not agree with Sir Cathal''s words but he was smart enough not to fight a losing battle over them.


    "But I cannot let the murder of a knight stand," Owain insisted. "Haven''t both Crown and Church instructed that no crime against the clergy or nobility is to go unpunished, lest people feel that they can kill their betters so long as they can plead some justification? Whether Sir Kaefin shares some blame in this or not, we still have to see justice done."


    "It is true that the king''s justice must be upheld," Cathal said grudgingly. "But the cook Otis said that the girl responsible for the murder lit the fire in the kitchens to buy time for her escape. She has likely fled to the woods by now."


    "That doesn''t mean she''s gotten away," Sir Broll insisted. "My lord," he said, turning to Owain. "Sir Kaefin brought several hunters, trackers and bloodhounds with him to hunt the woods for game during your stay. Let me take command of them to hunt this girl."


    "You should stay here, Sir Broll," the older knight said, his bushy eyebrows lowering in a scowl. "A knight has just been murdered by a serving girl. Now is the time we should stay close to Lord Owain to ensure the same doesn''t happen to him."


    "No," Owain said firmly. "Sir Broll is correct, we need to hunt down the murderer. Sir Broll, take the hunters and don''t return until you''re dragging her with you. If possible, I want her alive so we can hang her before the other servants as a reminder of the fate that awaits any who commit crimes against their lords."


    "If you must kill her, I still want her body brought before me," Owain said, his eyes smoldering. "Sir Kaefin was like a brother to me. His murderer''s body must be burned to light his way to the Heavenly Shores or he will never know peace in the next life. Now go, find her before the day ends!"

 Chapter 49 - 49: Hunter and Hunted

    The sounds of baying hounds filled the spring air as Ashlynn and Ollie raced through the forest. Twigs snapped underfoot as they ran and countless small bushes and ferns caught at their legs as they raced past.


    Several hours had passed and both of them looked considerably worse for wear after trudging through the woods for so many hours. Ashlynn''s blouse and skirt, already stained from work in the kitchens and the spray of Kaefin''s blood, now sported a number of mud stains alongside twigs and leaves that had snagged on the coarse fabric.


    Ollie looked little better and in fact, even more mud covered his breeches and tunic after crashing down a hillside into a small puddle. The young man was moving stiffly from a combination of bruises and the fact that his simple cloth shoes weren''t made for trekking over rough terrain.


    Neither of them had eaten since the morning and they''d only taken a few brief stops to rest and drink at streams as they passed them. Whenever the baying hounds came closer, Ashlynn dragged Ollie along, pushing him to increase his pace until the sounds of dogs faded in the distance.


    "Thane was right," Ashlynn huffed as they sat to take another rest by a swiftly flowing stream. "Dogs are worse than archers. They just don''t stop."


    "You should leave me," Ollie said, splashing into the stream to take a deep drink. "I can tell. I''m slowing you down."


    He didn''t know how it was possible, the short woman looked delicate, like she should be weaker than him in every way. Yet, compared to her, he was slower, clumsier, and wore himself out much faster than she did.


    The cold stream helped to wake him back up, but his stomach growled, reminding him that he was working hard on what had been a very meager breakfast without so much as a pint of ale to sustain himself on while they slogged through the dense underbrush.


    "Stopping is dying," Ashlynn said. "Trust me, you don''t want to die at Owain''s hands, it''s not pleasant."


    "You''ve seen him kill before?" Ollie asked, shocked that Lynnda would have seen such a horrifying thing.


    "He tried," Ashlynn said, flashing a smile that looked too white against her dirt-stained cheeks and pointing at herself with a thumb. "Broll and Tommin dumped me in a shallow grave. Compared to that night, this isn''t so bad."


    Ollie''s eyes went wide as he tried to imagine what could have led to his lord trying to kill a simple serving girl like Lynnda and sending his knights to bury her. Were the rumors true, he wondered. Was she really the illegitimate daughter of Marquis Bors Lothian? Then, that would make Lord Owain her half-brother, and he''d tried to kill her!


    "Whatever you''re thinking, it''s not¡­" Ashlynn started, only to cut off and spin around, looking uphill in the direction of a rustling sound in the bushes.


    In her hand, she clutched a small stone, suitable for throwing. For what felt like the dozenth time since fleeing the villa, she wished she had been able to bring a knife, dagger, or better yet a sword during their escape but she hadn''t thought of it before Otis scattered embers on sacks of grain. At that point, her only thought had been the need to escape.


    "My Lady," a light, masculine voice called moments before a short figure emerged from the brush. The man wore a midnight blue padded overcoat, belted at the waist where he carried a long-bladed knife and a heavy mace. His short and curly brown hair matched his curled horns and his breeches stopped at the knee to reveal furry limbs and cloven feet.


    "H-horned demon!" Ollie exclaimed, splashing in the stream as he scrambled to put distance between himself and the armed man. This was it, he thought, they really were doomed to die at the hands of the demons in the forest!


    "How rude," the horned man said. "My Lady, is this man troubling you?" he asked, drawing the heavy mace from his hip as if to beat some sense into the gangly youth.


    "Ollie, stop," Ashlynn said sharply. "I told you I had friends in the forest, didn''t I? This is one of them. I''m sorry," Ashlynn said, turning to the short soldier. "I don''t recall your name."


    "Harrod, Lady Seneschal," he said, offering a short bow. "Captain Lennart sent me to look for you since we moved our camp to avoid the hunters who were prowling the woods yesterday."


    "Good, good, lead the way," she said with a relieved smile. She''d been heading in the direction of the place where they were supposed to camp but with so many hunters in the woods, she wasn''t surprised to hear they''d moved. "The sooner we join the others, the better I''ll feel. Come on, Ollie, before the hounds catch our scent again."


    "But, but he''s¡­" Ollie started, his eyes wide and trembling when he looked at the horned figure descending from the hillside to join them.


    "He''s here to help us escape. Now come on," Ashlynn said, setting out alongside Harrod.


    "I feel like I don''t have much choice in this," Ollie grumbled as he got to his feet and joined them, being careful to keep Ashlynn between himself and the horned demon called ''Harrod.''


    Looking at Ashlynn, he didn''t know what was worse. The fact that she seemed to be friendly enough with the demons to converse with them or the fact that the horned demon was leading them to even more demons who were supposed to help them escape. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Just what had he gotten himself into?


    ***


    A short time later, two men emerged from the forest, each one holding the leashes of two hounds. Their brown clothing and green cloaks blended easily with the forest and each of them carried not only a long knife but a bow slung across their back with a quiver full of arrows on the hip opposite the knife.


    "They rested here," one of the men said, pointing to the depressions in the mud along the stream where Ollie had knelt to drink from the stream.


    "There''s a problem," the other man said, pointing at the hounds who had gone from straining at their leash to shaking with their tails tucked between their legs. "They''ve caught the scent of a demon."


    A few moments later, both men stared at a pair of footprints, one cloven and the other clearly human, both moving in the same direction.


    "Moving together or one following the other?" the first man asked.


    "If one''s following, it''s the demon," the second one said, kneeling by the tracks to look at them closely. "The mud''s still fresh," he said, feeling the soil between two fingers. "Less than an hour ago. If they''re being hunted by the demon, it''ll catch them before we do."


    "Wouldn''t that be lucky," the first man said. "You keep going, I''ll go back for Sir Broll. If there''s a demon here, we should hunt it too."


    "You''re mad," the second man said. "We don''t have armor to resist demon claws, let''s just find the girl and get out of these woods before demons find us."


    "Coward," the first man said. "If I see a demon, I''m taking my shot and I''ll keep the gold sovereign for myself."


    "Your funeral," the second man said, giving a sharp tug at the leash and prompting his hounds to continue their pursuit. The scent of a demon made them more reluctant but as long as they were more afraid of the man holding their leash than they were of the things they smelled, they''d continue to lead him in the direction of the fleeing girl.

 Chapter 50 - 50: Confrontation

    Twilight had come to the forest and several hours had passed since Harrod joined Ashlynn and Ollie. With guidance from the horned soldier, they changed direction and headed toward the top of a nearby hill.


    The slog through the rough terrain clearly took a toll on Ollie, but Ashlynn found that the more time she spent in the forest, the stronger she felt. Despite going the entire day without a meal other than thin porridge at breakfast, she barely felt hungry.


    When they did stop to rest, she found that leaning against one of the trees provided much more comfort than sitting on a fallen log or boulder. It was as if she could feel the roots of the living tree stretching down into the earth, drawing upon the rich soil for strength and offering it to her in her time of need.


    She''d felt similar things after crawling out of the grave that Broll and Tommin left her in. Like the earth itself was offering to help keep her alive.


    The feeling was different from the sorcery she''d learned from Nyrielle. When she used sorcery, she felt like she was a sponge, brimming with water that would flow if she just squeezed a bit. Too much, however, and she would dry herself out.


    The forest felt like floating on a vast sea of water. There was so much energy around her that it felt like it could never be used up. At the moment, however, she didn''t know how to swim. All she could do was dip her hand into the water and take an occasional drink.


    "No wonder Nyrielle wants to take me to the Mother of Thorns," Ashlynn mused as she leaned against a tree while they took another break. "This is too different from what she knows."


    Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched whistling sound, followed by a loud -THUNK- as an arrow embedded itself into the tree she was leaning against just a few inches away from her.


    "Archer!" she snapped, ducking low to the ground half a breath before a second arrow joined the first, striking the spot she''d been leaning against just a second ago.


    "Over there," Ollie yelled, pointing downhill where a group of men had begun to rush toward them.


    There were seven men in total along with four bloodhounds who began barking and howling as soon as their leashes were released. Two men dressed in drab greens and browns held compact bows and stood behind a fallen tree or large rock while drawing another arrow to fire again.


    Two other men in drab green and brown clothing charged along with two men wearing thickly padded armor in Lothian colors. In their hands, they carried heavy-bladed knives or stout wooden clubs bound with iron.


    It was the final person, however, who drew most of Ashlynn''s attention. Sir Broll was a mountain of a man who would tower head and shoulders above her if they stood close together. He''d abandoned his heavy armor in favor of a heavily padded gambeson more suited to fighting on foot while trekking through the forest.


    Sir Broll''s pace was almost leisurely, taking powerful strides behind the other men and allowing them to face danger while he walked behind with a heavy ax propped on his shoulder.


    "My Lady," Harrod said, darting in front of Ashlynn and taking a fighting posture with his mace. "You should flee, I''ll hold them off.


    The appearance of a demon startled the hunters and soldiers enough to break their charge and the dogs stopped in their tracks, whimpering before running back toward the men with bows.


    "It''s just one horned demon," Sir Broll shouted. "A gold sovereign for the person who kills it and claims its head! Move," he commanded, shoving one of the hunters from behind.


    "You can''t win this fight, Harrod," Ashlynn said, putting a hand gently on the horned man''s shoulder as she stepped past him. "Let me."


    "My Lady, what are you¡­"


    "In the name of my husband, Owain Lothain, I command you to HALT!" Ashlynn commanded, standing up straight and mustering every bit of dignity she could manage while wearing a servant''s uniform and covered in dirt and loose twigs.


    Ollie gasped, his eyes widening in shock. He turned to Ashlynn, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggled to process what he''d just heard. Lynnda was married to Lord Owain? How was that possible?


    The only thing he could think of was that she and Lord Owain had married in secret. Perhaps the rumors that she was Lord Bors''s illegitimate daughter had gotten it all wrong. If Lord Owain had fallen in love with a serving girl and married her in secret then¡­ wouldn''t that make his marriage to Lady Ashlynn a sham?


    Harrod, on the other hand, tensed, his grip tightening on his mace. He''d known Lady Ashlynn''s true identity, of course, but he hadn''t expected her to reveal it like this. His face burned with shame that she''d been forced into the open like this.


    It should be him protecting her, not the other way around, but when they were so badly outnumbered there was nothing he could do. Helpless to defend her, he moved slightly, positioning himself between the cowering kitchen boy and the soldiers. Lady Ashlynn claimed that the young man helped her escape and that she owed him a debt. If he couldn''t defend her, he could at least protect her benefactor.


    Confusion stopped the two soldiers though the hunters didn''t seem to care and continued their advance, thinking only of the gold reward for killing the demon behind the woman.


    "Sir Broll," Ashlynn said, her voice growing stern. "Control your men!"


    "Nice try wench," the knight spat. "But Lady Ashlynn is back at the villa with my Lord Owain. You''d have done better if you tried to convince me you were Marquis Lothian''s love child like the cook seems to think."


    "Everyone else can think that serving girl is Owain''s wife," Ashlynn said. "But you, Sir Broll, along with your friend Sir Tommin, you know exactly where you two buried me in the Vale of Mists. Did you think I would forget?"


    This time, her words seemed to shock even the hunters into stillness. All heads turned to Sir Broll, waiting to see how he would respond to the accusation. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Impossible," the knight said, his eyes wide as he looked at the dark-haired woman dressed in a commoner''s outfit. In the fading light, it was hard to tell whether or not she could really be the woman she claimed to be. Her height and build matched the Ashlynn Blackwell he''d met several times while Owain was courting her, and her face bore some resemblance but was it really her or just some common girl with a passing resemblance like the woman pretending to be Ashlynn back at the villa.


    "Impossible," he repeated more firmly. Whether it was true or not, he couldn''t afford to admit what had happened in front of his men. If he did, there was no guarantee they wouldn''t turn on him. "Lies and deceit from a woman who consorts with demons. Men, seize her!"


    "Do not move!" Ashlynn commanded. If she hadn''t exhausted her sorcery when she interrogated Sir Kaefin she might have been able to put some magic behind her words but at the moment, the only thing she had to keep them from rushing her was the image of strength and authority she projected.


    If she gave even an inch, she was certain that the men following Sir Broll would overwhelm Harrod and kill her and Ollie on the spot. It was impossible for the three of them to fight off seven men so she did the only thing she could and pressed forward. She took several steps toward the armed men as though she knew they wouldn''t harm her.


    "Sir Broll should remind your men about the punishment for commoners who assault a noblewoman," she said coldly. "Death by hanging is a mercy. I''m told that my father-in-law still believes in drawing and quartering to set an example. I can''t imagine he would look kindly on people who assaulted his daughter-in-law," she said, turning her gaze briefly on the men between her and the knight.


    "Sir Broll," one of the soldiers said nervously. "Is, is this woman really, really the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell?"


    "Go ahead, Sir Broll," Ashlynn said. "Tell them about how Owain beat me the night of our wedding. Tell them how he commanded you and Sir Tommin to dispose of my body in the Vale of Mists. Or would you like me to tell them stories instead?"


    "I could tell them about the time you visited Blackwell County for the Autumn harvest festival," she said, stepping up close to the soldier who had spoken. "Would you like to hear about how seasick Sir Broll was when we took him out to the lighthouse on Beacon Island in the harbor? Or about many silver pennies he lost playing a fishing game at the festival?"


    "Sir Broll," the soldier said, turning toward the knight. When he saw the other man''s expression, however, he didn''t even need to ask whether it was true or not. He could see it in the knight''s narrowed eyes and lowered brow. The woman spoke the truth and the knight was furious about it.


    "Stand aside men," Ashlynn said calmly. "I''ll resolve this with Sir Broll. Personally," she added, stepping around the soldier to face the knight directly.


    "Sir Broll, I charge you with the crime of conspiracy to murder a noblewoman and aiding in the attempt to commit that crime. Since there are no lords present of sufficient rank to try you for your crimes, I challenge you to trial by combat!"


    "May the Holy Lord of Light bear witness," Ashlynn said with a dark smile. "And may he have mercy on your soul."

 Chapter 51 - 51: Challenge Accepted

    As soon as Ashlynn said the words ''trial by combat'' the entire gathering went still. Only noblemen and the Templars possessed the right to trial by combat and the trial of either for any crime was so rare that choosing trial by combat was virtually unheard of. Yet neither the Church nor the king had ever suggested stripping people of this right in the hundreds of years since the Kingdom of Gall was first established.


    "This is madness," Sir Broll said once the moment of shock passed. "Men, apprehend her for impersonating a noblewoman, slandering a knight and the murder of Sir Kaefin. She will hang for her crimes by dawn!"


    "Consider carefully, goodmen," Ashlynn said, never taking her eyes from Sir Broll''s sweating face. "If Sir Broll is right, you''ll suffer no consequences and reap great rewards for following his orders."


    "If I''m not lying, however," she said, meeting the gaze of each of the other men, "then you''ll be the ones who hang for assaulting me. You don''t need to make a decision," she added, returning her gaze to the knight and smiling at him.


    "A challenge to trial by combat has been issued. The Holy Lord of Light will witness the duel and then the decision will be made for you. Just act as witnesses and any decisions can wait until after the duel," she said.


    "Even if you are Lady Ashlynn," Sir Broll said. "We cannot have a trial by combat here. There is no one who can stand for you as a champion unless you''re going to insist that a demon is somehow qualified to stand as your champion before the Holy Lord of Light," he said smugly.


    "My Lady," Harrod said, stepping forward as soon as Broll spoke. "I will stand as your champion if you require it," he said, kneeling at her feet and holding up his mace in both hands. "Speak the words and I will kill this man for you."


    Ollie sat down heavily on the ground, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. At this point, he no longer knew what was truth and what was falsehood. Lynnda claimed to be the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell and that the woman in the villa was an imposter.


    Moreover, she was challenging a knight to a trial by combat. It was like he''d become wrapped up in some kind of tale sung by a minstrel, something so fanciful that he half believed that he was dreaming. Any minute now, he was certain to wake up in his straw bed in the villa to find Otis yelling at him for oversleeping again.


    "Harrod, I appreciate your valor and your loyalty," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile at the horned man. "But you cannot be my champion. Only a knight or nobleman can fight Sir Broll to prove out my accusations. Since there are none here, I will fight him myself."


    As much as she would have loved to allow Harrod to defend her, under the laws of the Kingdom of Gaal, even if he wasn''t a member of the Horned Clan, a commoner couldn''t be a champion. If she was in the Vale of Mists, where the kingdom''s laws didn''t apply, she wouldn''t be doing any of this.


    Right now, however, her dubious status as a noblewoman and her insistence on following the ancient laws and customs was the only thing keeping the six men with Sir Broll from attacking her. Since that was the case, she had to see it through to the very end.


    "This isn''t a suitable place to fight," she said, looking around the group of men. "The sun is setting. We should be able to reach the hilltop by nightfall. You men can escort us there."


    "You''re stalling," Sir Broll said, his brows wrinkled in a frown. "Whether I fight you here or there, it won''t change anything. You''ll die all the same so why bother with this farce?"


    "If I''ll die all the same then it makes no difference," she said with a slow smile. Turning on her heel, she began to walk up towards the top of the hill where Captain Lennart and his men were supposed to be camped.


    To the men who had come with Sir Broll, despite her common clothing and dirty appearance, she looked every inch a regal lady, walking up the hillside as though she was ascending a throne.


    "Sir Broll," one of the soldiers said, making up his mind when he saw the way the young woman conducted herself. He''d never met Ashlynn Blackwell but he''d served in the castle of the Marquis Lothian long enough to see several young ladies and he recognized the bearing of one in everything from her posture to her speech.


    "We''ll escort you to the dueling ground," the soldier said, glancing briefly at his companions for support. "If it turns out there''s any trick or trap, we''ll fight our way out with you."


    "You lot really believe her," Sir Broll sighed. "Fine. Let''s go put an end to this nonsense," he said, resting the haft of his ax on his shoulder. "But don''t think that I''ll forgive this when we return." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Slightly further up the hill, Ashlynn stopped to offer Ollie a hand getting up.


    "Come on," she said. "You don''t get to see something like this every day."


    "Are, are you really the Lady Ashlynn?" Ollie stammered as he got to his feet without taking her hand. Knowing that she was a lady, a proper noble, he didn''t dare to touch her the way he had been throughout their escape.


    "Whether I am or not, you''ll know soon enough," Ashlynn said. "Harrod, go on ahead and prepare a space for us to fight."


    "My Lady?" the horned man asked, raising a bushy eyebrow at her. "The hilltop?" He knew that Captain Lennart would have his men waiting there for his arrival, he''d blown a signal whistle hours ago and received a reply.


    He thought it was a stroke of brilliance that she had convinced the humans to follow her all the way to his captain''s camp where they would outnumber the humans accompanying Sir Broll almost two to one, but if at that point, why fight? Why not just allow them to kill the humans and be done with it?


    "I''ve already killed one person who didn''t need to die today," Ashlynn said quietly. "And several others may have been harmed in the fire that helped us escape. These men with Sir Broll, they''ve done nothing to me to deserve death. After I defeat Sir Broll, we can take them as captives and return to the vale."


    "But, my lady," Harrod said. "Can you defeat him?"


    Ashlynn didn''t reply to Harrod. She couldn''t. The odds of her defeating a trained knight in a fair duel were very, very small. But, much like when she set out on this mission in the first place, part of her stubbornly refused to consider any other way to resolve this problem.


    She was still a human being and she would resolve this using human laws in a battle against another human. At the moment, that meant almost as much to her as the opportunity to kill Sir Broll with her own hands.


    "Just go," Ashlynn finally said. "Make sure things are ready so there are no mistakes."

 Chapter 52 - 52: Dueling Ground

    For half an hour, the group trudged up the hillside in relative silence. No one dared to speak and even the hounds felt increasingly subdued as they approached the hilltop. The only sounds to break the silence were the crunching of leaves and twigs underfoot and the crackling of torches lit by Sir Broll''s men.


    Ashlynn led the way, keeping the light at her back. After spending more than a month in the vale sleeping during the day and spending the entire night awake, she''d almost become more comfortable in the dark than in bright daylight. With the gifts bestowed by her bond with Nyrielle, her eyes had become even more capable of helping her navigate the forest at night.


    "How can she tell where we''re going?" one of the men whispered to a companion after Ashlynn diverted them around a deep sinkhole. "Has she been here before?"


    "Maybe the Holy Lord of Light is guiding her," another said, making a sign to ward off evil. "Like no harm can come to her until after the trial."


    "Then you think she''s really¡­" the first man said, his voice trailing off as he dared not give voice to his suspicions.


    "Just because the Holy Lord of Light wants her to live to fight her duel doesn''t mean he wants her to win it," the second man said. "She speaks with demons. The Holy Lord of Light may guide her now but it''s only so Sir Broll can kill her for her crimes."


    "Maybe," the first man said, his eyes fixed on Ashlynn as she navigated her way through the darkness. "But something doesn''t feel right."


    "Where are you taking us Lynnda?" Sir Broll said, taking several large steps to catch up to Ashlynn. Even if he had come to believe that she was really Ashlynn Blackwell, he refused to admit it in front of his men. "What''s that glow up ahead?"


    "I sent Harrod up ahead to prepare a space for our duel," Ashlynn said without looking at the knight. "You didn''t think I was going to make you fight in the dark, did you?"


    "You seem very familiar with demons," he said darkly. "You can''t think the Holy Lord of Light will let you triumph when you consort with the forces of darkness."


    "I think the world isn''t what we were taught," Ashlynn said with a small smile.


    A few moments later, startled gasps came from Sir Broll''s men and the bloodhounds began to whimper and cower when the group entered a brightly lit clearing atop the hill.


    Torches had been set in the ground every dozen feet, creating a ring of flame almost fifty feet across. There were signs that a cookfire had been extinguished and quickly buried to one side of the ring and several places looked like tents had been hastily cleared away to make a clear space for the trial. Only a single tent remained, pitched outside the ring of fire.


    What shocked Sir Broll''s men, however, wasn''t the ring of fire but the collection of people standing at the center of it. The short, horned demon that had initially been with the woman claiming to be Lady Ashlynn had been joined by five others of his kind. Worse than that, however, were the six figures who towered over the horned demons, standing nearly twice as tall.


    "Clawed demons," one of the soldiers said, his hand dropping to his waist and clutching at the mace that hung there. "So many of them¡­"


    "You knew!" Sir Broll hissed, rounding on Ashlynn in fury. "You never intended to fight an honorable trial by combat, you were just luring us into your trap!"


    "Captain Lennart," Ashlynn said warmly, ignoring the knight and walking gracefully over the uneven ground to meet the leader of the group. "Thank you for preparing this for me tonight. I''ll be depending on you to ensure that no one interferes with my duel tonight."


    "Your will, my Lady," one of the bearish men said, stepping forward and kneeling respectfully at Ashlynn''s feet.


    Captain Lennart, much like Commander Bassinger, was a powerfully built man who was tall enough for his eyes to be even with Ashlynn''s when he knelt before her. His fur was a tawny golden color and his eyes were a brilliant yellow that seemed to glow in the flickering torchlight.


    "Harrod told me what you intend to do," the captain said. "Is it possible to change your mind? If Harrod cannot fight for you, I can. Or, if it must be a knight, Sir Thane will arrive in a few hours to bring you home."


    For a moment, Ashlynn hesitated at the captain''s suggestion. While Lennart couldn''t fight for her any more than Harrod could, Thane was different. He had been a knight in the Lothian March before he became one of Nyrielle''s progeny. If you ignored the fact that he was a vampire, he did possess the standing to serve as her champion.


    As soon as she considered it, however, she dismissed the notion. It felt too much like cowardice to hide behind Thane and it felt dishonest to do so after she''d promised to fight this battle on her own. She''d started this and she was determined to see it to the end.


    "I thank you for your offer, Captain," she said, placing a hand gently on the man''s broad shoulder. "But I have to do this myself. There are two things that you can do for me."


    "Speak the words, my Lady," the hulking man said, lowering his head. He''d hoped that he would be able to convince her. His mission was to see that she was protected until Thane could arrive to bring her home. Seeing her make it this far only to refuse his protection hurt in ways he would never admit to but he was powerless to refuse the orders of Lady Nyrielle''s Seneschal.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn called, waving over the kitchen boy. "Ollie, stay close to Captain Lennart," she said, reaching out to grab his hand and dragging him closer when he seemed hesitant about coming too close to a member of the Clan of the Great Claw.


    "Captain, this man helped me escape," she explained. "No matter what happens, see that he makes it safely back to the vale."


    "On my honor, we will protect this man," Lennart said firmly. "What is your second command?"


    "I need a blade for this duel. Do any of your men have one I can borrow?" Ashlynn asked.


    "Better than that, my Lady," Lennart said, standing and gesturing to the tent. "Sir Thane worried that you might be pursued during daylight hours after reaching us, so he left your blade with us, along with a change of clothing."


    "Big brother Thane really does think of everything," she said with a slight smile.


    "Sir Broll," Ashlynn called, turning back to face the knight who had formed a huddle with his men, whispering quietly to each other. "I''m going to prepare myself for our duel. I suggest you take this time to make peace with the Holy Lord of Light."


    "You still expect me to participate in this farce?" Sir Broll snapped, gripping his ax tightly and taking a fighting stance. Behind him, the soldiers and hunters did the same; the two archers even nocked arrows and prepared to draw.


    "I don''t just expect you to," Ashlynn said, raising her hand to stop Captain Lennart''s men from preparing to fight. "I know you will. On my honor as a Blackwell, if I die tonight, these men will let you go. And if you die, I will still guarantee their lives," she said, meeting the gaze of the men behind the knight.


    "You expect us to trust demons?" Broll spat, his eyes narrowing when he saw his men''s confidence waver. The odds were already terrible and he''d only just convinced his men to fight their way free.


    Not that Sir Broll intended to fight to the death against twice their number in demons. He just hoped that his men would be able to buy enough time before they died for him to escape into the dark of the forest. As long as he survived this night, there was always time to come back for revenge.


    Now, however, with just a few words from that woman, his men were wavering again. No wonder Lord Owain called her a witch!


    "I expect you to accept reality," Ashlynn said, turning away and walking toward the tent. "Captain Lennart, if they do anything foolish while I''m changing, you have my permission to slaughter them. Otherwise, they''re not to be harmed."


    "S-sir Broll," one of the hunters said, his voice trembling. "I-I don''t want to die tonight. They haven''t attacked us yet," he added, kneeling next to the bloodhounds that were cowering behind his legs. "We should give them a chance."


    After one man spoke, several others spoke up as well. None of them had ever fought demons before but they''d all heard the stories. A single horned demon could take down three or four men before it was killed and a clawed demon was even worse. Forget being outnumbered two to one, even if there were only half as many demons it was still a fight that they were doomed to lose. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Since that was the case, they''d rather clutch at any hope of survival, even if it was just the words of the strange woman who seemed to be able to command demons. After all, they thought, the alternative was certain death.

 Chapter 53 - 53: Trial By Combat

    In the tent, Ashlynn found the soft leather boots, dark breeches, and white puff-sleeved tunic that she''d worn when training with Thane. She also found a rich, emerald green sash that he''d added to her outfit along with a note.


    Keep yourself safe until I come for you.


    Thane''s words were simple, his handwriting neat and elegant, and it instantly brought a smile to her lips.


    "I wish I was as strong as your real sister," Ashlynn whispered. With only two weeks of intense lessons to prepare for her mission, she felt far from confident, but one way or another, things would be over before he arrived.


    "Wish me luck," she said, clutching the note briefly to her chest before cleaning herself up and changing into fresh clothes.


    The sword that Thane left for her was a simple steel falchion, though it was thicker and heavier than most, it lacked the weight of the darksteel weapon he expected her to eventually master. The heavy weight and rough leather-wrapped hilt were a welcome comfort after such a perilous escape without so much as a knife to defend herself with.


    Emerging from the tent, Ashlynn paused beside one of the large cedar trees of the forest, kneeling at its roots as if in prayer.


    "I don''t know how this works," she whispered, placing her fingers on the thick bark and taking a deep breath of the rich cedar fragrance. "But whenever I''ve been in danger in this forest, I''ve felt like it''s helping me. Like you''re helping me," she told the tree.


    "Please, right now, I need your strength," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying to feel the energy of the forest.


    A breeze stirred around her, rustling through the needles of the cedar tree and bringing the energy she felt in the forest almost close enough to reach out her hand to scoop up. Then, a feeling like being showered in warm rain enveloped her as needles dropped from the tree, bringing with them a small measure of the tree''s ancient strength.


    "Thank you," she whispered.


    "Praying won''t change anything," Sir Broll said, mocking her from the center of the ring of fire. At the insistence of Captain Lennart, he''d stripped off his padded armor and wore only a simple, sleeveless tunic above his breeches.


    While fighting without armor was supposed to make the fight ''fair'' since Ashlynn had no armor to wear, one look at the thick, cord-like muscles of Broll''s arms was enough for anyone to laugh at the notion that this fight would be ''fair.'' Combined with the heavy ax that rested across his shoulders, none of the humans thought a woman as small as Ashlynn had the slightest chance of victory.


    "I assume you''ve already said your prayers," Ashlynn said, standing and brushing the cedar needles off her breeches. Drawing her blade, she strode confidently into the ring of fire, stopping only when she was within a few paces of the much larger man.


    "Enough of this, let''s get it over with," the knight said impatiently. "Kitchen boy," he shouted, picking the only human that could be considered a remotely ''neutral'' party, even if he considered the boy to be a traitor. "You say the word to start the fight."


    "Me?" Ollie said, a panicked look on his face.


    "Go on lad," Lennart said, placing a furry paw on the boy''s shoulder. "No one will harm you for it."


    "Last words?" Ashlynn asked, taking a fighting stance with one hand on the spine of the blade and the tip pointed toward the earth.


    "Die, witch!" Sir Broll spat.


    "Fight!" Ollie cried, his voice breaking in the chill night air.


    Broll wasted no time, swinging his ax in a wide arc overhead before bringing it crashing down toward Ashlynn''s head. It was a simple and direct killing blow that should have split her in two like a piece of firewood.


    -CLANG-


    Instead, Ashlynn received the blow directly, using both hands on her sword to block the powerful blow. A shiver rang through the blade, stinging her palms and her feet sank into the soft soil with the force of the impact but the blade of the ax stopped well short of her head.


    For a moment, both fighters were perfectly still. The soldiers who had seen Sir Broll train or who had practiced with him and felt the strength of his blows stood with open mouths and wide eyes and even Ollie blinked several times in disbelief.


    How could she block such strength?


    The moment didn''t last long. Broll pressed harder, trying to break down her guard with physical strength alone only for Ashlynn to deflect his ax aside before thrusting at his face.


    What followed after was a much more tentative exchange of blows as both fighters took each other''s measure. Despite its weight, Sir Broll''s ax moved with surprising speed, striking out with the blade on one face and a spike on the other. His reach was much greater than hers and he used it mercilessly to keep Ashlynn on a constant retreat.


    Ashlynn on the other hand, kept Thane''s advice in mind. Every block was an opportunity to target Sir Broll''s hands or wrists. She knew she couldn''t get past his guard to pierce his chest or reach his neck, but without heavy gauntlets, his hands became very exposed.


    "Damn it woman," Broll snapped, snatching one hand out of the way a hairsbreadth before losing fingers to her sword and nearly losing his grip on his ax with the other hand in the process. "Fight with honor!"


    "Honor?" Ashlynn sneered. "This from a man who kicked a helpless woman and dumped her in a grave."


    "You were dead!" Broll shouted, taking another heavy swing at her. "A dead witch!"


    "But I wasn''t," Ashlynn taunted, evading his swing and slicing at his forearm as the swing passed. A thin line of blood blossomed on Broll''s muscular arm but if it hurt, he showed no sign of it.


    "Proof that you''re a witch," he bellowed, slamming his ax down in another brutal overhand blow. This time, when she blocked, he followed up with a powerful kick to her body, knocking her back several feet and sending her sprawling to the ground.


    Pain exploded in her chest and the air was driven from her lungs by the kick. When her back struck the ground, lights exploded in her vision and for a moment, she could neither see nor hear what was happening around her.


    Desperately, Ashlynn rolled to the side, tumbling over the rough ground and narrowly escaping a follow-up strike from Broll''s ax as she stumbled to her feet. By the time her vision cleared, he was on her again, swinging the spike of his ax at her feet to pull them out from under her.


    When the ax struck her ankle, however, her foot remained rooted firmly to the ground, as though she had become a mighty cedar tree defying the touch of an ax.


    Too late, Sir Broll realized his mistake when he tugged on his ax in an attempt to drag her down. In the next moment, Ashlynn''s falchion bit deeply into his wrists, severing both hands in a single blow.


    A spray of hot, red liquid splashed across Ashlynn''s face and the forest floor, but Thane had taught her to never assume that one blow was enough for victory. Dropping to one knee, she swung again, this time slamming the blade of her sword into the side of Broll''s knee and severing the ligaments that allowed him to stand.


    Broll''s vision spun, pain exploding in his wrists and knee before he twisted and tumbled to the ground. Torches and trees swam past his eyes before his head crashed to the earth, momentarily stunning him.


    "If I was a cruel woman," Ashlynn''s voice said, sounding distant and echoing in his ears. "I would bury you like this, free to dig your way out of your own grave if you had the strength and the courage to."


    All around the clearing, every human held their breath, still stunned at her victory when they heard her next words. Two of the hunters even turned away, unwilling to watch any further. Half of them expected her to order the demons to retrieve shovels and begin digging now.


    The Eldritch, on the other hand, watched with smiles on their faces. Though none of them would admit it to her, many of them had clutched weapons, ready to charge in and rescue her at the last moment if things went badly.


    They were certain that they''d be disciplined for it afterward, maybe even die for defying their Seneschal''s orders, but none of them forgot how much Lady Nyrielle valued Ashlynn. Far better to offend Ashlynn and rescue her than to allow her to die at the human''s hands in this duel. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You''re lucky," Ashlynn said, placing the tip of her blade on Broll''s throat. "Just because you have to die, doesn''t mean you have to suffer," she said before pressing firmly and driving her blade through his neck and into the earth below.


    "Now," she said, lifting her head and looking at the remainder of Broll''s men. "About the rest of you¡­"

 Chapter 54 - 54: Captives

    The six men who had followed Sir Broll cowered as they looked at the bloody sword in Ashlynn''s hands.


    They thought, when they set out in the morning, that they were hunting a fugitive kitchen girl. A dangerous girl who had killed Sir Kaefin for assaulting her to be sure, but only dangerous because she''d encountered Sir Kaefin when he was defenseless.


    Now, looking at her standing over the rapidly cooling body of Sir Broll, the knight who had always seemed invincible and invulnerable when he protected Lord Owain, they didn''t know what to think or feel.


    She was the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell, or at least she claimed to be. The most religious among them believed that she was. She''d invoked a trial by combat and killed Sir Broll in the name of the Holy Lord of Light. That should make her a blessed woman, chosen by the Holy Lord of Light to claim justice against a man who wronged her.


    Others in the group weren''t so sure. She consorted with demons and her strength seemed strange and unnatural for a woman of her size. Sir Broll had repeatedly called her a witch and they were starting to believe it.


    Now, whether they believed one thing or the other, all eyes were fixed on Ashlynn.


    "Captain Lennart," Ashlynn said slowly, trying to hide how much she was trembling now that the fight had finished. She barely had the strength to keep her sword pointed at the humans who had pursued her but she dared not relax until they surrendered.


    "These men are my prisoners. They are to be taken to the castle in the vale where I will discuss their fate with Mistress Nyrielle," she said.


    "Goodmen," she added, her emerald eyes meeting each of the gazes of the humans. "If you resist, these men will kill you where you stand. Drop your weapons and submit. And Ollie," she said, turning to the young man who fled with her.


    "Me?" Ollie said, pointing at himself in confusion. "What, what does your ladyship require of me?" he asked, now fully convinced that she was who she claimed to be.


    "I''m sorry, but I have to ask you to take on a responsibility. The bloodhounds," she said, pointing at the dogs who whimpered and cowered behind the hunters. "They''re frightened by the scent of Captain Lennart''s men. I need you to care for them in the days to come until they forget their fear."


    "O-okay," the young man said, walking on unsteady feet over the uneven ground until he reached the hunters. "Um, mister, you should pass me their leashes," he said hesitantly to the hunters who held the hounds.


    The men exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale in the flickering torchlight. One of the hunters, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek, spoke up hesitantly after passing over the leashes he held.


    "My lady," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "what... what will become of us when we enter the Vale of Mists?"


    "We, we won''t be sacrificed to your demon friends, will we? Or, or to the Demon Lady of the Vale," the younger of Sir Broll''s soldiers, cut in. As someone who''d grown up in the Lothian March, he''d heard countless horror stories about the Demon Lady who ruled the Vale of Mists and he couldn''t help but wonder if they were being spared now so that the ruler of the vale could drink their blood and feast upon their flesh later.


    Captain Lennart growled low in his throat, flexing his powerful claws and glaring at the group of captives. The men flinched and huddled closer together. Every one of the Eldritch people present, whether they were from the Horned Clan or the Clan of the Great Claw, bristled at the way the man referred not only to them but to their honored Eldritch Lady Nyrielle.


    The insult was almost too great to tolerate!


    "You will be treated fairly," Ashlynn said firmly, holding up a hand to stop Captain Lenart''s men from advancing. As tired as she was, she''d fought too hard to preserve these men''s lives to lose them now over misunderstandings.


    "But I will give you a word of advice," she said in a tone that had clearly run out of patience. "The Eldritch do not like being referred to as ''demons.'' They have names, you should learn them and use them."


    Sir Broll''s men, confronted with the overwhelming strength of the demons surrounding them, slowly lowered their weapons. They might not entirely believe Ashlynn''s promise of fair treatment, but she''d made one thing abundantly clear. She was in command and at the moment, she didn''t want them harmed.


    It was a thin thing to put their hopes on, but right now, it was all they had.


    "Captain, I leave you in command," Ashlynn said, turning toward the tent where she had changed into her current outfit. "I''ll await Sir Thane in the tent."


    If the towering man said anything in response, Ashlynn didn''t hear it. Now that she''d said everything that had to be said and done everything that had to be done, all she wanted was a moment to herself.


    When she entered the tent, she dropped her sword and sank to her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably.


    Twice today, she''d taken a life. Part of her insisted that they deserved it. She''d done nothing wrong. Lords, and ladies in the absence of a lord, held the power of both high and low justice. She had seen her father sentence men to die and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought she''d prepared herself to do the same.


    Drawing in a shaking breath of cool night air, followed by another, deeper breath, she struggled to compose herself. There was a difference between dispensing high justice, determining guilt and pronouncing a sentence, and killing a person with her own hands. She thought, when she prepared herself to claim vengeance, that she''d made peace with that, but now she wasn''t so sure.


    For nearly an hour, she sat quietly in the tent, breathing the cool night air and trying to steady the beating of her heart. Listening to the slow, steady echo of Nyrielle''s heartbeat in her chest helped her to steady herself.


    "I should talk to her about it," she realized. Nyrielle had ruled for more than a hundred years. The vampire had likely come to terms with killing others long ago. But, after so long, would she still understand what Ashlynn was feeling now?


    "Or maybe I should talk to Thane," she thought.


    "Oh, talk to me about what?" A deep, rich voice said from behind her.


    "Thane!" Ashlynn said, standing up and turning to find him standing just inside the tent. In an instant, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around the vampire and clinging to him like a log in a storm tossed sea.


    His body was as cold as the night air and there was no warmth in his embrace when he wrapped his strong arms around her to comfort her, but to Ashlynn, that didn''t matter. A month ago, he''d offered to be her older brother and now, she needed one more than ever.


    "I would hold you till the sun comes up," the former knight whispered, gently stroking her hair. "But I have to bring you home first and there''s barely enough time."


    "I know," she whispered into his broad chest. "Please, take me home."


    Gently, he scooped her up in his arms before stepping back out of the tent and sweeping her off into the night. Thane hadn''t hidden his arrival, in fact, he''d already spoken to Captain Lennart about the events of the night. When he departed with Ashlynn, however, he wrapped them both in darkness and mist. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She''d fought hard to establish herself as a warrior and leader and he refused to share her moment of vulnerability with anyone who hadn''t earned the right to see it.


    "Tell me about what happened," Thane said softly as he carried her into the night. "Tell me what''s troubling your heart."


    "I-I never killed a man before," Ashlynn said softly. "Now I''ve killed two. You, you must think I''m silly," she added, finding it awkward to talk about now that she brought it up."


    "No, I don''t," the vampire replied. "Tell me about it and I''ll listen," he said.


    As the cool night air whipped around them with the speed of their passage, Ashlynn slowly began to talk about Sir Kaefin¡­ not about what she learned from him, that could wait until later, but starting from the moment he ''caught'' her until the moment she fled.


    Slowly, as she spoke and he listened, the weight on her heart began to lighten, melting away into the darkness of the forest. Talking about it didn''t remove all of the hurt, but somehow, knowing that Thane knew and that he understood, helped to dull the sharpness of her feelings.


    Soon, they would return to the vale and she could finally rest. There would be time to work out the rest of her feelings after that. For now, once she''d finished telling her tale, all she wanted to do was fall asleep in Thane''s arms as he carried her home.

 Chapter 55 - 55: The Vale is Home

    It wasn''t until Ashlynn woke, comfortably in bed with late afternoon sunlight filtering through her curtains, that she realized she truly had fallen asleep in Thane''s arms on their way back to the vale.


    Only now, when she was surrounded by the familiar curtains she''d selected from the market in the castle bazaar, listening to the crackle of the fire in the hearth and smelling the faint lavender of the soap used to wash her bedding, did she realize how exhausted she truly felt. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It wasn''t just the toll of taking lives that had weighed on her. She''d used her magic to her limits, stressing her body more than she ever had before. She''d spent two days in the Summer Villa, fearing that she''d be exposed at any moment followed by a third day fleeing for her life with a helpless Ollie in tow.


    And all of this had come on top of two weeks of intense training and preparation before she even entered the villa.


    Now that she returned, however, she found herself craving one of Georg''s artful meals, the gentle comforting presence of Heila, and most importantly, a return to nights spent with Nyrielle.


    She hadn''t noticed it happening until she returned to the human world, but when she thought of ''home'', while a part of her still wished to return to Blackwell County, a growing part of her felt more comfortable here in the Vale of Mists.


    Ringing the bell beside her bed to summon Heila, Ashlynn took her time getting out of bed, wandering out onto the terrace to look out over the misty forest that almost glowed in the light of the sinking sun.


    She still had hours to go before Nyrielle woke, and she spent them quietly, working through the process of scrubbing away the last traces of ''Lynnda'' and regaining her strength after her strenuous mission.


    Georg sent up a tray of decadent finger foods, smoked meats, creamy cheeses, crusty bread and chilled strawberries, just for her to nibble on while she soaked in a luxurious bath. Heila said little, sensing her lady''s mood, and instead focused on helping her wash away the dark dye that had helped conceal her identity, returning her hair to its pale golden hue.


    "I don''t think it''s going to rain tonight," Ashlynn said after her bath, gazing out the window as scattered, puffy clouds drifted by. "Heila, can you tell everyone that, unless Mistress Nyrielle wants something else, I''d like to dine with her in the garden tonight?"


    Heila paused, her hands holding a silver-backed brush as she worked on Ashlynn''s hair. She didn''t think that Lady Nyrielle would refuse, rather, the Eldritch Lady seemed to dote on her Seneschal whenever the opportunity presented itself. But it was the first time she''d seen Ashlynn make arrangements for her mistress without gaining permission first.


    It was a small thing, Heila thought, resuming her brushing. But it signaled to her that Ashlynn was truly starting to think of herself as a lady of the castle, willing to command others in Nyrielle''s place.


    "As you wish, my Lady," Heila said with a smile.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said after choosing a dress for the evening. "Mistress Nyrielle intends to take me across the mountains to meet with the Mother of Thorns. When we go, will you come with me?"


    As much as the vale had come to feel like home, it was the people who made her feel welcome and secure there. She couldn''t imagine Georg leaving his kitchens to cook for them on the journey but Heila was different.


    The diminutive woman had become more than just one of the household servants of the ancient castle. She''d become Ashlynn''s personal maid and attendant. More importantly, she was someone that Ashlynn felt she could relax and be unguarded around. Until she''d spent several days hiding her identity in the Summer Villa, she hadn''t realized how important that was.


    "Unless you command me to stay, or go where I may not, I will always be at my Lady''s side," Heila said, grinning broadly.


    "In that case, why don''t you tell me a little bit about the place where we''re going," Ashlynn said, eager to learn more about the lands beyond the mountains.


    "I''ve never left the vale, my Lady," Heila said, selecting several pieces of jewelry and offering them to Ashlynn. "But, there are a few things that most people know¡­"


    As Heila began to share what little she knew about the lands beyond the mountains, Ashlynn found her thoughts drifting to Nyrielle. Her Mistress would be waking soon, and Ashlynn felt her heartbeat quicken as their reunion grew closer. She wondered if Nyrielle had missed her as much as she had missed the Eldritch Lady.


    Meanwhile, deep within the ancient castle, in chambers untouched by sunlight, Nyrielle was also preparing for the evening ahead. Setting the last of her silver and sapphire jewelry in place, Nyrielle glided out of her bed chamber and entered an adjoining office.


    Guests who came so far into the castle were rare and Nyrielle had chambers far better suited to receiving them than her personal office. Since that was the case, the decor of her office held only things that she found pleasing to surround herself with when she worked on the business of the vale.


    From the smoothly polished oak desk to the luxuriously plush carpet, everything in the room was a reflection of her personal taste. Only two things stood out from the rest, both of them paintings hanging on the wall behind her desk.


    The first depicted a powerful member of the Clan of the Great Claw, a mighty figure wearing dark robes with stark white fur and blood-red eyes. She''d painted him as she remembered him in life, his arms held wide open with bloody claws as if he had just torn the world in two. When she was young, she''d felt he truly could.


    The other painting was much gentler. Her mother, a dark-haired beauty with bone-white skin, stood beneath an arch of lavender while her father stood behind her, smiling as he watched his wife in a peaceful moment enjoying the flowers.


    None of her grandsire''s progeny remained and her parents had never felt the need to sire any when they realized how extraordinary their daughter was. Perhaps things would have been different if they''d raised several strong champions of their own.


    That question, at least in part, was why Nyrielle hadn''t hesitated to seek out capable subordinates of her own after her parents fell. As strong as she was, she was all too aware that she was nothing without the support of people she could rely on. People like the first of her progeny who now stood before her.


    "Mistress," Thane said, kneeling before Nyrielle and inclining his head to the side to expose his neck. In all the years he''d served her, no one had ever given her cause to strike their bared neck but the ancient customs remained.


    After learning about Ashlynn''s duel against Sir Broll and how close it had come to turning fatal, Thane wondered if now would finally be the time that he crossed a line that demanded punishment.


    He might call himself Ashlynn''s big brother, but Nyrielle had commanded him to be her teacher and if she''d gotten hurt because he''d made her overconfident then he deserved any punishment Nyrielle might mete out.


    "Thank you, Thane," Nyrielle said, gesturing for him to rise. "You brought her home safely and I''m grateful to you for doing so. It''s always dangerous going so close to the summer villa when the nights are as short as they are now. You''ve done well."


    "I don''t deserve praise," he said with a small smile. "Lady Ashlynn is more capable than I imagined. I brought her trophy for you," he said, placing a small wooden box on Nyrielle''s desk.


    Looking inside the box, the Eldritch Lady smiled at the grisly sight within. Two pale hands, each one large and meaty, sat upon a small piece of velvet. On one hand, a silver signet ring bearing the emblem of a stag made it clear that the hands belonged to the late Sir Broll.


    "She severed these herself?" Nyrielle asked, closing the box and raising an eyebrow at Thane.


    "Yes, during her duel," Thane replied. "Since these are the hands of the man who tried to bury your seneschal alive, I thought you should decide what to do with them. I''ve already given orders to Captain Lennart to scatter the rest of Sir Broll''s remains as a warning to the people who come searching for him."


    "Does Sir Broll have a family?" Nyrielle asked, running a pointed fingernail along the edge of the box. "Wife or children?"


    "I don''t know. Is it important?" Thane asked.


    "Have Marcell find out. If he has a son or sons, then when this is all over and Ashlynn has taken Owain''s life, we should present these hands to Broll''s sons as a lesson that men should always hesitate to put their hands on a woman, even one they believe is theirs to do with as they please," Nyrielle said coldly.


    "If he has no heirs, then these can be burned but the ring should be kept," she added. "Ashlynn may choose whether she wishes to display it as a trophy or return it to Broll''s widow."


    "Now, before I meet with my darling, tell me how she is after this ordeal. You arrived too close to sunrise for me to see her but I imagine you''ve heard much from her."


    "If I compare her to forging a blade, then I can say that she has been roughly shaped and the forge scale has been cleaned away," Thane said honestly. "She was very sheltered when she arrived here and she''s had much of her naivete scoured away. There''s firm steel underneath but she has yet to gain a true edge."


    "But she isn''t brittle," Nyrielle emphasized, a hint of concern coloring her normally impassive voice. "She''s not cracking?"


    "No," Thane said. "Let me tell you what she told me on our return¡­"


    As Thane spoke, the concern slowly faded from Nyrielle''s gaze, replaced by a slight smile and a sense of anticipation. She''d called Ashlynn an orchid because she needed the right environment to blossom and thrive. Now, it seemed like she was taking root and getting ready to open up.


    A slow smile began to grow on Nyrielle''s lips as she traced her tongue over a sharp fang. Tonight, her Ashlynn had returned and she couldn''t wait to savor their reunion.

 Chapter 56 - 56: A Moonlit Meal

    Nyrielle entered the garden shrouded in darkness, moving like a whisper across a grave, one that dared not disturb the peace and tranquility of the garden''s only other occupant.


    A table had been set with high-backed chairs and softly glowing candles, but it was the woman beside the table who completely captivated the vampire.


    Ashlynn stood under the pale light of the full moon, her gentle curves caressed by the golden candlelight beside her. The contrast between the flickering candle flame and pale moonlight gave her an appearance that was simultaneously warm, glowing, and vibrant while also being cool, pale, and a touch melancholy.


    The young witch had worn one of her finest dresses, a flowing green gown trimmed in black lace with a plunging neckline that accentuated her generous assets. On her neck, an emerald necklace glittered in the soft evening light, shining almost as brightly as her deep green eyes.


    Just as Nyrielle ignored the dinner table, covered in fine porcelain dishes and crystal goblets, Ashlynn paid it no mind, focusing instead on the plants in the garden. In a few weeks, spring would erupt into full bloom, filling the place with an assortment of rich and varied colors.


    At the moment, however, everything felt like it was just starting to wake up. Folded buds could be seen on countless trees and bushes in the garden, each one filled with the promise of something beautiful to come. The soft moonlight and twinkling stars reflected in the dewdrops on the plants like jewelry waiting to be draped on a slender neck or slid onto a delicate finger.


    "Even if you''re silent," Ashlynn said, her full lips curving into a gentle smile. "I still know you''re there. I can feel you," she added, placing a hand on her chest and turning to face Nyrielle.


    In an instant, the vampire stood before her, appearing from the darkness between one blink of the eyes and the next.


    Like Ashlynn, Nyrielle had chosen one of her finest dresses for the evening. Black lace covered much of her lithe body revealing glimpses of alabaster pale skin just beneath the lace. Her skirt hugged her slender hips before flaring wide at the knees and ending in a ruffle just above her delicate feet.


    It was a dress that no human would dream of wearing on a chill spring night but Nyrielle showed no sign of discomfort at the cold as she stepped close to Ashlynn, savoring the other woman''s warmth like a fine wine.


    "I can feel you too," Nyrielle whispered, tracing her slender fingers over her chest before placing them gently on Ashlynn''s, directly above the other woman''s heart. "You woke me during your escape, every time your heart raced, you filled mine with worry."


    "I worry too," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle''s slender waist. "Just after I came here, I''d feel you going far away every night. I know you don''t need to tell me where you go, but¡­"


    "Shhh," Nyrielle said, not wanting to talk about the time she''d spent hunting for someone who could take Ashlynn''s place in the shallow grave. "We''re together now. Let''s enjoy it," she added, stepping back from the other woman and pulling her toward the table.


    "Tonight, I''m going to give the entire night to you," Nyrielle said after ringing a bell to summon the first course of their meal. "You''ve been through a lot in a few days, so, whatever you need of me, just ask."


    "Then, would you listen to me?" Ashlynn asked. "I, I have some questions but I want you to hear it all first."


    "Of course," Nyrielle said, resting a hand gently on Ashlynn''s while their first course was served.


    The chilled baby spinach and mint soup that Georg had sent to start their meal was so bright and fresh and such a strong contrast with the food she''d eaten recently that Ashlynn was completely absorbed in her food for several minutes before she finally began to talk about her experience at the summer villa.


    She started from the beginning, integrating into the kitchens, through Kaefin''s arrival, the feast with Owain, and everything that happened afterward. As embarrassing as it was to describe her conversation with Samira or skulking about in the cellars, she left nothing out, right up until the end of her duel with Sir Broll.


    "So, did I¡­ do well?" Ashlynn asked when she finally reached the end of her story, sometime after the soup had been replaced with succulent herb-crusted lamb and whipped parsnips.


    The stark contrast between the rich, heavy dishes with exorbitant portions that she''d prepared for Owain''s feast and Georg''s far more delicate dishes helped to provide a layer of emotional separation from the events in the villa, like it had happened in a different time and place entirely.


    "Is that the question you really want to ask?" Nyrielle asked with a raised eyebrow. "If you''re looking for a grade on your work from a tutor, shouldn''t you ask Thane or Marcell? They can tell you about where you performed well and where you could improve just as well or better than I could." Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn took a deep breath, trying to gather enough courage to ask the questions she''d been keeping bottled up. She hoped to ease into things but it was clear that Nyrielle saw through her.


    "When you killed Cellach Lothian, after what he did to your parents," Ashlyn started, looking up from the bones that were all that remained of her dinner to meet Nyrielle''s sapphire eyes. "What did that feel like?"


    "At the time?" Nyrielle asked rhetorically. "Or now? The more time that passes, the more your perspective will shift on matters of revenge. The heart can only burn with the fires of hatred for so long before either everything that fuels your hatred is consumed or your heart itself is."


    "At the time," she continued, her eyes growing distant as she stared at the stars above. "I felt like a bucket of cool water had been poured over the fire that burned in my chest ever since my parents died. Finally, there was relief."


    "After that, I was hollow for a time. I didn''t know what to do once I''d claimed Cellach''s life so I returned to the vale to lick my wounds and help my people recover from the war we''d fought. Time passed," she said, taking a sip of dark red wine and swirling the remnants in her goblet.


    "Are you, are you glad that you did it?" Ashlynn asked, fidgeting with her own wine glass. She wasn''t certain that was the right question but it was the only way she could think to phrase it.


    "I don''t think glad is the right word," Nyrielle said, returning her gaze to the woman across the table from her and offering a gentle smile.


    "But if I hadn''t done it, I would have been consumed by it to the end of my days. In a way, I could have claimed victory simply by watching Cellach die of old age, but I would have hated myself for letting him live a comfortable life after what he did. Does that help?"


    "I guess it does," Ashlynn said, setting her wine down. "I thought I would feel more after killing Broll but mostly, I feel a small measure of relief and greater confidence that I can finish what still needs to be done."


    "The fire you described," Ashlynn said, clenching one hand into a fist. "It''s still there. I don''t think it''s any smaller. After seeing Samira, the fire is even hotter. But, it''s not blocking my vision as much as it was before. I feel like I can see things ending and¡­" her voice trailed off as she forced herself to relax, unclenching her hand.


    "I feel like there''s something to look forward to after the fire is out," she said, reaching out to capture Nyrielle''s slender fingers in her own. "Something that is more important than Owain''s death."


    "You don''t have to wait until your revenge is settled to enjoy the things that bring you happiness," Nyrielle said, leaning over the table to caress Ashlynn''s cheek softly. "Just because I was alone until I obtained revenge doesn''t mean you should learn from me."


    "Unlike me, your revenge is your own," Nyrielle said. "I would have felt guilty for enjoying life before I killed the man who murdered my parents. At the time, I didn''t think their souls could rest until Cellach was dead. Any joy I had while he still breathed felt like an insult to them."


    "But you, you should enjoy life," she whispered, pulling Ashlynn close enough to rest her forehead against the other woman''s. "Let living well be part of your revenge."


    "Show me," Ashlynn said, looking into Nyrielle''s large, sapphire eyes from inches away. "I lived my life before in a cage, afraid of being exposed and hunted. I wasn''t unhappy, but I was never free."


    "So, show me," she whispered, placing all of her hopes and dreams in the vampire''s hands. "Show me what it''s like to be free to enjoy life."


    Nyrielle''s midnight blue eyes flickered with an intense light, a mixture of desire, hunger and a trace of tenderness. She stood slowly, her movements as fluid as water, and extended a hand to Ashlynn.


    "Come with me," Nyrielle said, her voice low and rich with promise.


    As Ashlynn took her hand, Nyrielle pulled her close, their bodies pressing together. This close, Ashlynn could feel Nyrielle''s quickening heartbeat directly, perfectly in time with the echo of a heartbeat within her own chest.


    "Oh, my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered, her lips brushing against Ashlynn''s ear. "Tonight, I will show you what it means to truly enjoy life."


    Moving slightly, she caught Ashlynn''s earlobe with her teeth, biting too gently to break the skin but enough to draw a gasp from the witch in her arms.


    Ashlyn''s arms wrapped around Nyrielle, her hands sliding over the black lace of the other woman''s dress and clutching at her slender shoulders for support when the vampire''s bite turned her knees to jelly.


    "Tonight, you are mine," Nyrielle whispered directly into Ashlynn''s ear, her arms enveloping the young witch in a tender embrace. "And I am yours."

 Chapter 57 - 57: Time for Two

    Nyrielle wasted no time in sweeping Ashlynn off her feet. In the vampire''s powerful arms, the shorter woman weighed the same as a feather. Despite her outward confidence, however, Nyrielle felt an unfamiliar flutter in her chest.


    For centuries, she had maintained careful control over her emotions, keeping others at arm''s length. Even before she''d succeeded her grandsire, Torbin, she''d been marked as special because of her birth.


    As a True Vampire, she was expected to stand above others, to be served by her progeny, and to command the people of the Vale of Mists.


    She''d built walls around her heart, especially after the death of her parents. Those walls helped shield her from pain and loss over the centuries by keeping everyone away from her innermost self.


    But with Ashlynn, those walls were crumbling. As she carried the young witch through the castle corridors, Nyrielle marveled at the warmth spreading through her usually cold body.


    "I''ve prepared something for us tonight," Nyrielle said softly. She moved swiftly but unlike when Thane carried her, Ashlynn barely felt the sensation of wind moving around them as she floated through the ancient castle''s dark corridors in Nyrielle''s arms.


    "Close your eyes," the vampire whispered, her lips brushing against the hair above Ashlynn''s ear.


    Suddenly, Ashlynn felt the air against her skin change. One moment the air was cool and slightly stale as they''d reached the portion of the castle carved into the bedrock of the cliff itself.


    The next moment, the air was warm, moist, and smelled of primroses and cedar. Steem filled Ashlynn''s lungs and a faint sheen of perspiration broke out on her skin as the warmth of the room enveloped her.


    "You can look now," the vampire whispered.


    Ashlynn opened her eyes to the sight of the most luxurious bathing chamber she''d ever seen. She had already considered the deep copper soaking tub in her own room to be a luxury greater than what her parents enjoyed in Blackwell County. Next to this room, however, her own bath looked like common fare.


    A deep circular marble pool nearly ten feet across occupied the center of the warm room. Steps from two directions would allow bathers to enter slowly as their bodies adjusted to the heat of the scented water that filled the tub. Primrose petals floated on the water''s surface and steam drifted lazily just above it.


    The walls were paneled in rich cedar and a small fire burned on one side of the room, heating stones that could be added to the deep tub to help maintain the water''s temperature.


    An elegant silver tray held scented oils, soaps and brushes for washing along with tall silver goblets filled with chilled water.


    "This is¡­" Ashlynn started to say but quickly found that words were inadequate to describe the luxury of this sauna and bath.


    "This is a beginning," Nyrielle said, smiling as she set Ashlynn down on a simple cedar bench. "Allow me," she whispered against the young witch''s neck before her fingers began to work at the laces of Ashlynn''s bodice.


    For a moment, Ashlynn froze like a deer confronted by a hunter. This was what she''d asked for, what she''d wanted since her first kiss with the vampire, but now that the moment was upon her, she didn''t know what to do or how to act.


    Her heart raced, a mix of excitement and nervousness washing over her. She''d never been this vulnerable with anyone before, not even in her brief time with Owain. She''d dreamed of it several times, of course, but in her dreams, Owain had taken her roughly, physically overwhelming her with strength and power.


    This was different. It was tender, caring, almost reverent. Ashlynn felt both powerful and powerless under Nyrielle''s touch.


    As Nyrielle''s cool fingers traced her skin, Ashlynn''s mind whirled.


    Rumors her sister had repeated of women having affairs with their own ladies-in-waiting flickered through her mind along with what little advice her mother had given her for her wedding night but none of it seemed to prepare her for the closeness and intimacy she felt as Nyrielle peeled back the outer layer of her outfit.


    But as Nyrielle continued to undress her with such care and tenderness, Ashlynn felt her reservations melting away.


    "There is no part of you that I did not see the night we met," Nyrielle whispered. "Nor any part of you that isn''t beautiful. You can trust me," she said, pulling Ashlynn up to her feet to help her out of her shift.


    Nyrielle didn''t simply pull the garment over Ashlynn''s head, rather, her long and delicate fingers traced along the other woman''s supple calves and slender thighs, lifting the shift slowly as she rose higher.


    She paused when she reached Ashlynn''s waist, her fingers briefly cupping the witch''s shapely buttocks before she brought her lips to brush against the mark of the witch on Ashlynn''s hip.


    "Even without this," Nyrielle whispered, "you are precious and extraordinary."


    Ashlynn shivered, her knees growing weak at the combination of intimate touch and sincere praise.


    "Too, too much," Ashlynn whispered, placing her hands on Nyrielle''s shoulders and drawing the vampire upwards before she could tease her more. "If you keep doing that, I''ll fall."


    "Good," Nyrielle whispered, lifting the shift over Ashlynn''s head with one hand and wrapping the other arm around her. "I want you to fall."


    "That''s not what I meant," Ashlynn pouted, holding onto Nyrielle to steady herself. Once she''d taken a few deep breaths to steady herself, inhaling the other woman''s intoxicating fragrance, she stepped back and looked deeply into the vampire''s sapphire eyes.


    "My turn," Ashlynn said, standing on her tiptoes long enough to place a gentle kiss on the other woman''s lips. Before Nyrielle could take advantage of the kiss, however, Ashlynn gently turned her around and began unlacing the other woman''s dress.


    She worked her way down from delicate, sculpted shoulders to slender waist, tracing along the vampire''s pale alabaster skin as she went. While Ashlynn had always thought of herself as fairly pale, having spent much of her life indoors, with her hand next to Nyrielle she realized how stark the difference was between skin that still carried the healthy blush of life and that which didn''t.


    The observation was secondary, however, as she returned to Nyrielle''s shoulders, gently moving down each long and slender arm to free it from the tight lace sleeve of the other woman''s dress.


    Finally, returning to Nyrielle''s slender hips, Ashlynn knelt on the warm marble floor, sliding the lace dress down legs that felt like they''d been carved of marble themselves until both women stood naked in the bath.


    "You''re beautiful," Ashlynn whispered, standing up and gazing at the lithe beauty before her. "Perfect in every way and too beautiful to be real."


    "I can''t be perfect," Nyrielle teased, pulling Ashlynn toward the steps leading into the bath. "If I''m perfect, then you would have to be less enchanting than I am and that''s impossible. You''re far more intoxicating than I can be without sorcery."


    The water, when Ashlynn stepped into it, was hot enough to be slightly uncomfortable until her body adjusted to the heat. Nyrielle, however, eased her into the pool one step at a time until both women sat on a ledge at the pool''s edge.


    The entire room felt like it had become part of some dream, cloaked in mists and warm enough to leave Ashlynn slightly lightheaded. The most real thing to her, the thing that she felt she could count on more than anything else, was the beat of Nyrielle''s heart, echoing in her own chest, matching hers as both women''s hearts beat faster.


    "Let me," Nyrielle whispered, taking soap and a soft brush to wash Ashlynn''s back.


    The bath wasn''t truly necessary for cleanliness, Ashlynn had washed almost as soon as she''d woken up after her trip to the villa and Nyrielle had bathed recently herself.


    The important thing, to Nyrielle, was that she had an opportunity to soak in the warm water long enough to raise her own body temperature to something that resembled a living human''s. As much as she knew Ashlynn tried to become accustomed to the chill touch of a vampire, that slight hesitation was something she didn''t want interrupting their night.


    Instead, as soap and bubbles made their skin soft and slick, Nyrielle wanted to melt the differences between them as much as she could, until they could become lost in each other''s touch.


    Slowly, the caresses became less one-sided as Ashlynn picked up a brush and bar of soap for herself, tracing her fingers over Nyrielle''s warming skin before their bodies became entangled, sliding over each other in the warmth of the bath. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Several times, their lips sought each other''s, tongues dancing as their hands explored the slippery softness of the other woman''s body.


    For a moment, the tips of Nyrielle''s fangs hovered just above Ashlynn''s neck as the vampire traced her tongue over the strong, steady pulse in the young witch''s neck.


    "You can," Ashlynn said, tilting her head slightly and pulling her hair out of Nyrielle''s way.


    "Not here," Nyrielle said, pulling back and gazing deeply into Ashlynn''s emerald eyes. "The night is still too young for that," she whispered.

 Chapter 58 - 58: A Hidden Bite

    Slowly, Nyrielle led Ashlynn out of the steaming bath, water flowing over their supple bodies and splashing on the marble floor below.


    Gently, Nyrielle wrapped a towel around Ashlynn, her hands running over the soft fabric to feel the generous curves of the buxom woman beneath.


    For a moment, the two women pulled apart. Ashlynn took the goblet of cool water and drank deeply, calming her racing heart and clearing her mind of some of the fog brought on by the extremely warm bath.


    Memories of Nyrielle''s touch danced across her skin like dandelion seeds in summer and she found her gaze returning to the other woman again and again between sips of cool water.


    "Come with me," Nyrielle said, taking Ashlynn''s hand and guiding her toward the room''s only door.


    On the other side, Ashlynn was greeted with the sight of a richly decorated windowless bedroom. A large four-poster bed sat on a raised platform in the center of the room, hung with dark curtains even though there were no windows to let light into the room.


    A fire crackled on one wall and several candles cast flickering shadows across the other furnishings of the room. Like Ashlynn''s own room, a plush sofa faced the fireplace across a low table. Several books were piled on the table and even more books covered the nightstands near the bed.


    Most surprising to Ashlynn was the presence of an artist''s easel and paints. A cloth hung over whatever work was currently in progress on the easel and for a moment, Ashlynn''s hand twitched, curious about what Nyrielle was currently painting.


    "Another time," the vampire whispered, pulling Ashlynn forward until they''d climbed atop the soft blankets that covered the feather mattress of Nyrielle''s bed.


    Lying atop the rich, velvety purple bedspread, Ashlynn awkwardly covered her most intimate areas, her skin flush with a combination of embarrassment and the results of the warm bath. To Nyrielle, she appeared like a sumptuous morsel, begging to be devoured.


    "Roll over," Nyrielle said, her voice hoarse with restrained desire. "My darling Ashlynn has worked so hard, let me take away the tension in your body."


    Already, Ashlynn felt like the hot water had melted her aching muscles, but after a moment of hesitation, she did as Nyrielle asked and rolled over, wrapping her arms around a soft pillow and melting into the comforting bed.


    Slowly, with deft and delicate touches, Nyrielle began to massage away the tension in Ashlynn''s body.


    She started from the very bottom, gently kneading the arch of the other woman''s feet, tugging as though she could pull the aches of Ashlynn''s desperate race through the forest out of the tips of her slender toes.


    Higher and higher she worked, holding back the hunger that built within her, giving all of her attention to Ashlynn''s tender flesh, soothing the aches and pains with gentle massage.


    Ashlynn squirmed on the bed, relishing in the sensation of Nyrielle''s touch. There was no chill left in the warm hands that kneaded her muscles like dough, only warm, gentle affection. By the time the vampire reached her stiff and aching shoulders, Ashlynn felt like she had become as soft and pliable as the velvet bedspread she lay on top of.


    "Let me look at you," Nyrielle whispered, pressing her lithe body up against Ashlynn''s and lifting the other woman''s gaze to meet her own. Hunger surged in her eyes, turning the whites of her eyes dark as the midnight blue of her irises grew until they resembled the vast and starry night sky.


    "Kiss me," Ashlynn whispered, feeling a hunger of her own rising, as if in answer to Nyrielle''s desires. Gently, taking Nyrielle''s face in her hands, Ashlynn brought their lips together, savoring the vampire''s taste as their tongues danced between sharp fangs.


    Time melted away into a tangle of caressing hands, gentle nibbles and entwined bodies. Both women''s breath grew hot and ragged as desire and hunger grew within them.


    "Take me," Ashlynn said when she could bear it no longer. She felt like she was balancing on a precipice, every inch of her body crying out to leap and take the next step. "Please," she whispered, biting her lower lip and looking at Nyrielle with pleading eyes.


    "If it''s your desire," the vampire answered, whispering against Ashlynn''s tender neck. "I will not refuse."


    Ashlynn''s body tensed, waiting for the moment when Nyrielle''s fangs pierced her neck but the moment never came.


    Instead, Nyrielle moved lower, her dark hair tickling Ashlynn''s skin as she kissed her way from delicate neck to the full swell of a breast, lower, swirling her tongue over Ashlynn''s navel before kissing the mark of the witch on her hip.


    Finally, when Ashlynn lay helpless, trembling in anticipation and desire, Nyrielle parted her legs, tracing her tongue over the inner thigh and feeling the strong pulse of the artery that seemed to be just below the skin.


    For a brief, terrifying instant, pain exploded in Ashlynn''s mind as Nyrielle''s fangs sank into the soft flesh of her thigh. Her heart raced as every instinct in her body screamed for her to run, to escape before it was too late.


    In the next instant, the pain melted away like it had never existed, taking with it all of her fears, all of her anxiety, and wrapping her in the safest cocoon she had ever experienced. Nothing could threaten her here, no one would hurt her here, because as long as Nyrielle was there, nothing could ever tear them apart.


    Soft sucking sounds filled the air as Nyrielle drank deeply, savoring the rich taste of Ashlynn''s blood. Every time she drank from a person, their flavor varied based on the emotions they felt while she consumed them.


    Most of the villagers she fed on tasted of savory loyalty or tantalizing reverence. Sometimes, she''d taste traces of fear or even terror when she fed on humans captured in battle. From Ashlynn, however, she tasted a rich sweetness, like flowing chocolate mixed with rich cream.


    Each time she''d tasted Ashlynn, the sweetness had grown stronger and the richness of power in her blood had grown greater. Now, the flavor had become almost intoxicating, like a rich dessert served with strong wine.


    Ashlynn''s body shivered in ecstasy, a wave of pleasure pulsing through her body each time Nyrielle swallowed, like a caress across her most intimate of areas. Her back arched and her head rolled back as the sensation built within her.


    Her hands clenched into fists, clutching at the fabric of the bedspread as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the real world as her mind was overcome by wave after wave of sensual delight.


    Finally, Nyrielle withdrew her fangs from Ashlynn''s thigh, drawing a deep, shuddering breath as she licked away the rivulet of blood that spilled from the wound before the wound closed, leaving behind only two small white dots that marked the place where she''d fed.


    Within a month, no trace of the bite would remain but as Nyrielle gazed upon it, she smiled in a mixture of delight and pride. They''d already been bound for more than a month and Ashlynn was undeniably hers, but seeing the mark of a bite in such an intimate place only made it feel more true.


    When Nyrielle withdrew her fangs, Ashlynn collapsed into the bed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure that echoed through her as deeply as Nyrielle''s heartbeat in her chest. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As Nyrielle withdrew her fangs, Ashlynn gasped, "Is it... always like this?"


    "No, my dear," Nyrielle said, licking her lips and savoring the last drop of blood. "This is special. You are special."


    "I-I''ve never felt anything like it," Ashlynn murmured softly, her voice carrying a mixture of deep satisfaction and fatigue. From the moment they entered the bath until now, Nyrielle had wrung every last drop of strength from her body and Ashlynn had found bliss in every moment of it.


    "And you never will, with anyone else," Nyrielle said, her midnight eyes twinkling and a hint of possessiveness in her tone. "You''re mine, Ashlynn. Now and always."


    "Yours," Ashlynn agreed softly, her emerald eyes fluttering as she resisted the desire to drift off to sleep. "But you''re also mine, aren''t you?" she asked, searching Nyrielle''s face for the answer she hoped to hear.


    "Of course. No one has ever had me the way you do, and no one else ever will. Now rest, my darling," the vampire breathed, pulling a blanket over them as she gathered Ashlynn in a tender embrace. "Sleep now¡­"


    "Mistress, I¡­" Ashlynn began, only to be hushed by a finger on her full lips.


    "Hush now," Nyrielle whispered, stroking Ashlynn''s pale golden hair until her eyes drifted shut and she sank into the dark embrace of sleep.

 Chapter 59 - 59: Confessor Eleanor

    In the courtyard of Blackwell Manor, the squawks of gulls filled the air, their cries carrying over the rhythmic crash of waves against the distant seawall. A cool, salty breeze blew through the courtyard, rustling the banners that hung from the stone walls and carrying with it the pungent scent of fish from the nearby harbor.


    Jocelynn Blackwell pulled her fur-trimmed cloak tighter, the soft fur tickling her cheeks as she fought against the chill. Beneath her feet, the cobblestones of the courtyard were slick with morning dew from the damp air, forcing her to tread carefully as she made her way to the waiting carriage.


    The horses shifted restlessly, their hooves clopping against the stones and their tails twitching to chase away flies. Servants bustled about, their voices a low murmur beneath the screech of gulls as they secured trunks and crates to the waiting wagons.


    In the distance, beyond the manor''s high walls, she could hear the shouts of fishmongers and the clang of ship bells as the bustling port prepared for the busy day to come. Part of her wished she''d taken the opportunity to watch the sun rise over the water one last time before the journey ahead but there had been far too many last-minute preparations to make to allow her the luxury of those idle minutes.


    Publicly, she was bringing supplies to her sister Ashlynn who had retired to the Summer Villa for the duration of her pregnancy. In order to maintain that illusion, the wagons contained not only much of Jocelynn''s wardrobe but several things that Ashlynn had not brought with her when she moved to the Lothian March, including many of her favorite books from the Blackwell library.


    Jocelynn had never understood why her sister was so enamored of the books in the library when Blackwell City brought them so many new and exciting wonders from across the sea. Now, looking at the boxes being carefully loaded under the supervision of an aging family retainer, she blinked back tears at the realization that she likely never would.


    She felt like she had made peace with the decision to tell Owain about her sister''s mark but even she had never expected his response to be as swift and violent as it was. She''d thought that perhaps her sister would be imprisoned, the marriage annulled so she could step into the place her sister vacated but she''d never really contemplated that she would never see Ashlynn again.


    Now, as box after box of treasured books were loaded onto a wagon, she wondered if she should fetch one to read on the long journey. Sending the books had been all her father, Rhys Blackwell, could do to prevent Ashlynn''s former tutors from insisting on keeping her company during her supposed convalescence but that didn''t mean that she couldn''t ''borrow'' one or two along the way.


    Much like Owain and Bors Lothian, the staff being sent to accompany Jocelynn had been carefully chosen to include people who had little contact with Ashlynn herself. Fortunately, to conceal Ashlynn''s mark of the witch, she''d been attended to by far fewer servants than had accompanied Jocelynn in her youth.


    Rhys Blackwell, his once dark brown hair having turned mostly gray as he approached his fifties, stood beside his only remaining daughter, one hand resting on her shoulder while he let his cloak flutter in the breeze.


    "This is your last chance to change your mind," he said, giving Jocelynn a firm squeeze. "There are other ways to secure our alliance with the Lothians. You don''t have to marry Owain."


    "But I want to father," she insisted, turning her jade green eyes to meet his gaze. She''d risked so much to make this moment possible, she wasn''t about to back down now. "Mother was right. It should have been me in the first place. Now, I can salvage things for us."


    "Your mother''s notion was foolish and naive," Rhys countered. "Owain would never have consented to marry you as long as you weren''t the eldest daughter. Concocting an excuse that Ashlynn was barren would never have been believed without the testimony of doctors that we could never allow to examine her."


    "The only reason that you have this opportunity is because your sister died to secure it for you," he hissed. "Don''t forget the kind of man you''re marrying. He was ruthless enough to kill your sister at the first hint that she was a danger to his ambitions, don''t think that he won''t do the same to you if you cross him."


    "Owain would never do that to me," Jocelynn insisted. "He didn''t harm Ashlynn because she was a danger to his ambitions, he killed her because she was a vile witch who never should have been allowed to marry him in the first place," she said darkly.


    Rhys opened his mouth to argue further, but the sudden sound of approaching hoofbeats cut him short. Both father and daughter turned towards the manor gates, their conversation momentarily forgotten.


    "That must be the Church delegation," Rhys muttered, his brow furrowing. Despite the arrangements he''d made, it was never a comfortable thing to rely on the Church for aid, especially at a time like this. "Remember what we discussed, Jocelynn. Be cautious with your words."


    Jocelynn nodded, smoothing her skirts and straightening her posture. As much as she wanted to continue defending Owain, she knew better than to do so in front of others. The approaching riders demanded their full attention now.


    The clatter of horses and the jingle of mail armor grew louder. Servants and stablehands rushed to clear a path in the crowded courtyard. Moments later, four heavily armored knights wearing the white and gold tabards of the Templars of the Holy Lord of Light rode through the gates, escorting a woman dressed in the gold and red robes of the Inquisition.


    Behind them, several additional men drove a pair of wagons loaded with supplies for the long journey to the Summer Villa.


    "Confessor Eleanor," Rhys called, offering a polite bow while Jocelynn curtseyed deeply beside him. "Thank you for agreeing to our request and accompanying my daughter on her journey."


    "Light be upon you, Count Blackwell," the other woman said after dismounting from her horse. "The Church is always happy to extend its support to those who are truly pious. The Blackwells have long been friends of the Church, both on this side of the sea and in the old countries. How could we refuse your request?"


    Rhys could only nod politely at the way the Confessor had phrased things. As a Count, he was limited in how many knights he could call up from the family''s cadet branches and his subordinate Barons.


    The six knights he''d gathered already represented a considerable force to dispatch to the Lothian''s summer Villa but Rhys didn''t trust his only remaining daughter in a place so close to demon territory without at least some divine aid from the Church to keep her safe.


    Since that was the case, he''d made the difficult decision to share the truth with a distant cousin who had left the family to join the church in the hopes that she could bring additional support to accompany Jocelynn on this dangerous journey.


    "Thank you, Confessor Eleanor," Jocelynn said, stepping forward to greet the older woman. "I''ll feel much better knowing that I have you to watch over me."


    The Confessor, seen up close, was an imposing woman with sharp features and coal-black hair. Her thin lips formed a polite smile but the smile never reached her dark eyes that seemed sharp enough to take in every detail of the courtyard and the people in it, as though nothing could escape her gaze.


    "A Confessor isn''t like an Inquisitor, my Lady," Eleanor said politely. "You can call me Sister Eleanor if it pleases you. I promise you have nothing to fear from me," she said, taking the young woman''s hands in her own. "In fact, it would please me greatly if you could treat me like I''m just a big sister and not someone so distant from you."


    "I, I wouldn''t dare," Jocelynn said, taking her hands back nervously. "Sister Eleanor is very different from my big sister Ashlynn and your identity is too special. Father says I should never forget myself with a person of your stature."


    "Is that so?" the confessor said, raising an eyebrow at Count Rhys Blackwell. "I suppose that''s only right and proper. Come, we should spend our time getting to know each other," she said, turning toward the waiting carriage and entering it without waiting for Jocelynn to precede her.


    "Remember," Rhys said, looking deeply into his daughter''s eyes and holding her shoulders with both hands. "Though the Church sent many men, only Confessor Eleanor knows the truth. She is part of the shield you must carry to ensure that no suspicion ever falls on you that you practice witchcraft or consort with demons."


    "I know, father," Jocelynn said, giving her father a reassuring smile. "In public, I must be twice as pious as anyone around me to deflect suspicion. You don''t need to worry about me. I''ll be careful."


    Once the two women were alone in the carriage, Eleanor gave the young lady across from her a reassuring smile.


    "I know that you''ve done a very brave thing," she said. "It must not have been easy exposing your sister''s heresy to her husband. Men might speak of courage as though it can only be proven on the battlefield with a sword in your hand, but I know that it takes just as much courage for a woman to speak the truth into the ears of someone powerful enough to claim your life if your words displease them."


    "Now," the confessor said, settling back in the carriage. "I know your elder sister was a very different kind of woman. Why don''t you tell me about her? It''s a very long trip and I would like to understand the kind of person she was better by the time we arrive in Lothian."


    In truth, this was the real reason she''d agreed to accompany Jocelynn on this journey in the first place. Diarmuid''s first report had already arrived in the Holy City and he''d shared his suspicions about whether or not Ashlynn Blackwell was truly a witch with his superiors at the Inquisition.


    Now, it would be Eleanor''s job to learn as much as she could from the woman who first told Owain Lothian that his wife was a witch. What proof did Jocelynn Blackwell have for her accusation and did she have some other motive for turning on her sister?


    Eleanor didn''t know, but over the next few months, she was just as determined as Diarmuid was to find out the truth. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 60 - 60: The Form of Vengeance

    After her intense night with Nyrielle, Ashlynn was only slightly surprised to wake up in her own bed. Sleeping, she realized, was a very different thing for vampires as opposed to humans. Even in a pitch-black room, walled off from the sun, Nyrielle and her progeny were still weakened and vulnerable during daylight hours.


    One day, she hoped they would be close enough that Nyrielle didn''t mind if they shared a bed during daylight hours, but she was in no hurry to press for access when she slept just as comfortably in her own bed.


    Sitting up, Ashlynn''s head swam for a moment and her body felt tired and drained of energy. If it was like the last time, it would be a day or two before she returned to her usual vigor but if the vampire drank more deeply than before it could take even longer.


    Ringing the bell beside her bed, Ashlynn made no effort to rush things. She stretched languidly, her muscles protesting slightly from the previous night''s activities. The soft sheets whispered against her skin as she moved, luxuriating in the feeling, even more, when she compared it to the rough wool and prickly straw bed she''d endured at the villa.


    She waited patiently for Heila to arrive to help her leave bed and dress for the day, taking in the afternoon sun on her terrace and nibbling on a savory meat pie that Georg sent to help her recover from losing so much blood the night before.


    Georg''s pastry was rich and buttery, with flaky layers that left a trail of crumbs across the table as she ate. Rich juices threatened to dribble down her chin if she wasn''t careful and the smell of herbs and meat blended with the fresh air of the vale to create a unique scent that increasingly became part of what her mind thought of as ''home.''


    As she ate, Ashlynn replayed her conversation with Nyrielle, thinking carefully about the older woman''s words about how she felt after obtaining vengeance and the things she''d done in the Vale of Mists following the death of Cellach Lothian.


    Retrieving parchment and a pen for writing, Ashlynn began to organize her thoughts, writing out the things she knew, the things she suspected, and the things she wanted to accomplish. One question occupied her thoughts more than any other. What happened after Owain died?


    If she killed Owain and stopped, she could rest with the completion of her vengeance but killing Owain would hardly stop the conflict in the Vale. If anything, it would make it worse, she realized.


    Loman Lothian was a devout and pious follower of the Holy Lord of Light. He''d dedicated his life to the church since his coming-of-age celebration nearly ten years ago. If he took up the mantle as the next Marquis Lothian, he would wield unprecedented power within both the spiritual and secular world.


    It wouldn''t be difficult for Loman to gain the support of the Templars and the miracle workers within the church. If he raised the banner of Crusade, the army he raised would be a greater threat to the Vale of Mists than any it had seen since the days of Cellach Lothian.


    But how could she stop it? If she decapitated the Lothian family, killing Bors, Owain and Loman together, the result would be a power vacuum that any number of people would vie to fill. Moreover, such a fierce assault on Lothian power could spook the dukes of the ruling council and maybe the king himself.


    Currently, the Kingdom of Gaal had a long border with the lands ruled by the Eldritch. Four Marches, each with the forces of a dozen subordinate Barons, guarded the interior lands of the kingdom from the threat of attack by the Eldritch peoples.


    The defense of the Marches was part of the reason that she herself had known a relatively peaceful life growing up in Blackwell County, far from the reach of the Eldritch nations that still raided and fought to reclaim their ancestral lands from human invaders.


    Sketching a small map, Ashlynn considered who might step in to fill the power vacuum created by the elimination of the Lothian family but she couldn''t come to any strong conclusions.


    The adjacent Marches might each take a bite of Lothian territory or the Keating Duchy might send one of its cadet branches forward to take over the march but she didn''t know any of the lords involved well enough to make an educated guess as to which would happen.


    Putting her pen down, she stared at the setting sun and tried to consider things from the opposite end. What did she want to happen?


    Whether the king appointed a new Marquis or Lothian March was divided among its neighbors, none of the people involved would establish a lasting peace with the Vale of Mists or the Eldritch Nations in general.


    Her vengeance wouldn''t change anything for the better, yet Nyrielle still supported her. Why? It couldn''t just be because she understood how important it was to Ashlynn to see Owain dead. Nyrielle had been honest about the fact that she hoped to use Ashlynn to upset the status quo. But how?


    "Heila," Ashlynn called. "Captain Lennart should be returning tomorrow, along with a human who helped me escape the villa. Have arrangements been made for them yet?"


    "Sir Thane mentioned they''d be coming," Heila said. "I believe that the boy who helped you is to be housed down the hall, one of my siblings is preparing his room, though it won''t be as nice as yours. Sir Thane felt like you may want your companion to be reasonably nearby."


    "The others will be taken to the prison in the lower levels of the castle until you or Lady Nyrielle decide what should be done with them," the horned woman said. "As your captives, it''s your right to determine their fate unless Lady Nyrielle commands otherwise."


    "What is typically done with human captives in the Vale of Mists?" Ashlynn asked, having seen no sign of other humans her entire time in the vale.


    "Most don''t live long," Hiela said without mincing her words. "Some are executed for their known crimes, particularly when a knight or lord is taken captive. Others are given over to the villages where they toil in place of the villagers they killed during the war. Most of them are worked to death within a season or two."


    "What about outside of war?" Ashlynn asked, frowning at what she heard. It seemed like no one was ever captured without a need to suffer for crimes committed against the vale.


    "I, I don''t know much," Heila said hesitantly. "I''ve heard that sometimes, Marcell brings back people who know secrets. The maids who clean the lower levels tell stories about screams that can be heard several hallways away. Those don''t last long either," she finished quietly. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "All right," Ashlynn said, taking a deep breath. "Pass the word. When Captain Lennart returns tomorrow, I want to be notified immediately. No one is to do anything to the captives without my or Mistress Nyrielle''s orders, do you understand?"


    "Of course, my Lady," Heila said. "Does my Lady have plans for them?"


    "I don''t know," Ashlynn said, her finger tapping pensively on the parchment that contained her notes. "But I have to find something to do that''s different from what we''ve done before or the cycle will never end¡­"

 Chapter 61 - 61: Blood Vitality Crystals

    As night fell, Ashlynn waited pensively on her terrace. The night before, she''d set the stage for a romantic dinner with Nyrielle and the night that followed exceeded her expectations in every way imaginable.


    When she thought about it, she could still feel a whisper of Nyrielle''s fingers tracing along her body and the sharp touch of the vampire''s fangs against her thigh. Just remembering it made her face flush red and her toes curl in memory of the pleasure that overwhelmed her mind last night. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now, however, she wasn''t certain what kind of ''normal'' they would return to. Dinner on her terrace had been the norm when she was receiving lessons in sorcery from Nyrielle but they hadn''t discussed resuming those lessons after she returned to the vale.


    Alternatively, after gathering information from the villa, she wondered if Nyrielle would call together her small council of advisors within the vale for another formal dinner meeting. Without knowing exactly how to proceed, she waited for the sun to set and her Mistress to make the first move.


    It came as a surprise, however, when Thane arrived at her room with word that Nyrielle wouldn''t be available tonight at all.


    "The timing is delicate," Thane explained when he arrived. "Mistress is preparing her tribute for High Lady Erna in order to take you to see the Mother of Thorns. The sorcery to construct that tribute is delicate and can''t be interrupted."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, trying to conceal her disappointment. "Then, what kind of tribute is she preparing? I still don''t understand much about the Eldritch people beyond the vale."


    "I suppose it wouldn''t hurt to give you a lesson tonight while you eat," Thane said with a smile. He''d already heard that Georg had been roasting an entire boar tenderloin just to help Ashlynn recover after Ashlynn fed on her, otherwise, he''d have invited her to stroll through the bazaar with him to sample more of the street food in the vale.


    Since she was about to be treated to another of Georg''s sumptuous feasts, however, it provided an excellent opportunity to fill some of the gaps in her knowledge.


    "Mistress is preparing Blood Vitality Crystals as gifts to Lord Ritchel and High Lady Erna," Thane explained, draping himself languidly on the railing of her terrace and watching the mist rising from the trees in the vale under the deepening twilight.


    The terrace was more than a hundred feet above the courtyard below but Thane looked just as comfortable perching on the narrow railing as he would have been on the sofa in her bedroom. Clearly, fear of heights was something he''d shed along with his mortality, or perhaps he''d always been a bit of a daredevil.


    "A Blood Vitality Crystal is an item that can only be made by a vampire with training in sorcery," he continued. "To make one, a vampire has to gorge themselves, feeding much more than they need to in order to live. Then, that extra energy is condensed into an appropriate crystal, a ruby, garnet, or something similar."


    "Mistress is giving five crystals to Eldritch Lord Ritchel in the mountains. Each one of those crystals contains enough vital energy to restore a middle-aged person to the prime of their youth for a single month," Thane explained.


    "That, that''s remarkable," Ashlynn whispered, her mind whirling with the implications. The power to restore youth, even temporarily, was beyond anything she''d imagined possible. She thought of her father, his hair graying at the temples, and wondered how he might react to such a gift.


    The Church would doubtless call it heretical, and her father might take the same approach, especially if he knew that it was formed by condensing the energy taken from several other people. Ashlynn, however, understood that Nyrielle likely used a dozen or more willing villagers, just like she''d done with Hanno, to spread out the offering without putting anyone in danger.


    If her father could return to his days of youth, however, she imagined that he''d eagerly return to his days of visiting countries in the old world and the friends he''d made across the sea. He''d long lamented becoming too old to easily make the strenuous voyage and he would doubtless treasure the ability to return to visiting his distant friends.


    "What," she said, realizing an even deeper implication of the crystals. "Then, does that mean that, with enough crystals, she could extend a person''s life, effectively forever?"


    "No, a Blood Vitality Crystal doesn''t work that way," Thane said, shaking his head. "The crystal won''t extend a person''s life a single day longer. In fact, if a person who was dying of old age consumed one every month, they would appear to be fit and full of life, right up until the moment that they collapsed and died of old age."


    "Then, if it doesn''t extend life, why do these lords value the crystals so much?" Ashlynn asked.


    "You still don''t understand how important personal strength is to rulers among the Eldritch peoples," Thane said, turning away from the scenery beyond the castle to look at Ashlynn. "Mistress Nyrielle rules in the Vale of Mists, not because she inherited it from her grandsire but because there is no one in the Vale of Mists who could defeat her."


    "It is the responsibility of the strong to defend the weak," he continued. "To protect them from the dangers outside the nation. It is also their responsibility to nurture the strength of those they rule, both individually and collectively, so everyone can thrive."


    "Nyrielle is a True Vampire. Her strength comes in many forms, from her sorcery to her ability to create strong progeny," he said, pointing at himself. "But not every Eldritch Lord or Lady is like her. Some have strength that is more¡­ one-dimensional. Lord Ritchel is just such a man. He is the greatest warrior in his nation."


    Ashlynn nodded slowly, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the arm of her chair as she processed this information. The idea of rulership based solely on strength wasn''t entirely foreign to her, but when she''d read about it in the books written by the church, it was often used as proof of how savage and uncivilized the ''demons'' were.


    Yet, when she listened to the way Thane explained it, she couldn''t deny the logic of it. Especially in a world where threats from humans and other Eldritch nations were constant. Without a strong protector like Nyrielle, the Vale would have fallen to the Lothians long ago, or perhaps it would have been conquered by Lord Ritchel and become part of his domain instead.


    "It''s so different from human politics," she mused aloud. "But I can see why it works for them. For us," she corrected herself quickly. "It ensures the ruler is always capable of protecting their people."


    "Though I imagine it makes for some tense succession plans," Ashlynn said, frowning as she considered what would happen in a place like the Lothian March if Owain and Loman had to fight for the right to inherit, or if they had to face against anyone else in the march who might challenge them.


    "Now, imagine that you''re a great warrior, but you''re growing old," Thane said. "You have to shelter your people from external threats and defend against challenges to your throne from your own people."


    "How much value do you suppose such a man would place on the ability to regain his youth and vigor long enough to fight off one of those threats? Particularly if, as you said, you''re trying to plan for your succession but your chosen heir isn''t yet ready for the burden of leadership," Thane said, a dark smile forming on his face.


    "That''s what Nyrielle is offering in exchange for safe passage through his territory and hunting rights should she need to feed while she''s there," he said. "If you were Lord Ritchel, could you refuse such an offer?"

 Chapter 62 - 62: The Neighbors

    "So what kind of person is this Lord Ritchel," Ashlynn asked, pausing when Heila entered carrying a tray loaded with succulent roast boar tenderloin smothered in a rich mushroom gravy and sitting atop pillowy whipped potatoes.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, looking at the tremendous portion of food. "Did Georg send me Mistress Nyrielle''s portion as well?"


    "No, my Lady," the horned servant giggled. "He said that''s to help you recover. And he''s prepared something just as rich for dessert. He mentioned regretting that you didn''t get to your last course last night so he''s making up for it tonight," she said with a smile.


    "That," Ashlynn blushed furiously. They''d only finished the lamb last night when Nyrielle swept her off her feet and brought her to the luxurious bath¡­ she hadn''t even thought of the desert that Georg must have prepared to go with the welcome home meal he''d prepared for her.


    "Please tell Georg I''m sorry," Ashlynn said sincerely. "And tell him that I''ll visit tomorrow to help him cook to make up for wasting his dessert last night."


    "It''s fine," Heila insisted, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Since you didn''t eat it last night, Georg shared it with me. So, if you miss another one, I won''t mind," she teased.


    "You!" Ashlynn said, reaching out and ruffling the diminutive woman''s hair affectionately. Truthfully, she owed Heila a lot for taking care of her since she arrived and she was glad to hear that the horned woman had gotten to enjoy dessert in her place. "Still, give him my apologies," she insisted.


    "As you wish," Heila said, offering a polite curtsey and excusing herself so Ashlynn could enjoy her meal.


    "So, what is it you want to know about Lord Ritchel?" Thane asked, smiling as he saw Ashlynn tucking into her meal. She''d come a long way since the battered woman she''d been when they first met and the easy way she bantered with a member of the Horned Clan like Heila was just as important a transformation to him as her physical one.


    "I guess, to start, what clan is he part of?" Ashlynn asked. "And what territory does he rule?"


    "Lord Ritchel is from the Frost Walker Clan," Thane explained. "They''re bigger than Georg''s people and quite a bit furrier, with a single horn in the center of their forehead," he said, tapping the spot on his own head.


    "Those horns are sacred to the Frost Walkers," he added. "The older they are, the longer they grow and the more clear they become until they resemble a giant spiraling icicle. It''s not really made of ice, but when they die, the horns are placed in a memorial cave filled with the horns of their ancestors. They guard those ancestral caves fiercely," he warned.


    "Why would they have to guard a place like that?" Ashlynn asked, only now realizing how hungry she still was after devouring half of the tender boar. "Are grave robbers a problem?"


    It wasn''t unheard of for people to attempt to rob the tombs of ancient kings in human nations or even powerful lords. Oftentimes, noblemen were buried with treasured artifacts and perhaps a few trinkets of some value.


    In general, however, the Church of the Holy Lord of Light taught that a person reached the Heavenly Shores as they''d entered the world, naked before the Holy Light. A person couldn''t take their wealth or treasures with them so it was better to pass them down to the living to help the next generation grow stronger.


    "Because those horns can be carved into powerful blades that will freeze the blood of someone impaled on one," Thane said bluntly. "Not everyone respects the beliefs of the Frost Walkers that their horns should be worshiped in ancestral caves. Some would prefer to use them as weapons."


    "That, that''s terrible," Ashlynn gasped, momentarily forgetting about her meal. If someone told her that they wanted to break into her great-grandfather''s crypt and carve one of his bones into a dagger, she would be beyond furious. Suddenly, it wasn''t so hard to understand the perspective of the Frost Walkers.


    "Mistress Nyrielle respects their traditions," Thane said, reaching out to dip a finger in the sauce of Ashlynn''s boar and savoring the rich, meaty taste. "As does High Lady Erna. For generations, that respect has largely protected the Frost Walkers from grave robbers."


    "So, Lord Ritchel''s territory is completely enclosed by the Vale of Mists, and High Lady Erna''s territory on the other side?" Ashlynn guessed.


    "Not exactly," Thane explained. "Lord Ritchel and his Frost Walkers rule the High Pass, between the Vale of Mists and the High Fen on the other side. He doesn''t rule all of the Frost Walkers and there are other ways to enter the High Pass if you''re willing to traverse over the mountain peaks, but it''s difficult which makes raids on their graves rare." S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What about the High Fen?" Ashlynn asked, pushing the last of the whipped potatoes around her plate to scoop up the few remaining bits of rich sauce. "Is it called the High Fen because it''s ruled by High Lady Erna or is she called High Lady after the name of the fen?"


    "She''s called a High Lady because the territory she rules is vaster than Nyrielle''s and she''s believed to be more powerful as well," Thane said. In a true battle between the two women, he wasn''t certain that Nyrielle would be defeated but neither seemed to have any interest in settling an outsider''s curiosity about their respective strength.


    "You can think of an Eldritch Lord or Lady like our Mistress as being similar to a Baron," Thane explained. "A High Lady like Erna is similar to a Count, and a Great Lord would be similar to a Duke. The parallels aren''t exact, the Eldritch have never cared for the intricate layers of power that humans divide themselves into, but the size of territory and number of people they rule over is fairly similar."


    "Then, is there an Eldritch King?" Ashlynn asked, wondering what kind of person could be so incredibly powerful to rule over beings even mightier than Nyrielle.


    "No," Thane said. "But there is an Emperor. The greatest and most powerful of the Eldritch of any generation. Emperors aren''t like human kings though. Remember, each Eldritch Lord or Lady, no matter their status, is a sovereign of their own nation. They are subordinate to no one and they are free to rule their nation as they see fit."


    "Then, why call someone an Emperor?" Ashlynn asked, confused by the concept.


    "Because sometimes, the strongest among the Eldritch chooses to conquer those who are weaker, to unify the nations under one banner. Not all of them do," Thane said. "But enough have that the tradition remains."


    "It sounds," Ashlynn paused, trying to organize her thoughts around the strange notion. "It sounds very fluid."


    "It is," Thane said with a smile. "And that''s why traditions like paying tribute when one lord passes through the territory of another are so important. It''s a demonstration that you aren''t a threat and you don''t intend to conquer your neighbor."


    "So," she began slowly, "as Nyrielle''s Seneschal, I might one day have to navigate these relationships too?" Ashlynn asked, thinking about the delicate balance of power, the importance of strength. Nyrielle had once mentioned needing her help against enemies other than the Lothians, was this what she was referring to?


    "As a Seneschal, you should expect to represent Mistress Nyrielle wherever you go and that she may send you to places that are difficult for her to reach," Thane said. "Right now, Narcissa is the one who spends the most time in Eldritch lands, acting as an ambassador of sorts, but one day, Mistress may ask you to take over some of that responsibility. Or not," he said lightly. "It''s much too early to pin you into a specific role."


    "Then, will my strength be tested?" Ashlynn asked. "Will I have to fight people like Lord Ritchel?"


    "Most certainly," Thane said, his voice hardening. "An Eldritch Lord will almost never stoop to fighting a servant, even someone who is first among servants like you are. But that doesn''t mean they won''t attempt to take your measure by sending their own champions after you."


    Looking at Thane''s focused amber eyes, Ashlynn took a deep breath, putting down her fork, and pushing the plate away. While she''d been eating, it was easy to forget about the upcoming trip or to think of it like a simple holiday but Thane had just reminded her that nothing among the Eldritch would be what she expected it to be as long as she thought of them as simply differently shaped people.


    "What do I need to do to prepare for the trip? I''m still in my blossoming period for another two weeks," she said, rising to her feet. "More training? Sword practice?"


    "Yes, that too," Thane said, moving swiftly and appearing behind her. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down into her seat. "But not tonight. Tonight, you recover from feeding Mistress Nyrielle last night, and you eat the dessert that Georg has prepared for you."


    "I''ll accompany you all night," Thane added. "We can talk about what to expect, the traditions you''ll need to follow, and more. Your mind is an even more important weapon than your body, so we''ll train that tonight and return to the rest tomorrow."

 Chapter 63 - 63: Treating Captives as Guests (Part One)

    True to his word, Thane kept Ashlynn company until the sky began to show the first hints of approaching dawn.


    While there was a great deal more for him to explain about the Eldritch nations that Ashlynn would be passing through on her way to visit the Mother of Thorns, neither of them could remain on a single topic the entire night.


    Instead, Thane served as a sounding board while Ashlynn worked out some of her unresolved thoughts about how to act on the information she''d gained from her trip to the summer villa. She would speak with Nyrielle before she took any specific actions, but she gained a much better sense of things she could do with the information in hand and the resources of the vale.


    The plan that was beginning to form in her mind would require support from Marcell at the very least, within the next few days. As the days grew longer and the distance a vampire could travel in a single night shrank, missions like the one she had in mind for the young-looking vampire became even more dangerous.


    There were several other parts of her nebulous plan that Thane helped her to clarify. Whether he was pointing out flaws in her thinking or offering knowledge to fill gaps in what she knew, he was always patient, even as the sky began to lighten and they ran out of time to continue their conversation.


    Once dawn came, after Thane vanished to the dark interior of the ancient castle, Ashlynn left instructions for handling the arrival of Captain Lennart and his captives before taking a rest herself. The few days she''d spent in the Summer Villa where she got up before dawn and went to bed after sunset had been a struggle after adapting to life on Nyrielle''s schedule.


    When it came to the captives, in the grand scheme of things, how she handled Ollie and the other six men mattered very little. As they were, there would be no difference whether she imprisoned them for the rest of their lives or had them executed. The only thing she couldn''t do, at least not right now, was release them to take word of her survival back to Owain and the Lothians.


    As she began to consider the greater problems facing the vale, however, she felt like these captives represented an important opportunity. One that she didn''t intend to miss. She just had to give a few other instructions to Heila in order to prepare for the arrival of her¡­ guests.


    It wasn''t until the late afternoon that Lennart reached the castle with his captives in tow.


    A soldier named Daithi walked at the head of the column of captives. His short brown hair hung limply around a face that had grown coarse with two days of stubble and his hazel eyes seemed to be constantly on the move, taking in every detail of his surroundings with a wariness that had only grown sharper the further into demon territory they went.


    While his hands were bound and his weapons had been taken from him, the old soldier had to admit that they hadn''t been mistreated by the demons who took them prisoner. He''d heard stories growing up about how demons feasted on the blood and flesh of humans but he''d only seen a single hint of savagery from the beasts who held him captive.


    Daithi and the other captives had expected that Sir Broll''s body would be left to rot after the duel, or perhaps he would be given a hasty burial before the group began their march toward the Vale of Mists. He''d even spoken up to offer to dig a grave if the demons weren''t going to.


    "Your knight is still useful," the clawed demon called Lennart had said when Daithi asked about it. "He will serve as a warning to those who follow after."


    Of course, Daithi wasn''t unfamiliar with the concept of using the body of the slain as a warning. Criminals of extreme crimes would be hung in a public square and the body would be left hanging on display for several days to be picked at by crows or mice as a warning to the common folk that crime came with consequences.


    What he wasn''t prepared for, however, was the brutal dismembering of the body of a person who had once been a powerful knight. Captain Lennart intended that Sir Broll''s body only be found in pieces as a warning that even the most powerful of the Lothian''s warriors would face a grisly death if they were to attack the Vale of Mists.


    If the human tradition of hanging criminals could be considered a display of the power of high justice in the lands, Captain Lennart''s message was far more effective at communicating the martial power of the demons. No one seeing the display would sleep well or march to battle without at least a measure of fear in their hearts after finding what was left of Sir Broll. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Rather than savagery, however, Daithi found only calm, calculated strategy in the captain''s actions. There was no anger or rage when he tore the knight''s remains apart, only a desire to defeat his enemies without fighting them. Somehow that was even more terrifying than if it had been rage or grief-fueled malice.


    Now, after two days of hiking through the wilderness and entering the very heart of demon territory, Daithi''s eyes were filled with the sight of a world no human had seen in several generations. No human since Caun and Cellach Lothain''s generations had breached the walls guarding the city that surrounded the ancient fortress.


    Now, far from the shadowed world of depravity and murder the Church warned of, or the dark and haunting terror contained in childhood nursery rhymes, Daithi found himself in a town that greatly resembled Lothian City, if on a slightly smaller scale.


    "What, what are those men doing climbing the poles?" Daithi asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.


    "Those are lamplighters," Captain Lennart replied with a terrifyingly toothy grin. Despite their differences, he recognized that Daithi was trying to stand up as a leader of the captives and he''d made the decision to treat the man with the same respect he would give to a captive leader of another Eldritch nation.


    There would likely never be friendship between them, but for the sake of Lady Ashlynn, he could manage common courtesy.


    "Not everyone can see well in the dark of night," the captain said, tapping next to his own golden eyes that reflected the fading late afternoon light. "The people of the Horned Clan have wider vision than my kind, but they don''t see as well in the dark so we light lamps along the streets to help them find their way. Come autumn and winter when the fog is thicker, even good night vision won''t help you if you get lost in the fog."


    Daithi''s mind reeled, struggling to reconcile what he saw with everything he''d been taught. The neat streets, the lamplighters, the bustling activity - it all seemed so... normal. Not only normal, if anything, it was better than life in Lothian City.


    In Lothian, shopkeepers were required to hang a lamp at night to light the streets but not everyone did. In the poorer parts of the city, people might only use enough oil to burn for an hour or two before their lamps went out, if they lit any at all, leaving anyone on the streets to navigate patches of darkness that could stretch for several blocks.


    Here, not only were the streets well-lit, they were clear of garbage and waste. More than that, even after walking through the entire city to reach the imposing fortress, he had yet to see a single drunkard or poverty-stricken pensioner languishing in the streets. It was as though poverty didn''t exist in this place.


    A knot formed in his stomach, a mixture of confusion, fear, and an unexpected twinge of guilt. Part of him wanted to believe that they were free of poverty because the things he''d been taught were true. If they lacked for human captives to feast on then surely they were savage cannibals who slaughtered their own less fortunate for meals. But if that were true then why did the common folks he saw on the street look so¡­ happy?

 Chapter 64 - 64: Treating Captives as Guests (Part Two)

    Entering the city at the base of the ancient castle provided one shock after another to Daithi and his fellow captives. The people here weren''t what they had expected to encounter at all.


    The looks they received from the demons were also very mixed. Some anxiously shooed children out of the streets when they saw a group of humans passing by while others looked at them with open hostility.


    Many of the demons, however, including almost all of the children, looked at them with mild curiosity or an occasional look of pity when they realized the men were being escorted under guard like common criminals.


    When Daithi glanced at his fellow captives, he noticed the same mixture of fear, anxiety, and bewilderment in their eyes. Nothing was what they expected and it left all of them uncertain about what would happen to them now.


    It seemed like they were a truly uncommon sight in the castle town and no one, neither the humans nor the demons, knew what to make of their presence.


    "You speak as though we''re going to be alive to see autumn," Daithi said dourly, returning his attention to the looming figure of Captain Lennart. As interesting as it might be to walk the streets of the city during the time of year when the mists of the vale were the thickest, he doubted that he would still be present to see it. "I can''t quite bring myself to share that optimism."


    "True," the bear of a man said in a deep, rumbling voice. "But perhaps things will be different for you. You never waged war on us. Your hands are clean. That makes you different from other captives."


    "Does it really?" Daithi asked, mostly rhetorically. The words Lady Ashlynn had said to Sir Broll echoed through his mind again and again - ''I think the world isn''t as we were taught.'' He''d been taught that demons were ruthless to their captives, working them to death before feasting on their flesh, but was it true? The further they walked, the less sure he was of anything he''d learned as a youth. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You''ll know soon," Lennart said. "When we passed through the outer gates I was told that the Seneschal wants to receive you and your fellows personally. It''s a great honor," he emphasized, glowering down at the human. "Do not do anything impolite."


    Before Daithi could ask what might be considered impolite, they passed through a mighty gate and under a wickedly sharp portcullis that gave him the feeling of being devoured by an enormous beast with giant fangs sharp enough to pierce through his entire body.


    Beyond the tunnel leading through the thick castle wall, a space had been cleared among the bustling activity of the courtyard where a stunning woman with pale golden hair and piercing emerald eyes awaited them.


    She had washed the black dye from her hair and traded her servant''s garb for a pale blue dress with silvery lace but Daithi wouldn''t forget that face for as long as he lived. When he compared the woman before him, standing with regal pride and unassailable confidence in her power, he couldn''t help but laugh under his breath at the pale imitation of this woman who currently occupied the Summer Villa.


    If he''d doubted before, then all of his doubts vanished like the vale''s mists at midday when he saw the radiant beauty standing before a group of horned demons dressed as servants.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Daithi said, taking a knee formally and gesturing for the men behind him to do the same. "I''m told my fate is in your hands. If it will appease your anger, my life is yours to take," he said with a heavy swallow.


    "I only ask that, that the men behind me¡­" he tried to say only to trail off as he saw the gazes of the demons grow increasingly hostile. Was he not allowed to plead for the lives of his men? Was even this little bit of mercy to be denied to him?


    Captain Lennart balled his hand into a fist, ready to strike out at the human for the string of insults he''d greeted the Seneschal with. Daithi acted like his life still belonged to him, to bargain away for his men. The truth, as far as Lennart was concerned, was that Daithi''s life and the lives of all of his men already belonged to the Seneschal from the moment she defeated their leader in single combat.


    The strong had the right to claim dominion over their defeated foes, yet this man acted like he still had room to bargain. Before Captain Lennart could strike the foolish human, however, Ashlynn gestured for him to wait while she addressed the kneeling human soldier.


    "What is your name, Soldier?" Ashlynn asked, her voice cool and even. The dark stares of the gathered Eldritch people were clearly sufficient for the soldier to notice his misstep, even if he didn''t understand it.


    Now, all she needed to do was follow up on the tone they set in order to keep these men on their back foot, responding to her directions rather than trying to formulate plans of their own. It was one of the many lessons her father had taught her that she''d never had the chance to use at home and was now profoundly grateful to be able to draw on. She only wished her father could be here to see her using his teachings.


    "I''m called Daithi, my Lady," the man answered, lowering his head and fixing his gaze on the smooth cobblestones of the courtyard lest he commit another offense.


    "You may rise, Daithi," Ashlynn said with a faint smile, forcing the memories of home and her father''s lessons to the back of her mind while she focused on the men in front of her. There would be time for reunions later, but only if she built herself a road on which she could return.


    "This is Piet," she said, gesturing to one of the short, horned men dressed as a servant behind her. "He''s going to take you and your men to wash up before you join me for dinner."


    "Ollie," she said, waving at the gangly kitchen boy who stood with the horned soldier Harrod. As the person who had helped her escape, his status was clearly different than the other captives and Harrod had taken personal responsibility for guiding the young man for the past few days.


    "Come with me, I have something else prepared for you," she said with a warm smile. "If you thought the Summer Villa was impressive, just wait until you see this place," she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

 Chapter 65 - 65: Luxurious Treatment

    Ollie''s eyes were as wide as saucers while he followed after the beautiful Lady Ashlynn through the halls of the demon, no, Eldritch castle.


    Harrod had corrected him several times on the journey and he was trying to change his own thoughts on the matter but it wasn''t as easy as scrubbing away food stuck to a pot.


    The thought instantly brought him back to Lady Ashlynn. Just a few days ago, they''d been up to their elbows in dirty pots or piles of freshly slaughtered venison in the Summer Villa. Now, she wasn''t just the noblewoman who was supposed to be married to Owain Lothian, but she seemed to have a whole other identity as a powerful noble among the demons, er, eldritch!


    "Um, your ladyship," Ollie said hesitantly. "Where are we going?" They''d already ascended several stone stairways and the twisting path they were taking made him feel like they''d entered one of the hand-shaped fortress''s massive towers but he had no idea which one or what it might signify.


    He''d heard of a baron who imprisoned his wayward children in a high tower, but surely they weren''t planning to imprison him somewhere like that¡­ right?


    "I''ve had a room prepared for you," Ashlynn said with a smile. "It''s just down the hall from mine. You''re on the other side of the tower though," she admitted. "So you have to deal with facing the rising sun."


    Ollie stumbled when he heard what she said. A room on the same floor as a noblewoman? What kind of thing was this?


    "Here, take a look," Ashlynn said, opening the door with a childish grin of anticipation. At the moment, she felt much the same as she had when she surprised her little sister with a birthday gift and she eagerly watched Ollie''s expression as she led him into his new room.


    It wasn''t as large or opulent as hers but the four-poster bed with a feather mattress and soft blankets was still a luxury beyond anything the kitchen boy had ever experienced. Combined with a personal room for washing, a large hearth, and a small writing desk, the room easily met the standards of a knight anywhere in the Kingdom of Gaal.


    "This, this is for me?" Ollie said, turning around in disbelief.


    "There''s a change of clothes for you in the wardrobe," Ashlynn added, smiling in delight at Ollie''s reaction. He''d suffered so much for helping her that she couldn''t help herself from feeling anxious about he must resent her for upending his life.


    She knew that a room and a wardrobe couldn''t make up for tearing away from everything he knew but she hoped that it made the transition to life in the vale at least a little easier.


    "I''m going to leave you here with Justus," she said, placing a hand on a stout, horned servant. "He''ll serve as your personal attendant while you settle in. You should wash and change quickly though," she added. "You don''t want to be late for dinner."


    "Oh," Ollie said, deflating slightly. "Back to the kitchens then?"


    "Only if you want to," Ashlynn said with a smile at his misunderstanding. "I''m sure that Georg wouldn''t refuse the help. But Ollie," she said, stepping close and reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder.


    "From now on, you''re not just a kitchen boy. You''re my friend," she emphasized. "You helped me more than once in the Summer Villa. Let me help you now. You don''t have to decide what you want to do in the future just yet, you can take time," she suggested.


    "But you''ve earned a reward for what you''ve done, so keep that in mind and think of what you want," she said before turning to leave a speechless Ollie alone with Justus.


    "Is this real?" Ollie said, turning to look at the short, horned man.


    "Our Seneschal is different from all of Lady Nyrielle''s progeny," the servant said, a brilliant white grin showing from behind his bushy beard. "But in a good way. I''ll fetch hot water for you so you can wash before dinner. Do you want a shave or are you trying to grow a beard of your own?"


    "A beard?" Ollie asked, scratching his rough cheek. "No, wouldn''t that make me look sloppy in front of her ladyship? I wouldn''t dare!"


    "As you wish," the short man said with a laugh. His new charge might be human but he seemed to be a decent enough fellow who truly respected the Seneschal. As long as that was true, there was no need to give the man trouble or report back any concerns to his superiors. That didn''t mean he trusted the boy yet, but he was happy to give the young man time to show his true colors.


    Elsewhere in the vast castle, Ashlynn prepared for what she hoped would be a dramatic turning point for the captives. She''d spent several hours both talking with Thane and practicing on her own for this moment and she believed that she could do what she planned.


    Whether it would have the desired effect or not, however, remained to be seen. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In order to awe her guests for the evening, she''d prepared a special hall that had seen little use in the castle in recent years.


    The ancient castle had stood for hundreds of years before Nyrielle''s grandsire became a vampire and claimed the Vale of Mists for himself. Before that, it had been ruled by an Eldritch Lord from the Horned clan, and the lord before him had been a member of the Clan of the Great Claw.


    It wasn''t until Torbin that many of the newer areas of the castle were dug into the walls of the cliff itself, moving reception halls and formal dining into rooms underground where no daylight would ever enter.


    Now, Ashlynn had one of the old halls prepared to host a formal dinner with her captives. Her footsteps echoed off the bare walls of the hall even though she was wearing soft-soled shoes. Normally, for a formal dinner, rich tapestries should be hung in the hall to help trap the warmth of the large hearths and deaden the sound.


    When Ashlynn looked at the available tapestries, however, she''d found mostly scenes depicting glorious victories of battles fought against humans attacking the vale. Even the ones that lacked a human presence still displayed the strength and power of the local Eldritch clans. For what Ashlynn intended tonight, such tapestries would send entirely the wrong message, so she left the stone walls of the great hall bare.


    A heavy oak table had been placed near one of the hearths for warmth but Ashlynn kept the table far enough away that it was still deep in shadow, particularly when an iron screen was placed in front of the flames to help radiate heat from the fire.


    The sun was already setting and the hall should be brightly lit by torches and chandeliers overhead but she''d ordered that nothing be lit until she gave the command, allowing long shadows to stretch across the hall as the sun sank toward the western hills outside the windows.


    With this, her stage had been set. Several servants waited just outside the hallway, ready to spring into action as soon as she gave the command. Commander Bassinger had also stationed a few of his most trusted men outside the doors, just in case any of Ashlynn''s ''guests'' reacted violently to what she was about to do.


    She firmly believed that the protection was unnecessary but there was always the chance that he was right. If that was the case, especially if most of the captives turned hostile, then she would welcome the protection. The result, however, would be a one-sided slaughter that she sincerely hoped to avoid.

 Chapter 66 - 66: The Power of Heresy

    When the captives finally entered the hall, they had changed out of their rough forest wear or cloth armor and donned simple breeches and undyed wool tunics that were as well made or better than anything they''d worn at home.


    Seeing the darkening room, the men clustered closer together, pushing Daithi forward as the official ''spokesman'' of the group.


    "Please, be seated," Ashlynn said, gesturing at the long table. "We''re still waiting for one more person," she added, pointing at the chair to the left of her own seat at the head of the table. "Daithi, if you''d like, you can sit to my right."


    "Thank you, your ladyship," the soldier said awkwardly.


    Everyone moved awkwardly, the heels of their boots echoing off the ancient stone floors as they walked toward the heavy oak table near the hearth. Some wondered if this was going to be their last meal while others wondered if they were about to be treated to some form of gruesome demon delicacy.


    Two days spent with Captain Lennart''s men had begun to erode their beliefs in the most extreme horror stories told about demons but a few of them believed that it was only the realities of traveling in the forest that prevented the beastly people from indulging in savage pleasures. Now that they were in the demon''s own fortress, who knew what kind of dark feast they''d be served?


    Shortly after the captives had taken their seats, the doors to the grand hall opened again to reveal a gangly youth who had undergone a remarkable transformation.


    Not only had Justus shaved the scratchy stubble that had begun to form on the young man''s face, but he''d also tamed his unruly red hair, trimming it neatly and shaping it into an elegant short style. The change combined with a sapphire blue tunic and dark breeches tucked into polished black boots gave the former kitchen boy an appearance much closer to the son of a knight than a common servant.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said with a smile, leaving her seat to walk the young man over to the chair on her left side. "You look incredibly dashing like that. I''ll need to warn Zedya and the other ladies before they fall for your charms."


    The young man would have stumbled over his own feet at the praise if Ashlynn hadn''t caught him. Looking around at how differently he was dressed compared to the other captives it was clear that he was being treated much differently but he had no clue how he was supposed to act given the difference, much less how he was supposed to respond to gentle teasing from a noblewoman.


    "I, um, I won''t do anything I''m not supposed to," he said sheepishly, hoping that no one could tell how much he was blushing in the darkening room.


    "It''s fine Ollie," Ashlynn said, taking her seat. "Everyone, I know you likely have several questions but I want to make a few things clear at the beginning," she said, turning her attention to the remaining humans at the table.


    Raising her right hand, Ashlynn briefly closed her eyes, feeling the power slumbering deep within her. She still hadn''t fully recovered from using sorcery on Sir Kaefin but she''d regained enough energy for a small demonstration.


    For a moment, she hesitated. Everything she''d been taught growing up said that this was wrong on such a deep level that no one would question Owain''s decision to murder her if they''d caught word of it. It contradicted the Church so directly that she would have been branded a heretic and hunted to the ends of the earth if she did it anywhere but here in the Vale where she was safe among the Eldritch.


    And yet, after everything she''d seen and learned since coming to the Vale, she found more and more about the ''holy'' laws that she couldn''t abide by. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and let her power flow, crossing a line in her own heart that might surprise even Nyrielle if she was present to witness it.


    "Glow, golden, hand to crystals," she said too softly for most of the men to hear.


    Suddenly, a brilliant golden energy enveloped her outstretched hand, lighting the room more brightly than a dozen torches. The energy then flowed from her hand to half a dozen crystals sling the table, spreading their golden light over everyone at the gathering.


    Daithi, Ollie, and the other men trembled at the sight. Three of the hunters even scrambled out of their chairs before dropping to their knees at the display. Of those who remained seated, none of them were any less reverent at the sight, they were just too stunned to make any kind of movement.


    Only Daithi was both old enough and senior enough in Owain''s guard to have attended one of the Grand Masses held by the Church of the Holy Lord of Light where one of the high priests called upon the blessings of their patron deity to bathe the congregation in holy golden light.


    Daithi felt his heart racing, torn between awe and terror. The light was beautiful, reminiscent of the holy glow he''d witnessed in the Grand Mass. The light was perfect and pure, providing light without the heat of flame.


    He''d seen street performers and charlatans attempt to imitate the holy light but it had always been an act of trickery using burning oils to create a flame that resembled holy light. This, however, was a shining display or pure holy light yet it was called forth by a woman who openly consorted with demons.


    Eamon, the oldest of the hunters among them, clasped his hands together instinctively, muttering a prayer under his breath. His weathered face was a mask of conflict, reverence warring with a deep suspicion of anything associated with ''demons''.


    No one could spend as much time deep in the forest as he had without having a few chance encounters with demons but he''d never once seen them do anything that looked so¡­ holy. To witness it here shook him to his core.


    Even Ollie, despite his privileged position, found himself gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He''d known Lady Ashlynn was special, but this, this was beyond anything he''d imagined. Reaching under the table with one hand, he pinched himself as hard as he could, drawing a sharp breath at the pain that told him this was really happening.


    Now, as everyone watched the light flowing from the woman at the head of the table, their hearts trembled in worship and fear.


    Only the chosen of the Holy Lord of Light could summon such a sacred glow, but this woman stood among the people the church called demons. What Ashlynn had just done amounted to heresy of the highest order yet none of them could speak as they stared at the holy light she summoned.


    "I told Sir Broll that much of what we have been taught is wrong," Ashlynn said, breaking the silence at last. "Tonight, I want to tell you about the world as I see it. You don''t have to accept my words, but for the sake of your futures, I hope you''ll listen to what I have to say."


    S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 67 - 67: Gaining Converts

    A heavy silence hung over the assembled captives as they stared at both Ashlynn and the glowing crystals on the table.


    Daithi was the first to speak, drawing a shuddering breath and clasping his hands briefly in silent prayer before opening his mouth.


    "My lad, no, Your Holiness," he corrected himself. Confusion wracked his mind and his heart trembled with questions the teachings of his faith couldn''t answer but he refused to deny the proof of his own eyes.


    "Your Holiness, if you have words for us, then we''ll listen. When you''re finished, I hope you''ll allow us to ask some questions," he said cautiously.


    "Some questions can''t wait," Eamon said, shaking himself free of the shock and narrowing his eyes at Ashlynn. "I''ve seen many things in the forest between the march and the vale but I''ve never seen the demons tolerate something holy. How is it they haven''t killed you yet?" the grizzled man asked bluntly.


    "As I said," Ashlynn said, keeping her voice calm. "Much of what we have been taught is wrong. Please," she continued, turning to the kneeling men. "Return to your seats. I didn''t invite you all here to bow in worship but to talk and learn."


    When the men started to move, Ashlynn let her power and the golden glow fade. Ringing a bell on the table summoned several servants bearing torches that quickly lit up the room while other servants brought trays of hot, steaming bread and crocks of smooth, creamy cheese to go with it.


    "Tonight''s dinner is just for us," Ashlynn said, tearing off a hunk of bread and spreading the creamy goat cheese on the soft, nutty bread. It had taken her a little while to adjust to how rare cow''s milk was in the vale but after returning to human lands, she found herself missing the pungent sharpness of the more common goat''s milk used in the vale.


    "In the future, I hope you won''t hesitate to break bread with the Eldritch people who live here," she continued. "Their traditions and appearance might be different from the people we grew up with but at the end of the day, they aren''t ''demons'', they''re just people who happen to look different."


    "People who look different and can tear a man limb from limb," Eamon said, eyeing the bread as though he wasn''t certain it was safe to eat.


    Ollie, however, quickly imitated Ashlynn, tearing into the bread and spreading a thick layer of creamy cheese on it before taking a large bite.


    "So good," he said, eyes widening at the combination of flavors. The best bread he''d eaten recently had been loaves that were slightly burnt and unfit to be served to the lords and knights, despite being made with the best flour. More often, the bread he ate had to be carefully checked for seeds and small stones that were left behind when the flour was milled, or worse, weevils.


    "I''ll introduce you to Georg later so you can tell him you like it," Ashlynn said with a light laugh. "Please, everyone, eat."


    "It''s just bread," Daithi added, following Ollie''s example but taking much smaller bites. "If her Holiness wanted to harm us, her men could have killed us several times over instead of bringing us here. She wouldn''t go through all this effort to spare our lives only to kill us with a meal."


    Daithi''s words seemed to break everyone free of their suspicions, finally allowing them to dig in as the bread was followed by a creamy lentil soup. Even Eamon managed to put down his suspicions enough to eat, though he frequently frowned at the unfamiliar flavors.


    "The power I showed you," Ashlynn began once she saw people begin to relax. "Would it surprise you to know that the Eldritch Lady of the Vale, my Mistress Nyrielle, can do exactly the same thing? In fact, she''s the one who taught me how."


    At those words, everyone stopped, staring at her in disbelief. Children grew up on nursery rhymes about the Demon Lady of the Vale with her fearsome claws and murderous fangs, tearing naughty children away from their families to strip the flesh from their bones and drink their blood. Now, Lady Ashlynn wanted them to believe that she was also a Holy woman?


    "It sounds impossible, doesn''t it?" Ashlynn admitted. "Perhaps in the future she would be willing to give you a demonstration herself. For now, however, I''ll ask you to put your faith in me. I was afraid when I came here at first, it''s fine if you''re afraid too. What I won''t accept, however, is rudeness," she said, pinning a sharp glare on Eamon.


    "The term ''demon'' isn''t used here. Please erase it from your lips. I told you before you came here that you should learn the names of the Eldritch people and I expect you to do so," she insisted.


    Several of the men swallowed heavily and the two sitting closest to Eamon moved their chairs a few inches further away from him, as if they were afraid to get caught in the blast if she chose to smite him where he sat.


    "I, I apologize, your Holiness," the weathered hunter said. "You won''t hear it from me again."


    "See that I don''t," she said firmly. "I told you all that we would discuss your future," she said, moving on from the topic. "Unfortunately, at the moment, I cannot give you your freedom. Other than Ollie," she said, flashing the young man a warm smile. "The rest of you are captives and you will not be allowed free movement in the castle or in the Vale of Mists."


    "That doesn''t mean you will be imprisoned," she added quickly when she saw their faces begin to darken. "I''ve ordered a common room to be prepared for you with good beds and fresh clothing. For the next few days, I will also join you for a morning and evening meal to discuss matters of the vale with you." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That''s very kind, your Holiness," Daithi said. "But we''re not people of status. You don''t need to spend so much time on us." He said it as a statement but in truth, he was seeking an explanation. He wanted to know why she would go so far for people who had hunted her through the forest just a few days ago.


    "I don''t need to, but I want to," Ashlynn said. It had only taken a few weeks for her world to change completely. People like Georg and Heila had become more than just servants, they were people she considered to be friends. In time, she imagined she would think the same of Commander Bassinger, Marshal Jakob and the other people who supported Nyrielle in the vale.


    She''d changed, in part, because she came to see herself as one of them. Not only because she was Nyrielle''s Seneschal, but because of the power she''d been born with. A ''Child of the Earth'' or a ''Witch'', the term didn''t matter as much as what it represented. Humans didn''t see her as ''one of them'' anymore. The Eldritch, on the other hand, took her as one of their own.


    For Daithi and the men with him, matters were different. There was nothing about them that marked them as anything other than human. But, given the chance, could they come to form their own friendships among the Eldritch?


    The answer to that question would help her to resolve the lingering doubts in her own mind about her plans for the future. If it was truly impossible to resolve generations of hatred and fear then the only option left to her and Nyrielle would be a war of extermination. If they couldn''t resolve the hatred, there would never be safety for the people of the vale until humans had been purged from the continent.


    She didn''t want that to happen. She still wanted to find a way to reunite with her own family. To have peaceful relationships between the Vale of Mists and Blackwell County along with the rest of the human territories.


    Achieving that, she hoped, would start here, with these seven people. If she could find a way to convert them to her way of seeing the world, then she could find a way to do it with others.


    Owain and his family might never put down their hatred. Doing so would make them heretics in the eyes of the church and they would never take those risks. But, if she could conquer the hearts of the common people like the men in this room, then once she defeated the Lothians, she might be able to put something different in their place.


    "Let me start by telling you all about my time in the vale," Ashlynn began after taking a sip of her wine. She might not tell them everything, but everything she would tell them would be true. If she had to stoop to lying in order to build trust between humans and the Eldritch, then she was doomed from the very beginning.

 Chapter 68 - 68: The Carrot and the Stick

    It didn''t take long for Ashlynn to weave her story. The sun had fully set and they''d enjoyed a delicious course of roasted capons by the time she was finished explaining everything from the bazaar in the castle town to the things she''d witnessed when Nyrielle fed in one of the villages.


    "So, it''s true then?" Daithi said when Ashlynn brought up Nyrielle''s feeding. "The, um, Eldritch Lady of the Vale really does drink blood?"


    Around the table, everyone looked pale at the notion, and the youngest man aside from Ollie, one of the other soldiers in the group, had set down his utensils, unable to continue eating after hearing Ashlynn''s story.


    "It''s true," Ashlynn said, wistfully touching the spot on her neck where Nyrielle had first fed on her. "She only feeds on the willing," she said, blushing slightly and snatching her hand away from her neck. "And while I won''t say that she''s never killed anyone, neither she nor her progeny need to kill just to feed. They''re all capable of stopping short of that and a person can recover in a few days of rest."


    Her movement wasn''t lost on her audience. While Ollie and Daithi looked surprised, Eamon and one or two of the other hunters scowled darkly at the notion of a vampire ''feeding'' on a woman as holy as Ashlynn.


    "Does it hurt?" Ollie asked bluntly, missing the dark looks from the captives around the table. From the way Ashlynn was acting, it seemed like she might actually¡­ like it?


    "For a moment, and then it doesn''t," Ashlynn said, her face heating even more when she thought about Nyrielle''s fangs sinking into her tender thigh. "The important thing is that it''s not cruel. The Eldritch see it the same way as we''d see a tax paid in grain or livestock," she said, trying to get the conversation back on track.


    "Perhaps one of them would like a demonstration," a warm, masculine voice called as Thane entered the hall along with Marcell. "I''ve eaten recently but I''m sure my little brother could use a bite," he said, gesturing to the darkly elegant younger vampire.


    "Don''t listen to him," Marcell said with a smile. "He knows I prefer the company of beautiful women to coarser men. I''m sure these fine soldiers would agree that if you''re going to nibble on someone''s neck, it''s best that it be a neck free of stubble."


    "You two, don''t frighten them!" Ashlynn said in mock indignation. Two of the hunters had already clasped both hands awkwardly over their necks and even Ollie was looking pale when Thane flashed his sharp fangs.


    "We won''t harm your pets, er, guests," Marcell said with a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes. "But I do need to ask them a few questions before they tuck in for the night."


    "Mistress Nyrielle wants to meet the boy Ollie who helped you in the villa," Thane added. "You can leave your guests in Marcell''s care for the night."


    "Oh, all right then," Ashlynn said, standing and turning to the bewildered-looking former kitchen boy. "Come, the nights are getting shorter and it''s never good to leave the Lady of the Vale waiting for you. You want to make a good impression, don''t you?"


    "I wouldn''t dare," the young man said, scampering out of his chair and turning to follow Ashlynn and Thane out of the room.


    "Now," Marcell said, dropping into the seat Ashlynn had vacated, sprawling with one leg draped over an armrest. "I shouldn''t have to tell you this, but I expect each and every one of you to be honest with me," he said, snatching Ashlynn''s half-finished goblet of wine off the table and twirling it lazily between his fingers. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "She''s already obtained some information from the late Sir Kaefin, but I''m interested in details. I want to know how many men were stationed at the villa in total, soldiers and servants alike. I also want to know everything you know about Lady Ashlynn''s sister Jocelynn and the force she''ll be bringing to the Summer Villa."


    Around the table, several of the men went pale as Marcell began to ask his questions.


    Daithi shifted nervously in his chair, struggling to meet the young-looking vampire''s intense gaze.


    "This isn''t proper, is it your lordship?" Daithi said, uncertain how he should address the vampire. "As you said, we''re Lady Ashlynn''s guests. Shouldn''t we be treated like guests rather than interrogated like prisoners?"


    "Lady Ashlynn is very kind, even when she is cornered by her enemies," Marcell said, his free hand drifting across the spill of dark lace from his other wrist. "But don''t mistake your situation for one of security," he added, his dark eyes narrowing sharply.


    With a flick of his fingers, a slender knife flashed across the room, embedding itself in the heavy wooden table just inches from Daithi''s hands. The knife thrummed, vibrating with the force of its impact and holding the gazes of every man gathered around the table.


    Daithi''s eyes shook as he slowly returned his gaze to the vampire in Lady Ashlynn''s chair. For a little bit, while they''d feasted like young lords and listened to Ashlynn''s tale, he''d begun to forget just how dangerous the Eldritch beings of the vale could be.


    Marcell''s demonstration brought every childhood nightmare and campfire horror story he''d ever heard right back to the front of his mind. Just inches from the vibrating knife, his hands clenched, wishing that he had a more suitable weapon to fight back with than the small silver knife that sat alongside his fork.


    "I have questions for you," Marcell repeated, twirling another knife he''d pulled from somewhere hidden in his free hand. "It would sadden Lady Ashlynn if I had to be forceful but I remind you all that I answer to Mistress Nyrielle. She has sent me to obtain answers and I will have them from you, one way or another."


    Of course, if all they wanted was information, sending Zedya would have produced results with considerably less effort. The woman with the Mesmerizing Eyes could easily captivate the six men sitting at the table, pulling answers from their lips without a moment of hesitation.


    Nyrielle hadn''t sent Zedya for a reason. She understood what Ashlynn was trying to do with these men and while she might think that it was doomed to fail, that didn''t mean she wouldn''t let Ashlynn try.


    While the answers Marcell was seeking were important, it was even more important that these men make the conscious decision to betray their former master. Even if the information they provided was limited because none of them were very important, the simple act of choosing to cooperate would drive a wedge into their hearts.


    Ashlynn wanted to provide the men with a carrot. She believed that, given knowledge and the experience of a comfortable life in the vale, they would make the same decision she had.


    Marcell was more cynical. He''d seen men do any number of irrational things when they felt they had nothing left to lose and he wanted to make sure that these men understood that they were still captives, even if they were being treated well by the Seneschal.


    "Look, let''s start with something simpler," Marcell said, shifting in the chair to sit normally. "There is a chance that you can be reunited with your families if you behave well while you''re in the vale. Come autumn, when the days are shorter, I can slip into a number of places to carry away your loved ones and bring them back to join you here."


    All around the table, the men quaked in their boots when the vampire brought up their families. For a moment, some of them sat up straight, ready to tell the vampire everything about their families so they could be reunited with their loved ones.


    Most of the men had wives and a few even had children. Even Jesse, the youngest of the soldiers, had aging parents that he supported with his limited salary. For the most part, they''d given up hope that they would ever see their loved ones again but now it sounded like there was a chance!


    A second realization hit them mere moments after the first. If this powerful vampire could, as he said, slip into places in Lothian City or elsewhere to whisk their loved ones away, couldn''t he just as easily slip into those places to kill their loved ones?


    Suddenly, they realized that the vampire''s question wasn''t simple and that answering it could be just as dangerous as answering his questions about soldiers in the villa, only the consequences would be much, much more personal.


    They might have thought they had nothing to lose if they refused to answer his questions about the villa but now they realized that, even if they were willing to die to protect Lord Owain, it wasn''t just their lord or their own lives they needed to worry about.


    "So, tell me who you treasure," Marcell said, smiling with a flash of fang. "And then we can discuss things about the villa."

 Chapter 69 - 69: The Future of a Kitchen Boy

    Ollie walked nervously behind Ashlynn and Thane while the two chatted on their way to the formal dining room deeper in the castle.


    For the former kitchen boy, the past several days had been an increasingly unbelievable dream. His friend from the kitchens revealed herself as the true Lady Ashlynn Blackwell and accused a knight of trying to help murder her, burying her in a shallow grave in the forest. Then, they joined with a group of de-Eldritch people after she killed the knight in a brutal trial by combat.


    That alone would have been enough of an adventure to leave his other friends in the servants'' quarters open-mouthed in disbelief but it didn''t end there. He''d been given refined clothing and a luxurious room to live in, as though he''d become a person of status. Then, when he reunited with Ashlynn for dinner, she stunned everyone yet again with a display of holy power.


    Now, he was following behind her and a vampire on their way to meet the ruler of the vale, the fabled Demon Lady of the Vale of Mists. Ashlynn and the vampire Thane acted like it was normal, exciting even, but the deeper into the castle they went, the slower his footsteps became until he''d fallen several paces behind the other two.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said softly, beckoning him forward. "There''s nothing to be afraid of. Mistress Nyrielle won''t hurt you."


    "No, I, I didn''t think that she would¡­" Ollie said in a panic, tripping over his words. "I just, it''s just, why would the Lady of the Vale want to meet a nobody like me?" S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Do you think that everyone who serves her had some kind of grand identity?" Thane said with a smile that concealed his fangs. "Marcell wasn''t that different from you when he became one of Mistress Nyrielle''s progeny. His father was a Carter. It''s the same for Zedya," he added.


    "In fact, Zedya is even more similar to you," Thane said after a moment''s thought. "Before gaining Mistress Nyrielle''s attention, she was a castle maid. Just because you have humble origins doesn''t mean that you have a limited future here."


    "I''ve already told Mistress Nyrielle how much you helped me in the villa," Ashlynn added, placing a hand on the small of the gangly youth''s back and giving him a gentle shove forward as they resumed their walk. "I''m sure that''s why she wants to meet you."


    Before Ollie could think of how to respond, they entered the grand formal dining room where paintings lined the walls and oil lamps burned at regular intervals. To the young man, however, the room itself almost immediately faded into the background when he beheld the pale-skinned beauty in a dark velvet dress at the head of the table.


    "...he doesn''t look very much like a kitchen boy," Nyrielle said. It was only when he heard ''kitchen boy'' that he realized he''d been staring long after the sapphire-eyed woman started to speak and he hurried to offer a deep bow, almost bumping into a high-backed chair in the process.


    "Ollie, stop it," Ashlynn said, catching him before he could hurt himself. "You''re among friends here."


    "Friends?" the young man said uncertainly. How could he be friends with nobles like these? It hadn''t escaped his attention that Thane mentioned that Marcell and Zedya were commoners but he said no such thing about himself. Next to these people, what was he?


    "Sit, young Ollie," Nyrielle said, a hint of power whispering along her rich voice to help overcome his hesitation. "You helped my darling Ashlynn several times in the villa," she continued, pulling Ashlynn closer until the noblewoman was close enough to draw into a gentle embrace.


    "That kind of help merits a reward, so tell me, young Ollie," she purred, wrapping her arms around Ashlynn possessively. "How should I reward you for what you''ve done?"


    "Haven''t I already received a reward?" Ollie said, blinking uncertainly. The more he watched Nyrielle''s hand wander over Ashlynn''s body, the harder he found it to focus on the conversation. Ashlynn had already been the most beautiful woman he''d ever seen but the combination of her warm vibrance and Nyrielle''s cold elegance left him uncomfortable aware of his lower regions during what was supposed to be an audience with a noble lady.


    How could they expect him to think like this?


    Worse, Nyrielle seemed to be aware of his discomfort. At first, he thought he imagined it but when she leaned close to nibble on Ashlynn''s ear, the vampire''s eyes never left him.


    "Maybe I can make a suggestion," Thane said, stepping in to rescue the young man. As much as Nyrielle seemed to be delighting in teasing him, it was painfully obvious that Ashlynn wasn''t sensitive enough to the young man''s plight to rescue him.


    "There aren''t any ''knights'' as such in the Vale of Mists," Thane began. "But if you wanted to train as a soldier, you could be assigned to someone like Captain Lennart to learn the ways of war. If you study hard, you could even become one of Lady Ashlynn''s protectors."


    "You don''t have to do something so dangerous," Ashlynn said, capturing Nyrielle''s hands before they could wander somewhere truly naughty and trying to suppress the blush that threatened to consume her face.


    "There''s a vast library here," the young witch offered. "We could ask someone to help you learn how to read. You could spend your time learning whatever interests you."


    "Or, if you''d prefer something simpler, I''m sure there''s a village that would welcome you. It shouldn''t be unreasonable to grant you a plot of land to tend however you''d like," she said, glancing at Nyrielle for confirmation before turning back to the young man.


    Ollie''s mind reeled with the possibilities laid out before him. Each option seemed more incredible than the last, like someone had sauntered through a field of dreams picking fanciful futures like they were daisies.


    The idea of becoming a soldier, maybe even Lady Ashlynn''s protector, stirred something deep inside him that he''d never felt before. Pride? Excitement? Fear? He wasn''t sure. He imagined himself standing tall in gleaming armor like the knights who protected Lord Owain, defending the woman who had shown him such kindness.


    But then a chill ran down his spine as he remembered the way Ashlynn had fought and killed the seemingly invulnerable knight. If he wanted to protect her, how much stronger than her would he have to become, and was that even possible? Or would he wind up like Sir Broll, dead because he met an opponent who outmatched him in every way?


    Heroes in stories never seemed to fear death but when Ollie thought about dying in battle, he began to wonder if Ashlynn was right to suggest a more peaceful option.


    Learning to read, to study whatever he wanted... it was almost too much to comprehend. Knowledge had always been something for nobles and scholars, not for the likes of him. He didn''t even know what he would do with the things he learned. It was too hard to imagine what his life would be like if he took the reward Lady Ashlynn had mentioned so casually.


    But land of his own? He''d never even dared to dream of such a thing, but he understood it very well. A house of his own, a chance to grow his own vegetables and eat whatever he wanted as long as he could grow it. A place to start a family and raise children without worrying that he would be flogged for burning some lord''s dinner. More than anything else, it represented a kind of freedom that no one from his family had ever enjoyed before.


    Ollie felt dizzy with the weight of the decision before him. Each path led to a future so different from anything he''d ever imagined for himself. How could he possibly choose? What if he made the wrong choice?


    "Can I think about it?" Ollie asked after several moments of pondering. "I don''t want to choose the wrong thing."


    "Take all the time you want, young man," Nyrielle said with a small nod of approval. To a common kitchen boy, the chance to become a warrior, a scholar, or a landholder were all tremendous elevations in station. She appreciated that he didn''t immediately jump into one path or another.


    "Enough about rewards," the vampire said, releasing Ashlynn and ringing a small bell. "I''ve had Georg send some of his honey sponge cakes here for us to enjoy. Since my Ashlynn has already had the chance to know you, perhaps you can indulge my curiosity a bit. Tell me about yourself, young man."


    "Well, I''ve been in the kitchens since I was about ten summers old," he began, not sure what a woman like Nyrielle would be interested in knowing.


    Still, as desserts arrived and he continued telling his simple tale, it became easier to be in the powerful woman''s presence. He never forgot how very high above him she stood, but by the time Thane helped him to find his way back to his room, he didn''t feel like she was an unknowable mystery anymore.


    She was nothing like the stories said. In fact, nothing he''d seen since joining Captain Lennart''s group had been like what the stories said. And now that he found himself in the middle of an entirely different type of story, he had the chance to decide what kind of role he wanted to have in this fantastic tale.


    Sleep claimed him long before he arrived at any answers but that didn''t matter. As long as nothing went wrong, he''d have plenty of time to make up his mind.

 Chapter 70 - 70: Vengeance and Conquest

    Once Thane departed with a bewildered Ollie in tow, Nyrielle''s mood became much more solemn, her face sliding back to the calm, emotionless mask that she''d worn so often when Ashlynn first arrived in the vale.


    "My darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, her voice as calm as still water, betraying none of her thoughts. "You''ve made some decisions and you''re beginning to make your moves. Don''t you think we should discuss them before you get too much further down this path?"


    Ashlynn''s heart froze for a moment, her hands stopping mid-motion as she prepared to take one of the last bites of the delicate honey cake Georg had sent up. When she entered the dining room she hadn''t encountered the Eldritch Lady of the Vale, rather, it had been pure Nyrielle, the woman who had become her lover.


    Now, however, even though no magical power emanated from the ancient vampire, Ashlynn couldn''t help but tremble slightly at the shift between identities. As much affection as Nyrielle lavished on her, she''d almost forgotten that this woman was hundreds of years old and she''d ruled the vale almost since the founding of Lothian March.


    "You''re right," she said, setting her fork down and taking a breath to steady herself. "I''ve thought a great deal about what happens next, but I haven''t done anything that commits to a course of action yet. I knew I''d have to talk to you first."


    "Then talk to me," Nyrielle said, taking a sip from her goblet of rich, red wine. Nyrielle leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled beneath her chin. Her midnight blue eyes seemed to bore into Ashlynn, searching for answers before the young witch even spoke.


    "Tell me what you''re planning with these humans you''ve captured," the vampire asked. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I, I don''t want to kill people who don''t need to die," Ashlynn began, her emerald eyes hardening with determination as she met Nyrielle''s gaze. Perhaps Nyrielle harbored a grudge against the entire population of Lothian March but she didn''t believe it to be the case. The common people, at least, shouldn''t be contentious to spare.


    "So who needs to die and who doesn''t? Who decides who goes on the list?" Nyrielle asked pointedly, her tone growing colder. "You?"


    "No, you, of course," Ashlynn said, looking down at the crumbs on her plate, no longer able to meet Nyrielle''s stare. In matters of the heart, perhaps they were equals, but Nyrielle''s question was a sharp reminder of the difference that still existed between them.


    "My list is short," Ashlynn said, looking back up. "Owain, his father Bors, whoever sold me out to Owain, Sir Tommin," she said, ticking off names on her fingers as she went.


    "I haven''t made up my mind about Samira yet. I dislike that she''s masquerading as me but she''s been so thoroughly duped by Owan and Bors Lothian that I almost pity her more than I can hate her."


    "You know that I''ll help you reap those lives," Nyrielle said, a predatory grin forming on her lush lips that revealed a hint of sharp fangs. "But do you mean to say that everyone else should be allowed to live?"


    "No," Ashlynn said, shaking her head. "I''m sure you have your own list. I''m also sure that we''ll need to kill several of the Lothian''s pawns and minions. As long as someone is following the orders of the Lothians and standing in opposition to us, to you," she corrected herself.


    "Then that person is an enemy and can suffer the fate of any soldier who falls in battle, whether they''re soldiers or not," Ashlynn concluded.


    "It seems like your conversation with Thane was fruitful," Nyrielle said, offering Ashlynn a smile that contained a hint of warmth before her face grew cold again. "Now, tell me what you intended to do with these human captives of yours. I can''t imagine that you''re only going to take meals with them."


    "I''m testing them," Ashlynn admitted. "I want to see if they can come to accept the Eldritch people when they live beside them."


    "Of course humans can live side by side with the Eldritch as long as no one forces them to wage war or teaches them to hate," Nyrielle said. "Why do you think my parents were driven from human lands when the Church declared the Eldritch people to be demons who must be exterminated?"


    "Your parents were already living with the Eldritch then?" Ashlynn asked. Other than the first meal she''d shared with Nyrielle, the vampire had almost never mentioned her parents.


    "My father felt that there was plenty of land in between the places claimed by the Eldritch nations for humans to settle," Nyrielle explained.


    "When he founded his Barony, he did it on the basis of building trade relationships with the nearby nations. The prosperity he achieved through diplomacy and trade earned him a great deal of jealousy from his peers who spent most of their wealth to raise armies for conquest."


    "So when the Church declared a crusade against the Eldritch," Ashlynn said softly. "Those jealous peers took it as an excuse to attack him as an heretic. But really, they just wanted to plunder his wealth, didn''t they?"


    "Exactly so," Nyrielle said, her eyes growing dark and her grip tightening on her goblet enough to leave faint impressions under her fingers. "Cooperation is possible, but only so long as the Church doesn''t launch one of their crusades. Or at least, that used to be true."


    "Now, who can say?" Nyrielle said helplessly. "The hate hadn''t been mixed with mother''s milk to be drank by infants when my father was a baron. Now, perhaps it really is impossible. Is that what this test of yours is intended to reveal?"


    "In part," Ashlynn said. "Six men don''t represent all of the common folk. It will take more than just them to understand how the people will react."


    "And what, exactly, will the people be reacting to?" Nyrielle asked, raising an elegantly shaped eyebrow at her young witch. She could see that Ashlynn had formed at least the skeleton of a plan. Now, she was curious to see how much meat was on the bones of that plan.


    "I intend to conquer Lothian March," Ashlynn said, her words as firm and as heavy as iron. "I will conquer it and rule it as the Marchioness. As Owain''s legal wife, I have that right."


    "You can''t become the Marchioness unless Bors is dead to pass the title of Marquis to Owain," Nyrielle pointed out. "And some would argue that if you kill Owain, then the title of Marquis should pass to Loman rather than allowing a woman to assume power."


    "I, I haven''t gotten far enough to work out the timing," Ashlynn admitted. "But, when I challenged Sir Broll to a trial by combat, the common people with him allowed me to fight that duel and they accepted the results afterward."


    "So you intend to fight more duels to claim your throne?" Nyrielle asked, her brows raised in surprise. While she wasn''t certain that it would work, it was certainly a bloodier plan than she''d expected from her young Seneschal.


    "I don''t know that duels need to be fought. I don''t even know if Owain needs to die before I take the title of Marchioness," the young witch said. "What I do know is that Owain is guilty of attempted murder and the people will not accept the rule of a man who murders his wife, replaces her with a fake, and then marries the sister of his dead wife."


    "Some things form bright lines that separate men from beasts," Ashlynn said. "Owain crosses too many of those lines. I intend to expose him and to assert my claims to the march."


    "And then what?" Nyrielle asked. "You''ll declare peace with the Vale of Mists and offer me Lothian March as an expansion of my territory? You don''t really think you can keep the conquest of an entire march that bloodless, do you?"


    "No, no I don''t," Ashlynn said softly, looking at the dark red wine in her goblet and imagining the amount of blood that would flow once she executed her plan. If some of the barons rejected her rule, if they rose up against her, then the march would tear itself apart in civil war before she could offer anything to Nyrielle.


    "It won''t be bloodless, but I''m sure I can find a way to make it as swift as possible," she added. One point Thane had made clear, the longer a conflict wore on, the more bodies piled up on both sides and the harder it became for either side to accept surrender.


    If she wanted to spare the lives of most common folk who would be pressed into service as footsoldiers in the armies of the lords, she had to achieve an overwhelming victory or a display of force so great that attacking her became unthinkable.


    "In order to make the conquest swift, I have to work to weaken the Lothians as much as possible before I strike," Ashlynn said. "And for that, I already have the beginnings of a plan¡­"

 Chapter 71 - 71: For Her Own Good

    As the night grew late, while Ashlynn and Nyrielle were discussing their plans for their future campaign against the Lothians, the hunter Eamon crouched in one corner of the common room he shared with the other soldiers, talking to one of his companions in hushed tones.


    Their accommodations weren''t bad by any definition of the word. The room was large enough for a dozen men and the soft beds were covered with fine wool blankets that warded off the chilly night air even when the fire in the hearth had burned low. Even more luxurious, heavy wool curtains hung between each of the beds, offering the men more privacy than they usually enjoyed in a common barracks.


    "I know Daithi is trying to speak for us," a young hunter whispered to Eamon. "But we all followed Sir Kaefin, and you are the most senior hunter here. I just wanna say, I''ll follow your orders, whatever they are."


    "You''re a good man, Darragh," Eamon whispered, keeping his voice low. "I''ll be counting on you and the others in the days to come. Her Holiness needs our help."


    "Then, you believe she really is one of the chosen ones?" Darragh said. He''d knelt and bowed and said all the words with the others but that was when Ashlynn was right in front of them. Now, after having his family threatened by the vampire called Marcell, he wasn''t so certain that what they''d seen was real. What kind of holy woman would threaten their families?


    "I think something strange is going on here," Eamon whispered. Standing up, he peeked around the curtain to ensure no one else was close enough to listen and that the horned demon guard outside hadn''t decided to poke his head in before he continued.


    "My gran used to tell stories about vampires," the aging hunter said quietly, his eyes never ceasing their search around them for anyone who might overhear. "She told stories about a purple-eyed temptress who could cloud a man''s mind and make him murder his own wife and children, just so she could steal the man for herself."


    "It got me thinking, what if that purple-eyed vampire is real? The clawed demons are real and we saw one with the strength to tear a man limb from limb," Eamon said, shuddering as he recalled the way Captain Lennart had dismembered Sir Broll.


    "You think the purple-eyed temptress bewitched her Holiness?" Darragh asked, his eyes wide and his voice growing louder. The power Ashlynn had shown them was a gift from the Holy Lord of Light. No demon should possess the strength to bewitch one of their holiest saints, but if someone did¡­.


    "I think it''s all really strange," Eamon said, pressing a leathery hand over the other man''s mouth. "Her Holiness talked about the Demon Lady of the Vale feeding on her subjects and claimed the subjects were willing, that they treated being fed on like paying a tax."


    "I don''t think it''s that simple," the aging hunter said. "Darragh, you offer up a boar every year to keep your permit to hunt and roam the wildlands. Would you let a demon drain your life''s blood away to avoid hunting a boar for your lord?"


    "No, never," the younger hunter said, horrified at the thought. Unconsciously, he placed a hand on his neck as though he was protecting himself from being bitten. "Even if I fell on hard times, I''d hunt something else to pay my dues. I''d never let a monster feed on me."


    "But a monster is feeding on her Holiness," Eamon said, recalling the way Ashlynn had touched her neck when she mentioned that the ''feeding'' wasn''t painful. If he didn''t know better, he''d believe that she even enjoyed it!


    "That''s why, I want your help and any of the others we can bring to our side, to kidnap her Holiness when the time comes," Eamon said, his eyes narrow as he directed a piercing gaze at the younger man. "We need to rescue her from these demons before they do something irreversible to her."


    "Eamon," the young man said, sweet forming on his brow. "It''s just you and me, maybe one or two of the others. Daithi isn''t with us, he''s too scared to try doing anything."


    "That''s why it has to be us," Eamon replied, placing a hand on the young man''s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "I have no family to lose, my parents have long crossed over to the Heavenly Shores and I have no wife or children."


    In some ways, Eamon felt bitter about that. He''d served Sir Kaefin''s father before transferring to the young knight''s service and in all that time, he''d spent more days sleeping rough in the wilderness than he had in a warm bed in a castle. Other than women at the occasional brothel, he''d never had the time to find love or build a family.


    Now, however, he wondered if it was because the Holy Lord of Light had greater things in mind for him. Now, at this moment, when the demons wanted to threaten their families in order to keep their captives compliant, he had no family for them to threaten. It left him freer to act, and to do the things that must be done.


    "For now, don''t do anything untoward," Eamon instructed his young accomplice. "In fact, we should be extra diligent in ''making friends'' among the demons. We have to be the ideal captives for them to lower their guard."


    "Just like covering ourselves in deer droppings," the young man said. "Sometimes, you have to dip yourself in filth to hunt bigger prey."


    "Exactly," Eamon said, a predatory gleam shining in his eyes. "For now, we play along, but when the time comes, we''ll have to take her Holiness away from this place. Lord Owain''s brother, Lord Loman, is a priest in the temple in Lothian City," Eamon reminded the younger man.


    "As long as we can take her back to Lord Loman, I''m sure he''ll be able to cleanse whatever sorcery is afflicting his sister-in-law."


    "Do you, do you think that Lord Loman will reward us for saving her?" Darragh asked hesitantly.


    "Lord Loman?" Eamon said, a broad grin forming on his lips, displaying an array of yellowed teeth. "I think her Holiness herself will be grateful for the rescue and so will Lord Owain. Just you watch, Darragh," Eamon said, his eyes growing distant as he looked off toward a future that few in his position would dare to imagine.


    He leaned in closer to Darragh, his voice low but filled with a mixture of purpose and anticipation. When his eyes returned to the young man, they burned with a new light that had been all but snuffed out in the days they spent as captives of Captain Lennart and his men.


    "You know, lad, I used to think the Holy Lord of Light had forgotten about me," he whispered. "But now I''m starting to see things differently. All those years in the wilderness, all that time serving others¡­ it put me in a place to do something when almost no one else could."


    "What do you mean, Eamon?" Darragh asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He trusted Eamon as both a senior and a mentor but he''d never seen a look of such¡­ fervor on the man''s face.


    "Think about it," the older man said, his eyes burning with intensity in the dim light of the barracks. "We''re hunters, the most ordinary of free men. But who else would have the patience to lurk among the enemy like we would? Who else could evade pursuing demons all the way back to Lothian City?"


    The more Eamon spoke, the more animated he became as if he''d had a divine revelation of his purpose in life.


    "There''s only one high priest in the entire march who can work miracles," Eamon pointed out. "What do you think they''ll do for us when we bring home another miracle worker? Her Holiness could be what the Marquis needs in order to finally win a war against these demons." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They''ll probably reward us with anything we ask for," Darragh said, his eyes growing wide. "We, we could retire with a home of our own, maybe even a parcel of land to work so we don''t have to spend so much time in the wilderness," he said eagerly.


    "Think bigger lad. Sir Broll and Sir Kaefin are both dead," Eamon said, gripping the young man''s arm firmly with his weathered, leathery hands. "Sir Owain will need new knights to serve at his side. Who better than the men who rescued his wife from the demons who tried to beguile her?"


    "But you can''t be rash," he said before the young man could speak to express the joy blossoming across his face at the notion of becoming a knight. "Her Holiness is still very strong and she has many defenders here. So first, we have to conceal ourselves perfectly."


    "Then, it''s just a matter of patience," the young man said, calming himself. He''d been on enough hunts to know that patience, more than anything else, was the essential skill of a hunter. "And when we see our opportunity¡­"


    "When we see our opportunity," Eamon whispered. "Then we free her from these demons, and we take her home to the temple where she belongs."

 Chapter 72 - 72: The Ancient Oak

    Ashlynn spent the next two days putting the beginnings of her plans in motion and tending to the human captives.


    Despite the risks involved, Nyrielle approved of her opening moves and agreed to lend Marcell to her for a mission in Lothian City. The young-looking vampire would only be able to carry the letters she''d written as far as Lothian City but once he was there the letters would be handed over to a courier to make their way to Blackwell County.


    As much as she wanted to write to her parents or tutors, doing so would jeopardize not only her plans but risked accelerating the timeline for the Lothians to begin their next war against the Eldritch nations. Her immediate goal was to slow things down, not speed them up, so she limited herself to contacting only the people who could help her spoil Owain''s upcoming visit to her hometown.


    The captives, thankfully, were easier to deal with. As she promised them, she took her morning and evening meals with the captives in order to help them integrate into life in the vale. After the morning meal, she sent them out with Captain Lennart to tour the castle city or to visit one of the nearby villages.


    She wanted them to see life in the vale firsthand, but she refused to dedicate all of her time to minding them. The hunter Eamon seemed particularly enthusiastic about having her join them but she refused to become mired in the affairs of the captives when she still had so many important matters to attend to.


    Strangely, Eamon and Daithi had nearly come to blows over it when the weathered and aging hunter had offered to stay behind so he could protect her. He seemed to believe that she wasn''t safe when there weren''t any humans to serve as her guards and he even suggested that Daithi was derelict in his duties as a guardsman for not volunteering to protect her.


    Thankfully, Captain Lennart stepped in before either man could harm the other, pulling them apart and holding them dangling from his giant paws like kittens held up by the scruffs of their necks until they promised to leave Ashlynn alone to tend to things that they had no business being involved in.


    It was forceful, but it made it clear to both men that if Ashlynn needed a guard in the Vale of Mists, neither of them was capable of protecting her better than the Eldritch people in the vale. Once they accepted that reality, Ashlynn left them in the captain''s capable paws and turned to more important things. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    One of those matters had led her back to the Ancient Oak where she''d formed her blood pact with Nyrielle. Seeing the oak in daylight, when she wasn''t fighting just to stay alive, was even more impressive than it was in her memories.


    The massive tree swayed gently in the morning breeze, its leaves rustling with an almost rhythmic sound that mingled with the chirping of birds to create a bright, welcoming song as she approached the mighty oak with Ollie beside her.


    "It, it''s bigger than the towers of the villa," the young man gasped, looking up at the towering tree that rose above any of the others he could see.


    "Mistress Nyrielle says that the Ancient Oaks were here before the first Lord of the Vale of Mists built the castle here," Ashlynn said, tugging on Ollie''s tunic to bring him along as she began to climb the steep hill to the base of the tree.


    "There used to be more of them, but now there are only four left," she said a touch sadly. One of the previous Lothian Marquis had made the ancient oaks a target of his campaign against Nyrielle''s forces. She''d heard Owain boast in the past that the throne the Marquis sat on had been carved from the trunk of one of these sacred trees.


    At the time, she''d been impressed, but now, standing before the majesty of the ancient tree, the thought of chopping it down to make furniture felt more like blasphemy than something to boast of. These trees were just as sacred to the Eldritch people as any of the golden relics left behind by the saints and martyrs of the Church and yet they had been turned into something that people sat on to boast of their ability to kill or destroy that which other people treasured.


    "Hello," Ashlynn said when they finally reached the trunk of the mighty tree. "I didn''t thank you that night for saving me. I know that Nyrielle offered you blood to help me, but even then, you still could have said ''no'' couldn''t you?"


    As she spoke, she reached out to gently caress the stately tree''s bark, coming close enough to speak to it softly, her voice little more than a whisper. The closer she came, the more she felt that she was stepping into another world.


    The air carried a rich, earthy scent that was deeper and richer than the overpowering scent of cedar that filled much of the Vale of Mists, and beneath that scent, a soft, gentle smell like fresh cut grass and flowers in bloom.


    "Is it alive?" Ollie asked, slowly approaching the tree. "I mean, I know trees are alive, but, can it talk?"


    "It isn''t like that," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and placing her forehead against the bark of the ancient tree.


    When she touched it, she felt a cozy, enveloping warmth from the tree, like it was welcoming her home. The branches trembled, almost like the tail of a dog who was excited to see their favorite person.


    The Ancient Oak, she realized, would have helped her even without Nyrielle''s offering of blood. The connection she felt with the cedar trees of the vale was thin and tenuous, even though they offered her their strength willingly. The Ancient Oak, however, extended more than simple strength to her.


    "I''m sorry," Ashlynn said. "You probably already know why I came. If you want something from me, just tell me what it is. I don''t think it''s right to just take your gifts, I should give back as well."


    She didn''t know what kind of price the Ancient Oak would demand of her, but whatever it was, she was determined to pay it. The date of her departure was getting closer every day and she needed the Ancient Oak''s help if she was going to stand a chance of success when she asked the Mother of Thorns for help.

 Chapter 73 - 73: You’re a Witch!?

    When Ashlynn spoke, offering to pay whatever price the Ancient Oak demanded of her, the wind grew in intensity, whipping through the branches and shaking the leaves of the mighty oak. The spring chill in the air gave way to a warmer breeze that felt like it blew in from early summer, shaking the tree fiercely until a loud -CRACK- sounded, high up in the branches of the tree.


    A moment later, a small branch, roughly the length of Ashlynn''s arm, came tumbling down through the tree''s canopy before a gust of wind brought it to land at her feet. Three leaves clung to the branch and with them, a small cluster of acorns.


    "I understand," Ashlynn said, picking up the branch with a warm smile on her face. It was hard to hide the relief in her voice that the ancient tree wanted something so simple. Still, just because it seemed simple didn''t mean that she would be careless about fulfilling it''s request. "I''ll find a good place to plant these so they can grow up as strong and mighty as you. I''ll put this to good use, I promise," she said, holding the branch to her chest.


    "Come on Ollie," she said, turning to walk back down the hill. "We got what we came for, we shouldn''t disturb the Ancient One any longer."


    "What just happened?" the former kitchen boy asked, still confused by why Ashlynn had taken him on a long hike in the forest to get to this tree. It was beautiful and impressive, but had she really come all this way for a branch?


    "I''m getting ready for a trip across the mountains," Ashlynn explained, slowing down to let Ollie catch up with her. Despite his advantage in height and the length of his stride, Ashlynn''s physical abilities continued to grow and if she didn''t remind herself to slow down, she''d leave the young man quickly behind.


    "Before I meet with the Mother of Thorns, I should carve a wand for myself," she said, holding up the branch. "Heila found a woodworker to help teach me how to carve a branch into the shape I need but when it comes to making the wand itself, I have to do it with my own hands. I can receive guidance but I have to do all the work or it will lose its connection to me."


    "And the tree understood that, and it just¡­ just gave you one of its branches to turn into a wand?" Ollie asked, scratching his head in confusion. "But I thought only evil witches used wands. Shouldn''t you have a scepter or a censer like the other saints and heroes of the church?"


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, stopping to face the young man, her expression becoming complex. "It''s fine if the captives think that I''m a holy woman, but you should understand the truth. I am a witch. Or at least, that''s what the Church calls people like me who are born to touch the power of the earth. The Eldritch call me a ''Child of the Earth."


    "But, you summoned a holy light!" Ollie protested. "I saw it, we all saw it. You used the power of the Holy Lord of Light to¡­"


    "No, I used a bit of sorcery to create light. Any sorcerer could do what I did, it''s a very simple trick. It''s just that, the Church calls anyone outside of the church who uses sorcery a heretic," Ashlynn explained.


    "I don''t think that ''witches'' are very different from the ''miracle workers'' of the church. At least, I don''t think so anymore," she continued, watching the young man''s eyes tremble in confusion. "I''m sorry, I thought you''d understand," she said, her face crumpling in sadness when Ollie took a step back from her. "I, I shouldn''t have said anything. I should have¡­"


    "No, no, I''m sorry," Ollie said, rushing back forward and putting his hands on Ashlynn''s upper arms. He hadn''t meant to step away, but when she said she was a witch, for a moment, all of the horror stories he''d ever heard as a child had flashed through his mind and he''d taken several steps back before he could remind himself who was really in front of him.


    Growing up, he''d heard of the witch who filled a forest with the severed heads of the king''s family and all the soldiers of his army, displaying them like the gruesome fruit of a wicked orchard. He''d heard of a witch changing the tides, summoning giant waves to crush the ships of holy crusaders against the rocks and drowning them before they could set foot on the soil of the new world.


    In the story tales his mother told him, witches were gruesome and twisted people who had traded away their humanity for power. They were corrupt and wicked beings who had sold themselves to the demons and would never be allowed to reach the heavenly shores when they died.


    But now, here was Ashlynn, and she said that she was a witch. It was hard to accept, but whether she was a witch or a holy woman, she was the woman who pulled him away from the summer villa to keep him from suffering the blame for her actions. He might have helped her, but she''d protected him. If that was the case, then why should he be afraid of her? Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I''m sorry," he repeated. "It just. You just surprised me. So, um, tell me about the wand. What does it do and what do you need it for?"


    "Are you sure you want to hear?" Ashlynn asked, searching the young man''s eyes for any sign of falsehood. "If it bothers you, you don''t have to."


    "No, I, I want to," he insisted. "I''m still learning but I want to be part of this place," he said, gesturing to the misty vale with a sweeping arm. "That tree, it''s magical, right? And there are more like it here. The Eldritch people are different and they feel magical too. So, if this is going to be my new home, I should learn about it right?"


    "Please," he added softly. "I don''t know what I''m supposed to say or do all the time. You always seem like you have the best words already picked out. I''m just a kitchen boy. So, if I use the wrong words or do the wrong thing¡­ just¡­ I still want to be your friend. Holy lady, witch, whatever. I still want to be your friend."


    "Oh, Ollie," Ashlynn said, wrapping one arm around him and giving him a hug from the side. "Don''t ever change. Just be you, that pure, genuine you who speaks his mind even if he says the wrong thing. You have no idea how precious that is."


    "All right," he said, flashing her a toothy grin. "Then, does that mean you''ll tell me what the wand is for?"


    "Of course," Ashlynn said, pulling him along and continuing their hike back toward the ancient castle. "But first, you have to tell me about which reward you''re going to choose. You''ve had two days to think about it, so, what do you want?"


    "Well, I think¡­"

 Chapter 74 - 74: Ollie’s Choice

    "I think I know what I want," Ollie began. "I just don''t know if I''m strong enough to succeed."


    "Oh?" Ashlynn said, giving him a sideways glance. "Since you said ''strong enough'' and not ''smart enough'', I''m guessing you won''t be holing yourself up in the library and learning to read?"


    "Hey," the young man objected. "I didn''t say I wasn''t smart. Just, maybe, maybe not as smart as you, but if I wanted to learn to read I''m sure I could!"


    "But you don''t want to," Ashlynn countered with a light, musical laugh. "I''m not making fun of you. Words matter. If you''re going to spend more time around me, you need to learn to listen to the words people choose because they''ll tell you about what someone isn''t saying as much as they tell you about what they are saying."


    "That''s a thing for nobles," Ollie said dismissively. "Common folk speak their minds and mean what they say."


    "That doesn''t mean that common people don''t tell you more than they intend when they choose their words," Ashlynn said. "Since you said ''strong enough'', I''m guessing you want to train with Commander Bassinger''s men? You want to become a soldier?"


    "I want to be useful to you," Ollie admitted, kicking a stone as they walked. His face heated and he tried to look everywhere but at Ashlynn while he explained. "The vale has plenty of farmers and people who work the land. And I can''t read¡­ even if I spent years in the library studying, I bet you could read in a day what it would take me a week to read. I''m no help to you there."


    "But, there are people trying to hurt you," he continued. "People like Sir Broll and Daithi and his men. I, I probably won''t ever be strong like Captain Lennart is," he said in a voice that was very small. "But against other humans, I can help keep you safe."


    "Besides," Ollie added. "I was thinking that, one day, you might go back to Lothian or elsewhere in the kingdom. And, if you do, you can''t take Captain Lennart or Harrod or any of the other Eldritch Folk with you. But, if I was strong enough, you could take me." sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You know I''m pretty strong myself," Ashlynn said, pausing on the trail to turn Ollie''s face toward her. "You don''t need to do something dangerous for me. I already got you in enough trouble at the Summer Villa."


    "I know it''s dangerous," he said. "But so what? Didn''t I already do something really dangerous? And what happens when Lord Owain or Marquis Bors brings an army to the vale? At that time, Justus was saying that even the servants in the castle might need to pick up weapons to fight off the Lothians and their armies."


    "So, if that happens, I want to be more than just a kitchen boy who picks up a spear and a shield," he said resolutely. "I, I don''t want to be as helpless as I was when Sir Broll''s men caught us."


    The memory of the encounter burned in his heart like a searing brand. Harrod only stood tall enough to come up to his chest but he''d still put himself between Sir Broll''s men and Ollie, protecting the kitchen boy with his own life while Ashlynn stepped out to disarm the enemy with her sharp wit and perfect words.


    And Ollie? He''d cowered behind them both, hoping that none of the hunters would shoot him with an arrow if things suddenly turned violent. Of all the things he''d done wrong in his life, nothing had ever left him more ashamed of himself than that night.


    If he tried to become a scholar, hiding himself away behind the fortress walls in the castle, he would be safer than anything else they''d offered him. Even if he chose to become a farmer, he could choose a plot of land deep in the vale, far from the walls where the armies would attack.


    But both of those choices felt as shameful as cowering on the ground the day they''d fled the summer villa and he refused to be that kind of person. If Ashlynn could be so brave, fighting a knight who was bigger and stronger than her in single combat, then why couldn''t he be brave and fight by her side? That was the kind of man he wanted to be.


    Ashlynn looked at the gangly youth, clenching his fists and trembling with a hot mixture of emotions. She might not understand everything that was driving him, but his determination was sincere and she could understand the desire to gain strength after feeling helpless. The same fire burned in her heart when she thought of how easily Owain had beaten her on the night of their wedding.


    "All right," Ashlynn said softly, placing a hand on the small of Ollie''s back. "I''ll talk to Thane tonight about finding someone to learn from. You might not be strong enough to fight with a darksteel weapon, but you''re taller than any of the soldier''s from the Horned clan so we''ll have to figure something out."


    "Darksteel weapons?" Ollie said, blinking rapidly with shock. "They, no, we have darksteel in the vale?"


    "It''s not as rare as you think," Ashlynn said, resuming their walk. "In times of war, soldiers from the Clan of the Great Claw will wear darksteel gauntlets with blades that fit over their natural claws. It''s why they have a reputation for being able to tear through armor."


    "Most of the Horned Clan are too weak to handle the weight of darksteel, but some of the strongest among them will use a darksteel spear tip to pierce through armor," she explained. "You might be able to do something like that, but a spear isn''t the best weapon to take if you''re going to accompany me into human territories. You want a sword if you''re protecting me in the city."


    "Then I''ll learn the sword," the young man said, thumping his chest with a fist and grinning broadly.


    "That''s why I''ll talk to Thane," Ashlynn said, matching his smile with one of her own. "The only problem is, Thane can''t teach you very much. The days are getting longer, and that means he has less time at night to spend on his duties. Right now, he''s already very busy tutoring me and preparing the vale for the summer months when Mistress Nyrielle and I will be gone."


    "You mentioned that before," Ollie said, changing the topic. "You said you''re going across the mountains to meet someone and that''s why you needed the wand. How long will you be gone?"


    "Nyrielle said we''ll come back before the pass freezes over in winter," Ashlynn said, running her fingers over the branch in her hands and thinking about the shape of things to come. "I don''t know much more than that."


    "The wand is supposed to help me gather power from the environment," Ashlynn explained, waving the branch through the air like it was a net for catching butterflies. "Nyrielle translated part of an old book for me that talked about how wands are made and why they''re important but it didn''t say much about how they''re used. That''s part of why I need to visit the Mother of Thorns."


    "So, she''s another, um, witch?" Ollie asked.


    "She is. She taught Zedya a few things about sorcery in exchange for a gift that requires Nyrielle''s unique magic to make," Ashlynn explained. "Zedya says that the Mother of Thorns is like a spider who weaves a web covered in barbs, but she''s also very intelligent and Zedya''s sorcery improved a great deal in just a year of lessons. I hope I can learn enough in a few months to be ready for the Lothians next year."


    "So, you think the Lothians are going to start another war next year?" Ollie asked nervously. He wanted to become strong enough to fight with her but a year wasn''t very much time.


    "I know they want to," Ashlynn said, her voice heavy with several conflicting emotions. "It''s why Bors Lothian wanted me to marry Owain and why my father agreed to it. The Lothians want the Blackwell family''s support with the guilds to make and transport supplies for the war. They want to launch a bigger campaign than any single Marquis or Duke has launched outside of a Great Crusade."


    "If they come," Ollie asked in a small voice. "Can we win?"


    "I don''t know," Ashlynn admitted. "That''s why I want to stop them before it gets that far. But to do that, I need to be like you," she said, reaching up to ruffle his curly red hair playfully. "I need to get stronger. Strong enough to walk into Lothian City and disrupt their plans. That''s why the trip is so important. Without it, I won''t be very useful to Nyrielle."


    Looking at the blond noblewoman, walking through the forest carrying a tree branch like it was the most important treasure she owned, most people would struggle to hold back their laughter at Ashlynn''s words.


    Ollie, however, realized that she really was just like him. He wanted to be stronger for her, and she wanted to be stronger for Nyrielle. Once he realized that, Ollie felt like the vast gulf between them had shrunk a bit.


    She was still the powerful Seneschal of the vale and he was still a kitchen boy who didn''t know how to fight. In that respect, they were still people of two very different worlds. But they both wanted to grow stronger to help someone who had rescued them, and when Ollie thought about it that way, it was much easier to see Ashlynn as the friend she''d been when they worked in the kitchens together instead of seeing her as an unreachable idol.


    It might be a small change, but for him, it was enough to feel like he''d picked the right reward. It wouldn''t be easy to learn how to fight like a soldier, but he didn''t feel like he''d be doing it alone anymore. Even if Ashlynn wasn''t training with him, they were both pursuing the same goal together and that made all the difference in the world.

 Chapter 75 - 75: Wayward Son

    When the sun rose over Lothian City, it quickly burned away the lingering rain clouds from the previous night''s storm, casting brilliant rays that glittered off the lingering dew and illuminated the golden spires of the temple at the center of the city.


    In the office of Marquis Bors Lothian, however, the mood was dark and cold, as though the burly lord had drawn in the previous evening''s storm clouds and stuffed them into his majestic chambers.


    Bors himself had begun the day in high spirits with news that the first spring tributes had arrived from the western barons. At the very edge of the border between civilization and the demon infested wilderness, attacks from the demons could devastate a barony badly enough that they would be unable to send their tribute for the season, placing an even greater burden on the eastern barons.


    In a year that Bors intended to stockpile for the upcoming war, losing the tribute of a single baron would be troublesome and losing more than one could be disastrous, but all four of the western barons had sent their tithes of wool, iron, silver and timber.


    It should have been a joyous day. Standing at the window, looking over the bustling city beyond the manor''s outer walls, Bors tried for a third time to reign in his temper enough to face the person that had spoiled his day. His hands clenched and unclenched as he resisted the urge to hurl one of the solid iron paperweights on his desk at his wayward son.


    Owain had grown too old to discipline with violence and the days had long passed when he cowered at his father''s raised fist. In a few short years, he would be thirty and old enough to take over as the next Marquis Lothian, finally allowing his father to retire and live out his twilight years in comfort.


    At least, that''s what he''d believed. The man who entered his office this morning, however, was a far cry from what Bors wanted to see in a successor.


    "Tell me again," Bors said, continuing to stare out the window at the busy city. "How it is that you lost two knights and half a dozen men to a servant girl and a runaway kitchen boy," he said, his voice growing louder and more strained with every word.


    "Tell me how it is that you came to the conclusion that you had to tell me in person days after it happened, rather than sending a courier with a letter," he said, rounding on his son and glaring at him with a face reddened by rage. "You knew that I wouldn''t have let you return home if I knew what had happened, but you came anyway!"


    "Father, I," Owain said, flinching back from the older man''s anger. "I had to bring their remains home. I, I owe it to Kaefin and Broll''s families to¡­"


    "You didn''t even return with two complete corpses!" Bors shouted, giving into his anger and hurling dog-shaped paperweight the size of his palm at Owain''s stomach. Part of him wanted to strike either lower or higher but he refused to risk his son''s ability to sire an heir in a fit of pique and striking his son''s face would only complicate matters if he appeared beaten in public.


    "Father!" Owain cried out, grunting in pain when the paperweight struck him. He knew better than to block or dodge it but that didn''t make the pain any less. "Would you have had me stay at the Summer Villa with only a single aging knight to protect me? Broll was torn apart by DEMONS! I had to come home before demons could attack the villa!"


    "Coward," Broll spat, dropping into the leather-covered chair carved from an Ancient Oak tree behind his desk carved from the same great tree. More than once he''d taken the furniture as a reminder of the greatness his ancestors expected of him, but now, looking at the wastrel of a son before him, he felt like the entire Lothian line was looking down on him from the Heavenly Shores for failing to live up to their achievements.


    "I could have sent men to you," Bors said, visibly trembling as he clenched his fists and tried to reign in his temper. "I could have called up more knights. The western barons have survived the winter almost completely unscathed this year," he said, tapping a stack of reports on his desk. "You didn''t have to come home to receive help."


    "But calling up knights from the barons would have taken at least a week," Owain protested. "This way, your heir is safely home and no one will question my decision to return to see to Kaefin and Broll''s funerals personally."


    "You think they won''t judge you?" Bors said derisively. "If you were going to return with your tail tucked between your legs you should have at least left Sir Cathal at the villa to guard your ''wife.'' Now, do you know how many people will gossip about your callous disregard for her safety by bringing the only remaining knight with you?" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Within a day, every servant from the stables to the kitchens will know that you were too frightened of the demons to bring your fallen knights home without Sir Cathal to protect you," Bors continued. "Within two days, the daughters of the barons will whisper about how lucky they are to have escaped becoming your wife. Within a week, the sons of the barons will mutter about being forced to protect a coward who won''t fight on the front lines with them against the demons!"


    "Father, you''re exaggerating!" Owain protested. "I will see that Sir Kaefin and Sir Broll are buried with full honors and then I will return to the villa with a larger contingent of soldiers and knights. No one will speak ill of me for this," he insisted.


    "Owain, my son," Bors said, shaking his head as his fury exhausted itself to be replaced by a bone-deep fatigue. No matter what he said, it seemed like nothing would get through.


    "Your ears are growing deaf to my voice," Bors said. "You don''t understand people as well as you think you do. You should visit Loman and talk to him about this. Perhaps your brother can help you hear what you refuse to hear from me."


    "You know I can''t do that, Father," Owain said. "I can''t tell him what really happened to that witch, especially not with an Inquisitor in the temple. If the Inquisition finds out what happened¡­"


    "Fine, fine," Bors said, waving his hand in surrender. "Leave your brother out of it then," he said, wishing yet again that his younger son had been born first. Loman would never have been so blind to the implications of his actions and he wouldn''t have been so cowardly as to run away from the first sign of trouble.


    "But if you won''t talk to Loman, you will do something else to contain the damage caused by your lack of judgment," Bors added, his voice growing firm. "You are to use Sir Broll''s death as a rallying cry among the western barons. Demand they each send one son and one other knight to join you in a hunt for the demons that killed Sir Broll. You are to lead that hunt personally," he said, putting extra emphasis on the word ''personally,'' and fixing Owain with a fierce stare that denied any challenge to his directive.


    Bors might be growing old, and he might be Owain''s father, but this time, when he spoke, it wasn''t as a tired old man or a disappointed father, but as the Marquis Lothian. Owain''s mistakes could undermine the barons'' confidence in the Lothian family''s leadership of the march and it would take a display of martial prowess and courage for Owain to regain that trust.


    "But father," Owain began, an argument quickly forming on his lips. He needed to return to the villa before Jocelynn Blackwell arrived. He needed to prepare for his own trip to Blackwell County after Jocelynn''s arrival. He needed¡­


    Whatever he needed, his protest died on his lips when a rapid knock on the door was followed by the entrance of an out-of-breath page.


    "My Lord," the page said between gasps for air. "Apologies, but Inquisitor Diarmuid has arrived at the manor. He''s demanding an audience."


    Bors''s eyes widened as soon as he heard the Inquisitor''s name, turning from the page to Owain. His son, however, looked equally confused. While Bors was certain that the Inquisitor''s visit had something to do with Owain''s actions, neither man knew what had prompted him to visit so quickly.


    "Show him in," Bors said after taking a deep breath. "And you," he added, looking at his son. "You stay here. If the Inquisition has come for you, you''ll face it like a man, on your feet. I won''t have you scurrying away from this."


    "Y-yes, Father," Owain said, bowing his head. He''d been afraid of meeting with the inquisitor ever since Sir Tommin had joined the Templars. Was this the result of Tommin''s treachery? Had the knight sold him out for favor with his new masters?


    Owain didn''t know, but he was afraid that he was about to find out.

 Chapter 76 - 76: A Visit From The Inquisition

    When Diarmuid entered Bors Lothian''s office, he did so not as a man but as the manifestation of an institution.


    His coal black hair was pulled back into a tight braid and his thick brows perched over dark eyes that scanned the room as if he was searching for demons lurking behind the lampstands. The red and gold robes of the Inquisition billowed around him like the wings of a hawk swooping down on its prey as his powerful strides brought him quickly across the room to arrive before the Marquis Lothian and his son.


    "Marquis Lothian," the inquisitor said with a slight bow. "Lord Owain," he added with a polite nod, his eyes briefly flickering from the handsome young lord to the iron paperweight on the floor next to him before returning to the Marquis.


    "I thank you for making time for my unplanned visit," Diarmuid continued. "I came as soon as I received word," he said. While most people would explain what they''d received word of, however, Diarmuid didn''t, leaving the statement hanging and allowing the Marquis to respond to whatever he believed the Inquisitor would have received word of.


    It was a simple trick, but Diarmuid had been playing this game for many years and even if he didn''t expect much from it, sometimes the combination of a sudden arrival and vague comments netted surprising fish.


    "I wasn''t aware that word had already reached the Temple," Bors said, frowning at the inquisitor. "I must confess that I''m surprised that it startled a member of the Inquisition. Perhaps you can tell me what it is that was important enough for you to come directly here?"


    "The loss of two knights in the span of a day is a tragedy for the Lothian March," Diarmuid began. "Hearing that one of them was dismembered by demons, returning home without a complete corpse is an even greater tragedy. Of course, the Temple wouldn''t hesitate to dispatch a priest to purify Sir Broll''s remains before he is interred in his family crypt," the hawk-nosed man said smoothly. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "As a member of the Inquisition, nothing is more important than rooting out the influence of demons," Diarmuid said, turning his sharp gaze from the Marquis to his son. "So I thought I would offer my services to find the root of the tragedy. After all, I''m told that Lord Owain brought his wife to the Summer Villa early this year, before the Villa entered a zero-hour zone."


    In two weeks, it would be impossible for Nyrielle''s progeny to reach the summer villa and return in the same night. While that didn''t make it unreachable, it meant that any vampire who attacked the villa would have to find a place in the wilderness to wait out daylight, leaving them vulnerable to hunters until sunset.


    Historically, the Lothians would only occupy the villa after the days became long enough for this to be true. To move out beforehand was risky as the demons were known to be more bold in their attacks if they could rely on Nyrielle''s progeny either for rescue or to tip the tide in a nighttime assault.


    "Lady Ashlynn had difficulty adjusting to life among the ladies of the frontier," Bors said, offering an excuse he''d prepared well in advance. "Given her delicate condition, we felt it wiser to move her to the summer villa where she could enjoy the quiet and solitude she preferred in Blackwell county rather than subjecting her to the pressures placed on the next Marchioness."


    "And so you instead subject her to the dangers of the frontier in a distant fort," the inquisitor said blandly. "The Lady Ashlynn must be particularly naive about the dangers of demons on the frontier if she felt it was better to reach the fortress early rather than face the barbed comments of young noblewomen on the frontier."


    "You know that Blackwell County hasn''t seen a demon attack in generations," Owain said quickly. Sweat formed on his brow as his mind scrambled to offer an appropriate explanation to the imposing man in red and gold.


    "My Ashlynn put her faith in the strength of her new family''s protectors," Owain said, doing his best to put on an air of pride and confidence. "She''s still safe behind the walls of the Summer Villa. The only danger from demons came from an encounter in the wilderness while hunting."


    "Yes, so I heard," Diarmuid said, stroking the neatly trimmed beard on his chin. "But I also heard it was no ordinary hunt. A kitchen girl killed another of your knights within the walls of the villa and escaped with a kitchen boy. If one didn''t know better, one might think that these servants snuck into your villa to commit murder and lured your hunters into a demon trap when they escaped."


    Bors scowled, his hand tightening in their grip on the armrests of his chair as he turned his gaze from the Inquisitor to his son. Owain had been personally involved in the selection of servants sent to the villa to minimize the risks that someone would discover the imposter masquerading as Ashlynn Blackwell.


    Or at least, he''d given that responsibility to his son. Now, however, he wondered if Owain had carelessly handed it off to his steward or another servant, creating this disaster.


    "Tell me, Marquis Lothian," the Inquisitor said, turning his piercing eyes on the older man. "The page who brought word to the temple mentioned this servant girl named ''Lynnda.'' He said there were rumors that she was your illegitimate daughter. When I arrived at the manor, I asked your clerk for a list of names of the servants in your household, and yet I found no mention of any Lynnda in those records."


    "Is there something you''re hiding, Marquis Lothian?" Diarmuid said fiercely. "You should know. Lies. Ring. Hollow. Before The Inquisition." As he spoke a golden glow enveloped his red and gold robes. It was faint in the bright light streaming in through the window but Bors couldn''t miss the significance of the way the Inquisitor had spoken.


    There were always rumors that a person couldn''t become an Inquisitor unless they were a miracle worker or had been blessed by one of the great saints of the Church, invested with the power of the Holy Lord of Light. Inquisitors ventured into the darkest places to hunt heretics and demons and wherever they walked, they brought the light of their deity with them. Now, seeing the glow surrounding the Inquisitor Bors realized that there was much more truth to the rumors than he''d initially believed.


    Quick on the heels of that realization, however, came another one. Inquisitor Diarmuid hadn''t cloaked himself in that power from the moment he entered the office. There were limits to its use and the Inquisitor had chosen this question to emphasize. He wanted to know if Bors Lothian was hiding a descendant that consorted with demons.


    Once he realized that, Bors let go of his restraint. There were many insults he could swallow when confronted by the powerful Inquisitor but this one crossed his bottom line and he saw no reason to hold himself back.


    "How dare you!" Bors shouted, shooting to his feet and slamming his calloused hands onto the desk. "Not once, not while she lived or after she died, not once have I betrayed my Isla! How dare you profane her memory with vile rumors."


    "My Lord Lothian," Diarmuid began, only to be cut off by Bors'' fury.


    "I will have names and I will have tongues!" Bors shouted. "Who is spreading this slander? Tell me who is spreading these lies so I can carve out their tongues and burn them before my Isla''s tomb. I will not have such things uttered in what is still her home!"


    "Father, please," Owain said, rushing to his father''s side to hold him back before he could charge the Inquisitor. In the seven years since his mother''s death, he''d made the mistake of suggesting his father take a second wife exactly once, on a night he''d come home from a drunken trip to a brothel with Kaefin. The beating he received for it had shown him just how deeply his father still grieved for his late wife.


    "I can see that there''s no truth to these lies," the Inquisitor said. The golden glow around him faded away like fog burned away by the morning sun leaving behind a man who still looked fierce and unapologetic but no longer as sacred as he had a moment ago.


    "Still, I find many things happening to be highly irregular," Diarmuid said. "I will begin by conducting my examination and cleansing of Sir Broll''s remains. If I have more questions for you, or young lord Owain, I will return to you then. Good day, Marquis Lothian."


    For a tense moment, Bors looked like he still intended to vault over his desk to pummel the Inquisitor for the insult but a firm squeeze from Owain brought him back to his senses before he did anything he would come to regret.


    "I apologize, Inquisitor," he forced himself to say. "Some wounds are still raw, even after all these years. If you have need of me, please send word to my steward and I will receive you properly."


    Outside the Marquis'' office, an armored templar fell in behind Diarmuid like a metallic shadow.


    "You heard?" Diarmuid asked as they walked toward the crypts where Sir Broll''s remains awaited examination and cleansing by the Church.


    "It would be difficult not to," Sir Tommin replied. "I told you that it was unlikely to be true."


    "Unlikely doesn''t mean impossible," the Inquisitor reminded the newly minted Templar. "And it leaves us with another question. Who is this Lynnda that managed to slay Sir Kaefin and lead Sir Broll to his death at the hands of the demons?"


    "Until we have answers, I''m afraid none of us will sleep easily," the Inquisitor said. Someone who could slip into a guarded Lothian fort, kill a knight, and escape in broad daylight was even more terrifying than the Demon Lady of the Vale''s famed progeny. Against the vampires, at least sunlight provided a shield. But this new enemy¡­ if the sun didn''t constrain her, what would?

 Chapter 77 - 77: Intense Preparation

    Time passed quickly within the Vale of Mists as Ashlynn prepared for her trip to visit the Mother of Thorns. The moon, high overhead, had dwindled to a thin crescent. In a few days, the new moon would mark the end of her ''blossoming period'' and the accelerated growth she enjoyed from her bond with Nyrielle would come to an end.


    Intent on doing everything they could to prepare her for her upcoming journey through Eldritch territories to reach the Mother of Thorns, Thalien substantially increased the intensity of her training, bringing her to the practice yard for at least half of his waking ours every night.


    "?s?kan l?''ka!" the vampire said, swing a heavy two handed sword in a rapid arc toward Ashlynn''s head.


    For a moment, Ashlynn blinked in confusion, turning to her right to defend against the attack only to realize she''d misunderstood and the attack was coming from above.


    Thane''s blade whistled as it cut through the cool night air, the sound barely registering before it crashed against Ashlynn''s steel helm. The ring of metal on metal reverberated through Ashlynn''s skull, the force of the blow sending vibrations down her spine as she staggered from the impact.


    Her muscles burned with exertion, and her sword clattered to the ground, falling from a hand that went limp when her vision began to swim. The metallic taste of copper filled her mouth ¨C she''d bitten her tongue during the impact.


    For a moment, she thought it was a shame that Nyrielle wasn''t here. The vampire was never one to shy away from a kiss mingled with the metallic taste of Ashlynn''s blood. The act had become so common that Ashlynn''s heart started to race before she shook off the foggy feeling enveloping her mind and reminded herself that her love wasn''t here to savor the taste and she had no intention of letting Thane fill in in Nyrielle''s absence.


    "¨±t q¨¤uyrez?" Thane asked, pausing as he watched the young witch struggle to regain her balance.


    For her training sessions, Ashlynn had donned a full suit of mail armor over a thick, padded gambeson with a steel helmet, bracers and greaves. The armor served two purposes. First, the weight of the armor helped further train her strength and speed, pushing her well beyond the limits of what a human of her size should be capable of.


    Second, and most important at the moment, it protected her from accidents as Thane increased the intensity of her lessons. The blade he used might have been blunted, but it was still a powerful weapon capable of crushing the skull of an unprotected human if he didn''t restrain himself in time.


    "I''m fine, I''m," Ashlynn began, holding up a hand before she corrected herself. "Ite, no, ita, klit ktta biktem," she said, hoping that her pronunciation was clear enough to be understood. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    That was another part of her training that Thane oversaw. While training with the sword, he spoke to her almost exclusively in the Eldritch tongue. He would give warnings, advice, or comment on completely irrelevant matters and he expected her to reply correctly, even as she worked to defend against his sword.


    To the side, Ollie marveled at Ashlynn''s ability to keep up with Thane''s brutal training. Since making his decision, he''d begun taking lessons on the very basics of combat with Harrod but compared to Ashlynn he felt like an uncoordinated child to say nothing of Thane''s obvious skill.


    Several times during the lesson, Ollie had found himself picking up a wooden training sword, mimicking their movements only to realize how difficult it was to coordinate the movement of his sword with the position of his feet if he tried to come anywhere close to the speed with which they moved.


    Now, seeing Ashlynn rapidly shaking off the impact that Ollie was certain would have been strong enough to cleave his skull in two, he couldn''t help but wonder if he''d ever reach a point where he could be useful to her. He knew that she''d had less than two months to train but already the distance between them felt like an uncrossable gulf.


    "You can take more than a minute to rest," Thane said, reverting to the common tongue. "Sit, let me take a look at your head," he said, putting his sword down and appearing at Ashlynn''s side to remove the steel helm and pull back the mail coif and padding underneath it.


    The night air was crisp and chill but Ashlynn''s brow was slick with sweat and steam rose from her body as she struggled to catch her breath. As soon as the armor had been peeled away from her damp hair, she wanted nothing more than to shed the rest of it and bask in the cool night air but she knew that her lesson wasn''t over yet.


    "Looks like you''re fine," Thane said with a smile. "You might have a knot on your head by the time you go to bed but it should be gone by tomorrow night."


    "What, so you can give me another one?" Ashlynn teased, giving the vampire a playful shove. "Maybe I should run to Mistress Nyrielle and tell her you were too rough with me."


    "Don''t lie," Thane said with a broad grin. "You don''t need to lie to her, if you want her to kiss it better I''m sure she''ll oblige. She dotes on you, you know."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, her face turning red in a way that had nothing to do with her exertion in the cold night air. "But she''s been so busy lately and so have I. I haven''t even taken a meal with her since Broll''s men arrived."


    "That''s your fault," Thane said bluntly. "I know you''re hoping that they''ll integrate into life here but you can''t force things. They need time to adjust and they''re taking too much of yours as is. You should leave them in Captain Lennart''s capable hands and be done with it."


    "I will," Ashlynn said, waving Ollie over to join them. "But I only have so many days before I leave for¡­ however long this takes. I want to set them up for as much success as I can before I leave. Him too," she said, pointing at the former kitchen boy.


    As much as Ashlynn tried to put her focus on the journey ahead, there were some worries she found it difficult to put down. Soon, her sister would arrive at the Summer Villa but she would be gone before that happened. Even if she wasn''t, it would be impossible to visit her, no matter how much she wanted to see her family again.


    Ollie was another worry she found difficult to put down. She still felt responsible for him after snatching him away from his relatively safe life as a cook in Owain''s kitchens. Now, he was one of the only humans in the Vale of Mists and she wouldn''t be around to protect him if anything went wrong while she was gone.


    Inviting him to watch her training sessions with Thane had been her idea in the hopes that it would accelerate his own learning when he practiced with Harrod and the others. Seeing him struggle to imitate her movements, however, she was afraid that the invitation was doing more harm than good.


    "Thane, I''m worried about Ollie," Ashlynn said, turning her gaze to the handsome vampire. It wasn''t until she saw how much her young friend struggled that she realized how much her bond with Nyrielle had helped her.


    It went beyond being faster and stronger, her mind had become sharper, easily recalling information and rarely needing to see something demonstrated more than once in order to remember it.


    Ollie, on the other hand, was just an ordinary young man. He had no special talents nor any special gifts. And still, he came out every night to watch and try to learn even a few little things from her sessions with Thane.


    "You can''t rush everything," Thane cautioned. "He''s already doing well for someone who grew up in a kitchen. His knife skills are very good, at least, as long as his target isn''t moving. We just need to spend the next several months honing that foundation."


    "Unless¡­ you have something else in mind?" Thane said, raising an eyebrow at Ashlynn.


    "Maybe," Ashlynn said, her mind starting to think more clearly now that her head was no longer ringing. Something that Thane had said gave her an idea and a slow smile began to form on her lips. "Maybe what we should do is a different kind of training¡­"

 Chapter 78 - 78: The Power of Darksteel

    "I''m fine, I don''t need any extra training," Ollie protested when he saw the look that Ashlynn gave him.


    He''d accepted Ashlynn''s invitation to watch but Thane had made it clear that he wasn''t ready to join in yet. His own fumbling attempts had made it abundantly clear how right the former knight was when he told Ollie that he wasn''t ready.


    Perhaps by the time Ashlynn returned he would know enough to serve as a basic sparring partner for her, but even if he trained himself at a brutal pace, he would still possess purely human strength against the witch who had already left human limits behind.


    "That''s not what I meant," Ashlynn said, reaching out to ruffle his curly red hair affectionately. "Thane," she said, turning to the vampire. "When I first started training with you, you let me try to pick up a darksteel dagger. I wasn''t very strong then, but Ollie is stronger than I was. Do you think he could carry something like that, just in case he needs to protect himself from the other humans?"


    "Are you worried about them?" Thane asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "I don''t know," Ashlynn admitted. "I overheard some muttering from a few of the hunters about him. They''re captives and they don''t like the fact that Ollie is different from them. They don''t dare to fight any of the Eldritch people because they know they''d be overpowered, but I''m worried that if I''m not around, they''ll take out their resentment on Ollie."


    "I won''t give them a chance to hurt me," the young man said firmly. "Even if I can''t fight back yet, I can stay around Harrod or Justus or one of the others. As long as I''m not alone, they won''t dare to do anything."


    "They shouldn''t dare to do anything even if you are alone," Thane said with a dark look. "If they think they can harm someone that Ashlynn values and survive doing so, they''re sorely mistaken."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, placing a hand on Thane''s arm. "But sometimes people do things without thinking them through. We''ve tried to be kind to those men, but the longer they''re here, the more I fear they''ll take advantage of our kindness, mistaking it for weakness. If I''m wrong, nothing will come of it. But if I''m right, I''d like to make sure Ollie has a way to protect himself."


    "I can find him an appropriate dagger," Thane said. "But you know that using a darksteel weapon isn''t as simple as mastering its weight. You want me to teach him sorcery while you''re gone?"


    "Sorcery?" Ollie blinked. "What does sorcery have to do with darksteel? Is it, is it really an evil, cursed weapon?"


    "No, it''s neither evil nor cursed," Thane said, a mischievous glint in his amber eyes. He picked up Ashlynn''s falchion with a graceful flourish, the blade coming alive in his hands as though it was his partner in an elegant dance.


    "Darksteel is very dense," he said, flipping the blade over in his hands to present the long hilt to the young man. "But that''s because it''s formed of thousands of layers of metal, arranged in patterns that imbue it with its power. Here," he said, dropping to one knee to present the weapon to Ollie with a dramatic flourish.


    Hesitantly, Ollie reached out with one hand only for Thane to pull it back. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Use two hands," Thane suggested, giving Ashlynn a knowing look before he extended the blade toward Ollie again.


    This time, using both hands, Ollie managed to take the sword from Thane, though he quickly sat down to rest the sword across his legs rather than trying to lift the weapon that felt heavier than the cauldrons he''d hung over cook fires in the kitchens.


    "Look at the surface of the blade closely," Thane said, moving to the side to allow the light of the torches in the training yard to fully illuminate the blade. "See the pattern that looks like wood grain?"


    "I do," Ollie said, squinting at the blade in the dim light. The pattern Thane was pointing out was faint and the lines of the ''wood grain'' were so close together that he almost thought he was imagining it. If it wasn''t for a few places where the lines seemed to bend and twist like wood grain around a knot, he would have thought he was imagining it.


    "To wield a darksteel weapon requires that you supply it with a portion of your life energy," Ashlynn explained. "That''s what makes it sharper than any steel forged by human hands, and it''s how you can move it quickly without the weight of the blade throwing you off balance."


    "There''s another way to supply a darksteel weapon with power," Thane added, taking the sword back from Ollie and passing it back to Ashlynn with the same effortless grace he''d displayed when he offered it to Ollie.


    "When you spill the blood of your enemies," Thane said, his amber eyes losing their playfulness. "The blade can ''drink'' a portion of their life energy, reducing the amount of your own energy that the blade consumes."


    "Without spilling blood, it''s impossible for most warriors to fight with a darksteel weapon for very long," Thane explained. "People like Ashlynn and Mistress Nyrielle are different because they''re gifted sorcerers. People like you and I, however, we have to make every cut count or we''ll quickly exhaust ourselves."


    "It drinks blood," Ollie said slowly, looking from the blade in Thane''s hands to Ashlynn and then back to the blade. "But it''s not evil."


    "No more than Thane is evil," Ashlynn pointed out. "Or Mistress Nyrielle, or any of the other vampires you''ve met."


    "No, no, I understand," the young man said. "It''s just. When you told me that you''re a witch, I thought that magic didn''t have anything to do with me. Now, you''re saying I can learn sorcery to use darksteel?"


    "Only if you want to," Ashlynn said, reaching out to hold his hand. "I won''t force you, even if I think it''s a good idea to learn."


    "You don''t have to decide now," Thane pointed out. "I still have to find you a suitable dagger. The one I showed Ashlynn is part of Marcell''s collection. I''m sure there''s another one in the armory, we just have to make sure it''s suitable for you."


    "I''ll learn it," Ollie said decisively. "I want to be useful," he said to Ashlynn. "I won''t be as strong or as fast as you or Sir Thane, but, maybe, with the right weapon, I can be dangerous enough to be a good protector for you."


    "Good lad," Thane said, giving the young man a solid clap on the shoulder. "Now, since you''ve decided to learn to use a darksteel blade, watch closely."


    "My lady," he said, making an elaborate bow, extending his hand to Ashlynn as though he were at a nobleman''s ball inviting her to dance instead of helping to her feet to continue training. "Do you think you can go a few more rounds?"


    "Whether I think I can or not," she said, pulling the padded armor and mail back over her head.. "I''m going to," she added, smiling at the handsome vampire and offering her hand delicately, the way her mother had once taught her, ready to join him in a far more dangerous dance.


    "Good, then prepare yourself," Thane said, retrieving his own blunted weapon. "Nok y?i!" he announced, lunging at Ashlynn in a blur of motion.


    Sparks flew as their blades clashed and the sound of steel ringing on steel filled the air.


    There were still a few days left before Ashlynn would depart the vale, and she intended to use every minute of it to prepare.

 Chapter 79 - 79: The Price of Rapid Improvement

    The crescent moon had made its way across the sky but it was still too early for the stars to fade into the morning light when Thane called a stop to their training session.


    Ashlynn slumped, leaning against a wooden training dummy and sliding down until she sat on the worn cobblestones of the training yard. Her chest heaved and steam rose from her body in the cool night air. Every muscle in her arms, back, and legs felt like it was on fire and her hands trembled, no longer capable of gripping her sword after so many exchanges with Thane.


    A normal warrior, if pushed so far beyond their limits, would take at least two or three days of rest before they were back in fighting condition. Ashlynn, however, had come to realize that the fire she felt now would fade with a few hours of sleep, leaving her once again stronger and faster than she''d been the day before.


    This rapid growth wouldn''t last forever, but as long as she could take advantage of it, she was immensely grateful to Thane for helping her wring every drop of potential from the opportunity her pact with Nyrielle gave her.


    "Thank you," she said, resting her head against the wooden dummy and flashing Thane a tired smile. "?olir," she said a moment later, correcting herself to speak in the Eldritch tongue. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Don''t praise him too much," Nyrielle said, her musical voice coming from the entrance to the training yard. "I may understand and even agree with the need to push hard, but there are limits," she added, seeming to vanish from the entrance of the training yard only to appear a moment later, kneeling on the cobblestones next to Ashlynn.


    "This really is too much," she said softly, brushing a cold hand across Ashlynn''s flushed face. "Come with me."


    "No, I''m fine," Ashlynn insisted. She tried to push Nyrielle''s hand away but found that her arm, covered in armor, felt like it had become as heavy as her sword and even when she tried to lift it, the stubborn limb refused to cooperate.


    "What you mean is that you''ll recover," Nyrielle said, a hint of warmth showing in her usually cool midnight blue eyes. "So let me help you," she added, gently scooping Ashlynn up in her arms, armor and all, as though she weighed no more than a pillow.


    Nyrielle wasn''t unaware of the intensity of Ashlynn''s training, in fact, she''d spent several minutes watching her darling witch struggle to keep up with Thane''s superior skill before making up her mind to do something for Ashlynn.


    A few breaths after she''d scooped Ashlynn up from the training yard, Nyrielle carried her into the opulent bath attached to her personal chambers. The water wasn''t as hot and steamy as it had been before but it was still warm enough to be comforting and more importantly, to help relieve the tension from Ashlynn''s quivering muscles.


    "Nyrielle, no," Ashlynn protested weakly when she realized where Nyrielle had brought her. "I''m sorry, but, I don''t think I''m strong enough for you to feed on me right now. I, I¡­"


    She wasn''t sure what to say or how strongly she should say it. Nyrielle had refused to feed on her more than once when Ashlynn offered, usually because it wasn''t the right moment for Ashlynn. Not once had Nyrielle given her the impression that she didn''t want to sink her fangs into her tender flesh, but she resisted even when Ashlynn felt like she needed to make the offer.


    Now, however, for the first time, it was Ashlynn who was saying ''no.'' She felt far too exhausted to offer any of her strength to Nyrielle. If she did, she was afraid that she would spend the last few days of her blossoming period in bed recovering instead of pushing herself the way she felt she needed to. But, would Nyrielle accept her ''no''?


    "My silly little witch," Nyrielle teased, her fingers deftly working at the straps and buckles that held Ashlynn''s armor in place, carefully removing each piece and setting it aside. "I didn''t bring you here to feed on you. I brought you here because you''ve pushed yourself so hard that you barely have the strength to stand."


    While Nyrielle knew that Thane would have helped Ashlynn out of her armor and handed her over to Heila''s tender care to see the exhausted witch to bed, doing so would fall far short of the care that the vampire felt Ashlynn needed tonight.


    Once the final layer of padded armor was peeled away, Ashlynn felt like she could at least remove her own tunic, only to find that her joints had become stiff and didn''t want to move any more than her muscles wanted to.


    When Nyrielle lifted the tunic up over Ashlynn''s head, the young woman flinched, drawing in a sharp hiss of breath as several spots on her aching body protested the movement. Nyrielle''s fingers traced gently over Ashlynn''s pale flesh, following the path of long, slender bruises that covered her ribs, upper arms and even her lush thighs.


    For a moment, Nyrielle couldn''t help but think of the first time she''d met Ashlynn, her body likewise covered with bruises that concealed even worse damage from the savage beating she''d received on the night of her marriage to Owain Lothian.


    This time, the injuries weren''t nearly as serious. No bones lay broken beneath the green, yellow and purplish bruises that covered Ashlynn''s body like the stripes on a tiger. Her breath, though shallow, lacked the ragged wheeze of a punctured lung and her eyes, though they struggled to stay open against the pull of exhaustion, weren''t clouded by pain that would overwhelm a weaker woman.


    "I''ll heal by nightfall," Ashlynn insisted, struggling to meet Nyrielle''s midnight gaze as the vampire inspected the marks on her body. "Please, don''t blame Thane for these," she added, suddenly worried that Nyrielle would misunderstand.


    She''d been the one who insisted on pushing her body and developing her toughness. Thane himself had spent days enduring harsh punishment with an iron rod during his blossoming period for just such a reason and when he''d told her about it she realized that asking him to restrain his blows during practice was denying her an opportunity to harden herself the same way.


    Pain, she learned, was a valuable teacher, and once Thane started landing solid hits on her body she grew much better at blocking or avoiding them.


    "I''m not upset with Thane," Nyrielle said, flashing Ashlynn a reassuring smile that displayed a hint of her elongated fangs. As much as Nyrielle had no intention to feed, the multitude of bruises on Ashlynn''s skin brought blood too close to the surface for her to completely ignore. She only hoped that Ashlynn was too tired to notice or she might misunderstand Nyrielle''s intentions.


    Taking a deep breath to steady herself and repress the signs of her rising hunger, Nyrielle quickly removed her own dress before scooping Ashlynn back up off the cedar bench.


    "I know you will heal," Nyrielle said softly as she carried Ashlynn to the deep, steaming marble pool. "But that doesn''t mean you don''t need to be cared for. Just because you can recover, doesn''t mean you should suffer through every ache and pain," she insisted as she slowly lowered Ashlynn into the warm, lavender scented water.

 Chapter 80: Gentle Care

    Chapter 80: Gentle CareFor a moment, Ashlynn hissed again when her bruised flesh made contact with the warm water but by the time Nyrielle helped her into a sitting posture in the luxurious tub, the pain had faded away. In its place, she felt a warm, drifting sensation that didn¡¯t come entirely from the water but also from a trace of Nyrielle¡¯s magic.


    "You are my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said softly as she began to caress the young woman¡¯s tender flesh with lavender-scented soap and a soft brush. "You can ask me for help like this when you need it."


    As Nyrielle began to help Ashlynn wash, steam rose in delicate wisps, carrying the gentle scent of lavender that seemed to seep into her very pores. The smooth surface of the marble pool felt cool against her back, a pleasant contrast to the water¡¯s warmth that also spoke to how recently Nyrielle had decided to make use of the pool.


    Ashlynn¡¯s previous bath with Nyrielle had been something the vampire planned enough in advance to keep the entire pool piping hot with warmth that seeped into the carved marble benches under the water¡¯s surface. This time, however, it felt far more spontaneous in a way that warmed Ashlynn¡¯s heart as much as the water warmed her body.


    Nyrielle¡¯s fingers, usually cool to the touch, felt almost warm as they glided over Ashlynn¡¯s skin, leaving trails of silky soap bubbles in their wake. The soft bristles of the brush whispered against her flesh, each stroke melting away another layer of tension. In the quiet of the bath chamber, Ashlynn could hear the faint lapping of water against the tub¡¯s edges, taking on a rhythm that nearly matched her own steady, relaxed breaths.


    "But you¡¯re so busy getting ready to leave," Ashlynn said. Her voice was quiet and her eyes struggled to stay open as Nyrielle washed away her aches and pains along with the sweat and grime of her intense training session. "I shouldn¡¯t take you away from important things."


    "You are an important thing," Nyrielle whispered, tapping Ashlynn¡¯s nose with a soapy finger and leaving a collection of bubbles behind on the tip of the young witch¡¯s pert nose. "An important person. Someone I can make time for almost any time."


    "Preparing for the journey is important but it is neither urgent nor a crisis," she said, her soapy arms sliding around Ashlynn¡¯s trim waist and pulling her onto her lap in the tub. Her hands slid upward, gently cupping Ashlynn¡¯s full bust as she pulled the other woman close enough to whisper in her ear.


    "Whether it¡¯s an hour or an evening, it makes no difference to our journey," Nyrielle whispered. "But it can make a vast difference to the health of your body and your mind. So, rely on me, and let me ease the pain that comes from your struggle."


    "In that case," Ashlynn said softly, leaning back in the vampire¡¯s embrace and placing her hands on top of Nyrielle¡¯s, welcoming her intimate touch. "Can I stay here with you? Just for a little while. Until the sun is about to rise."


    "Of course," Nyrielle said, shifting slightly so she could gaze into Ashlynn¡¯s exhausted emerald eyes. "Let me take down your hair," she said, giving Ashlynn a brief peck on the cheek before pulling her hands back and gently loosening the braid Ashlynn wore her pale golden hair in while training.


    "It¡¯s fine if you fall asleep," Nyrielle added, seeing how much Ashlynn was struggling to stay alert now that her body had the opportunity to relax. "Just drift, let me take care of you tonight."


    "I can¡¯t sleep," Ashlynn protested weakly. "I have to take my morning meal with the captives first and..."


    "Let them go a day without you," Nyrielle said, a touch more sharply than she intended to. "You give them too much of yourself already. If you don¡¯t take some time for yourself, you¡¯ll be too worn and frazzled when we reach Lord Ritchel¡¯s territory. Just rest, and you can start again tomorrow evening."


    "But my darling," Nyrielle whispered. "As proud as I am of you for pushing yourself, I don¡¯t want to see you this worn again. Tomorrow, I will collect you again and bring you here. Consider that this too is part of training yourself if you need to," she said softly.


    For a moment, Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes opened wide in surprise. She¡¯d been pushing herself so hard because she was afraid of... of too many things. Afraid of the danger that came with being Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal in a world where strength defined a person¡¯s standing. Afraid of falling short and disappointing the woman who came to mean as much to her as the family she¡¯d been born into.


    More than anything, she was afraid that if things went badly on this journey, it would be because she wasn¡¯t good enough. That she would fail because she hadn¡¯t worked hard enough. Hearing Nyrielle¡¯s words, however, untied a knot in her chest she hadn¡¯t realized had grown tight enough to constrict her heart.


    Now that Nyrielle insisted she rest, however, it was as though the vampire had tugged the loose end of the constricting knot, unraveling it and allowing the wave of exhaustion it held back to wash over her.


    Any response Ashlynn might have had was lost as sleep overwhelmed her, pulling her into a world of drifting, floating relaxation where her troubles and tensions melted into the water.


    Nyrielle smiles when she saw Ashlynn¡¯s eyes drift closed, gently stroking her cheek before she finished helping her wash. She hadn¡¯t been able to bring herself to say it, but this time that she spent with Ashlynn, when they were close enough for their hearts to beat in unison, pressed up against each other with nothing between them... S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    This time spent together and the gentle moments were almost more precious to Nyrielle than the intoxicating taste and overwhelming pleasure she felt when drinking the young witch¡¯s blood. Their bond was mystical, a product of blood magic and ancient sorcery, but the tender moments of vulnerability couldn¡¯t be created by any magic and that made them even more valuable than the potent blood of a witch.


    "Ashlynn," she whispered to the sleeping woman. "You¡¯re changing me." As much as she cared for each of her progeny and all of the people in the Vale of Mists, Ashlynn was coming to occupy a place in her heart that had been vacant and hollow since the death of her parents.


    So many pieces of Nyrielle¡¯s life, whether painting or dining on refined delicacies, had become ways to fill the long passage years with moments of brightness. She treasured them, but she wouldn¡¯t shed any tears if she lost them.


    Even her treasured progeny, Thane, Marcell, and all the others, couldn¡¯t come close enough to her heart to brighten her life the way Ashlynn did. She had lost a few of her progeny over the years, both to Lothian plots and to conflicts with other Eldritch Lords.


    Each of those losses hurt like a cut to the bone, but the idea of losing Ashlynn filled her heart with dread that she hadn¡¯t felt in decades or longer.


    "It¡¯s been so long since anyone came this close to my heart. So please, take care of yourself. I can¡¯t lose anyone else who can touch me the way you do."


    "I¡¯ll protect you from anyone who tries to harm you," she promised softly. "But I can¡¯t protect you from yourself. You have to..." she whispered, her voice trailing off as she couldn¡¯t find the words to express what she felt.


    That was fine though, she thought, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s hair. She still had time to find the words, and when she did, she promised herself that she wouldn¡¯t hold them back.

 Chapter 81: Guildmaster’s Gathering

    Chapter 81: Guildmaster¡¯s GatheringThe same night that Nyrielle gently tended to her exhausted and battered lover¡¯s needs, the crescent moon danced on the waters of the deep harbor in Blackwell City. Gulls squawked in the night, fighting over scraps of fish that slipped from nets or were discarded by fishmongers for being too foul to sell.


    Bells rang across the harbor on different ships, signaling the changes in watch or releasing gleeful sailors from their duties aboard the ship, freeing them to enjoy the delights of the bustling city beyond the harbor district.


    In one towering building that occupied half a block, a constant stream of people from ship¡¯s masters to traders, pilots, and navigators, and even a small number of wealthy merchants, jostled against each other as they tried to complete their business before the various clerks closed for the day.


    Three floors above the common offices, however, the scene was much quieter and more composed in a grand dining room that currently played host to a small group of distinguished individuals. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There had been a fierce argument between the Carter¡¯s Guild and the Fellowship of Wayfinders to host this evening¡¯s gathering. In the end, it had been settled by a coin toss, much to the delight of the evening¡¯s host.


    Master Sebastian of the Fellowship of Wayfinders wore a wide smile beneath his bushy white mustache, his gray eyes twinkling as the other masters found their way to their seats. His days as the captain of a ship were long behind him, but moments like this brought back memories of days spent with his officers on the vast seas where the word of a captain was second only to the laws of the Holy Lord of Light.


    "Master Sebastian, you look like you¡¯ve got a belly full of brandy and we haven¡¯t even eaten yet," a gruff voice said as a burly man with a shaved head took his seat. "What¡¯s got you so happy?"


    "Just an old master being nostalgic for his days on the sea," Sebastian said lightly. While the Wayfinders rarely did much business with the Iron Mongers, he was at least well acquainted with Master Tiernan and the two were cordial enough with each other to make meetings like this easy.


    The same couldn¡¯t be said for the scarecrow-thin man with straw-colored hair who sat opposite the Iron Monger. Master Ruadhan had only recently taken over leadership of the Carter¡¯s Guild and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to either drag the Wayfinders down to his level or haul the Carters up to an equal status by trimming the fees they paid to the Wayfinders whenever they took over responsibility for seeing cargo to its final destination inland.


    "I see the Wayfinders haven¡¯t lost their taste for the finer things," Ruadhan remarked, eyeing the crystal goblets. "Tell me, Sebastian, do you use these for your actual voyages, or just to impress those of us who will never cross the seas to visit the old countries?"


    "You have to be joking, Ruadhan," Sebastian said with a hearty laugh. "You could likely carry a case of these in your ricketiest cart all the way to the frontier and not break more than one goblet in a dozen."


    "But at sea?" the former sailor said, raising an eyebrow. "One squall and the whole load is smashed to shards. Who would insure us against such a predictable loss? Only a fool would even consider it."


    "Who else are we waiting for?" Ruadhan said, ignoring the barb in the old sailor¡¯s last statement. Snatching a crystal goblet of white wine from the table, the Carter started drinking before Sebastian could offer a toast or do anything else to gather more attention to himself at this meeting. "Didn¡¯t Paidi say he wasn¡¯t coming?"


    "It¡¯s true that Master Paidi can¡¯t make it," a fourth man with a close-cropped beard and receding red hair said. "But the Staunch Armorers will follow the Brotherhood of Armaments in this matter," he added, pointing a thick thumb at his chest. "So you can consider me to have his proxy."


    "Two guilds, one voice," Tiernan mused. "Convenient, that. Though I wonder if Master Paidi knows just how... enthusiastically you¡¯ll be representing his interests, Olver."


    "What are you implying, Tiernan?" Olver asked, clenching a powerful fist and scowling at the Iron Monger. While both the Staunch Armorers and the Brotherhood of Armaments held notable status in the eyes of the knights and noblemen, both guilds were beholden to Tiernan¡¯s Iron Mongers for supplies and the bald man never let either guild forget it.


    "Nothing at all, my friend," Master Tiernan said, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "Nothing at all."


    "I¡¯m sure Master Olver will represent Master Paidi¡¯s interests well," Sebastian said, giving the other master a polite nod. The Wayfinders did very little business with either the armorers or weaponsmiths of Blackwell City but neither guild was one that could easily be snubbed. For one man to represent both during this gathering could make matters difficult if their remaining guests didn¡¯t show up.


    At that moment, the door to the room opened to admit a steel-haired woman dressed in a man¡¯s trousers and waistcoat. With silver-rimmed spectacles on her nose, Master Isabell of the Illustrious Company of Engineers looked more like a school teacher than a warrior but no one who knew her reputation would dare to cross the powerful woman.


    Behind her, a short balding man with deep-set eyes and a limping gait walked with footsteps punctuated by the -THUMP- of his gilded cane. Though technically not the master of a guild, Adrian served as the Assessor of Weights and Measures for all of Blackwell County, and his office oversaw everything from small commercial transactions to contracts involving sums of gold that could feed entire cities for years.


    "Now I believe we¡¯re all here," Sebastian said once the final members of the gathering had found their seats. "Now, before we begin our meeting, I would like to offer a toast," he said, raising his crystal goblet and giving a pointed look at Ruadhan who was already pouring himself a second glass of wine.


    "To the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell," Sebastian said, lifting his goblet high. "Without her, tonight¡¯s gathering would never have happened. May the Holy Lord of Light watch over her and keep her safe as she faces the demons of the frontier."


    "To the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell," Master Isabell said, adding her own statement to the toast. "To a woman who is brave enough to remember loyalty, even when she has left our salty shores."


    "Here, here!" the rest of the guests echoed with varying levels of enthusiasm.


    Following the toast, the room was briefly filled with bustling servants setting out tray after tray of freshly caught delicacies, bowls of rich shellfish soup, loaves of freshly baked bread, and assortments of fine cheeses and pickled vegetables that had made the lengthy journey across the sea from the old countries. Once they departed, however, the doors were pulled shut and would not open again until Master Sebastian indicated that confidential talks had been concluded.


    For the masters of six guilds to meet was not so rare of an event to alarm the local nobles, but neither was it common enough to pass without significant curiosity from a number of interested parties. Sebastian and his guests would rather serve themselves this evening than allow the slightest word of their discussion to reach unintended ears, and all of them had long grown accustomed to a lack of servants when the most important business items were up for discussion.


    "Since you¡¯re here," Ruadhan said, giving Isabell a guarded look. "I assume that you also received a letter from Lady Ashlynn? But I wasn¡¯t aware that you¡¯d received one from Lord Owain."


    "It¡¯s precisely because Lord Owain failed to reach out to me that Lady Ashlynn thought I should be brought into the gathering," the engineer said as she made meticulous cuts in a wheel of soft cheese veined with blue mold before serving herself a wedge. "Whether I was excluded from Lord Owain¡¯s invitation in simple oversight or deliberate slight, I don¡¯t intend to let the exclusion stand."


    "It¡¯s good that you¡¯re here," Olver said, skipping the appetizers and directly placing a large portion of poached fish on his plate. "No one should make war without a good company of engineers. If we¡¯re going to bankroll the Lothain¡¯s next war, I¡¯ll rest easier knowing you and Assessor Adrian have done the calculations."


    "That is the question though, isn¡¯t it?" Sebastian said, looking around the masters gathered at the table. "After reading Lady Ashlynn¡¯s letter, I¡¯m beginning to question if we should really involve ourselves in this war at all..."

 Chapter 82: The Power of a Letter

    Chapter 82: The Power of a LetterThe entire room went quiet when Sebastian asked whether they should involve themselves in the Lothian¡¯s war against the demons or not. Several of the assembled guild masters shuffled awkwardly in their chairs or took large bites of their meal under the pressure of the question. No one wanted to be the first to offer an opinion.


    "Perhaps we should take several steps back before arriving at a conclusion," Isabell said, relaxing in her chair and sipping the chilled white wine. Of everyone present, she was under the least pressure since Owain Lothian hadn¡¯t planned to include her Illustrious Company of Engineers in the first place. Even if she left this gathering now, no disastrous consequences would befall her or her engineers.


    "Since Lord Owain didn¡¯t see fit to include me in his deliberations, perhaps you gentlemen could help bring me up to speed," Isabell said. "What exactly is it that he¡¯s trying to obtain from you? Sebastian, as the host, perhaps you can go first."


    "Ah-hem," the white haired sailor said, clearing his throat and nodding his thanks to Isabell for throwing him a line. "The Lothians have long been the most favored of the frontier marches in the eyes of the Church," he began. "They have granted more territory, a greater share of their spoils and consistently placed at least one of the members of their direct line within the Church every generation." S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Now, the Lothians have not only received the support of the Pontiff in the Holy City of Staigue," he continued. "They¡¯ve received a pledge of support from the Luminary in Kilcashel to declare the start of a holy war," Sebastian said.


    As soon as he said the words ¡¯holy war¡¯, eating around the table stopped and several people looked at him with wide eyes. Owain had never intended to negotiate with them as a group and all of them had received different information from the Lothian heir about his plans but this was the first time they had heard that the highest priest in the Church of the Holy Lord of Light in the old countries was involved in these plans.


    "If this is a holy war," Ruadhan said, running a hand through his straw colored hair as if to wipe away a sudden burst of sweat on his brow. "Can we really refuse?"


    "It¡¯s just a holy war," Olver said with a snort. "Don¡¯t get your knickers in a twist. A holy war isn¡¯t the same as a Crusade. If it were a Crusade, we would all be pressed into service by the Church, and we wouldn¡¯t be dealing with temporal lords like Lord Owain Lothian, we¡¯d be talking to an Inquisitor."


    "You¡¯d understand the difference if you went to a proper school," the weaponsmith added smugly. "How a lout like you made it to Master is beyond me."


    "Some of us worked our way up from the bottom," the carter shot back. "Not all of us were born into our guilds to be spoon fed and coddled until we inherited our guilds."


    "That¡¯s enough boys," Isabell said sharply. "I didn¡¯t come here to watch you squabble over who has the larger endowment," she said with a pointed look in the direction of their trousers. "But if you insist, as an engineer, I can fetch my tweezers to measure."


    "Ah-ah-hem, hem," Sebastian coughed loudly. "We were talking about the requests Lord Owain made of the Wayfinders," he said, trying to bring the conversation back on track. "Since this is a holy war, the Luminary will announce it to all the countries of the old world. Any man who wishes to fight will need passage to the Kingdom of Gaal. Lord Owain has asked that we restrict the transportation of arms, armor and horses to knights and above. Freemen will not be allowed to bring their own equipment for the war."


    "That explains his request to the Staunch Armorers and the Brotherhood of Armaments," Olver said, nodding when he heard Sebastian¡¯s explanation. "Clever, but cruel."


    "What?" Tiernan asked, not seeing anything clever about this. "Isn¡¯t he just trying to save money on passage by making them leave behind their arms and armor? He might be able to pack more men in a single ship that way but that¡¯s hardly clever or cruel."


    "No, it goes beyond that," Olver said, tapping on the table with a thick, strong finger. "Forcing a fighting man to sell his gear means he¡¯ll suffer a loss. Battle worn weapons and armor that have been fitted to one man will never sell for what they cost to acquire."


    "Lord Owain asked Master Paidi and I to bear the balance of equipping fighters who come over from the old countries," Olver explained. "He knows they won¡¯t be able to afford to replace what they lost, but he wants us to sell to them for what they can pay and let the Lothians carry the balance."


    "That is cruel," the iron monger agreed. "At war¡¯s end, they¡¯ll either have to pay their debts to the Lothians to keep their arms and armor or they¡¯ll have to forfeit it, filling the Lothian armories at a fraction of the cost."


    "Or he¡¯ll take them as bondsmen," Adrian said. The assessor might not have brought out an abacus to calculate but he¡¯d seen enough transactions like this to have a good idea of the sums involved. "At the end of the day, the Lothians will either grow their treasury, their armory, or their standing army."


    "But all of that depends on us to carry the debt," Tiernan pointed out. "Lord Owain is offering my Iron Mongers mining rights on Airgead Mountain in exchange for supplying the iron for arms and armor at a loss."


    "It¡¯s exactly as Lady Ashlynn said in her letters," Isabell said. "This war is a giant game of musical chairs, moving the debt from hand to hand on assurances that, when the music stops, the Lothians will be in possession of Airgead Mountain and able to pay back the monstrous debts that you would all incur to support the war."


    This had been the most shocking revelation contained in the letters that Ashlynn had sent to each of the guild masters. Lord Owain would arrive with a chest of rare jewels and precious metals taken from Airgead Mountain, but rather than offering each guild a chest as a downpayment for their support, the chest was a demonstration of the wealth that remained untapped on the mountain.


    That chest had been filled nearly two decades ago, the last time Bors Lothain waged war on the demons of Airgead Mountain. Almost everything he plundered from the demons in that bloody war had been spent in the years since then. The chest Owain was bringing was all that was left, and it was hardly enough to move one of the guilds, much less all of them.


    As merchants, they had seen this trick before. Some of them might even have resorted to it in desperate times. But none of them had expected the family of a Marquis to need to resort to such measures to gain their cooperation. When Ashlynn told them what she¡¯d learned from Sir Kaefin, it shocked the merchants to their core.


    "If it works, we all profit handsomely," Ruadhan said, staring at his plate full of delicacies without the appetite to eat any of it. "But if it fails, it could ruin us."


    "I don¡¯t think it¡¯s as bad as ruining any of you," Adrian said, performing some quick calculations. "But the loss would be devastating enough that no one in this room would still be a member of their guild at the end of it."


    "I wouldn¡¯t just lose my guild," Ruadhan said. "Carters are rough men who live on the road. They fight bandits and demons alike when they haul things to the frontier. You don¡¯t short a man like that on his pay or he and his mates will drag you behind a horse until the flesh is torn from your bones."


    "As you say," Sebastian agreed, his expression grim. "Wayfinders are no stranger to fending off the blades of pirates who would rob from them. If a captain is forced to sell his ship to cover debts he took on the guild¡¯s orders, he and his crew would string me up."


    A heavy silence descended over the dinner as everyone imagined their fate if the war were to fail, leaving them with ruinous debts. Worst of all, they all realized that while they would be ruined by a failure, the Lothians would still hold their positions as lords of the march.


    The king would never strip a family as powerful as theirs of their titles for something as petty as money. It would take a far greater crime for a nobleman to suffer simply because they incurred too great a debt in the war to purge demons from lands the kingdom wished to claim. And even if the king didn¡¯t support them, as long as it was a holy war, the Church would make it impossible to strip the Lothians of their assets to pay their debts.


    "Master Isabell," Adrian said, finally breaking the silence. "You have studied warfare more than any of us. How likely is it that the Lothians will win this war?"

 Chapter 83: Escaping the Trap

    Chapter 83: Escaping the Trap"I hesitate to say that I¡¯ve studied warfare," Isabell said, adjusting the spectacles on her nose. She had her own opinions of the situation and the information that Lady Ashlynn had sent her included a detailed assessment of the reasons that the Lothians had yet to win any of their wars against the demons arrayed against them.


    In her opinion, it would take a tremendous effort to come away with victory but she wasn¡¯t trusting enough of these men to go so far as to say that the demons couldn¡¯t be defeated. A whisper of that into the wrong ears and she would quickly find an Inquisitor on her doorstep.


    "I¡¯ve studied the construction of fortifications and the methods to demolish them," she said, carefully grounding her statement in her acknowledged area of expertise. "Still, that knowledge gives me some concerns given the information contained in Lady Ashlynn¡¯s letter."


    "According to Lady Ashlynn," the gray-haired woman continued. "Any attempt to purge the demons from Airgead Mountain without first eliminating the Demon Lady of the Vale will fail."


    "I thought that the Lothians always waged war around the height of summer to keep the vampires from disrupting things," Olver said with a frown. There were special weapons used to fight creatures of the night, but they were expensive to produce and Lord Owain hadn¡¯t made any mention of producing them for this war.


    "Isn¡¯t Airgead Mountain too far away from the Vale for the Vampires to reach it during the summer? I don¡¯t see why we would need to worry about them," the weaponsmith said.


    "You should worry about them because, according to Lady Ashlynn, the Vale of Mists is protected by several layers of curtain walls and terrain that is impassable to cavalry," Isabell said.


    "The advantage that gives their defenders is extraordinary, which means that they can almost send their entire army to trap an invading force between the defenders of Airgead and their own forces," she said. "I don¡¯t think I need to explain to you or Tiernan what happens when you put soft metal between a hammer and an anvil."


    "But everything that Lord Owain said in his letters talked of assaulting Airgead Mountain," Ruadhan said with a scowl. "He even asked if I had carts that could move swiftly to transport materials back to Lothian city."


    "He did, did he?" Tiernan said, scowling at the carter. "He asked me if I could supply men with expertise in smelting and how quickly we could break down ore for transportation." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I think I understand now," Sebastian said, looking at the dark faces around the room. "Lord Owain is clever, but I imagine he¡¯s following Marquis Bors¡¯s instructions in this. The Marquis wants us all to think about the riches to be had in conquering Airgead Mountain. He looks down on merchants like us," he said, resisting the urge to stand and pace while thinking things through.


    "He thinks we¡¯ll be so blinded by greed for the wealth of Airgead Mountain that we¡¯ll bankroll his war," the former captain said. "By the time the soldiers arrive in Lothian, it will be too late for us to object, we¡¯ll already be at sea."


    "That¡¯s when he¡¯ll turn his forces on the Vale of Mists," Isabell agreed. "And you¡¯ll need to bankroll all of the siege engines and other things he¡¯ll need in order to fight the vampires of the vale if you¡¯re going to have any hope of recouping your investment. Perhaps that¡¯s when he planned to approach me with an ¡¯opportunity¡¯ to gain access to a portion of the spoils from Airgead."


    "It¡¯s a shame Lady Blackwell is in delicate condition and unable to travel," Olver said with a heavy sigh. "I¡¯d rather deal with her than her husband. The Blackwells would never deal with us in such an underhanded way."


    "Count Rhys Blackwell is an honorary member of the Linemen isn¡¯t he?" Tiernan asked. "Do you think he¡¯d be willing to relinquish his post with them and accept a membership in one of our guilds to represent us in handling the Lothians?"


    "Impossible," Sebastian said. "Blackwell city would starve in three months without the support of the Linemen and their fisheries. If Jocelynn had married into one of our guilds there might be a chance, but since the count has no male heir and Lady Ashlynn is already married off to the Lothians, I¡¯m told that the Count is looking for a suitable nobleman who can succeed the Blackwell name."


    The old captain worked hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice but from the looks he received around the table, everyone already knew how frustrated he was that his attempts to arrange a marriage between his son Myles and Lady Jocelynn had met in failure.


    Only he knew, however, that it was Jocelynn who refused any matchmaking inquiries that came from men of common birth, no matter how great their wealth or accomplishments were. It was a bitter insult to swallow from a teenage girl but one he had no choice but to accept.


    "Gentlemen," Isabell said, a smile forming on her thin lips. "A fortress is more than just a curtain wall. It¡¯s the trench before the wall, the portcullis at the gates, the watch towers, and the archers atop the wall."


    "If you wish to scale a wall, a ladder will do," she said. "If you want to breach a gate, a ram will knock it down. But taken together, the ram must weather the fire of archers and cross the trenches before it can even touch the gate. We¡¯ve already taken the first step to countering the Lothain¡¯s efforts."


    "Lord Owain tried to keep us separate for a reason," Ruadhan said, standing up from his chair in excitement. "But Lady Ashlynn brought us together to form a fortress," he said, looking at Isabell with a wide grin. He¡¯d never given much thought to what it must have taken for a woman to become the first among all the master engineers in her Illustrious Company but now he was beginning to see that it was no accident or act of nepotism.


    "Gentlemen," Isabell said, her smile turning predatory. "Going forward, I propose that we only meet with Lord Owain as a group. Alone, he can use our ignorance against us. Together, however, it will be much harder to take advantage of us. What say you?"


    Sebastian was the first to stand in favor of her proposal but everyone else quickly followed. They still had much to discuss and many details to resolve but none of them wished to be trampled beneath the Lothian¡¯s ambition. Alone, it would have been difficult to resist the powerful family, but together, there was much that they could do.


    As the discussions continued deep into the night, they began to gain more and more confidence that they would be able to turn the tide in their dealings with the Lothians. There was no way to avoid involvement in the war, but they finally began to see opportunities to profit from it if they could bring the young Lothian lord to heel and work at a more reasonable pace instead of rushing into a campaign that began next spring.


    Victory was never assured in business or in war, but now they at least had a fighting chance. And everyone among them realized that they had Ashlynn Blackwell to thank for it.


    Several hours later, Isabell slumped into the soft cushions of her carriage as her coachman navigated the dark and narrow streets of Blackwell City. At this hour, many of the lamps hung by the common folk had already burned out for the night and only the business owners who could afford to do so still kept the lamps lit outside their storefronts.


    The darkness, however, suited Isabell¡¯s mood as she realized how unique her letter from Ashlynn had been.


    ~My husband is not to be trusted around women and neither are his knights. Do not meet with him alone. News of Sir Kaefin¡¯s death may reach you soon. Had he kept his hands to himself, he would still be alive. If, as I expect, you become my husband¡¯s ally in this war, please watch over my sister. She may need a safe place to hide or a tunnel to escape at a time I will be unable to protect her.~


    Isabell frowned as she contemplated Lady Ashlynn¡¯s words. At her age, she¡¯d long ago passed the time in her life when young men leered at her openly or otherwise, but she had worked hard to elevate other women with sharp minds to the position of Master Engineer. When the time came, she would have to be careful in the instructions she gave to her engineers.


    The second part, however, was even more concerning.


    "Lady Ashlynn," she whispered, staring out the window at the crescent moon. "What is happening in Lothian March that you would say such things? And if your sister will need help to escape, why not ask for yourself as well? Or is it already too late...?"


    The night sky held no answers, but that night when she returned home, Isabell knelt in prayer for the first time in many years. She only hoped that the Holy Lord of Light could find someone to keep Ashlynn safe from whatever danger she was in.

 Chapter 84: Journey Begins

    Chapter 84: Journey BeginsThe final days until the new moon passed in what felt like the blink of an eye and before Ashlynn knew it, she was packing away her few possessions for the trip and preparing to leave the Vale of Mists behind for what could be several months.


    "Is there anything else you wanted to bring, my Lady?" Heila asked, standing patiently nearby while Ashlynn surveyed the room that had only begun to feel like home. On the terrace, the flowers she¡¯d brought up from the gardens had only just begun to bloom and she wouldn¡¯t be present to see them in all their glory. The simple table where she¡¯d taken so many of her meals with Nyrielle would have to keep them company until she returned.


    "I think I¡¯m already bringing quite a bit," Ashlynn admitted. While it was true that she had far more luggage when she moved from Blackwell County to Lothian March ahead of her marriage to Owain, this time, her packing was considerably more diverse.


    She only brought three of her fine dresses, along with one common skirt and blouse. For a young lady traveling, it should have been plenty, but it wasn¡¯t enough for her. Not anymore.


    Now, next to the satin and velvet dresses she also packed breeches and a loose tunic along with what she¡¯d come to think of as her fighting boots, sword belt and the heavy darksteel falchion that had begun to feel as familiar in her hand as a pen.


    "Sir Thane said he would have your armor loaded into the carriage as well," Heila said when she noticed Ashlynn¡¯s eyes pausing on her sword belt. "Just in case."


    "Just in case," Ashlynn repeated with a light chuckle. "I¡¯m stalling," she said, picking up the sword belt and slipping the heavy weapon on over her dark chocolate-colored traveling dress. In the mirror, she thought her reflection looked like a strange blend between a noblewoman and a knight, with her tightly braided hair and a lack of elaborate jewelry.


    "I wonder if Thane¡¯s sister would have approved," she said quietly. The more she learned from the former knight, the more she admired the sister he spoke of so often. To master a sword without any of the gifts Nyrielle bestowed on her must have taken incredible dedication.


    "I¡¯m sure she would have been delighted to have your company," Heila said, picking up the last of Ashlynn¡¯s luggage, a case containing her journal, writing supplies, and the book Nyrielle had written for her to study the basics of sorcery.


    At this point, there was little in the book that Ashlynn didn¡¯t understand but she still returned to it as a reference whenever she found herself uncertain about how to proceed.


    "I¡¯ll be back before the pass freezes," Ashlynn promised her room before resolutely turning away and following Heila down to the courtyard where the carriages were being prepared for the first leg of their journey.


    While Nyrielle and her progeny could reach almost any place in the Vale of Mists in a single evening, a journey of this length required significantly more preparation and support from Nyrielle¡¯s household.


    Captain Lennart led ten men as Nyrielle¡¯s personal honor guard for the trip. All of them were familiar faces who had accompanied him during Ashlynn¡¯s mission to the Summer Villa. Only Harrod stayed behind to continue training with Ollie as the former kitchen boy worked to become a capable warrior.


    "I¡¯m going to miss you," the young man said awkwardly when Ashlynn reached the small group of people who had come to say farewell. "I wish I could go with you."


    "No you don¡¯t," Ashlynn said, stepping forward to give the awkward young man a hug. "Traveling for days by carriage is exhausting and dull, and you¡¯re not ready to defend yourself if you get in trouble. Next year," she promised, pulling back from the hug. "If Thane says that you¡¯re ready, then we can consider visiting Eldritch cities together next year."


    "I¡¯ll whip him into shape," Thane promised, stepping in to collect a hug from Ashlynn. "You don¡¯t have to worry about him."


    "Keep an eye on him," Ashlynn said, sinking into Thane¡¯s strong embrace and holding him for longer than her mother would have considered appropriate with a man she wasn¡¯t romantically involved with. Ashlynn, however, couldn¡¯t think of Thane as anything other than the older brother she never had.


    He¡¯d become an unshakable pillar of support for her in the Vale of Mists and she hated that he had to stay behind. In Nyrielle¡¯s absence, however, Thane became the highest authority in the vale. In the future, that responsibility would fall to Ashlynn so long as she wasn¡¯t also away, but for now, it was a familiar duty that Thane assumed without hesitation.


    "Keep an eye on the captives too," Ashlynn said, pulling back from the embrace. "Daithi seems sincere in his desire to start a new life in the vale. If he seems trustable, I wouldn¡¯t mind Marcel bringing his family here as an example to inspire the others." S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You don¡¯t feel the same way about Eamon?" Thane said with an eyebrow raised. The twinkle in his amber eyes said he had his own opinion but he was testing Ashlynn to see if she shared it or disagreed.


    "He¡¯s too eager," Ashlynn said with a shake of her head. "He reminds me of the merchants who came before my father with grand promises and never said they couldn¡¯t do something even when everyone knew it was impossible. I don¡¯t know why he¡¯s doing it but maybe you can figure it out before I get back."


    "I¡¯ll hand him over to our own hunters," Thane promised, a proud smile forming on his lips. "He can work for his keep for a while and if he can¡¯t work beside the Horned Clan¡¯s hunters then he¡¯ll have no future here anyway."


    "You would have done that whether I said anything or not, wouldn¡¯t you?" Ashlynn pouted. "Then I won¡¯t waste any more words on you," she said, turning to the last person in line. "Georg, you didn¡¯t have to bring a parting gift," she said, eying the oversized basket held gently in the bearish man¡¯s paws.


    "Nonsense," the castle chef said, kneeling in front of Ashlynn to pull the cloth off the basket and reveal the layers of baked treats beneath it. "The left side is savory, spinach and cheese puffs, sausage rolls, and onion fritters," he said, pointing at each of the treats in turn.


    "The right side are sweet treats, berry tarts, honey cakes, and on top are the cream puffs. You and Lady Nyrielle should enjoy those soon, the rest will keep for a day or two longer," he said as though the greatest tragedy he could imagine was for some of his confections to spoil before the two ladies of the castle could enjoy them.


    "Georg," Ashlynn said, taking the basket and setting it aside to give him a fierce hug. Many people had worked hard to care for Ashlynn since she came to the Vale of Mists but Georg had made it his mission to help her transform it from a place she lived into a place she could call home.


    Whether it was attempting to recreate recipes from her hometown or finding new delights that could only be found in the misty atmosphere of the vale, he¡¯d done more than she would ever have asked for to make her feel not only cared for but like an active participant in making this place her new home.


    "Come back soon," the bearish man said, gently patting her back with a giant paw while he blinked back the mist forming in his eyes. He¡¯d served Lady Nyrielle for as long as he¡¯d been old enough to work in the kitchens but only Ashlynn had come into his domain to work alongside him and learn firsthand just how much effort he spent to delight the people he cooked for.


    Now, just when he had come to find joy in her presence in his kitchens, she was leaving again, only this time it would be for much longer than her trip to the summer villa. Silently, he promised to spend the next several months preparing new dishes for her. Perhaps he could find a way for Marcell to bring some pickled fish from Blackwell County all the way to the vale...


    As Georg¡¯s mind turned to the future and the new dishes he would experiment on, Ashlynn gave a last wave to her newfound family before climbing the steps into the carriage where Nyrielle was waiting for her.


    Just under two months ago, this carriage had brought Nyrielle into her life, swooping in like a dark raven and snatching her back from the edge of death. Now, it would carry her deeper into Eldritch territory than any human had ever gone where she hoped to find the guidance she needed to unlock the real power of her witchcraft.


    "Done saying goodbye?" Nyrielle asked lightly as Ashlynn entered the carriage carrying Georg¡¯s basket of goodies.


    "Thank you for giving me the time," Ashlynn said, taking her seat next to the vampire and falling into the other woman¡¯s cool embrace. "I didn¡¯t think it would become home so quickly or that it would be so hard to leave after just a few months."


    "No matter how the Mother of Thorns treats you, you¡¯re not allowed to think that way about her abode when I come to bring you back home," Nyrielle teased, pinching Ashlynn¡¯s ribs and provoking a squeal in response.


    "Home is where you are," Ashlynn insisted, snuggling closer to Nyrielle. "No matter how much I learn from the Mother of Thorns, she can only be my teacher. Only you can be my lover."


    "Good that you know," Nyrielle said, smiling with a hint of fangs showing at the corners of her lips. "Now, we have several hours before we reach Orava," Nyrielle said, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "How would you like to pass the time?"

 Chapter 85: Traveling With A Vampire

    Chapter 85: Traveling With A Vampire"How would you like to pass the time?"


    As soon as Nyrielle spoke the words, Ashlynn¡¯s pulse quickened and her breath caught. For the past several days, Nyrielle had collected her from her training each day to bathe with her before sunrise. Several times, she¡¯d felt Nyrielle holding herself back from feeding on her because if she did, Ashlynn would lose the last days of her blossoming period.


    Now that the period of rapid growth had ended though, there was nothing to hold her back. More than that, however, Ashlynn herself had come to miss the feelings that coursed through her body and melted her mind when Nyrielle sank her fangs into her tender flesh.


    "You¡¯ve been holding back," Ashlynn said, pulling her pale golden hair away from her neck. "You don¡¯t have to hold back anymore," she said, her voice trembling slightly in anticipation and eagerness.


    The single lantern in the carriage cast deep, inky shadows that danced flowed across Ashlynn¡¯s pale flesh like water, offering enticing glimpses of the deep valley of cleavage beneath her slender neck while the soft golden glow of the lantern light highlighted her full and supple curves.


    The simple, earthy brown of Ashlynn¡¯s dress spilled over her body like a decadent sauce over a savory morsel, tantalizing and tempting Nyrielle until her fangs began to show and her heartbeat quickened at the tantalizing sight of Ashlynn offering herself up for Nyrielle to feed.


    "Come here," Nyrielle said, a hint of power spilling from her lips as her midnight eyes darkened. She reached out and traced a sharply pointed nail along Ashlynn¡¯s neck until she reached the point of her chin, pulling the young witch forward until their lips met.


    For a moment, a sharp pain flared in Ashlynn¡¯s lower lip as Nyrielle gently pierced her skin, releasing a thin rivulet of coppery blood into their mouths as their tongues danced over each other. The kiss sent shivers all the way down Ashlynn¡¯s body until her toes curled in her soft shoes and her arms lost the strength to prop her up as she leaned into the kiss.


    Pulling Ashlynn fully into her lap, Nyrielle¡¯s fingers gently caressed the young witch¡¯s sides, tracing up to her full bust before cupping her face and holding her in the kiss as she drank from Ashlynn¡¯s lips like a drowning woman.


    How long the kiss lasted, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t say. Long enough for her body to tingle and her face to grow flush, but short enough that when Nyrielle pulled back she found herself almost lunging after her, eager for more.


    "Ah, ah," Nyrielle chided, placing a slender finger on Ashlynn¡¯s swollen lips. "Just a taste. That¡¯s all I can allow myself on this trip. You¡¯re too intoxicating my dear," she said with a twinkle in her dark, midnight blue eyes. "Any more and you¡¯ll be too weak to face the dangers ahead."


    "Is the trip really going to be that dangerous?" Ashlynn asked, wrapping her arms around the vampire¡¯s slender waist. As much as she wanted to pout about how brief the kiss felt, she could feel a familiar coolness settling over Nyrielle when she mentioned dangers ahead.


    "There are only a few weeks of spring left," Nyrielle began, looking out the window of the carriage as the dark forest of the vale sped by in the night. "The nights are growing very short."


    Within the vale, the horses were familiar enough with the ancient roadway to travel at night, and Zedya¡¯s excellent night vision allowed her to lead the train of carriages and wagons toward the border of the vale.


    Once they reached Orava, the village at the edge of territory claimed by the Vale of Mists, Nyrielle and Zedya would retreat to a pair of secured boxes lined with thin sheets of darksteel that locked from the inside. To Ashlynn, they resembled coffins, but Nyrielle referred to them as ¡¯daybeds¡¯ and claimed they were a necessity when traveling far from home.


    As much as Ashlynn had hoped to spend some time in a village that was mostly populated by members of the Clan of the Great Claw, they would only be staying long enough to swap our horses and drivers before they headed further up the mountain and into the pass.


    "Do you expect trouble on the road?" Ashlynn asked, looking into the other woman¡¯s eyes from a few inches away.


    "Not on the road, no," Nyrielle said, turning away from the window to meet Ashlynn¡¯s gaze. "Lord Ritchel and I have a long standing agreement to secure the road between our territories. There are way stations along the way where we can stop to rest the horses."


    "As the snows descend the mountain, Lord Ritchel¡¯s men take over responsibility for the way stations, though travel through the winter storms is limited. As the snow melts, our people take over. Now, all but the final way station on our journey are under the control of the Vale of Mists."


    "If his men were in charge, would we need to guard ourselves against them?" Ashlynn asked. In the kingdom, any way station along the highways would be the responsibility of the local lord but the king¡¯s law was supposed to protect travelers, even when they were passing through the territories of their most bitter rivals.


    Now, however, Ashlynn had to remind herself that even though both Nyrielle and Ritchel were Eldritch Lords, they didn¡¯t belong to a single kingdom. Any agreements between them were agreements between sovereigns and they were effectively preparing to visit a foreign country. If that country turned hostile, attacking travelers might be seen as a valid tactic.


    "It depends," Nyrielle said. "Ritchel is getting old. He¡¯s training his son, Hauke, as his successor but there are a number of contenders buzzing around who might want to prove themselves by causing trouble."


    "Now that it¡¯s almost summer, there¡¯s an awkward balance between Ritchel and I," Nyrielle admitted. "The Frost Walkers are at their weakest during the warm summer months, but I¡¯m also the most limited by daylight."


    "That¡¯s why he¡¯s willing to let you pass through his territory, even though he¡¯s weakened by the warming days," Ashlynn realized. "If you did fight, he would only have to wait you out in order to claim victory."


    "Exactly," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a gentle squeeze along with a smile that concealed her fangs. "But just because he doesn¡¯t want a fight, doesn¡¯t mean he won¡¯t test me. Or, more accurately, doesn¡¯t mean he won¡¯t let Hauke or one of Hauke¡¯s rivals test you," she said, poking Ashlynn¡¯s full bust gently with a finger.


    "Should I be worried?" Ashlynn asked. Thane had mentioned on several occasions that she might have to fight with the representatives of other Eldritch Lords but she hadn¡¯t expected to do so on her way out of the Vale of Mists. She¡¯d only been Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal for two months and it felt far too soon to take on such heavy responsibilities. "Won¡¯t they go after Zedya instead?"


    "Unlikely," Nyrielle said with a shake of her head. "Zedya has long established her power and the Frost Walkers aren¡¯t well suited to counter it. You¡¯re the new element that everyone is going to be curious about."


    "How would you like me to handle a challenge?" Ashlynn asked, looking across the carriage at the place she¡¯d set her sword. The idea that she might have to fight made her nervous, but after so many evenings spent training with Thane, and particularly after her duel with Broll, she wasn¡¯t as hesitant about fighting as she would have been two months ago.


    "It depends on who challenges you and why," Nyrielle said. "You should be prepared for someone to test you. How would you handle it if Hauke came after you?" Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    While Nyrielle had her own ideas about handling things, at the moment, she wanted to hear Ashlynn¡¯s thoughts on how to handle things. She might not say it aloud, but one of the concerns that weighed most heavily on her wasn¡¯t that Nyrielle would be challenged, but that someone would do it during daylight hours when she was unable to do anything to help.


    Since that was a very real possibility, she needed to know how Ashlynn would handle herself if there was no one else she could turn to for guidance.


    For several minutes, Ashlynn sat in silence, considering Nyrielle¡¯s question. The only sounds in the carriage were the clattering of horse¡¯s hooves on the ancient stone roadway and the creak of the carriage on its springs as it rolled through the night.


    Nyrielle¡¯s question wasn¡¯t that different from the questions her father asked when she was preparing herself to become Owain¡¯s wife. As the Count of Blackwell County, Rhys Blackwell often handled disputes between powerful factions, whether they were the merchant guilds or his subordinate barons and knights.


    This, however, was different. The Eldritch respected strength far more than wealth. Finding ways to balance the scales with trade agreements, concessions of territory or payments of gold wouldn¡¯t just struggle to gain acceptance, they would mark her as a human trying to resolve things the human way.


    If she wanted to present real solutions, they would have to be ones that the Eldritch could accept. Finally, after several moments of quiet contemplation, she turned her emerald gaze back to Nyrielle and drew a deep breath.


    "I think there¡¯s only one way to handle Hauke," she said firmly. "Will you tell me if I¡¯m wrong?"

 Chapter 86: Clever Ashlynn

    Chapter 86: Clever AshlynnNyrielle smiled in the dancing shadows cast by the swaying lantern in the carriage as Ashlynn began to share her perspective on handling Lord Ritchel¡¯s nation in general and Hauke in particular.


    When Nyrielle initially made the decision to bind the young witch as her Seneschal, she knew little about what sort of woman Ashlynn was. She¡¯d gone to Lothian City in the hopes of taking a look at Owain Lothian¡¯s new bride, though the presence of the High Priest made it impossible to get close during the late-night feast.


    She¡¯d never expected to learn that the woman Owain was marrying bore the mark of the witch, nor that he would attempt to kill her as soon as he discovered it. When she finally found Ashlynn, hours later, beaten, cold, and shivering in the dark of a rainstorm, she hadn¡¯t hesitated to seize the opportunity to bind a child of the earth to herself as tightly as she could.


    At the time, she assumed that it would take years for Ashlynn¡¯s powers to blossom and maybe just as long to give her the instruction she needed to act as a Seneschal within the Vale of Mists and beyond. Perhaps it was because she¡¯d seen few extraordinary women among the noble houses in Lothian March, but she didn¡¯t have high expectations for Ashlynn in the beginning.


    It quickly became obvious that her darling Ashlynn was cut from a different cloth. Now, as Nyrielle listened to the young witch¡¯s confident voice, she found herself nodding along with many of Ashlynn¡¯s assumptions.


    The training Ashlyn received from her father was clear as she counted off her assumptions. First, she assumed that Nyrielle was content with her relationship with Lord Ritchel and further, that she supported Hauke as the next Eldritch Lord of the High Pass. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Second, she assumed that Nyrielle didn¡¯t want to suffer a loss, however she was tested. Finally, she assumed that There was a reason that Rtichel wanted Hauke to succeed him but that Hauke himself wasn¡¯t the strongest person among the Frost Walkers who were currently contending to be the next Eldritch Lord of the High Pass.


    "Correct on all counts," Nyrielle said with a pleased smile. "The Frost Walker clan are almost natural born ice sorcerers, but they aren¡¯t all equally gifted. Much like there are different marks of the witch that can tell you about a witch¡¯s power, there are differences in the horns of Frost Walkers that can help you gauge their potential."


    "So Hauke has potential, but he¡¯s like me, still learning to use his powers," Ashlynn said, nodding in understanding. "That gives him an excuse to lose because people will be understanding that he¡¯s still growing."


    "He¡¯s still growing," Nyrielle acknowledged. "And he¡¯s younger than you are by four years, but unlike you, he¡¯s been taught how to use his powers from a young age. How will you overpower him?"


    "By limiting the field," Ashlynn said confidently. "I need to draw him into a contest that I can win, but it should be one that leaves the question of comprehensive strength open. The worst thing would be to fight a duel to submission."


    "If I force him to submit to me then it will be a mark of shame that he¡¯ll need to blot away," the young witch continued. Years ago, when she¡¯d asked her father why the previous master of the Fellowship of Wayfinders threw good money after bad, backing increasingly risky ventures, her father had explained that it was difficult to erase the shame of a humiliating failure through years of steady work.


    Pressured by rivals within the Fellowship of Wayfinders and driven by the desire to blot away the shame of failure, the guild master had engaged in a series of increasingly risky ventures in the northern sea. Each subsequent failure had added to his burden and shame until he felt so pressured that he hung himself.


    Her father had warned her that at times, it was more important to help someone salvage their pride than to do the ¡¯right thing,¡¯ and that a victory that damaged a person¡¯s pride too deeply, even if it didn¡¯t harm them very much, could open the door to disasters that neither side could afford.


    "I need to find a way to win while also suggesting that he would defeat me in other contests," Ashlynn said. "If I can achieve a narrow victory or a small one, it protects your reputation and the strength of the Vale of Mists but it doesn¡¯t create a mark of shame that Hauke has to resort to desperate acts to erase."


    "Do you have a contest in mind that you believe you can win?" Nyrielle asked, raising a brow at the young witch. As a matter of political strategy, she was willing to give Ashlynn high marks for her observations and general strategy. Accomplishing what she said, however, was much more difficult than simply saying it.


    "Not yet," Ashlynn admitted, deflating slightly. She¡¯d talked to Thane about fighting the Frost Walkers and the things he shared were more than a little intimidating. She wasn¡¯t without opportunities but seizing them would prove incredibly difficult. "As long as I¡¯m headed in the right direction though, I¡¯m sure I can figure something out."


    "My darling Ashlynn is so gentle," Nyrielle said, softly stroking Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde hair and admiring her features in the warm glow of the lantern. "But kindness to your enemies and rivals can become cruelty to yourself. You have other options you¡¯re not exploring."


    As Nyrielle gazed at Ashlynn, she searched her lover¡¯s eyes for a hint of understanding or a trace of the darkness that came from doing what needed to be done in order to survive and reap the lives of the ones who had wronged her.


    Unfortunately, it seemed like she underestimated the impact of recent events on Ashlynn¡¯s mindset. Despite her growing awareness that her vengeance against the Lothians would consume the lives of many who served them and that it would also risk the lives of the people of the Vale of Mists, she was still fighting hard to find ways to limit the collateral damage.


    Perhaps that was a good thing and perhaps it wasn¡¯t, Nyrielle couldn¡¯t say for sure. The only thing she could say was that until Ashlynn understood the darker paths, she would be trapped by convictions that her enemies didn¡¯t hold.


    It was fine if Ashlynn chose to avoid the darker roads that led to her objectives, but if she wasn¡¯t willing to walk them in times of need, if she couldn¡¯t acknowledge that some darkness might be necessary to protect the light, then she might not survive her time in Eldritch lands, to say nothing of reaching her objective and claiming her vengeance.

 Chapter 87: Ruthless Nyrielle

    Chapter 87: Ruthless Nyrielle "What am I missing?" Ashlynn asked, looking into the vampire¡¯s midnight blue eyes. She was afraid she¡¯d see disappointment there but instead she found a hint of... amusement? "You don¡¯t need to fight Hauke at all," Nyrielle said, her voice losing its warmth and gaining a faint edge. "Destroy someone else, perhaps one of his rivals. Find an excuse to do it preemptively. The difficulty is more or less the same but your harvest will be much greater."


    "But you asked me what to do if Hauke is the one testing me," Ashlynn asked, confused about why Nyrielle would mention a proactive attack.


    "Yes, but no one ever said he would come at you directly," Nyrielle said, shaking her head. "You¡¯ve seen human noblemen and merchants scheme against each other in all manner of subtle ways. Don¡¯t think that the Eldritch won¡¯t scheme against you simply because we value contests of strength."


    "But if the test is coming from Hauke and I strike out at someone who is blameless..." Ashlynn started, only to be silenced by a finger placed gently on her lips.


    "No one who desires the power to rule is blameless," the vampire said, all emotion draining away from her face, leaving her cold and expressionless. "When you rule, you must see a wider world. Anyone who opposes Eldritch Lord Ritchel is a valid target when your goal is, as you said, to protect the favorable relationship between the Vale of Mists and the High Pass."


    "If you crush one of Hauke¡¯s rivals, eliminating him from the board," Nyrielle continued. "You are selling a favor to both Hauke and Lord Ritchel."


    Ashlynn¡¯s brows lowered, furrowed in thought as she considered the implications of Nyrielle¡¯s approach. She could prove her strength, eliminate a rival for Hauke, and send a loud signal that the Vale of Mists supported Ritchel¡¯s chosen successor. All of these things were positive outcomes.


    Achieving it, however, would mean attacking someone who had done nothing to draw her ire. While Nyrielle said that no one who desired the power to rule was blameless, Ashlynn struggled to see it the same way.


    Thane taught her that the Eldritch placed the strongest member of their nations on a throne and with that throne came the obligation to protect and support their people. If a person felt they would be a better protector for the High Pass than Hauke would, shouldn¡¯t that be respected as long as they had the ability to do so?


    "How many rivals does Hauke have?" Ashlynn asked, trying to read anything from Nyrielle¡¯s cold, expressionless mask.


    "Are you hoping one of them will have flaws that make them feel more palatable for you to target?" Nyrielle asked, a hint of disapproval coloring her unusually cold voice. "Perhaps you¡¯re hoping one of them will resemble Sir Kaefin?"


    "There are frequently people who have done wrong but escape punishment because of their power," Ashlynn said, pulling back from Nyrielle. "Aren¡¯t those the best people to eliminate before they can make more trouble? I, I don¡¯t think I would mind acting as a borrowed knife if I could also help eliminate someone who was troublesome for Eldritch Lord Ritchel."


    "I¡¯m sure that would be ideal," Nyrielle said, sinking into the shadows and turning her gaze to the trees of the forest whipping by outside the window. "But we don¡¯t always get to choose the people we use to send a message. Think about it, my darling."


    "If the world had to burn for you and I to live, could you strike the match?" Nyrielle asked. "You have spent your time since coming to the vale learning how to use the powers you¡¯ve gained from our pact. Now that you have that power, it¡¯s time you give more thought to how you will wield it."


    "Burn the world..." Ashlynn whispered softly, the words catching in her throat. A chill ran down her spine, and she shivered despite the warmth of the carriage. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her dress tightly as her mind conjured visions of places like Blackwell City or the Vale of Mists vanishing in a sea of flames.


    Taking a steadying breath, she stared at Nyrielle¡¯s pale silhouette against the darkness outside the window. At the moment, the vampire¡¯s otherworldly stillness felt more apparent and unsettling than ever before. Ashlynn¡¯s heart quickened, its rapid beating falling out of sync with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest.


    Ashlyn swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry, as she wondered what had happened for Nyrielle to propose such a grim notion without even the slightest flutter in her heartbeat. Despite the grave images her words conjured, Nyrielle still looked as calm and coolly collected as ever.


    Had there been a time when her mistress held herself back and suffered a loss for it? After Cellach Lothian burned her parents at the stake, had there been a measure of guilt that drove Nyrielle¡¯s brutal vengeance beyond her hatred for the man who murdered her only family?


    Ever since coming to the Vale of Mists, Ashlynn felt more and more comfortable with her relationship with Nyrielle. They took meals together, bathed together, practiced sorcery, and more. But, now that she thought about it, she was reminded of how much older than her the ancient vampire really was, and how little they¡¯d talked about either of their lives before Ashlynn came to the vale.


    Two months was far too short of a time to truly know a person who lived as long as Nyrielle had yet somewhere in the soft caresses and intoxicating bites, she¡¯d forgotten just how different Nyrielle was and that some of those differences could be... frightening.


    "You have time to think about things," Nyrielle said, misinterpreting the pensive silence that radiated from Ashlynn. "A few days before we arrive in the High Pass at least. Use it to think about what you¡¯ll fight for when it isn¡¯t personal."


    "Yes, Mistress," Ashlynn said, taking it as instruction from the Lady of the Vale instead of advice from her lover. It still wasn¡¯t comfortable advice, but it made it easier to stomach if she didn¡¯t think about her lover suggesting they might need to burn down the world to protect each other.


    When she thought about it as a question from her lover, it provoked too many questions she hadn¡¯t resolved for herself yet. Just how much would she sacrifice for the love she¡¯d never expected to find? And, more than that, if she really did have to sacrifice other people she loved to protect her life with Nyrielle, would she be able to live with herself afterward?


    She didn¡¯t have answers and she hoped that she would never have to put the question to the test, but a cold pit of dread settled into her stomach as she turned her gaze to the other window and thought about Nyrielle¡¯s words.


    The High Pass would come with tests, that much she was sure of, she just hoped it was nothing as serious as Nyrielle implied.


    S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 88: Bearing Burdens

    Chapter 88: Bearing BurdensThe ancient roadway snaked past the headwaters of the River Luath before becoming a steep climb toward the western most edge of the vale. Zedya pushed the horses hard in the dark of night to ensure that they arrived at Orava just as the stars began to fade into the lightening sky.


    "My darling," Nyrielle said, gently cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face with both hands before she exited the carriage. "I know I¡¯ve given you much to think about, but always remember one thing. You and I will always have each other. I can feel your heartbeat," she said, placing her fingers gently on the lace that stretched across her pale bosom.


    "And I can feel yours," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and relaxing into Nyrielle¡¯s touch as she placed a hand on the swell of her full bust. "You should go, the sun is rising."


    When Nyrielle left the carriage, she moved so swiftly and gracefully that Ashlynn didn¡¯t even feel the carriage shift on its springs. One moment, Nyrielle was there, her cool fingers cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face and the next, she was gone, vanishing like smoke on the morning breeze, leaving behind only the ghost of a touch on Ashlynn¡¯s skin and the faint scent of lavender soap.


    By the time the carriage started rolling again, Ashlynn turned her attention to the view outside as early morning light spilled over the neighboring hills.


    Georg had told her that the Clan of the Great Claw preferred communal living to the individual family dwellings that the Horned Clan preferred, but it wasn¡¯t until she saw Orava Village that she realized what ¡¯communal¡¯ meant to the bearish clan.


    Longhouses built from an arch of tree trunks radiated out from the center of the village like the spokes of a wheel, bridging the space between the village square at the center and the wooden perimeter wall. In between the longhouses, neatly tended gardens boasted a variety of early spring vegetables along with a wide variety of vegetables that would be ready for harvest later in the year.


    Each longhouse was large enough to house twenty to thirty people, despite the fact that most families in the Clan of the Great Claw were small with only two or three children born to each couple.


    As much as she wanted to get out of the carriage to meet with the villagers, however, Captain Lennart and the servants who had come for the journey moved swiftly to change out their horses for ones that had been prepared in advance to take over from here. In less than a quarter of an hour, the carriage departed through the gate opposite the one they¡¯d entered from. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Officially, the village marked the edge of the Vale of Mist¡¯s territory though the High Pass didn¡¯t claim all land on the opposite side of the border. Instead, they entered a form of no-man¡¯s land that neither Eldritch Lord saw any reason to claim.


    To Ashlynn, it became immediately apparent why the Vale of Mists extended no further. Once they left Orava village, the trees rapidly thinned until they reached a point where nothing other than hardy grasses and the occasional wild flower grew. The air around them was thin and chill and large drifts of snow still clung to the shady areas despite summer¡¯s rapid approach.


    The clatter of horses hooves and the creak of the wagons echoed off the bare rock of the surrounding hillsides and the higher they climbed into the mountain pass, the brighter the morning light felt, as though they were nearing the sun itself without feeling any of its warmth.


    Drawing the heavy curtains closed, Ashlynn retrieved a fur trimmed blanket and wrapped it around herself for warmth. It wasn¡¯t just the cold air outside, but her conversation with Nyrielle had left a chill in her heart that a few moments of gentle touch couldn¡¯t entirely drive away.


    Reaching into the basket Georg had given her, Ashlynn took a flakey, buttery pastry and began nibbling while she tried to sort out her feelings about the challenges ahead.


    Despite all the time she¡¯d spent training with Thane, her experience with real combat was next to non-existent. Kaefin, for all of his attempts to overpower her, had been a soft man who relied on his title to bully those who were weaker than him.


    She¡¯d defeated Sir Broll in what looked like fair combat but Thane made sure she understood afterward just how much stripping a knight of his armor placed the other man at a disadvantage. Broll¡¯s aggressive fighting style and his heavy ax both relied on having armor that could deflect glancing blows or less threatening attacks while he focused on cleaving apart his opponents. Stripping him of his armor in the name of ¡¯fairness¡¯ was the same as forcing him to fight with an arm behind his back.


    If she were to face Broll again today, she felt that he wouldn¡¯t be her match even if they both wore armor, but the Eldritch were an entirely different matter. In a fight, common wisdom said that humans needed to outnumber the Eldritch at least three to one, if not five to one, in order to have a chance of victory.


    Population played a significant factor in how the two sides fought their wars but it went beyond that. The Lothians, and in fact, many human noblemen, were willing to expend the lives of scores of commoners if it would allow them to secure a victory.


    So long as casualties among the knights and other landed nobility were kept to a minimum and there were sufficient commoners to support their liege lord in peacetime, they were willing to spend the lives of foot soldiers like coins if it could buy them territory or the recognition of the king.


    The Eldritch, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t engage in a war of attrition. As much as Nyrielle sounded cold and calculating, she fought ruthlessly to preserve the lives of her people. As a military matter, one fallen soldier was a loss of three to five human soldiers worth of strength, but it went beyond that for Nyrielle.


    Fetching a sweeter pastry after finishing the savory one, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but remember how Nyrielle had first described Georg to her. She¡¯d known him since he was a cub. She¡¯d known his father, his grandfather and several generations of his ancestors before that. She was like that for many of the people of the vale. Losing any of them must cut more deeply than Ashlynn could imagine.


    If it didn¡¯t hurt to risk her people, Nyrielle would have stormed the outlying barons long ago. In the winter months, both the Clan of the Great Claw and the Horned Clan had a tremendous advantage in moving through heavy snow and fighting in the darkness after sunset.


    But Nyrielle hadn¡¯t waged those offensive wars. She¡¯d built layer after layer of curtain wall in the Vale, fortifying their defenses and making their home unassailable to all but the fiercest sieges. Meanwhile, she and her progeny bore the responsibility for helping the neighboring Eldritch Lords in their fight against the Lothians.


    "She¡¯s cold and ruthless with herself, but kind and warm with her people," Ashlynn said softly. "No wonder she didn¡¯t like my answer. She expects me to bear the same weight she does to protect our people in the vale and the only way she knows how to handle that weight is by using every available tactic and weapon."


    The more she thought about it, the sadder Ashlynn felt. The Clan of the Great Claw gathered in their communal longhouses for warmth and to support each other. The Horned Clan, with their large families, gathered in cozy huts that were filled with the sounds of half a dozen or more children laughing and growing in the peace of the vale.


    But Nyrielle, as cruel as she was to herself and as far as she seemed to be willing to go, was alone in her deep underground chambers. Even Ashlynn had been placed at a distance in a room with large windows that filled the room with deadly sunlight.


    "Burn the world," Ashlynn repeated softly. "Are you that afraid of losing me? Or are you still trying to keep me at some distance because you think I¡¯m not strong enough?"


    She didn¡¯t understand, not completely at least, but she felt like she was unraveling something important between herself and the ancient vampire.


    "You want to see if I¡¯ll go to the same lengths you have in order to survive," Ashlynn mused. "But I¡¯m not you. I can find my own way," she said, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind. While she still wasn¡¯t sure how she would handle matters in the High Pass, she knew how she wanted to respond to Nyrielle¡¯s intentions.


    It wasn¡¯t a complete answer, but it was one she would build on until she found a way to close the final distance that still lingered between the two of them.

 Chapter 89: The Eldritch Tongue

    Chapter 89: The Eldritch TongueThe trip to the High Pass was much swifter than Ashlynn had imagined. At the end of the first day of travel, they reached a small roadside waystation. There wasn¡¯t much to it, a small stable, a large cottage that could be shared by travelers and a well comprising a majority of the amenities.


    What surprised Ashlynn, however, was the presence of another set of fresh horses held by members of the Horned Clan, ready and waiting to take over as soon as the sun set and Zedya emerged from her daybed to take the reins of the lead carriage again.


    "You must have mobilized half the horses in the vale for this," Ashlynn said when Nyrielle entered the carriage that night. She¡¯d taken a small rest in the cottage with enough time to have a cold wash and change into a fresh set of clothes, but otherwise, she¡¯d barely left the carriage since leaving the ancient castle in the vale.


    "More than," Nyrielle said as she settled into the carriage. "We¡¯ll spend a few days as Lord Ritchel¡¯s guests while the horses are taken forward to the way stations between his keep and the High Fen, and then we¡¯ll set out again."


    "Is it that important to move swiftly?" Ashlynn asked. She knew they¡¯d planned to trade horses in Orava Village but she hadn¡¯t realized they¡¯d be doing it all the way to the High Fen.


    "It¡¯s not just about speed," Nyrielle replied, looking out the window of the carriage as Heila and the other servants worked to prepare to depart again. "You¡¯ve seen the way stations. They aren¡¯t fortified and they¡¯re tended to by ordinary people, not soldiers. If someone decides to attack us while we¡¯re traveling, I¡¯d rather be somewhere that we won¡¯t involve innocents."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, a small smile blossoming on her lips. Nyrielle really was just as she thought, cruel to herself to be kind to her people.


    "About last night," Nyrielle began only to stop when Ashlynn shook her head.


    "You were right that I¡¯ve been limiting my thinking," Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh. "But I think I¡¯m falling into a trap where my mind is consumed with ¡¯what if.¡¯ I know that you¡¯ve taken time to consider dozens of possibilities over the years and it¡¯s easy for you to come up with plans in advance but I¡¯m just not there yet."


    "Instead, I want to focus on what I can do with the time we still have before we arrive," Ashlynn continued. "I can¡¯t practice with my sword in here but I can practice my Eldritch with you at night and I can practice my sorcery during the day. I¡¯d rather do that than contemplate any more ¡¯what if¡¯ scenarios."


    "Nuh¨±," Nyrielle said, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "Ilnu t?lalu."


    While Ashlynn said that she wanted to practice her Eldritch, she had more than one motive in doing so. She wanted to learn more about Nyrielle and the life she led in the vale before the Lothians arrived. She wanted to understand the kind of woman Nyrielle had been before the loss of her parents and grandsire plunged her into a generations-long war with their mutual enemies.


    She kept the topics light, conversational, and suitable for expanding her mastery of the language, but over the course of the ride, she learned that Nyrielle spent much less of her youth in the vale than she¡¯d originally thought. As a True Vampire, she¡¯d traveled across the breadth of the Eldritch lands, meeting with the few others of her kind and learning the different ways they ruled their territories.


    "So, you the youngest True Vampire?" Ashlynn asked in halting Eldritch. "By how much years?"


    "Two hundred," Nyrielle said, holding up a pair of fingers. "The first and only human True Vampire," she added.


    "The others," Ashlynn asked. "Are they all women also? Or men, some are?" Ashlynn hated struggling as much as she did, even with simple questions after so many days of studying with Thane. She¡¯d finally progressed beyond basic words and phrases but as she tried to construct her own sentences she found the grammar infuriatingly counterintuitive even when she compared it to the older forms or regional dialects of her own language.


    The Eldritch saw the world differently and several times she found herself sifting through different forms of the same word that were needed for questions versus statements, formal or informal or a half dozen other modifiers that human language made do without. It made even simple sentences feel... slippery when she tried to form them.


    "All men," Nyrielle laughed, wrapping an arm around Ashlynn. "No one can take you from me."


    "You know, I liked men," Ashlynn protested, her face heating in the flickering light of the single lantern. "Men pretty too," she added. Before she met Nyrielle, she¡¯d never considered having any kind of relationship with another woman. She expected to live a spinster¡¯s life because of her mark of the witch until Bors Lothian approached her father to propose marriage and an alliance.


    Since then, she put all of her heart¡¯s energy into nurturing a love for Owain, planning to dedicate her life to helping him rule Lothian March and raising children of their own. Love with another woman had never entered her mind until Nyrielle appeared in her life, sweeping her off her feet and showering her with affection.


    "Doesn¡¯t matter," Nyrielle said, gently caressing the young witch¡¯s face. "You¡¯re mine." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes," Ashlynn agreed, sinking into the touch. "Yours." Now that she had bound herself to Nyrielle, there was no going back and she had no regrets. She had never sought out a relationship with another woman but the one that found her delighted her in ways she¡¯d never imagined were possible.


    Like that, the night passed comfortably, with Nyrielle helping to smooth out Ashlynn¡¯s more conversational Eldritch and several moments that devolved into comfortable flirting. Before she knew it, they were pulling into a way station, changing horses and setting out again once the sun was up.


    "You¡¯re getting better, my sweet," Nyrielle told the frustrated witch before she returned to her locked daybed for the next leg of the journey. "Your mind is a gift all your own and you¡¯re learning much faster than Thane or any of the others did."


    "Did you," Ashlynn started, uncertain if she wanted to broach this particular question. "Did you learn Eldritch first or the common tongue first?"


    "Both together," Nyrielle said with a smile. "My parents struggled with it, but my grandsire insisted that I learn. Until the Lothians arrived, almost no one in the vale knew the common tongue."


    "What, what happened to change things in the vale?" Ashlynn asked. She¡¯d been curious for a while but it never felt appropriate to ask. While she¡¯d heard some of the elderly people among the Eldritch in the vale speaking mostly in the Eldritch tongue, younger people like Heila and Georg spoke the modern dialect as fluently as anyone Ashlynn had ever met.


    "Shifts over time with power," Nyrielle explained, pausing outside the wagon that carried her daybed. "All of my progeny are humans who had some grievance against the Lothians, the Church or the other lords of the Lothian March. When I made them, I was looking for people to help me claim my vengeance," she said softly.


    "Then, over time, the staff in the castle learned the modern common tongue to speak more comfortably with my progeny," she continued. "They brought it home to their villages where elders learned it for much the same reasons. Over time, families like Georgs who served in the castle for generations almost stopped speaking Eldritch entirely."


    "If you spend more time in the hills and the distant villages, you¡¯ll find there¡¯s a dialect emerging that blends both languages," Nyrielle said with a smile. "But I have no idea if it will last."


    "Maybe it¡¯s something we can encourage one day," Ashlynn said, an idea beginning to form in her mind. "Maybe I should encourage the captives to learn that, to see how well other humans acquire it."


    "You¡¯re dreaming of a day that we¡¯re no longer at war with humanity, aren¡¯t you?" Nyrielle said, her expression difficult to read.


    "I¡¯m dreaming of the rest of my life with you," Ashlynn said, raising up on her toes to give Nyrielle a gentle kiss on the cheek. "And I don¡¯t want to dream of spending all that time at war."

 Chapter 90: Arriving in The High Pass

    Chapter 90: Arriving in The High PassAfter saying ¡¯goodnight¡¯ to Nyrielle, Ashlynn clutched her fur-trimmed cloak tightly around her shoulders, shivering slightly as a sudden gust tugged at her cloak, threatening to rip it from her shoulders and piercing through the fabric of her dress like icy knives.


    Today, the air was even more chill and Ashlynn had to ask Heila to bring in a small oil burning heater for the carriage to ward off the persistent chill that seeped in from outside. Snow lay in large drifts to the side of the ancient roadway and there were no longer any plants growing on the cold, rocky ground.


    Whenever the road was exposed to the winds, fierce gusts shook the carriage and in one instance, the group had to stop when one of the wagons carrying supplies for Captain Lennart¡¯s men was blown into the deep gutter that ran alongside the roadway. Ashlynn herself volunteered to help pull the carriage free, using strength that would have stunned anyone who knew her as a shut-in who rarely left the library at home.


    As the sun began to set, however, the train of carriages and wagons rounded the final bend of the ancient roadway before turning off the road and taking a steeper one that led to an imposing fortress overlooking the pass.


    When she saw it, Lord Ritchel¡¯s castle immediately took Ashlynn¡¯s breath away. All thoughts about the cold and the treacherous mountain road were driven from her mind as she looked at the towering fortress that had either been carved directly into the face of the mountain or shaped from ice that refused to melt even in direct sunlight.


    Some elements of the fortress were familiar to her. A deep trench had been carved outside a towering curtain wall and a long bridge crossed high over the trench to enter the fortress itself. All along the wall, thick spikes of ice jutted out from the wall like icy nails ready to impale anyone who dared to scale the walls. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Human fortresses that used the concept would have used iron spikes but such works were prohibitively expensive and rarely seen. Here, however, it seemed so natural that Ashlynn found it hard to imagine the Frost Walkers creating a fortress without cladding it in an armor of icy spears.


    Other elements of the fortress, however, were much stranger, serving no purpose that Ashlynn could understand. In several places, long platforms jutted out from the fortress, like icy fingers stretching out to grasp intruders or half-finished bridges to nowhere, glittering in the fading light with their own icy blue aura of dormant sorcery.


    At the moment, more than twenty of those long platforms were lined with the bulky shapes of Frost Walkers, each of them holding a burning torch aloft in the growing gloom of the approaching night. Their crystalline horns caught the torchlight, reflecting and refracting it into hundreds of motes of glittering light.


    The bridge itself was also lined with torch-bearing Frost Walkers, but Ashlynn¡¯s attention was fixed on the men between them standing behind drums so large that Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t be able to wrap her arms around them.


    Each drummer held perfect posture, their cloth covered drumsticks poised above the taunt skins of their drums, and from the brief puffs of steam rising from them, even their breathing was tightly controlled and in perfect unison with the others in their group.


    When the carriage approached the bridge, the drums began to sound, beating out a steady rhythm not unlike the beating of a heart. With each beat, the bridge beneath their feet trembled, shaking away the loose snow that had collected on the bridge and triggering the soft sound of icicles cracking as they were shaken free from the ancient stone bridge.


    The closer they came, the louder and faster the drums sounded until they drowned out the creek of the carriage, the sound of the wind tugging at cloaks or the crash of icicles falling into the dark chasm that ringed the mighty fortress.


    As the drums reached their crescendo, a gate formed from a solid sheet of ice melted away, revealing several hulking Frost Walkers, wrapped in garments that seemed to be a single long piece of fabric, looped and tucked around their bodies until it formed both a long skirt and a half tunic that covered the chest and one arm, leaving the other arm bare.


    Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes widened as she got her first look at the Frost Walkers. The shortest one in the delegation at the foot of the bridge stood over eight feet tall and the rest were a full head taller than him. Pale icy blue fur covered their bodies and their arms hung down below their knees.


    More striking than their height and fur, however, were the glittering crystalline horns that stood out from their brows like the horn of a narwhal made of ice or glass. Beneath the horns, the Frost Walkers sported long, bushy eyebrows that hovered over a dark, leathery face and a mouth that seemed to be filled with sharp and pointed teeth.


    The group of Frost walkers strode across the bridge with steps that maintained perfect unison despite the difference in their heights, each one falling in behind the shortest one who carried himself with an almost regal air that Ashlynn would have expected to see from any of the knights or young lords that attended her father¡¯s court.


    The only difference was that this young lord carried not only an aura of physical power and poise but also left a trail of glittering frost in the air behind him as he moved. If Ashlynn had wondered before how the future lord of the High Pass had been chosen, just seeing the overflowing energy that radiated from his crystalline horn was enough to make it clear that this man was special among his kind.


    "I am Hauke, son of Lord Ritchel," the shortest figure bellowed when the carriage pulled to a stop. "In the name of my father, we welcome Lady Nyrielle and her Seneschal Ashlynn to the High Pass."


    Behind him, the largest of the Frost Walkers glowered, his dark eyes glittering with a hint of malice toward the shorter lord. The expression on his face vanished, however, as soon as Heila arrived beside the door to the carriage, opening it and setting out a small step for Ashlynn to descend.


    "Warm, Aura, Cloak," Ashlynn whispered, using a small amount of sorcery to surround herself in a barrier that kept the chill at bay and protected her from the cold energy that rippled through the air. If she needed to use sorcery to warm herself in the carriage, she¡¯d have exhausted herself hours ago, and with a heater in the carriage, there was no reason to.


    Now, however, first impressions were important and she refused to allow the Frost Walker¡¯s first sight of her to be of a woman shivering in the cold and clutching at her cloak. Instead, when she emerged from the carriage, she allowed the wind to catch her cloak and skirts, sending them snapping in the stiff breeze.


    "My name is Ashlynn Blackwell," she said in carefully practiced Eldritch, her heart pounding in her chest. "Child of the Earth and Seneschal of Eldritch Lady Nyrielle of the Vale of Mists. We¡¯ve come to visit with open hands and a gift for Eldritch Lord Ritchel. By your grace, may we enter the keep?"


    Seeing the young witch standing in the cold, surrounded by the soft glow of her own sorcery, a smile blossomed on Hauke¡¯s face, displaying his many sharpened teeth.


    "You are our honored guests," Hauke said, thumping his chest twice in time with drum beats from the row of drummers behind him. "I have prepared a closed chamber for your lady to exit her carriage. Please," he said, stepping aside to gesture to the bridge. "Have your men follow me."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, walking carefully across the icy ground until she reached Hauke¡¯s side. "We¡¯ll be in your care."


    "NO!" A powerful voice roared, coming from the largest Frost Walker in the group. With a powerful stride, the man stepped forward, placing a hand on Hauke¡¯s shoulder and pulling him back and away from Ashlynn. "My lord, you cannot let this, this human come so close to you!"


    "Torsten, what is the meaning of this?" Hauke asked sharply, stumbling slightly on the icy ground as the larger man positioned himself between Ashlyn and Hauke. "They are our guests!"


    "She walks in the daylight," Torsten growled, his pale blue fur rising up against the wind as an icy aura enveloped him, coalescing into a spear of solid ice hovering beside him, its wickedly sharp tip pointed directly at Ashlynn.


    "She is no vampire of the vale," Torsten continued. "She claims to be a Child of the Earth. Before she¡¯s allowed in she should prove who she is. Show us, witch," he snarled, his voice booming above the sound of the wind. "Show us your mark!"

 Chapter 91: Unruly Rival

    Chapter 91: Unruly RivalFor a moment, when Torsten demanded that Ashlynn reveal her mark, no one moved or spoke.


    A layer of frost formed over Hauke¡¯s fur as he trembled in a mixture of humiliation and rage. By standing between him and the witch, Torsten had all but shouted that Hauke was too weak to defend himself from Ashlynn while at the same time declaring that he was strong enough to face her in Hauke¡¯s place.


    Then, he¡¯d gone even further, insinuating that Ashlynn was a fraud, perhaps one of the human ¡¯miracle workers¡¯ who had come with some kind of nefarious purpose. The notion should have been ludicrous yet when Torsten said ¡¯Show us your mark¡¯, several of the other Frost Walkers nearby began to echo him!


    "She should prove that she¡¯s really a child of the earth."


    "There is no vampire to vouch for her, we need to see the mark!"


    "This mountain is sacred, no human should defile it."


    A faint whirlwind of icy crystals began to swirl around Hauke¡¯s feet and pale iridescent light flickered in his horn as he clenched his fists, a sharp rebuke forming on his lips. It was impossible for the Seneschal of a True Vampire to accept the insult Torsten had just made and it was doubly so for a Child of the Earth and Hauke intended to make it clear just how far out of line Torsten and his lackeys had stepped.


    Before he could make a move or say a word, however, the human witch held up a hand and turned back to the glowering soldiers and servants from the Vale of Mists.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said in the common human tongue, seemingly unperturbed by Torsten¡¯s icy spear floating menacingly in the air. "Please come translate for me. I do not wish there to be any misunderstandings."


    "Yes, my Lady," the diminutive servant said, ducking her head and racing forward as quickly as her cloven feet would carry her. For a moment, she wondered if she should retrieve Ashlynn¡¯s sword from her carriage, but the weapon was heavy enough that even if Ashlynn had requested it, someone like Captain Lennart would need to carry it.


    "I promise to repeat my Lady¡¯s words accurately," Heila told the gathered frost walkers, her gaze flickering between Hauke and Torsten before settling on the latter.


    "Heila, did I understand correctly that this man wants to see my mark?" Ashlynn asked. While she hadn¡¯t caught every word he¡¯d said, most of it was familiar enough for her to have a general understanding. When Heila nodded, she turned back to the glowering Torsten with the look one might give a disobedient child or an unruly teen.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, keeping her emerald eyes fixed on the Torsten¡¯s icy blue eyes. "Ask this Torsten if he has a woman and if she¡¯s present."


    "My lady?" Heila asked, her heart pounding in her chest.


    "Do it," Ashlynn insisted. "And make sure that I expect them to know the difference between the person who speaks and the person who translates for the speaker. If my words upset them, I will protect you," she added with a brief glance and a warm smile at Heila.


    After Heila translated, the atmosphere turned strange and frost crystals began to form on Torsten¡¯s bushy eyebrows as he glowered at Ashlynn.


    "My woman is no business of yours," he spat, raising his icy spear up higher as though he were about to hurl it at Ashlynn. "If you¡¯re truly a Child of the Earth, then prove it by showing your mark."


    "Of course," Ashlynn said sweetly after Heila translated. "After you bring your woman here and strip her naked before all our men," she said, gesturing to Captain Lennart and his anxious-looking soldiers. "Once they¡¯ve inspected her naked body, I¡¯ll let you inspect mine."


    "My Lady," Heila said, her eyes wide with fear. "I, I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t say that," she said, shrinking down and lowering her head in shame. The spear hovering in the air glittered in the fading daylight and loomed large in Heila¡¯s vision, and behind it, the figures of Torsten and his lackeys seemed to blot out the darkening sky itself.


    "Come back to the carriage little Heila," Captain Lennart said, flexing his claws as he strode forward. "I can speak for Lady Ashlynn."


    "I¡¯m sorry Heila," Ashlynn said, reaching out briefly to stroke the short woman¡¯s horns affectionately. "I shouldn¡¯t have put you somewhere dangerous. You can go back."


    "My Lady," Lennart said politely, positioning himself slightly in front of Ashlynn. "I can repeat your words if you¡¯re certain."


    "I am," Ashlynn said. Of all the things she expected, of all the things she¡¯d discussed with Nyrielle, she¡¯d never expected a demand to reveal the mark that lay next to her most intimate of areas and to do so in front of a crowd of men.


    As is, she¡¯d held herself back considerably but if it had been one of the young men who made rude remarks on her or her sister¡¯s body during one of the few banquets she¡¯d attended, she wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to slap the words from the offending lord¡¯s mouth.


    No, that wasn¡¯t entirely accurate. The woman she¡¯d been then might have endured it with a polite smile or run off to hide behind her mother¡¯s skirts, but the woman she¡¯d become since Owain tried to kill her would never accept such bald-faced abuse.


    "She said that if you want to see her mark," Captain Lennart began in Eldritch, his eyes watching the shifts in Torsten¡¯s fur for the slightest violent twitch. "First bring your mate before my men, strip her naked, and allow us to inspect her fur with fingers."


    The words he used weren¡¯t quite the same as the ones Ashlynn had used but the rage boiling in his chest matched or exceeded what Ashlynn must be feeling right now and he believed that the slight changes better reflected her intent than a literal translation would.


    "You dare!" Torsten roared, his arm shooting into the air to hurl the icy spear forward.


    As soon as his arm moved, Ashlynn moved as well, leaping into the air with a speed that no human could match.


    "Mist Walker. Dance," Ashlynn breathed softly, power flowing within her as her feet stepped off empty air twice, leaving behind faint puffs of mist in the frigid air before she arrived beside Torsten, standing on nothing with her head slightly above his.


    In the blink of an eye, her hand shot out, sliding through the Frost Walker¡¯s soft, frigid fur until her fingers found the leathery flesh of his ear. Pinching with all the strength she¡¯d gained from her blood bond with Nyrielle, Ashlynn twisted sharply, the same way her mother had once disciplined her as a young child and pulled downward with all her might until her feet returned to the barren, frosty ground. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You. Will. Learn. Manners," she said in halting Eldritch, her voice pitched loud enough to carry all the way to the fortress gates.


    Hauke stared open-mouthed, his hand raised halfway to restrain Torsten. All around him, the Frost Walkers¡¯ looks of disbelief mirrored his own. They¡¯d all been taught from a young age that sorcery was the only power in the High Pass. Witchcraft harnessed the power of life itself but in this frozen land, nothing grew to give strength to a witch.


    The men who had backed Torsten started forward, power gathering in their horns as a layer of frost collected on their soft fur. They stopped a moment later, however, when Captain Lennart strode forward, followed by the rushing footfalls of half a dozen of his soldiers who formed a wall between Ashlynn and any of the frost walkers other than Torsten and Hauke.


    Further back, the drummers and torchbearers shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what they were supposed to do when chaos erupted during what was supposed to be a simple ceremony. Martial discipline held many of them in place but a few toward the back shifted uncomfortably, their eyes glancing at the gate as they tried to decide if they should run to alert Lord Ritchel to the disturbance.


    "Let, me, OW!" Torsten howled as Ashlynn twisted harder, pulling up on his ear and dragging him forward until he couldn¡¯t keep his balance and fell to his knees.


    Shaking off the frost that had collected on his fur, Hauke took a deep breath and stood up as tall and as straight as he could. Despite everything that had happened, he didn¡¯t believe that things needed to go any further. Besides, seeing Torsten brought low like a misbehaving child put a grin on his face that he didn¡¯t bother to hide.


    "Seneschal Ashlynn," he began, stepping forward while trying to ignore the hostile look directed at him by Captain Lennart¡¯s men. "I..."


    "Sir Hauke," Ashlynn said in the best Eldritch she could manage, flashing him a grin of her own as she twisted harder on Torsten¡¯s ear. "This should be proof enough, yes?"

 Chapter 92: Young And Old

    Chapter 92: Young And Old"Seneschal Ashlynn," Hauke said, offering a polite bow. "You never needed to prove yourself to begin with. Lady Nyrielle¡¯s messenger arrived days ago to announce your arrival. There was never anything to prove."


    "He seems to think otherwise," Ashlynn said after listening to Captain Lennart¡¯s translation. "As did some of your men," she added with a frown at Torsten¡¯s lackeys.


    "Not my men," Hauke said quickly, scowling at the others. "Apologize for offending the Seneschal," he said in a voice that would have sounded more commanding if it hadn¡¯t broken partway through his statement.


    Hauke was still young, only fifteen years old, and the only true authority he held in the High Pass was the authority his father gave him. He had yet to complete a great hunt, had yet to face his rivals in formal challenges, and had yet to demonstrate that he had the strength to protect his people.


    When he spoke, his young voice lacked the power to compel obedience without the icy shadow of his father, Lord Ritchel, behind him. And yet, so long as Lord Ritchel ordered it, most of the Frost Walkers in the High Pass would obey without question. Only a few stubborn holdouts like Torsten, his lackeys, and some elders who supported them would resist Lort Ritchel¡¯s arrangements.


    "I suggest you listen to your little lord," Captain Lennart added, scowling at the men who still wore surly expressions on their faces. "Before Lady Ashlynn decides to offer your friend to Lady Nyrielle as an appetizer."


    "You, you wouldn¡¯t dare!" Torsten cried, resisting the urge to struggle in Ashlynn¡¯s grasp. A strange magical energy washed over her, warming the air around her and turning the frost that clung to his fur into rivulets of icy water that dripped from his fur.


    The heat wasn¡¯t great enough to do damage but it was even more terrifying than the pain shooting through his ear as Ashlynn twisted mercilessly to keep him off balance.


    "I¡¯m sure the agreement our messenger brought included hunting rights," Ashlynn said coldly, giving Captain Lennart a grateful nod for thinking of the threat. "But I think she might find your flesh distasteful," she added, letting go of the ear and giving Torsten a shove that sent him sprawling on his backside on the frozen ground.


    "Sir Hauke," she added, turning away from Torsten. "You said you had a place where Mistress Nyrielle could exit her carriage. We shouldn¡¯t delay. Whether these people apologize or not doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m sure there will be consequences for their actions," she added pointedly.


    In truth, Ashlynn was disappointed. Compared to the complex schemes of the merchant guilds in Blackwell City that entangled the interests of powerful parties on both sides of the ocean, Torsten¡¯s attempt to force her into an embarrassing position felt genuinely juvenile.


    His sorcery felt powerful and if he¡¯d succeeded in throwing the spear of ice at her she might have been hard-pressed to defend herself, but she didn¡¯t believe for a moment that the belligerent youth would actually throw it. He meant to intimidate and bluster and he had no idea what to do when she didn¡¯t back down like a helpless human.


    She¡¯d come expecting a challenging duel or a contest of sorcery that brought genuine jeopardy and instead, she found youthful posturing. Still, if this was the extent to which Lord Ritchel¡¯s High Pass intended to test her, she wouldn¡¯t complain too much. As is, however, it was so underwhelming that she found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop.


    The sooner Nyrielle could rejoin her, the better.


    "You three," Hauke said, looking at Torsten¡¯s lackeys. "Take him to Old Amila for healing. He¡¯s not to appear at the banquet tonight and neither are you."


    "But, we didn¡¯t," one of the hulking Frost Walkers started only to wither under the combined glares of Ashlynn, Hauke and Captain Lennart. "Yes, lord," he said, bowing deeply before walking in a wide arc around Lennart¡¯s men to retrieve Torsten.


    At Hauke¡¯s gesture, Ashlynn walked beside him while the remainder of the wagons began to follow across the long, icy bridge. The torchbearers and drummers that lined the bridge provided a welcome barrier between the frost-covered bridge and the deep chasm that surrounded the fortress.


    At the same time, the bright light of their torches made the black depths of the chasm appear even darker, as though the entire fortress was on the edge of being devoured by a beast with an icicle-lined maw.


    Unconsciously, Ashlynn stepped closer to Hauke, reaching out to place a hand on his thick, furry arm as if to steady herself against the sudden gusts of wind that threatened to tear apart her warming magic.


    "It¡¯s not far," Hauke said in reassuring tones, surprised to see a vulnerable side to the woman who had been so fierce just moments ago. "We have a stable waiting with curtains thrown over all the windows," he added, hoping to distract her from the height of the chasm-spanning bridge. "Will that be sufficient for Lady Nyrielle?"


    "It should be fine for her," Ashlynn said. "Even now it is almost dim enough for her. It¡¯s Zedya who is more vulnerable."


    "Then you can inspect things for her to make sure that it¡¯s acceptable," Hauke said, stepping off the bridge and holding out a furry paw to escort her to the courtyard inside the castle walls and the waiting stables. "This way, please."


    ***


    High above the castle walls, in a tower with a view of the bridge, Lord Rtichel turned away from the window to regard the other man in the room. At nearly ten feet in height Lord Ritchel wasn¡¯t just the strongest of the Frost Walkers in the High Pass, he was also the most physically imposing, even if the luster of his fur had begun to dull with age and deep lines crisscrossed his leathery face.


    "I told you, Paulus," he told the shorter but even older Frost Walker in the room. "Torsten is mighty, physically, and he¡¯s a capable enough hunter, but his mind is too weak and simple to stand up to Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Vale of Mists."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," the older man said, shaking his head. "The Vale of Mists will spend the next hundred years fighting the humans, just as it has spent the past hundred years. Torsten¡¯s horn will stand among his ancestors long before we ever need to contend against the Vale as we did in my great grandfather¡¯s time."


    "What we need," the old man insisted, "is someone who can hunt the invaders who threaten our ancestor¡¯s slumber. Hauke isn¡¯t blooded yet. Torsten is. I will rest easier knowing that Torsten is protecting my horn in the years to come."


    "You don¡¯t see far enough, old man," Lord Ritchel said, leaving the window to begin descending the broad spiral steps down from the tower. "The humans are greedy for Airgead Mountain. Lord Jalal has been depending on Lady Nyrielle and High Lord Dirar to keep the humans from overrunning his domain but if he falls, the humans will enter our mountains."


    "At that time, we won¡¯t be worried about a few dozen invaders seeking our ancestor¡¯s horns," the aging lord said. "It will be armies of humans with their miracle workers covering our slopes. Hauke is a better man to build and maintain the alliances that will protect us when we cannot protect ourselves."


    "You speak as though a time will come when we cannot protect ourselves," the older man snorted, following behind his lord at a respectful distance. "The humans will die in a single winter on our slopes. They cannot face the cold."


    "I don¡¯t think you know the humans¡¯ limits as well as you think you do, old friend," Lord Ritchel said, shaking his head sadly. "Tonight, you should talk to Lady Nyrielle¡¯s new Seneschal. I¡¯m told she comes from one of the human¡¯s great ports and that she has spoken to many humans from across the sea. Perhaps you will no longer feel the same after listening to her speak." Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    This was an old debate between the two men and Lord Ritchel had long given up on convincing Paulus to change. He only hoped that the old man¡¯s eyes weren¡¯t so firmly fixed on where to rest his horn that he couldn¡¯t see the threat building in the lowlands.


    The humans wouldn¡¯t stop. Whether it was in the next decade or the next century, they would come eventually. And when they did, every Eldritch Lord abandoned by their peers would be an ally they¡¯d mourn the loss of in the days to come.


    It was a lesson that Paulus may never need to learn but if the Frost Walkers of the High Pass didn¡¯t learn it before Ritchel lay his horn to rest, he could only hope that the next person sitting on his icy throne could teach it in his place.

 Chapter 93: A Servant’s Troubles (Part One)

    Chapter 93: A Servant¡¯s Troubles (Part One)The stables of Lord Ritchel¡¯s fortress was much smaller than Ashlynn would have expected until she recalled how little use the Frost Walkers had for horses. Unlike a human fortress, there were neither knights nor cavalry, and even horses for messengers and carriages were unnecessary.


    Instead, the stable held a few of the largest horses Ashlynn had ever laid eyes on with dark, thick coats and long manes that likely pulled carts or... plows?


    "Why are there plows?" Ashlynn asked, struck by the strangely structured plows that didn¡¯t resemble any she had seen before, whether in use by humans or the people in the vale of mists.


    "To clear snow from the bridge and roads after storms," Hauke explained when he saw her curiosity. "Now may not restrict our movement much, but if too much of it piles up it becomes impossible to leave through the gates without digging out. Better to clear it away before it grows that deep."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, turning her attention back to the carriages where members Clan of the Great Claw were lifting the heavy, darksteel lined daybeds out of their wagons before knocking politely to advise Nyrielle and Zedya that they had arrived.


    "My Lady," Heila said, kneeling on the cold ground of the stable in front of Ashlynn with her head bowed. "Today, I failed you. Please punish me as you see fit. I, I¡¯ve brought a lash if you wish," she said, holding up a coiled lash that belonged to one of the carriage drivers.


    "Get up, Heila," Ashlynn said, frowning at the diminutive horned woman. "I will not whip you. You did nothing wrong. What I asked you to do was too much, it¡¯s fine that you couldn¡¯t do it. It¡¯s my fault," Ashlynn said, feeling guiltier the more she spoke.


    Torsten¡¯s demand to see her mark was both humiliating and infuriating but that didn¡¯t excuse forcing Heila to translate her own barbed comeback. While she was certain that she could have protected Heila should Torsten have tried to take out his anger on the messenger, she couldn¡¯t truly guarantee her servant¡¯s safety.


    "My Lady," Heila said, shivering as she knelt on the cold ground. Ever since Lady Nyrielle gave her the opportunity to serve as Ashlynn¡¯s personal servant, she¡¯d tried her best to be worthy of the honor. Sometimes, Ashlynn¡¯s requests were a little odd, like her insistence on styling her own hair most days or her demands for clothing that she could put on herself without the help of a servant, but she never asked anything that was beyond Heila¡¯s ability to do.


    Until today. Today, Lady Ashlynn had been deeply insulted and demeaned before dozens of people and she¡¯d asked for Heila¡¯s help to respond to the insult... and Heila had failed. It didn¡¯t matter that Torsten was more than twice her size or that he¡¯d summoned a spear made of ice and sorcery. It didn¡¯t matter Ashlynn¡¯s words were sure to provoke his rage in retaliation.


    All that mattered was that, When Lady Ashlynn asked her for help, she¡¯d been too terrified to do her duty.


    "My Lady," Heila said again, mustering up the courage to speak the words that terrified her almost as much as Torsten had. "If you will not punish me, then I will report my failure to Lady Nyrielle and allow her to assign my punishment."


    "You!" Ashlynn said, grinding her teeth in frustration. "Fine. If you demand a punishment, then I will punish you," Ashlynn said, snatching the lash from Heila¡¯s hands.


    For a moment, the young horned woman flinched, her head dropping even lower as she prepared to receive the beating she knew she deserved.


    "For as long as we¡¯re in the High Pass, and even when we¡¯re in the High Fen," Ashlynn said sternly. "You will not leave my side. You will translate for me any time that I am with Lord Ritchel¡¯s people and you will accompany me wherever I go while we are here. You will not refuse again or your punishment will be worse," she said, her voice as firm as she could make it.


    "My Lady," Heila gasped, looking up at Ashlynn who seemed to have no intention to use the lash. Rather, she¡¯d tucked it behind her back while she regarded Heila with a complicated expression. "My Lady, I will go wherever you desire and I will not leave your side but, but this isn¡¯t punishment..."


    "In that case," Nyrielle¡¯s voice drifted over as the vampire herself moved toward them, gliding with an inhuman elegance as though the stables around them were a fine ballroom in a king¡¯s palace. "If you fail her again, you will be exiled from the castle to live out the rest of your life in a village, never to enter the castle city again."


    "What my darling Ashlynn needs," Nyrielle said, coming to stand in front of Ashlynn and smiling. "What she needs is someone who can be loyal to her, even in the face of danger. I heard everything you know," she added, giving Heila a pointed look. "Do not fail her again."


    "Of course not, my Lady," Heila said, dropping into the deepest curtsey of her life and lowering her gaze to the floor.


    "Little Hauke," Nyrielle said, turning her attention to the towering figure of Lord Rtichel¡¯s son. "You¡¯ve grown a bit since my last visit. Your command of your father¡¯s men, however, is sorely lacking," she said sharply.


    "Lady Nyrielle, I apologize," he said, his fur trembling and the glow in his horn diminishing under the intensity of the vampire¡¯s gaze. "You won¡¯t have a problem like this again, I promise. Please, my father has prepared to receive you, I can lead the way."


    Despite his proper words, Hauke clearly felt the pressure of standing in Nyrielle¡¯s presence. His knees bent slightly and his back curled as if he felt the need to make himself smaller in the powerful vampire¡¯s presence.


    As they started walking, his eyes darted constantly to Lady Nyrielle, hoping to see a look from her that indicated she was satisfied with his apology or at least with his efforts to be a respectable host. What he found, however, was only a cold, impassive mask and icy midnight blue eyes that revealed nothing about what she thought of this evening¡¯s mishap.


    Once they left the stable, they were led into the grand halls of Lord Ritchel¡¯s castle. To Ashlynn, the most impressive part of the castle was the sheer size and scale of everything. Even the smallest of corridors boasted a ceiling at least fifteen feet high and the polished granite floors were wide enough that four armored knights could ride abreast through the hallways if they wished.


    In place of torches, blocks of ice had been cut to resemble multi-faceted gemstones larger than a person¡¯s head had been set into the walls, each glowing with a pale blue-white light that brought light without warmth to the great hall.


    Along the walls, colossal statues of Frost Walkers loomed over them, each standing atop a block of ice that bore their name and title. Many were previous lords of the High Pass but some were great heroes, famed for their victories in battle or hunting.


    Some of the statues were carved from gleaming ice that never seemed to melt, while others were made of the same dark granite as the floors. Each statue stood at least twelve feet tall, their crystalline horns catching and refracting the light from glowing crystals embedded in the walls.


    Between the statues hung ancient weapons of impressive size - massive ice axes with heads larger than Ashlynn¡¯s torso, spears that were half again as tall as Hauke, and swords that looked as though they could cleave a house in two. Each weapon was adorned with a collection of words carved in Eldritch that Ashlynn vaguely recognized from the oldest books in Nyrielle¡¯s library about sorcery. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Each thing she saw as they walked through the frozen castle was more impressive than the next, but when they rounded a corner, Ashlynn¡¯s feet slowed to a halt and her eyes went wide at the site of a giant block of ice as long as three sailing ships and as thick as they would be wide.


    It wasn¡¯t the block of ice that brought her to a stop, however, but the things contained within it...

 Chapter 94: A Servant’s Troubles (Part Two)

    Chapter 94: A Servant¡¯s Troubles (Part Two)When Ashlynn¡¯s echoing footsteps stopped, the rest of the group stopped along with her, each one of them staring at the massive block of ice and the things frozen inside it.


    Within the ice, Ashlynn could see several strange and powerful looking creatures she¡¯d never seen before. Their massive shapes were frozen in fierce poses as though they were moments away from unleashing their fury on anyone foolish enough to stand before them and only the thick ice stopped them from feasting on Ashlynn and her companions.


    The first one looked like a giant cat, larger than the work horses from the stable, with giant fangs as long as her forearm. Next to it stood an even larger beast with two wickedly sharp teeth protruding from it¡¯s rodent like face and ending in a wide tail that looked powerful enough to crush wagons. The ice was so clear that she could make out individual strands of fur, preserving the trophies perfectly for who knew how long.


    "Is that, is that really a beaver?" Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but ask, staring at the giant buck toothed creature. "I¡¯ve seen smaller ones in the rivers in Blackwell County, they¡¯re hunted for their fur, but this..."


    "This is a capraba," Hauke said proudly. According to the engraving on the ice, it had been slain by his great-great-grandfather Egon. "They used to live in the forests at the edges of the tree line, but none have been seen in these mountains in over a hundred years."


    "Their meat is tough and stringy," Nyrielle said. "But their pelts are very warm. When the humans attacked the nations along the mountains, many nations were forced to flee into the mountains if they wanted to survive. Caprabas were hunted in droves so that broken nations could survive the winter and cross the mountains to the safety beyond."


    "Ha ha," Hauke laughed awkwardly. "I forget, sometimes, just how long Lady Nyrielle has lived. I¡¯m sure our High Pass would have been overrun by humans if not for your defense of the Vale of Mists."


    "True, but my people wouldn¡¯t have survived the aftermath of Cellach¡¯s war if it wasn¡¯t for the High Pass taking in our elderly, women and children while we fought off his armies," Nyrielle added politely. "The vale will never forget that the High Pass protected us in our hours of need."


    Hauke grinned in pride, flashing his sharpened teeth while the iridescent light within his horn seemed to brighten. After spending a few more moments admiring the beasts preserved in ice, the group continued on their way to the banquet waiting in the grand hall.


    The air grew noticeably colder as they progressed deeper into the fortress, and Ashlynn found herself drawing on her magic to ward off the chill. She noticed small ice crystals forming in the air with each breath, and her lungs felt tighter each time she drew in a fresh breath of the thin, chill air.


    This clearly wasn¡¯t a place that humans were ever meant to live, much less thrive. The only thing missing to make the place feel less hospitable was a frozen human soldier, captured in ice alongside the capraba and the giant tiger.


    Still, Hauke¡¯s gentle hospitality helped to blunt the chill in the air and Nyrielle¡¯s presence beside her helped remind her that while this place may not welcome humans, that didn¡¯t mean it didn¡¯t welcome her. As a witch, she refused to let the natural elements of this place overwhelm her as she strode deeper into the icy fortress.


    Three paces behind Ashlynn and Nyrielle, Zedya leaned over slightly as she walked to speak with Heila. Ever since presenting herself for punishment, the diminutive woman¡¯s shoulders had slumped and her head hung so low that her chin nearly rested on her chest.


    "Failures are opportunities, little Heila," the vampire whispered. "If we never fail, we never rise up again. It¡¯s better for you that this happened so soon. Now you have the chance to make yourself better much, much earlier."


    "I, I don¡¯t know if I can, Madame Zedya" Heila whispered back. "I¡¯m just a maid. I, I never thought I¡¯d be involved in a battle..."


    "Eighty years ago, I was just a maid," Zedya whispered back, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of boot heels echoing off the stone floors in the vast corridor. "But even a maid can be powerful if they want to. The question is, is there something that matters to you enough to transform yourself from ¡¯just a maid¡¯ into someone that Ashlynn can treat as one of her most reliable pillars of support. What matters to you, little Heila?"


    "Is it wrong if I say ¡¯my family¡¯?" Heila asked, looking up at Zedya to see her reaction. Instead of a reaction, however, she saw only a cool and impassive mask that held Zedya¡¯s enchanting amethyst eyes. What the vampire thought of her answer, she couldn¡¯t say.


    "They¡¯ll do for now," Zedya said after a moment of thinking. "But they¡¯re not enough. You have several brothers and sisters to care for your parents and grandparents, who have even more grandchildren than your siblings," she pointed out. "If you weren¡¯t here to support your family, they would still live well."


    "Think on it, little Heila," Zedya said, turning away from the horned woman. "Think about what is uniquely important to you, and what you would do for it. Weak convictions won¡¯t help you become someone that Lady Ashlynn can depend on."


    "Then, are you saying that Lady Ashlynn needs to be the most important thing to me?" Heila asked. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, not at all," Zedya said, a slow smile spreading on her thin lips. "When Mistress Nyrielle found me, my most important thing was the destruction of everything Baron Gilmore loved and cherished. I might have been ¡¯just a maid¡¯, but I turned myself into a curse that brought his family constant misfortune even before Mistress Nyrielle found me."


    "That¡¯s why I¡¯m saying that you need to find something that truly matters to you if you want to transform yourself into something more," Zedya said. "There¡¯s a reason that Mistress Nyrielle doesn¡¯t turn anyone who grew up in the vale into her progeny. Most of you have been safe in the vale your entire lives. Wars haven¡¯t breached the walls in generations. Some of you have lost family in battle but none of you have seen your homes burned down, your siblings defiled or anything close to the horrors the nobles of Lothian March visit on their own common folk."


    "None of you hate enough to give up life for something more important," she said, her gaze becoming distant. "That¡¯s why you have to find something else to drive you hard enough that you won¡¯t back down, even when Ashlynn asks you to insult a powerful warrior to his face because she doesn¡¯t yet know the words."


    Heila stared at the vampire servant with wide eyes. It was the first time Madame Zedya had ever spoken so much to her and also the first time she heard that it had been a grudge with a human nobleman that turned her into the powerful woman she was today.


    As she followed Lady Ashlynn down the vast corridor, Heila struggled to understand Madame Zedya¡¯s perspective. The vampire was right that few in recent memory had lost people the way she spoke of. Not since the great war more than a hundred years ago had any human army breached the defenses of the Vale of Mists. Lady Nyrielle refused to allow such a tragedy to occur again.


    But, there had to be something other than tragedy that Heila could draw strength from... she just didn¡¯t know what that something was.

 Chapter 95: Dining With The Frost Walkers

    Chapter 95: Dining With The Frost WalkersAfter touring the elaborate showpieces and preserved trophies, Ashlynn and the others were brought to an elegant spiraling staircase formed of solid ice. The staircase was guarded by four Frostwalkers at the bottom and four more at the top, each of them wearing brightly polished steel breastplates over a coat of shining silvery mail.


    Unlike the troublemakers who followed Torsten at the welcoming ceremony outside the gates, these men radiated the calm stability of experienced soldiers and the halberds in their hands radiated an icy menace as wisps of frosty air streamed from the heavy blades.


    "Little lord Hauke," one of the men said, touching the tips of his claws to his throat in salute. "Your father and the others await you and our guests upstairs."


    "Thank you, Ernst," Hauke said before extending an arm to Ashlynn. "The steps may be slick if you¡¯re not accustomed to walking on ice."


    "I¡¯m sure she won¡¯t stumble," Nyrielle said smoothly, sliding in beside Ashlynn and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Shall we, my darling?"


    "I¡¯m in your hands," Ashlynn said, her face heating slightly in the chill air. At this point, she¡¯d come to expect Nyrielle to stake her claim whenever they were around someone new. She¡¯d done it when Ashlynn introduced her to Ollie and when she¡¯d met Marcell for the first time. Now it seemed that her introduction to the ruler of the Frost Walkers would also occur in Nyrielle¡¯s embrace.


    If Nyrielle was only doing it to claim her as property, Ashlynn might have objected but even though the vampire¡¯s hands could wander inappropriately at times, she never made Ashlynn feel like she was an object. Rather, she felt comforted and treasured, and Nyrielle¡¯s actions felt more cute than controlling.


    At the top of the stairs, through an icy arched doorway carved to resemble two Frost Walkers crossing horns, Ashlynn got her first glimpse of Lord Ritchel¡¯s grand hall. Unlike the sad little feast Owain had hosted in the Summer Villa or her more private evenings dining with Nyrielle and a few of her handpicked advisors, the Frost Walkers had filled the vast space with hundreds of guests.


    As they entered the grand hall itself, Ashlynn¡¯s eyes widened in awe. The sheer scale of the room dwarfed anything she had seen in human castles, including the great hall of Blackwell Castle. Massive ice pillars stretched towards a vaulted ceiling that at first glance, was completely open to the night sky.


    Only when she looked closely did she realize that not only the ceiling but several entire sections of wall had been covered with thick sheets of crystal clear ice, offering not only an unobstructed view of the glittering stars, but the snow capped peaks of several mountains in the distance. Stepping into the great hall didn¡¯t feel like entering another room, it almost felt like entering another world.


    As Nyrielle led her toward the high table at the far end of the grand hall, several Frost Walkers stood from the blocks of ice that served as tables and offered words of praise for Nyrielle. There was no scripting or choreography to the demonstration, and not every Frost Walker stood, but those who did cried out with praise that came from the heart, reflecting their personal experience with the Eldritch Lady of the Vale.


    "Hail to Lady Nyrielle, Shield of the High Pass!"


    "Hail to Lady Nyrielle, Slayer of human invaders!"


    "Hail to the Blood Princess, Champion of the arena!"


    The last one caused Nyrielle to pause, gazing at a stoop-shouldered Frost Walker whose fur had long gone gray and limp and whose horn barely gleamed in the light. Ashlynn blinked in confusion, looking from her lover to the gray-furred old woman. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Blood Princess? The others, she could understand, but why had she never heard Nyrielle mention such a title?


    "Who are you, to remember something so old?" Nyrielle asked, shocking many when she stopped in the middle of the hall to speak to the old woman.


    "I¡¯m no one special, Blood Princess," the old Frost Walker insisted. "Call me Fabiene. I was a little girl in the crowd back then, no one important," she added, bowing deeply.


    "But you remember," Nyrielle said, smiling at the old woman. "Would you like to join us at the high table? I¡¯m sure young Ritchel won¡¯t mind," she added, looking at the towering figure of the largest Frost Walker in the great hall.


    "Of course not," Ritchel said, his voice booming loudly enough to be heard in the farthest corners of the hall. "Trade places with Old Fabiene," he added, pointing to one of the other men at the table. "Old Fabiene," he said, turning to the gray-furred woman. "Please join us. I¡¯ve heard my grandfather¡¯s tales of those days but you have seen them yourself. We would be honored to hear your tales of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s days in the Arena of High Fen."


    "It¡¯s rare for me to meet someone who knew my Mistress before I did," Zedya added, appearing beside the old woman in a flash. "Let this servant help you to the high table."


    "You, you don¡¯t need to fuss so much over this old crone," Fabiene protested as Zedya helped her join them in walking up the raised dais to the table where Lord Ritchel sat with his most senior advisors and hunters.


    "Memories are treasures," Nyrielle said softly, gently touching the old woman¡¯s limp fur. "When no one is left to remember who a person truly was, then the person and their deeds might as well be myths. But since you¡¯re alive, and you remember, then I can be the Blood Princess tonight and everyone can hear your story," she promised.


    Around the hall, several Frost Walkers roared their approval, slamming giant fists into their icy tables and stomping the ground in support of Old Fabiene. Others whispered to their neighbors, touched that an Eldritch Lady would be so kind to an ordinary old woman, simply because she remembered watching her fight long ago.


    "Lord Ritchel," Nyrielle said when they finally reached the high table. "I apologize for disrupting your welcoming ceremony," she said, pulling a small silver box from the dark sash at her waist. "I hope you¡¯ll accept this humble gift as a token of my wishes to maintain our longstanding good relationship," she added, flicking the box open as she presented it.


    The inside of the silver box was lined with rich, dark purple velvet and held five crimson crystals, each one the size of a grain of rice. When the box opened, a rich aura spilled from the container, bringing with it a feeling of strength and energy along with the faint sound of five beating hearts.


    Five Blood Vitality Crystals, each one formed using Nyrielle¡¯s sorcery to offer a person a month of youth and vigor to a person in their declining years. While they wouldn¡¯t extend a person¡¯s lifespan by even a day, a person like Lord Ritchel could accomplish a great deal with a month where he was restored to the prime of his life, and with the crystals Nyrielle was presenting, he could do so five times!


    "Lady Nyrielle, or, should I call you Blood Princess tonight?" Ritchel said with a wide smile after accepting the silver box and tucking it into a pouch at his waist. "This gift is most welcome. Please join us. Paulus has taken charge of the arrangements tonight and I¡¯m told that he¡¯s worked both hunters and cooks hard to prepare a feast for our guests tonight."


    "Our cooks may not be as refined as your men, Blood Princess," the older Frost Walker said smoothly. "I¡¯ve asked them to prepare the things they cook best so that you and your new Seneschal may see firsthand the things that delight our people the most."


    Behind his smiling eyes and pleasant tone lurked a darker grin. He knew that Nyrielle typically ate only a few bites of anything she was served, content to taste something once or twice before moving on to the next. Little shocked her and even if she wasn¡¯t delighted by what she was served, it was beneath her to complain about it.


    Paulus was far more interested in the young human woman that had become Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal. For all that Lord Ritchel insisted that they treat her as one of the Eldritch, both because she was Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and because she was a Child of the Earth, Paulus didn¡¯t think any human who could still walk safely among their own kind belonged in Eldritch lands and he intended to prove just how much of an outsider she was tonight.


    Gesturing to the servants waiting at the edges of the hall, several heaping trays were brought forward, each one bearing something that Paulus felt certain would provoke this little human woman into showing her true colors in front of the most prominent Frost Walkers in the High Pass.


    When the food arrived, set on the table on large platters or giant bowls for people to dish themselves from, Ashlynn¡¯s eyes opened wide in genuine surprise.


    "Is, is that what I think it is?" She asked, her voice thick with disbelief as she pointed at one of the plates placed almost directly in front of her.

 Chapter 96: If We Can Feast Together

    Chapter 96: If We Can Feast TogetherPaulus grinned, displaying a wide row of sharpened teeth as he watched the young human¡¯s wide-eyed stare at the dish in front of her. Frost Walkers were pure carnivores with powerful jaws that could crack bone to harvest marrow. They wasted very little from anything they hunted, even when bones made it difficult to reach the most succulent pieces of meat on an animal.


    Technically, as the guest of honor, the dish that shocked Ashlynn had been placed directly in front of Nyrielle, however, that didn¡¯t stop the young witch from marveling at the giant head of a fish with a long snout and whiskers that almost seemed to be staring at her from atop the giant platter.


    "You may have noticed that there is little grass so high up in the mountains," Paulus said as Ashlynn stared at the fish while the fish stared back at her. "But there are several mountain lakes that are well stocked with fish. Since we have to carve a hole in the ice to fish during much of the year, each fish is a treasure and no part of it should be wasted. I hope that Seneschal Ashlynn doesn¡¯t look down on us too much for this," he said in a tone that was intended to be cutting.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, turning away from the fish head to look at her lover with shining, eager eyes. "Have you eaten this before?"


    "Not the head, no," she said, frowning at Paulus and his barbed tone. "But I assume that you have?"


    "Since you haven¡¯t, then you get the first piece," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. "Assuming Lord Ritchel doesn¡¯t object?"


    "I¡¯ve yet to see a human crack open a fish skull," Ritchel said with a hearty laugh. "By all means, show us how humans would eat the head of a great sturgeon," he said, leaning forward with an elbow on the table to rest his chin on his fist while he watched Ashlynn work.


    "I don¡¯t know about cracking the skull," Ashlynn said, retrieving a slender knife from the center of the table. "But where I grew up, we consider the cheeks to be a delicacy," she said, gently slicing into the flesh of the fish head until she retrieved a small morsel of meat the size of a hen¡¯s egg.


    "Mistress," she said politely, placing the delicate piece of cheek meat on the table. "Wait just a moment longer," she said, extracting the second piece of meat for herself before nudging Heila to bring her the crock of creamy goat cheese a little further down the table.


    At this point, several people stared as she topped the succulent and tender cheek meat with a small dollop of goat cheese before spooning a tiny portion of cured sturgeon eggs atop the cheese. Had she been in Georg¡¯s kitchen, she would have added a touch of fresh herbs, dill or chives, but neither was available at this carnivore¡¯s table so she made due and presented the dish to Nyrielle without the herbs.


    "So this is what you¡¯ve learned in your time with Georg," Nyrielle said, her lips curving into a warm smile as she picked up the tender morsel to savor Ashlynn¡¯s creation. The rich flavor exploded over her tongue, rich, meaty, creamy, tart, and a touch salty from the cured eggs on top.


    Chewing slowly, Nyrielle¡¯s eyes drifted closed as she indulged in not only the decadent flavor but the care and affection that Ashlynn had put into assembling a perfect bite for her. The Frost Walkers might not understand, but to Nyrielle, Ashlynn hadn¡¯t just given her a piece of food, she¡¯d shared a memory of her home and that was even more precious than the delicacy itself.


    "Delightful," Nyrielle said, opening her midnight eyes and gazing affectionately at her Seneschal. "I see why you treasure it."


    "You, you are accustomed to eating fish eggs?" Paulus said, his eyes wide in disbelief as Ashlynn devoured her own fish cheek, savoring it almost as much as Nyrielle had.


    "The word we use for the eggs of this fish is ¡¯caviar,¡¯" Ashlynn explained after Heila translated for her. "But this fish can¡¯t be caught in the waters near Blackwell County. It has to be brought over from the territory of Marquis Kuusik who claimed the northernmost territory in the Kingdom of Gaal."


    "In the winter, they pack the fish in ice before it¡¯s taken by ship to Blackwell Harbor at great expense. This is a very rare treat for me," Ashlynn said, smiling widely. "At banquets, the cheeks would usually go to my father and his most distinguished guest. Thank you, Lord Ritchel, for honoring Mistress Nyrielle and I," she finished, offering a slight bow from her seat.


    "Since you know this fish," Lord Ritchel said with a hearty chuckle. "Do you also know how to enjoy it raw?"


    "Sliced thin," Ashlynn said, smiling widely as she found a platter containing several slices of raw fish. "Though I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t manage the portions that Lord Ritchel¡¯s people can."


    "Nyrielle," Ritchel said, turning his attention to his most important guest. "I like this Seneschal of yours. She doesn¡¯t look down on us at all! I hadn¡¯t expected you to find a human like this. The few we¡¯ve captured for sneaking into our mountains are never so... cultured," he said.


    "You see, Paulus?" Ritchel said, turning to his aging advisor. "I told you, if we can feast together and drink together, then we can hunt together and trade together. Seneschal Ashlynn, I have an idea for you, during your stay here," he said, turning back to Ashlynn and ignoring the dark glower forming on Paulus¡¯ leathery face.


    "I¡¯m happy to listen to any suggestion that Lord Ritchel has for our stay," Ashlynn said politely, filling her plate with steamed fish, thin slices of raw fish, and a bit of grilled fish from a type she didn¡¯t recognize that looked both fatty and oily with crisped skin.


    As much as she wanted a pile of fresh greens or a piece of crusty bread to go with the feast of fish, so many of the flavors before her brought back memories of home that she could hardly complain.


    "My son knows our territory as well as any hunter," he said, slapping Hauke heavily on the back as he spoke. "There is no fish more succulent than the one you pull from the water yourself, so tomorrow, let Hauke take you to one of the lakes that is still frozen to fish on the ice. We can have a smaller dinner tomorrow night and feast on your catch."


    "As long as Mistress Nyrielle approves," Ashlynn said, looking to her lover for a nod before continuing. "Then I would be delighted to spend the day fishing with Hauke."


    "I know just the place," the young Frost Walker said eagerly. After the blunder outside the gates, he was eager for any opportunity to make up for what had happened. Now, his father had given him the perfect opportunity, as long as he could ensure that they caught something, he was certain that the events at the gate would quickly be forgotten.


    "I have a condition," Nyrielle said, looking up from Ashlynn¡¯s plate. While she could have served herself along with everyone else at the feast, she¡¯d found a special delight in stealing a bite or two from each of the dishes that most excited her Seneschal. "While you two fish, I would be pleased if little lord Hauke could speak with my darling Ashlynn about ice sorcery."


    "Ice sorcery?" Paulus said with a frown. "Is Lady Nyrielle hoping we¡¯ll divulge the secrets of our warriors to your Seneschal?"


    "Don¡¯t exaggerate things," Nyrille said, her thin brows lowering as she glared at the aging Frost Walker. "My Ashlynn is a Child of the Earth. The magic of all nature flows through her veins. In the Vale of Mists, we have flowing rivers, soft earth, mighty trees, and misty air. We don¡¯t have fierce chilling winds, heavy snow or piercing ice, but these things are all as natural as our trees and rivers."


    "You don¡¯t need to share any secrets with me," Ashlynn emphasized, looking at Hauke rather than the dour Paulus. "But if you can share some general thoughts or observations, it would help me to gain a feel for a different kind of natural magic."


    "Lady Nyrielle has never been stingy about sharing magic with us," Ritchel added, tapping the place in his sash where he¡¯d placed the box of Blood Vitality Crystals. "Hauke can share his thoughts on sorcery. Remember what I said, Paulus, the stronger the Vale of Mists becomes, the thicker our shield against the humans grows."


    "Of course, my Lord," Paulus said, his shoulders slumping slightly before another idea struck him. "Since we¡¯re talking about fighting against the humans, perhaps now would be a good time for Old Fabiene to regale us with her stories of the Blood Princess of the arena? I¡¯m sure it would be a delight for the young ones to hear."


    As the others nodded in agreement, a calculating gleam entered Paulus¡¯s eyes. While the others seemed eager to hear tales of Nyrielle¡¯s thrilling victories in the arena, the aging advisor had something different in mind. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    While he was still a few years too young to have witnessed those days, Paulus had grown up hearing the story from people who had lived through it and he was quite familiar with the story. Nyrielle¡¯s accomplishment was a legend and likely deserved to be.


    It wasn¡¯t the story of her deeds in the arena, however, that he was most interested in having told, but what happened after that interested him at the moment. Lord Ritchel seemed to want to emphasize that Nyrielle was a good ally, but how would his supporters feel when they heard about how many Nyrielle sacrificed after her victory?

 Chapter 97: The Blood Princess (Part One)

    Chapter 97: The Blood Princess (Part One)Along the length of the high table, voices stilled and all attention turned to the stoop-shouldered figure of the oldest Frost Walker at the high table. Before Old Fabiene could speak, however, Lord Ritchel stood and walked over to her seat halfway down the table from him.


    "My people," he said loudly, his voice echoing off the icy walls and vaulted ceiling. "Tonight, Old Fabiene will regale us with a tale of Nyrielle¡¯s triumph in the arena of the High Fen, the day she earned the title ¡¯Blood Princess of the Arena.¡¯ Please, give her your attention and your respect."


    "Ice. Resonant. Chamber. Fabiene," the Lord of the High Pass intoned, summoning a brilliant gleam of icy blue and pale white light from his horn before touching it gently to Fabiene¡¯s much duller horn. "Now, just speak normally. Your words will echo through the hall. There is no need for an old woman to strain herself so we young ones can hear," he said gently.


    Mist gathered in Old Fabiene¡¯s eyes as she stood under the watchful eyes of everyone present. Her entire life, she¡¯d been a fairly ordinary person. She had worked as a maker and mender of nets and spears used for fishing, like her mother before her, and she¡¯d taught her daughters to do the same. Only her grandson¡¯s rise to fame as a hunter had given her the opportunity to attend tonight¡¯s banquet.


    Now, she stood before the greatest hunters, warriors, and sorcerers of the High Pass and Lord Ritchel himself used magic to amplify her voice. And all this, because Lady Nyrielle spoke up for her, calling her childhood memories a treasure.


    "It was a horrible year," the old woman began. "Ash from fires in the vale fell on our slopes like snow. Lord Torbin fell to the human ¡¯miracle workers¡¯ and his people fled into the mountains. I was too young to know how bad it really was, but when the snows came, my mother took me to High Fen City." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As she spoke, Nyrielle went still, her face becoming an impassive mask while her midnight blue eyes grew distant. That year, her city had burned. Ancient oaks had burned. Only a fierce and early winter had saved the people of the Vale of Mists from the Lothians and the Church, but the winter came too late to stop Cellach Lothian from lashing her parents to the stake and burning them alive.


    "I was small, even smaller than Seneschal Ashlynn¡¯s maid," she said, smiling at Heila as though remembering what it was like to be young and tiny. "I didn¡¯t understand why my father couldn¡¯t come with us. Why he had to stay in case the humans attacked the High Pass next. I cried and wailed and smashed my mother¡¯s mirror. I was a brat and a handful, and my mother took me to the arena to distract me. After a few days, Lady Nyrielle arrived."


    Ashlynn, took Nyrielle¡¯s hands in hers, feeling the other woman¡¯s heartbeat slowing as she fell into distant memories. In her eyes, Ashlynn saw a smoldering flame dimmed only by years long passed.


    Nyrielle remembered her entry into High Fen City. She¡¯d gained a promise from the Frost Walkers to shelter her people for the winter but no longer than that. Further, the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass at the time refused to lend her soldiers to expel the human invaders from her Vale of Mists and so she¡¯d gone to see High Lady Kristel in search of aid.


    Instead of aid, however, the ruler of the High Fen told her that she was welcome to the services of anyone she could defeat in the arena, so long as they submitted to her rule, she could take them away as she wished.


    "Lady Nyrielle shocked the world," Fabiene said, continuing her tale. "She offered the title of ¡¯Lord of the Vale of Mists¡¯ to anyone who could defeat her in the arena. She swore to serve that person until the day they died, even if the vale couldn¡¯t be retaken. And then she stood there, all alone in the middle of the arena, waiting for the first man brave enough to fight her."


    In the crowd, several of the warriors began to mutter softly, some poking their neighbors asking if they were brave enough to fight a true vampire for her territory, others marveling at the courage it must of taken to issue the challenge in the first place. None of them, however, could imagine the desperation and loss that drove her onto the arena sands that night.


    "The first man to challenge her was from the Scaled Clan, with a tail as long as I am tall now and a curved sword in each hand," Fabiene said. "He was strong and fast and when the fight started I thought he looked like a whirlwind with darksteel blades."


    "He must have cut Lady Nyrielle a hundred times or more in less time than it takes me to tell the tale," she said, looking at Nyrielle and shaking her head in wonder. "But none of it stopped her. Four times, she knocked him down, and twice she tore his blades from his hands but he refused to surrender, slamming his tail into her, flinging sand, and using any trick he could to regain his weapons and continue the fight."


    "I thought she was doomed because she couldn¡¯t injure him," the old woman said. "I was very, very wrong. It was a mercy, wasn¡¯t it, Lady Nyrielle? You wanted him to admit his defeat without suffering horrible wounds?"


    "I wanted him to fight for me," Nyrielle said, her voice echoing off the icy walls even without the aid of Ritchel¡¯s magic. "I couldn¡¯t destroy a man I hoped to win for my cause."


    "But he wouldn¡¯t submit," Fabiene said. "Even until the very end, he forced you to kill him rather than admit defeat."


    Next to Nyrielle, Ashlynn reached up to gently cup her lover¡¯s cheek, watching the ghosts flicker through the vampire¡¯s eyes. She couldn¡¯t help but remember what she said to Nyrielle the first time she¡¯d seen her feed, imagining how many people she¡¯d killed that she hadn¡¯t wanted to because of her hunger. Now, she couldn¡¯t help but feel that the list of names of preventable deaths was even longer than just the ones caused by uncontrollable thirst.


    "It was what happened next that earned her the name ¡¯Blood Princess of the Arena," the old woman said. "Before he died, she fed from him until all of the cuts and wounds on her body healed. She stood there, covered in his blood and hers, and she asked who was next."


    Nyrielle closed her eyes, sinking into Ashlynn¡¯s gentle touch as a parade of figures marched through her mind. More men of the Scaled Clan, short furry men from the Clan of Painted Masks, and even Frost Walkers and the northern Tuskans had come to fight for her title. None had surrendered easily and far too many died rather than submit.


    "She fought ten more men before the first chose to submit rather than die," the old woman said. "From sunset to sunrise, Lady Nyrielle never left the sands. Her dress was torn and tattered and stained red from head to toe but no man could defeat her."


    The look that the Frost Walkers gave Nyrielle was filled with awe, respect, and a small measure of fear as they imagined the carnage Old Fabiene described. They had already been shocked when they heard that she fought ten men in a row, without rest in order to have a single man surrender, but when they heard that she spent an entire long winter night on the sands of the arena, even the Frost Walker¡¯s blood ran cold.

 Chapter 98: The Blood Princess (Part Two)

    Chapter 98: The Blood Princess (Part Two)Old Fabiene¡¯s tale of Nyrielle¡¯s legendary battle in the arena of High Fen City captivated the entire hall. From the esteemed guests at the high table to the lucky servants who waited at the side for orders to fulfill, the Frost Walkers listened in rapt attention.


    Bit by bit, the elderly woman recounted the Blood Princess¡¯s ordeal, facing one challenger after another while enduring grievous wounds. As Fabiene continued her story, parents lifted up their children, pointing and whispering to pay attention to a tale they would likely never hear told again.


    Lord Ritchel himself leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the table. On his plate, a half finished portion of fish lay forgotten as he became engrossed in the tale. He¡¯d heard the story before, but this was his first time hearing it in so much detail from someone who had actually witnessed it.


    Somehow, when the story was distilled down to simple facts recounted by his grandfather, the enormity of what Nyrielle had accomplished felt almost... ordinary. His grandfather said she was strong enough to do it, so she was strong enough to do it. Only now did he realize how savage those battles must have been and how agonizing the injuries she suffered in the process truly were.


    Beside him, Hauke sat transfixed, his mouth slightly agape. The glow in his horn pulsed erratically, flaring with excitement when Fabiene spoke of victory and dimming to a pale flicker when she spoke of Nyrielle¡¯s horrific wounds. He glanced at Nyrielle, then back to Fabiene, struggling to reconcile the elegant vampire at the table with the relentless warrior in the story.


    "Father," Hauke whispered, his voice barely audible so as not to disrupt the story. "Is this why you always say we cannot lose the goodwill of the Vale of Mists? Because of Lady Nyrielle?"


    "This, and many other reasons, my son," Ritchel said solemnly. "Listen closely, and remember how hard she fought for her people. She saved more than just the Vale of Mists with her courage. You could do far worse than to learn from her example."


    Further down the table, Paulus glowered as he overheard Lord Ritchel¡¯s words. Certainly, Lady Nyrielle¡¯s actions sounded grand at the moment, but in the end, had she truly treated her allies well? From the stories he¡¯d heard, this battle didn¡¯t gain her any allies, only kindling to burn in the fires of her vengeance, but these fools were too blind to see it. At least, too blind at the moment.


    "I came back the next night," Fabiene said. "And I watched her do it again. More men surrendered, but word had spread that a person could become a Lord of the Vale of Mists if they could defeat one vampire in the arena, and even stronger fighters began to come forth."


    For Nyrielle, the stronger challengers were what she needed most, but in the depths of winter, many of them took several days to arrive. Still, she couldn¡¯t stop. Once she¡¯d made her declaration, she¡¯d wagered her future and the future of the Vale of Mists on what she could achieve on the Arena sands.


    "Ten days," Fabiene said. "The sons and daughters of Eldritch Lords and High Lords came from countless miles away to take the Vale of Mists from her, but none of them did. Some pierced her through with spears and one man severed her arm, but no one could claim victory."


    "You can heal back a severed arm?" Ashlynn whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at Nyrielle.


    "It hurts," the vampire said softly. "But as long as it hasn¡¯t been destroyed and I feed soon enough, I can make myself whole again," she said, her eyes still closed as she drew deeply on the warmth of Ashlynn¡¯s touch.


    In those days, she¡¯d been alone. Before Thane or Zedya or any of the others, she¡¯d lost her grandsire, lost her parents, lost most of the soldiers of the Vale of Mists. Her people were scattered like the seeds of a dandelion on the wind and she was only hanging on to life because she refused to die before Cellach Lothian paid for what he¡¯d done.


    "Blood Princess Nyrielle," Fabiene said, her tone full of admiration that bordered on worship. "Many times when life has been hard, I¡¯ve remembered you on those sands. You must have fought a thousand men those nights but never once did you give up. I¡¯ve always thought, no matter how hard life has been, my life has never been so hard as that. So, thank you, for giving an old woman the strength to keep going on, no matter how hard it was."


    Throughout the hall, people stood and cheered. Some clapped, others stomped. Many praised Nyrielle, the ¡¯Blood Princess¡¯ for her indomitable courage while others shouted their thanks to Old Fabiene for sharing the tale. As the crowd began to quiet, however, a wicked gleam flashed in Paulus¡¯ eyes as he stood to slowly clap for Nyrielle.


    "Blood Princess Nyrielle," he said, his voice pitched to reach the very back of the grand hall. "We¡¯re all inspired by your tenacity to hold onto your territory no matter the cost. While I¡¯m too young to have witnessed those terrible days, my father told me many stories. I wonder, could you tell me if they¡¯re true?"


    "There are many stories from those days," Nyrielle said, opening her eyes and directing a piercing stare at Paulus. "Which tale is Elder Paulus curious about?"


    "I heard that you took away fifty champions in total, and that they became your first progeny," Paulus said, a dark grin tugging at the corners of his leathery lips. "Is that true?"


    "Forty-seven," Nyrielle corrected, in a tone that was far too light and airy for the intensity with which she stared at them. "And yes, they were my progeny. Many of them fought to the brink of death. If I did not take them as my progeny, they would have died from their wounds even if I spared their life."


    Ashlynn blinked, looking at Nyrielle in surprise. She¡¯d only met three of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny and none of them had come from the arena in High Fen City. Yet she was certain that Thane said her Mistress only had seven progeny. If that was the case...


    "Ah, I suppose ¡¯fifty¡¯ makes a better story than ¡¯forty-seven¡¯,"Paulus said, derailing Ashlynn¡¯s thoughts. "But, Lady Nyrielle, if you made forty-seven people into vampires, that must have been a terrifying force. So, answer a question for me, Lady Nyrielle," he said, directing his gaze out over the audience before returning it to Nyrielle and Ashlynn.


    "Why is it that you only have seven progeny now?" Paulus asked, unknowingly asking the very question he¡¯d planted in Ashlynn¡¯s mind. "And why is it that your only surviving progeny are humans that you took afterward? Of the forty-seven brave warriors who became your progeny, not one is with us still, yet your human progeny are as old as I am."


    "My Lord Ritchel was just saying that it is important to be a good ally to the Vale of Mists in your war against the humans," Paulus said, his voice growing as cold as the wind outside the great hall. "But tell me, what happened to the last forty-seven allies who joined your war against the humans?" Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 99: The Reality Of Fighting Humans (Part One)

    Chapter 99: The Reality Of Fighting Humans (Part One)"What happened to the last forty-seven allies who joined your war against the humans?"


    Paulus¡¯ question hung in the air, heavy like the snow after a blizzard. Throughout the hall, forks and knives froze, suspended over dishes as the Frost Walkers attending the feast dared not make a sound. The air itself seemed to crystalize, as though the already cold room had entered the depths of winter.


    Moments ago they had been exhilarated by Old Fabiene¡¯s tale of Nyrielle¡¯s heroic stand on the arena sands. Now, one of their elders had stood to speak out against her, dumping a bucket of ice water over the warm fires the stirring tale had built in their hearts.


    "Old Fabiene, thank you for sharing your tale. You are a treasure and I am honored to hear that it helped you face your own struggles," Nyrielle said, gently removing Ashlynn¡¯s hands from where her Seneschal had offered a comforting touch and turning her attention to the belligerent elder.


    The moment Nyrielle turned her attention to Elder Paulus, Fabiene slumped gratefully in her chair. She¡¯d been honored to tell her story but she had no desire to become embroiled in whatever conflict Elder Paulus was beginning to stir. Beside her, other guests at the high table reached out with comforting hands, gently stroking her fur to comfort her and thank her for sharing what she had. Meanwhile, most people turned their attention to Lady Nyrielle.


    "You¡¯ve fought the humans, haven¡¯t you, Elder Paulus? It doesn¡¯t matter whether a person¡¯s struggles are big or small," Nyrielle added, looking out at the gathered Frost Walkers for a moment before returning her gaze to the Elder.


    "As long as a person respects the challenges others face, we can all strive together. But when you speak out to disparage others, I have to start by asking my own question," she said pointedly. "Why don¡¯t I remember seeing you on the field of battle, slaughtering humans with your own claws to keep your High Pass safe from human invaders?"


    "Ridiculous," Paulus spat. "I wasn¡¯t even born when Cellach Lothian died. That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking you to account for the people who followed you in that war. What happened to your forty-seven progeny?"


    "Paulus," Lord Ritchel growled, his fur rising with icy energy as his hands balled into fists. "Sit down. You¡¯re out of line." Lord Ritchel wasn¡¯t stupid, he¡¯d heard the same tales that Paulus had, but at this point, the battle against Cellach was all but ancient history. The events of those days hardly mattered in his eyes when compared to the threats before them now.


    "Am I out of line?" Paulus said, glaring at Lord Ritchel and refusing to back down. "You tell us again and again to trust the Eldritch Lady of the Vale, to put our faith in the True Vampire to act as our shield against the humans. But do not think we¡¯re blind to what is happening here."


    "Lady Nyrielle is a vampire, yes," Paulus conceded. "But she is also human! Her eldritch progeny are nowhere to be seen but her human progeny have visited us many times. Now, she comes before us with a human Seneschal," he said, pointing a frost-covered claw at Ashlynn.


    "They say that the Eldritch tongue isn¡¯t even spoken by the youth in the Vale of Mists," Paulus continued. "Yes, Lady Nyrielle is brave and strong, but she is also insidious and cunning, destroying..." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Silence, old man," Nyrielle commanded. Her eyes had turned completely dark with only a trace of midnight blue rings glowing in the center of the darkness as her power swirled around her. A wind, unfelt by anyone else, tugged at her long lace sleeves and skirt as she stood to confront the old man.


    Paulus¡¯ eyes went wide as he tried to speak, to protest, to do anything to resist but when Nyrille commanded that he stay silent, he found that he couldn¡¯t do anything to make a sound. Even the thought of banging on the table to vent his frustration felt so abhorrent that he didn¡¯t dare make a move that would break the silence he had been confined to.


    Beside him, Lord Ritchel looked for a moment like he would protest before settling back into his high-backed chair. For many years, Paulus had been one of his most trusted advisors but they had grown increasingly out of step over the years. Now, the old man had dug his own grave and he refused to rescue him from it.


    "It¡¯s true that Paulus wasn¡¯t alive to fight against Cellach to help retake the Vale of Mists from the Lothian armies," Nyrielle said, turning away from Paulus to face the gathered Frost Walkers. "So let me tell you what it was like to fight in those days."


    "You might know the Lothians for their strong knights and vast armies," Nyrielle began, looking briefly to Ashlynn. "My Seneschal has studied the history of the Lothian family more than some people born into it. My darling, what is it that humans called the last war the Lothians fought against the Eldritch peoples?"


    "The War of Inches," Ashlynn said, standing next to Nyrielle and speaking so the entire room could hear, even without the use of sorcery. "They named it that because, by war¡¯s end, the borders between the Lothian March and the Eldritch Nations had barely moved. At best, Bors Lothian raided Airgead Mountain, pillaging gold, silver, and many jewels from the mountain."


    "If you¡¯ve only ever heard of how the humans fought during their ¡¯War of Inches,¡¯" Nyrielle said, resuming her tale. "Then you do not understand the horror of fighting the humans at their strongest. In the last war, we fought the Lothians and their subordinate barons but little more than that."


    "When Cellarch brought his armies to avenge his father¡¯s death, he brought with him a force of Inquisitors and Templars," Nyrielle said. Her voice was smooth and calm but her hands clenched and unclenched, her nails lengthening into wicked claws as she spoke.

 Chapter 100: The Reality Of Fighting Humans (Part Two)

    Chapter 100: The Reality Of Fighting Humans (Part Two)"The Inquisitors can call down fire from the sky and create light as potent as the noonday sun," she said. "Forests and homes weren¡¯t the only things to burn under their assault. Their magic turned people into torches, running, screaming, and burning no matter how far they ran. Even plunging themselves into the river wouldn¡¯t extinguish the flames of the Inquisitors."


    All around the great hall, Frost Walker¡¯s eyes went wide in horror as they imagined the sight Nyrielle described. Whenever possible, the Frost Walkers avoided the use of fire, lighting their castle and homes with glowing crystals of ice powered by sorcery rather than using lamps or torches. The idea of being set on fire and being unable to extinguish it terrified even the most seasoned of Frost Walker warriors.


    "Some people might think that the Templars are just pious knights, but they¡¯d be wrong," Nyrielle added. "The swords they carry are their answer to darksteel weapons. Some of them shine with brilliant light and others are wreathed in unquenchable flames. They create wounds that vampires cannot heal from, no matter how much blood we drink and the pain of those wounds is everlasting." S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As Nyrielle spoke, her voice rippled with power, conjuring visions in the minds of the audience pulled directly from her memories. The visions she provided were vague, as though seen through a thick haze in the Vale of Mists. They lacked the acrid stench of burnt flesh and spilled blood that dominated those battlefields but it was enough to disturb the sleep of any but the most experienced warriors for days to come.


    Only the children in the great hall were spared the disturbing visions as Nyrielle carefully shaped the power that rippled through the room with her voice.


    For a moment, Nyrielle paused, lowering her head and closing her eyes as she recalled her progeny who had faced those terrifying weapons. Urmas who severed his own arm rather than suffer the torment of the wound, Tuule who begged to be killed rather than suffer the agony of dozens of cuts across her body, and others still who would never be whole again after confronting the Templars head-on.


    "Paulus asked what happened to my forty-seven progeny," Nyrielle said in a voice that trembled slightly under the weight of her memories. "Thirteen of them died in the battle to retake the Vale of Mists, to give the rest of our people a place to return to where they could rebuild their homes and their lives."


    "Seven were so badly injured by the Templars that they begged for death," Nyrielle added, her dark eyes staring directly at Paulus who trembled under the weight of her gaze. "But they weren¡¯t content to die on their own blades. They and five others attacked the temple in Lothian City, slaughtering the Inquisitors and Templars while I led the rest to attack Lothian manor and killed Cellach Lothian for his crimes."


    "They call it the ¡¯Midnight Massacre,¡¯" Ashlynn said, placing a hand gently on the small of Nyrielle¡¯s back as she spoke. "It nearly caused the fall of Lothian March and it became the reason that the Church¡¯s temple in Lothian City was converted to an armed fortress."


    "By the time everything was over," Nyrielle said, "there were only twenty left from the original forty-seven. The humans call us ¡¯demons¡¯," she sneered. "My progeny fought like demons. Each one of them who died took more than a hundred humans with them and in so doing, saved the lives of hundreds of the Vale¡¯s soldiers."


    Around the hall, many Frost Walkers lowered their heads. Whether in respect for the fallen progeny or in shame that the Frost Walkers hadn¡¯t fought alongside them varied from person to person but no one found it easy to meet Nyrielle¡¯s gaze at the moment.


    Hauke, sitting beside his father, felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, as if his horn had been pulled down from his head to his toes and tugged at every vital organ along the way. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to process the horrors Nyrielle had described.


    The young Frost Walker had trained hard, honing his ice sorcery and his fighting skills in the belief that one day, he would need to protect the High Pass from both Eldritch raiders and the human invasion. Until today, he¡¯d never questioned whether or not he possessed the courage and would one day possess the strength to repel any invasion.


    But now, hearing of Inquisitors who could set people ablaze with unquenchable fire and Templars with weapons that could maim even Nyrielle¡¯s progeny to the extent that they begged for death, he realized how woefully unprepared he truly was.


    He glanced at his father, hoping to see reassurance, but Lord Ritchel¡¯s face was grim, his eyes fixed on Nyrielle. Hauke swallowed hard, his earlier excitement about spending a day fishing and discussing ice sorcery with Ashlynn didn¡¯t feel as innocent anymore.


    His father rarely did anything carelessly and he never missed an opportunity to teach his son the things he needed to learn to take over as the next Eldritch Lord of the High Pass. Evidently, the lesson his father wanted him to learn now was that the humans were a far greater threat than he had ever imagined.


    On top of that, maintaining a strong relationship with the Vale of Mists was not just beneficial, but crucial to the survival of the nation. Thinking of the flaming horrors Nyrielle described, he finally understood why his father always called her the shield the High Pass depended on.


    "Now, Elder Paulus," Nyrielle said, turning her dark gaze back to the silent elder. "You may speak, if you still have words you wish to say."


    For several moments, Paulus said nothing. Nyrielle¡¯s powerful grasp over him had shaken him to the core. Even as he tried to use his own sorcery to counter hers, he couldn¡¯t speak a word to overpower her Voice of Command. It was as though he¡¯d become a prisoner in his own body, unable to so much as open his mouth.


    Now, however, he felt the vampire¡¯s command fading like frost in the morning sun and his brows lowered in a deep scowl as he prepared to speak. She might think that she¡¯d persuaded the Frost Walkers to support her but he felt the reality was different.


    Rather than making a case for why they must support her, Paulus felt like she¡¯d just explained why they should avoid becoming entangled with her enemies and made his case for him. All he had to do now was help his people see the truth she¡¯d laid before them.

 Chapter 101: Ashlynn’s History Lesson (Part One)

    Chapter 101: Ashlynn¡¯s History Lesson (Part One)The great hall had gone still and all eyes gathered on Paulus. Despite his gray fur and stooped shoulders, he still radiated the might of a powerful sorcerer as he drew himself up to his full nine feet of height, looking out at the expectant gazes of the Frost Walkers.


    "You mean to tell us, Lady Nyrielle, that you lost the lives of nearly six out of every ten of your progeny, just to repel a single human invasion?" Paulus said. "My people, stand for a moment, go ahead, stand up," he said, gesturing for the attendees of the banquet to stand.


    "There are twelve tables at our gathering tonight," the elder said, sweeping his arm out in a wide gesture. As he spoke, his horn glowed and with the sweep of his arm, seven glowing balls of icy blue light formed. "If a light comes to rest at your table, sit down," he said, scattering the lights across the twelve tables.


    Some lights landed on adjacent tables while others skipped over a few tables before choosing another. In the end, everyone sitting at the seven tables sat down, nervously looking around at the Frost Walkers who still stood.


    "So, this is what your war against the humans is like," Paulus said. "Everyone who is still standing, look at those sitting and imagine that your lord has traded their lives away to fight against the humans. Are you proud? Do you feel that it was heroic? Or do you see friends you¡¯d miss, loved ones you would mourn, perhaps a child or parent who was unlucky to sit at the wrong table through no fault of their own?" Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Is this the kind of leader you¡¯d have us trust, Lord Ritchel?" Paulus said, turning his gaze upon the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass. "This is the example you¡¯d have your son follow? But wait," he added, rounding on Nyrielle.


    "Of the twenty remaining progeny, where are they now? Everyone, everyone should sit down," Paulus said, his shoulders slumping and his voice sounding weary. "Lady doesn¡¯t need living Eldritch allies, she¡¯ll surely find some humans to replace you all when you¡¯re gone."


    Around the hall, most people sat, feeling extremely awkward after Paulus¡¯ demonstration. Some of them felt that his example wasn¡¯t quite right but many were still looking at the tables who had sat first and imagining the people sitting at those tables being torn away from them.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said softly, standing next to Nyrielle and gently touching her shoulder. "You¡¯ve given this old man enough of your words. Let me resolve this for you," she said, her emerald eyes burning.


    Outwardly, Nyrielle looked as cool and impassive as ever, but inwardly, her heart had been pierced by the spectral blades of countless ghosts conjured by the evening of storytelling. While others might not know, an echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heart beat within Ashlynn¡¯s own chest. How could she not know how much it had pained her to lose her progeny?


    "Good," Nyrielle said after a brief moment. "They should hear the truth from you so they understand what they¡¯re really up against," she said, gently cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face with a cold hand before returning to her seat. "Educate them, my darling Ashlynn."


    "Lord Ritchel," Ashlynn said, turning to the evening¡¯s host. "Heila will translate my words. Can you amplify her voice? Heila, I¡¯m counting on you," she said with a slight smile, placing a hand on the horned woman¡¯s shoulder before she turned to face the assembled Frost Walkers. Once Ritchel had worked his magic, she began to speak.


    "You may have heard my name," she began, taking a few steps away from the table so everyone could see her while Heila translated from behind. "I am Ashlynn Blackwell, daughter of Count Rhys Blackwell in a territory far from Lothian March. I am Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, I am a Child of the Earth and, for a single night before he attempted to murder me, I was Owain Lothian¡¯s wife."


    At first, few seemed interested in her introduction. Human lands and titles mattered little to them outside of the Lothians who presented the only threat they¡¯d ever known. But when Heila translated her last words, a ripple of shock spread through the crowd and all eyes turned to her.


    "Before my marriage to the next Marquis of Lothian, I studied the history of the march," Ashlynn continued calmly. "So I can tell you what happened after Cellach Lothian fell. Humans call that war the ¡¯War of Undying Demons,¡¯ in honor of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. The progeny she gathered from High Fen City came from clans no human had ever seen before and her progeny terrified humans to their bones."


    "But Nyrielle was merciful, killing only Cellach Lothian and the soldiers who came to fight. She spared his sons, Odhran and Leon," she said, turning to look at Hauke sitting beside his father. "They were boys even younger than little lord Hauke, not old enough to pick up weapons and take to the battlefield."


    "Thirty years passed, and in the Lothian tradition, Odhran as the eldest took up the mantle of Marquis while Leon entered the Church, becoming a high priest, one of the most talented seen in decades," she explained. "They spent their whole lives rebuilding the Lothian army and fortifying the Temple in Lothian City before they returned to the Vale to wage a war of retribution."


    "Cellach Lothian slew Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s parents and she killed the father of Odhran and Leon. Of course, they swore vengeance," Ashlynn said sadly. "They started the ¡¯Brothers¡¯ War¡¯ with an invasion on the Vale of Mists, bringing with them the full might of Lothian March and the Church within the march. During the war, Inquisitors were stationed at the castle of every baron and priests at the manors of every knight."


    "The brothers were so terrified of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny that they ordered the body of every slain Eldritch soldier be burned on the spot or cleansed with holy fire to prevent them from rising again," Ashlynn said, her voice growing soft. When she¡¯d first read the account, she¡¯d thought it a wise and prudent move from the brothers.


    It was only after coming to the vale and meeting members of the Horned Clan like Harrod and the Clan of the Great Claw like Captain Lennart that she gained an appreciation for what that must have looked like. She couldn¡¯t imagine the pyres heaped with fearsome, savage demons, only the broken bodies of diminutive soldiers little larger than Heila and battered bearish faces as sweet as Georg¡¯s.


    Reading history was one thing, and she¡¯d been passionate about it when she studied at home in Blackwell County. Now, however, living with Nyrielle, Thane, and all the others, history was no longer something cold and distant, trapped in the pages of books. It lived and breathed and shaped the people she¡¯d come to love as her newfound family.


    And now, a frightened old man was trying to twist that history into something darker and uglier than it already was, to slander and isolate the people she loved, and Ashlynn refused to let him get away with it.

 Chapter 102: Ashlynn’s History Lesson (Part Two)

    Chapter 102: Ashlynn¡¯s History Lesson (Part Two)"Mistress Nyrielle sent her progeny deep into human territory, intending to strike at their homes and force the human armies to turn back to protect their homes," Ashlynn continued. "This is how Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s progeny fight. If five of her progeny can turn around an army of five thousand, then hundreds of others will live."


    "Everyone at this table, stand up," she said, repeating Paulus¡¯ activity. "There are thirty people standing here. Which one of you would leave the table, risking your life if you knew it would save the life of everyone else at the table? Raise your hands," she said, holding up her hand.


    Several hands shot into the air without a moment of hesitation as every experienced soldier and hunter volunteered. A number of other people held up their hands, including two mothers holding small children.


    "Elder Paulus would have you believe that Mistress Nyrielle is capricious with her allies, spending their lives the way the Lothians spend the lives of their soldiers, but this isn¡¯t how she treats them at all," Ashlynn said, smiling at the people with hands in the air.


    "A very few people face greater danger than any others so that the people in the vale may tend their herds, grow their crops and live their lives in peace," Ashlynn explained, thinking of the happy villagers she had seen when she visited the villages in the vale.


    "Risks are one thing," Paulus interrupted, no longer able to hold his tongue. "But she still spent the lives of all of her progeny and replaced them with humans!"


    "Isn¡¯t that better then?" Ashlynn said, rounding on Paulus. "If she risks the lives of her younger progeny, they will be human progeny, not Eldritch progeny. Isn¡¯t that what you want? For her to stop losing Eldritch lives in the fight against the humans?"


    "Now let me finish," Ashlynn said, without giving Paulus a chance to respond. "You wanted to know what happened to the last twenty progeny, so let me explain," she said, returning her gaze to the Frost Walkers.


    "Mistress Nyrielle sent her progeny to attack the barons and knights in the rear, but doing so is very dangerous," Ashlynn emphasized. "They had to sneak through enemy territory during the night and hide themselves away at night with no one to guard them as they slept away the long summer days."


    "Mistress Nyrielle told you that the Inquisitors have magic to rain down fire," Ashlynn said. "But that isn¡¯t the limit of an Inquisitor¡¯s power. They are relentless seekers who will stop at nothing until they uncover what they¡¯re looking for. A few of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s progeny managed to inflict some damage, leaving carnage in their wake, but doing so alerted the Inquisition to their presence."


    "It was worse than the history books say," Nyrielle interrupted, her eyes looking dark and haunted. "The Inquisition captured one of my progeny, a member of the Scaled Clan named Sete. They tortured her with sunlight until she was half mad and then convinced her that if she ¡¯confessed¡¯ to the locations of her fellow progeny, they would ¡¯cleanse¡¯ her of her vampirism and allow her to return to her clan."


    "It was a lie, of course," Nyrielle added, lest anyone misunderstand. "A vampire is perched on the edge of a knife between life and death. Falling off that edge only leads to oblivion. The dead can never return to life. But in her madness, she believed, and many of her brethren died because of it."


    "I lived my entire life in fear of the Inquisition," Ashlynn said, looking out over the crowd. "What they would do to me if they saw my mark is far worse than what Owain Lothian did. Make no mistake, behind the Lothians is the Church of the Holy Lord of Light and they believe that it is the destiny of humanity to rule all lands illuminated by the sun. Right now, they point their swords and spears at Mistress Nyrielle," she said, turning to face Paulus.


    "But if she ever falls, they will come to the High Pass next."


    Paulus¡¯s eyes narrowed as he scanned the great hall. The atmosphere had shifted palpably since the human girl had begun speaking. When he spoke and especially after his small demonstration, there had been murmurs of discontent and nods of agreement with his words.


    Now, when he looked around the great hall, he saw furrowed brows and thoughtful expressions. Some of the younger Frost Walkers were leaning forward, hanging on Ashlynn¡¯s every word. The younger ones looked a little frightened but the older children had started casting glances at the warriors who raised their hands to say they would take the risks to keep their people safe.


    Clearly some of them who had once been content to grow up as fishermen or hunters now thought that nothing could be more noble than a warrior¡¯s calling. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When he turned his gaze from the children to the seasoned warriors near the back of the hall, what he saw concerned him even more. Most warriors held themselves with a pride of knowing that they had trained even harder than the greatest of hunters. Many of them had been entrusted with the sacred duty of guarding the ancestral caves where the horns of fallen Frost Walkers were kept. That pride showed in the way they stood and every move they mad.


    Now, however, they were shifting nervously as they thought about the visions Nyrielle had shared and the way the human girl described the relentlessness of the Inquisition. Even some of Paulus¡¯s most staunch supporters were exchanging worried glances, clearly unsettled by what they were hearing tonight.


    Paulus¡¯ fists tightened in frustration. He had underestimated this human girl, dismissing her as merely Nyrielle¡¯s latest pet human. But now, watching her sway the crowd with her words and historical knowledge, he realized she was a formidable opponent in her own right.


    The old Frost Walker¡¯s mind raced, searching for a way to regain control of the narrative. He couldn¡¯t let this outsider undo years of carefully cultivated skepticism toward Nyrielle¡¯s methods.


    "None of this matters," he said, desperate to claw back control of the conversation. "The humans may be fearsome in the lowlands to the east, but we are defended by the mountains themselves. Other than Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, no human could ever fight us in these mountains."


    "The people of the Vale of Mists might need to fear humans, but we should concern ourselves with other foes," he insisted. "People like the Tuskans who try to raid our ancestral caves are a bigger threat to us than humans will ever be!"


    "Oh?" Nyrielle said, quirking an eyebrow at the blustering elder. Any other time, she might have been more direct in putting him in his place, but at the moment, Ashlynn¡¯s approach was working on the majority of the Frost Walkers, and lifting her Seneschal up was more important than smacking Paulus down.


    "Is that what you think? Then I suppose you can look forward to your horn adorning a human spear in the years to come," she said, giving him a piercing look. "I have fought the Lothians for over a century," Nyrielle said. "But even I haven¡¯t faced humans at their most dangerous. Ashlynn, my darling, how will the humans conquer the High Pass?"

 Chapter 103: The Power of the Church

    Chapter 103: The Power of the Church Paulus glared at Nyrielle, his gray fur twitching with anger while his horn pulsed with a dark blue light. At the moment, more than anything, he wanted to sink claws of ice into the vampire¡¯s heart for the insult of suggesting his horn would adorn a human spear, but he knew that his strength had faded too much with age to threaten an Eldritch Lady. Instead, he could only stomach his anger as Ashlynn began to address the crowd again. "You have heard that the Church is powerful and dangerous," Ashlynn said. "But let me make it clear just how much the Church can do to change the course of a war."


    "Bors Lothian fought the ¡¯War of Inches¡¯ because he had lost much of the support his ancestors enjoyed. During the ¡¯Brothers¡¯ War¡¯, Odhran and Leon were bound tightly together, unified in their desire to avenge their father," Ashlynn explained. "Odhran gave Leon much greater support than the future Marquis of Lothian would in order to raise his holy army."


    "But as horrible as the Brothers¡¯ War was, it failed to topple a single Eldritch Lord," she pointed out. "It did succeed in weakening the Vale of Mists and robbing Mistress Nyrielle of many of her progeny, but no more than that. A generation later, the War of Four Templars saw the sons of Odhran and Leon unite, not against the Vale of Mists, but against Airgead Mountain and the Southern Steppe."  S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At the high table, Lord Ritchel¡¯s bushy brows furrowed when Ashlynn brought up the territories of the neighboring Eldritch Lords on the eastern side of the mountains. Much like his own ancestors, the Lord of Airgead Mountain and the High Lord of the Southern Steppe had been content to let the Lothians batter themselves against the Vale of Mists, seeing little reason to intervene in wars that weren¡¯t their own.


    It wasn¡¯t until the war in Ritchel¡¯s grandfather¡¯s time that they realized how boundless the human appetite for expansion truly was. Airgead Mountain was said to be rich in gold and jewels and the Southern Steppe was both vast and fertile. Both Eldritch Lords suffered losses to the Lothians in that war that they hadn¡¯t fully recovered from to this day.


    "This is how humans see the world, Hauke," Lord Ritchel said quietly to his son. "They view maps like a fish, ready to be carved up and portioned out. If you deny them the soft belly, they will fight you for the rich back and while you are busy defending the best parts of your catch, someone else will make off with the head and tail."


    "Airgead Mountain and the Southern Steppe still stand because Lady Nyrielle sends her forces to aid them, even though they never did the same for her," he said, driving the lesson home for his son. "One day, you may need to do the same for her."


    Beside him, Hauke nodded solemnly, never taking his gaze off Ashlynn as he listened to her speak. The more he heard, the more questions he had and the more he looked forward to learning more from her in the next few days.


    "Make no mistake," Ashlynn said. "The Lothians have realized that they cannot expand their domain without the help of the Church. Since the War of Four Templars, the past few Marquis have sought to regain some independence from the church but Bors Lothian has realized that doing so weakened their ability to fight the Eldritch Nations."


    "All this time, Mistress Nyrielle has resisted the forces of Lothian March, but Bors Lothian isn¡¯t content to make do with his own forces anymore," Ashlynn said darkly. "More than two hundred years ago, when the first humans arrived on this continent, very few of the human colonies could threaten an Eldritch Lord. Individually, they were too weak to accomplish much. That changed when the Church put their support behind a king and declared the First Crusade."


    "In a Crusade, the Church takes command of the armies," Ashlynn explained. "They send not only Inquisitors and Templars but Exemplars and other ¡¯miracle workers¡¯ who have as much power as witches like the Mother of Thorns and the Mother of Storms. From across the ocean, every human king, men with territories as vast as those of Eldritch Great Lords, sends knights and champions to fight in the Crusade."


    "My Blackwell family was founded in the First Crusade," Ashlynn said, her voice colored with a trace of irony. "They were one of many who defeated an entire Eldritch Nation to claim one of the greatest natural treasures of the eastern coast - a deepwater harbor ideal for trade across the sea."


    As Ashlynn spoke, many of the Frost Walkers leaned forward, including the people at the high table. It was one thing to hear the tales of the wars fought by their neighbors, but the eastern sea was impossibly far away and events more than two centuries ago seemed absurdly ancient to all but the oldest Frost Walkers at the feast.


    For Nyrielle, it was something else entirely. Her parents had lost their homes in the First Crusade and were declared heretics of the Church for trading with the Eldritch Nations as partners instead of treating them like enemies. While she hadn¡¯t been alive to see the First Crusade, she¡¯d been born not long after and she witnessed firsthand what happened after.


    "The First Crusade created the Kingdom of Gaal," Ashlynn said. "The Second Crusade expanded its borders to what they are today. My father, for a very long time, has believed that a Third Crusade will not be announced until the current Marquis; Lothian, Kuusik, Monkes, and Oberese, complete their expansion and establish themselves as Dukes."


    "Bors and Owain Lothian intend to be the first to accomplish this, and to do it, they¡¯ve gained the support of the Church to declare a ¡¯Holy War,¡¯" Ashlyn continued. As she spoke, she walked to the high table, picking up a long knife, and stabbing it into the head of the sturgeon she¡¯d taken the cheeks from to make a dish for Nyrielle.


    "A Holy War isn¡¯t a Crusade. Participation is voluntary," she said, returning to face the crowd. "But the kings across the sea will send their men, and so will the other Marches. Elder Paulus," Ashlynn said, turning to face the old man. "Remember when I said I recognized this fish, because it could be caught in the territory of Marquis Kuusik?"


    "Yes, what of it?" Paulus said. By now, he understood what Ashlynn was about to say but he disliked being put in a position to play along with her. At the same time, with Lord Ritchel glowering at him from the center of the table, there was little he could do but go along with the young witch, at least to an extent.


    "Marquis Kuusik is descended from a noble family in the old country," Ashlynn explained. "They live in lands that are covered by ice and snow, where the ground freezes solid and can be cut from the earth to use as bricks. In Kuusik March, they also cut holes in the ice to fish and they brave the frozen sea to claim the islands of the north."


    As Ashlynn spoke, she returned to the high table, this time directly across from Paulus. When she reached the table, she thrust the head of the sturgeon onto the table in front of him, stabbing the knife down into the table itself.


    "The High Pass might be safe from the Lothians, but when the Lothians are ready to attack the High Pass, they¡¯ll summon the Kuusiks and men from across the sea who live their whole lives in the ice and snow," Ashlynn said fiercely.


    "Your mountain won¡¯t protect you from the Church when the Church calls for a Crusade, and if the Lothians win their ¡¯Holy War¡¯ then you can bet that a Crusade isn¡¯t far away."

 Chapter 104: Cooling Down

    Chapter 104: Cooling DownPaulus flinched, staring at the sturgeon head that Ashlynn had impaled into the table in front of him. This was the delicate human noblewoman that Lady Nyrielle had taken as her Seneschal? The trophy wife selected to bear the next set of Lothian heirs? Suddenly he felt very misled by the messenger the Eldritch Lady of the Vale had sent to inform them of her guest and the reason she needed to cross through the High Pass.


    Paulus¡¯s gaze darted from the impaled fish head to Ashlynn¡¯s fierce expression, then to the approving nods of the other Frost Walkers both at the high table and among the more common guests.


    His jaw clenched as he realized his carefully laid plans were unraveling before his eyes. This human witch had outmaneuvered him, turning what should have been a moment of triumph into a humiliating defeat.


    As the conversation continued around him, his mind raced. If he couldn¡¯t make them recognize that the real danger was closer at hand than the humans would ever come, perhaps it was time to consider... alternative methods. His eyes flickered briefly to the icy walls of the great hall, beyond which lay the treacherous mountain passes.


    He¡¯d delayed long enough. Once the banquet came to an end, he would do what had to be done. One way or another, he would make sure Lord Ritchel understood how important it was to put a strong protector like his grandson Torsten in line to succeed Ritchel, and the sooner, the better.


    "Do you understand now," Nyrielle said, directing a frosty gaze at Paulus and startling him out of his thoughts. "This is just one of the many reasons why I treasure Ashlynn as my Seneschal. Already, she has slain two of Owain Lothian¡¯s knights and learned much of his plans for the next war the Lothians intend to start."


    "She speaks as if this ¡¯Holy War¡¯ is certain to come," Lord Ritchel said. "My people deserve to know, how certain is this war?"


    "Owain has filled a chest with gold and jewels taken from Airgead Mountain," Ashlynn said, returning to her seat next to Nyrielle. "He is sending them to the merchants in the city where I grew up, to entice them into helping him bring ¡¯Holy Warriors¡¯ from across the seas to fight in his next war."


    "He is buying weapons, armor and supplies and if he does not secure access to the wealth of Airgead Mountain, the consequences of being unable to repay his debts will be ruinous," she said. "I¡¯ve made a move to slow him down. Mistress Nyrielle and I intend to do more, but the people who are sending soldiers from across the ocean have never seen a person from the Eldritch clans."


    "They do not know what they are truly fighting against, but they know their god compels them to fight," Ashlynn said, her voice becoming somber. "So they will come, even if they will lose. They will come, even if most of them will die because they believe that dying in a Holy War or a Crusade will guarantee them a place on the Heavenly Shores in the life after this one."


    "The Frost Walkers have a special ancestral cave where their bravest heroes¡¯ horns are kept, don¡¯t they?" Nyrielle said. "Imagine being promised that your horn would be placed there if you fought the humans, no matter whether you killed one human or a thousand, and you can begin to understand the motivation the humans Church has given them."


    "This is why," Lord Ritchel began, standing up to address all of the assembled Frost Walkers. "This is why it is important to stand together. This is why it is important to fight together. Lady Nyrielle, it shames me that the High Pass has never sent soldiers to fight in the Vale," he said, lowering his head slightly. "This time, when the humans come, if our men wish to fight by your side, would you accept them?"


    "I cannot say," Nyrielle said, smiling at the towering Eldritch Lord. This what what she¡¯d wanted, more than anything else. "The High Pass has always been our ally, and the aid the High Pass has rendered has not been small. There are many things we depend on which we can no longer make for ourselves, but the High Pass extracts no toll from our merchants, and has often helped them complete dangerous crossings when winter comes early and catches them unprepared."


    "If the Lothians do as they have frequently done and attack the vale in summer, it would be the wrong time to send your soldiers, but the right time to send supplies," Nyrielle explained, directing her gaze at the hunters and traders in the crowd. "But the humans have focused their greed on Airgead Mountain," she added. "If they attack there, you may travel over routes they feel are impossible and come to Lord Jalal¡¯s aid instead of mine."


    "If we¡¯re lucky," Ashlynn added, "we may be able to delay the start of the war by two or more years while the humans gather their forces. But when the humans come, there¡¯s one last thing you need to understand."


    "To humans, there is no difference between the Vale of Mists and the High Pass or the Southern Steppe," Ashlynn explained. "To humans, all of us are ¡¯demons¡¯, and they will not stop until they have ¡¯cleansed¡¯ the lands where we live," she said, very deliberately including herself in the ¡¯demons.¡¯ The line between ¡¯witch¡¯ and ¡¯demon¡¯ was so thin in the teachings of the Church that the distinction barely mattered and she wanted to make it clear to the Frost Walkers that she was one of them.


    She still thought of herself as human, and sometimes, she thought the same of Nyrielle, Thane and the other progeny. It was easy to let outward appearances dictate things and the rest of the Eldritch people looked very different compared to the vampires she had met so far. But the more time she spent among the Eldritch clans, the more she wondered if she would still think of herself the same way after several years had passed.


    "We thank you," Lord Ritchel said formally, "for bringing us this warning. This isn¡¯t a council meeting to make any decisions, but I think everyone here better understands what we¡¯re up against."


    For a moment, he paused, his eyes sweeping across the room, taking in the tense faces of his people. Many looked nervous, but more of them looked determined with several directing hopeful glances at Nyrielle and Ashlynn.


    "But, as much as we have danger to prepare against, we also have friends to celebrate and the night shouldn¡¯t end without a chance to toast our friends from the Vale of Mists," he added, raising a frosty goblet in Nyrielle¡¯s direction. "After all, a feast is meant to be a happy thing, and friends should always be celebrated," he said with a wide smile that warmed the icy room.


    "Now, before the night ends, while fish is succulent and its flesh can be sweet, there are better things to end a feast with." With a gesture to the servants standing at the edges of the room, he signaled for the next course.


    Moments later, the doors opened and a wave of Frost Walkers entered, bearing large platters that contained bowls carved from ice, each one containing small, multi-colored balls of frozen, churned cream.


    "Lady Nyrielle spoke of trade and without a good supply of milk from the Vale of Mists and the High Fen, we wouldn¡¯t be able to indulge in a treat like this. Seneschal Ashlynn, I hope you don¡¯t find it too cold to enjoy," he said with a wide grin.


    Children exclaimed in excitement and even a few of their parents clapped their hands excitedly as the servants delivered bowl after bowl of different flavors of smooth, sweet ice cream.


    "The purple one is blended with mountain berries," Hauke explained when he saw Ashlynn trying to decide which one to choose. "The green one is made with mint and the pink one is tart from the hibiscus flower."


    "I think," Ashlynn said, her spoon hovering over several options. "I¡¯ll have to try all of them. I think this is just what we need to cool down." Despite the chill in the room, tensions had run high enough that she found herself sweating beneath her fur trimmed dress and the cool treat looked like the perfect cure for the knot that had formed in her stomach. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Then let me choose for you," Nyrielle said, putting Paulus and his glowering face out of her mind as she scooped up a bit of minty ice cream and held it out to Ashlynn. "Taste, and tell me if you like it."


    Many at the table stared open-mouthed at the sudden change in Nyrielle¡¯s demeanor. The fearsome Blood Princess - Champion of the Arena, the indomitable Eldritch Lady of the Vale, victor of countless battles against human invaders, yet here she was, smiling and doting on her Seneschal like a young woman in love.


    Were they really the same person? Had they mistaken her fierceness?


    Ashlynn, however, knew better. She could feel the pain of long-buried memories, tearing at the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest. Tonight hadn¡¯t been easy for either of them, but both Nyrielle and Lord Ritchel were trying to plaster over it with something simple and joyful before the banquet ended and Ashlynn played along.


    Once they returned to their room for the night, however, Ashlynn was determined to help soothe Nyrielle¡¯s hurts after bringing up so many painful topics. Her mistress had done much to shower her with affection and care in the vale, now it was her turn to do the same.

 Chapter 105: Sharing Grief

    Chapter 105: Sharing GriefWhile arrangements had been made to ensure that they were comfortable, the room that Ashlynn and Nyrielle retired to after the banquet clearly spent much of the year as a storeroom in the back of the fortress.


    Carved from the rock of the mountain itself, the room met all of Nyrielle¡¯s requirements. There was only one door in, there were no windows that could let sunlight in, and a heavy bar could be thrown across the door from the inside to ensure she was undisturbed during daylight hours.


    As a place to store a chest of clothing and her daybed for a few days¡¯ visit, it was more than adequate on those points alone. As a place for Ashlynn to stay, however, their hosts had taken additional steps to make the room comfortable.


    A large feather bed had been brought in with four posts hung with heavy curtains to keep warmth close to the bed in the chilly castle. Luxurious furs had been heaped atop the blankets to ensure that even on the coldest nights, she could sleep comfortably and two oil heaters burned in the corners of the room, though from the aroma, Ashlynn assumed that there was a fishy component to the oils being used.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said softly, capturing her lover¡¯s hands after she closed the door. The vampire hadn¡¯t objected when she sent Zedya and Heila away for the night without letting either of them prepare them for bed, but in truth, Ashlynn wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d even noticed.


    "It¡¯s okay," she said softly, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s waist and pulling her close. "They don¡¯t know how hard tonight was for you, but I know. You don¡¯t have to hold it in anymore." S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Nyrielle¡¯s heart shook and her body trembled in Ashlynn¡¯s embrace. For a moment, she couldn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t know how to move when Ashlynn wrapped her arms around her. How long had it been, since someone came to comfort her? More than a hundred years. Long enough to lock away the feeling of a mother¡¯s embrace or a father¡¯s calloused hand ruffling her hair. Long enough to bury even the furry, crushing hug of her grandsire Torbin.


    "Come, sit with me," Ashlynn said, feeling her lover¡¯s awkwardness. Gently, she pulled Nyrielle toward the bed and sat next to her, never letting go of the other woman¡¯s hand. "You¡¯ve been so very strong for me when my world fell apart," Ashlynn whispered, gently stroking Nyrielle¡¯s back. "It¡¯s my turn to be strong for you. For the rest of the night, you don¡¯t need to be the Lady of the Vale anymore, you can just be my Nyrielle."


    Sitting next to Ashlynn, Nyrielle¡¯s heart beat faster and her breathing became shallow as a sob struggled to free itself from her chest. To Paulus, and perhaps to all of the Frost Walkers, Nyrielle¡¯s progeny were nothing more than powerful warriors who gained the strength of a vampire on top of their own Eldritch gifts.


    To Nyrielle, however, each of them carried a piece of her within their own heart. To turn a person into one of her progeny was to slice away a tiny part of herself and give it to someone else so that they could defy death. Each time she made a new vampire, she needed at least a month to recover, but it was better for her to wait a year.


    Yet, in the days after her parent¡¯s murder, she¡¯d sliced away forty-seven pieces of herself in the span of just ten days. Worse, she flung them directly into war with the Lothians, without giving them the time they needed to fully grow into their powers. When Paulus called her cruel for letting so many of them die, it was hard to argue that she hadn¡¯t been cruel... she was cruel to them from the very beginning.


    And when they died, when each one of them finally fell from the knife¡¯s edge between life and death, it tore that piece of her away again. No vampire ever spoke of it to outsiders, doing so would expose far too great of a weakness, but she felt each and every one of their deaths as though the wounds heaped upon their bodies had been inflicted on her.


    "It wasn¡¯t fair to them," Nyrielle said softly between sobs. "If I hadn¡¯t been so impatient, if I¡¯d given them time to grow..."


    "Then how many of your people would have died instead?" Ashlynn said softly, pulling Nyrielle into an embrace and resting the vampire¡¯s head on her full bosom. "I could never make the choice you did. No one could. People like Paulus who never had to have no right to make you feel bad for what you did."


    Thane was the oldest of Nyrielle¡¯s current progeny. When Ashlynn spoke to him about what Nyrielle was like a hundred years ago, she almost didn¡¯t recognize the cold, haunted woman he described.


    Thane had said that with each new progeny she made in the decades after him, it felt like Nyrielle became a little more human and that she walked a bit further out of the nightmare she¡¯d lived in since the death of her original progeny, but it was clear to Ashlynn that much of Nyrielle was still trapped in those dark days.


    "Is that why you waited for me to finish growing?" Ashlynn prompted. "Because it was time you couldn¡¯t give to them?"


    "Mmm," Nyrielle said, clutching tightly to Ashlynn. "Until tonight, I thought I was the last one who remembered them. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d meet someone who saw me the night I took them in. I didn¡¯t think Paulus would stoop so low," she added, her eyes flashing with a hint of darkness and her fingernails sharpening into claws until she forced herself to relax.


    "I¡¯ll deal with Paulus," Ashlynn said soothingly. "Lord Ritchel is an honorable man, but the Frost Walkers are simple when it comes to politics. They¡¯re too isolated to practice much. You can let me worry about them. Right now, I want to help you."


    Shifting on the bed, Ashlynn began to unlace Nyrielle¡¯s dark dress, exposing her bone white skin to the cool air of the room. Gently, she peeled off the layers of Nyrielle¡¯s outfit until her lover lay bare before her on the soft furs of the bed.


    "Tonight, until the sun rises," Ashlynn said, shimmying out of her own heavy winter dress. "Come under the blankets with me. I¡¯ll hold you, all night long," she whispered, pulling Nyrielle close as she threw back the blankets and furs to slide into bed.


    "Then, if you¡¯d like, you can tell me about them," Ashlynn said. Nyrielle¡¯s skin was colder to the touch than Ashlynn had ever felt, as though she¡¯d been buried in the snow for hours before coming into the room and Ashlynn wrapped herself around her lover from legs to arms until they were pressed close enough together to feel each other¡¯s heartbeats through their skin.


    "I wasn¡¯t there to know them," Ashlynn said softly. "But if you tell me, then I can remember them with you."


    The moment Ashlynn said that, Nyrielle¡¯s eyes flashed open, a pinkish tear spilling from her eyes.


    "You, you don¡¯t need to bear their tragedies," Nyrielle said, shaking her head. "It¡¯s enough that you¡¯d make the offer."


    "All right," Ashlynn said. For a moment, she considered insisting. Nyrielle had taken on her burdens but she didn¡¯t feel like she¡¯d taken on nearly enough of Nyrielle¡¯s. Their relationship still felt too unequal.


    But, as she held her trembling lover, Ashlynn realized that this moment of vulnerability was already greater than anything Nyrielle had ever shared with her. As much as she wanted Nyrielle to unburden herself further, this moment was already a large step forward.


    Neither of them spoke further as Ashlynn shared her warmth, tangled together under the pile of furs. By the time dawn approached, however, when Nyrielle finally slipped out of the soft bed and into her coffin-like daybed, her heart felt lighter than it had in longer than she could remember.


    Perhaps one day she would tell Ashlynn about the forty-five who died in those terrible wars. Perhaps one day, she would even ask for Ashlynn¡¯s help to save the two who hadn¡¯t. But at the moment, that day wasn¡¯t today, even if it felt like it might be possible... someday.

 Chapter 106: Arrangements in Darkness

    Chapter 106: Arrangements in DarknessIn the great hall, while the children laughed and celebrated Lord Ritchel¡¯s gift of ice cream and Nyrielle teased Ashlynn with a variety of flavors, Paulus took the opportunity to leave the hall without joining in the revels.


    The sight of Lord Ritchel and Hauke, laughing and indulging in sweet treats with the vampire and her pet human, had turned his stomach even more than the sight of children forming convictions to grow into warriors that would fight in the vampire¡¯s endless wars.


    His feat carried him into the deepest part of the castle, past the neatly carved corridors and halls, deeper than the cellars that held enough supplies to last through even the most bitter winter, until he reached the natural cave the entire fortress had been erected to protect.


    His horn glowed dimly in the cavern, illuminating a sheet of ice more than ten feet thick that protected the cave from foreign invaders. Even if the fortress walls were breached, passing through the final sets of barriers would be almost impossible unless the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass or one of his Elders led the way.


    "Descendant. Pays. Respects," Paulus intoned formally, slowly descending to one knee despite the pain in his joints before pressing his horn against the ice. The moment he did, energy surged in his horn, reflecting and refracting through the ice like a snowstorm of blue and white lights before a tunnel seemed to melt through the barrier, just tall and wide enough to allow a single Frost Walker to pass through.


    On the far side of the ice wall, the cave opened up into a vast chamber, large enough that thousands of Frost Walkers could have assembled without even pressing together. Instead of a gathering of the living, however, this place belonged entirely to their most honored dead.


    As Paulus stepped out of the tunnel and into the chamber, a wave of bone-deep cold washed over him. Even his thick fur and tough hide did nothing to keep out the cold that penetrated all the way to his core. His breath crystallized instantly in the frigid air, forming delicate ice crystals that tinkled like wind chimes as they fell to the ground.


    The sound of his footsteps echoed through the chamber, each step producing a -CRUNCH- as the ancient ice beneath his feet protested his intrusion. When he entered the chamber, for a moment, he could hear whispers, like dozens of voices speaking in tones too faint to make out individual words, but those whispers stilled the moment he fully entered the room, leaving a silence broken only by his movements.


    The cave had been carved into three concentric steps, each one a hundred feet wide and fifty feet deep. On the highest step, ice statues of revered Frost Walkers stood proudly atop blocks of ice that bore their names and deeds. The statues had been carved with exquisite care to reproduce every detail of the honored person¡¯s appearance. Atop the statues¡¯ brows, the horn belonging to that Frost Walker had been carefully mounted where it glowed faintly in the dim light of the cave.


    The highest step belonged to the honored Eldritch Lords of the High Pass and there were less than twenty such statues. The step beneath that, held similar statues, though the blocks of ice they stood on were smaller and the carvings were less detailed, the honored heroes who sacrificed their lives for the High Pass were all honored here.


    It was the third, and lowest step, however, that Paulus walked towards when he entered the ancestral cave. Here, small blocks of ice not more than five feet tall and a foot wide in either direction contained an illusory representation of noble servants who had dedicated their lives to the people of the High Pass. Atop each block, a horn gleamed, like a spire extending upward from the ice.


    "Father," Paulus said, coming to a stop before one of the icy blocks. "I am afraid. I have seen the human Child of the Earth. She will drag us into the vampire¡¯s war. Ritchel praises her and Hauke seems to worship her. As long as they rule the High Pass, we will never escape war with the humans."


    For several minutes, Paulus sat still, staring at the image of his father as a much younger man, lost in the memories that seemed to flit through his fingertips like snowflakes on the breeze. He never knew a time like his father did, before the humans attacked the vale. All his life, he¡¯d seen the threat come and go like waves lapping at the lakeshore.


    Now, as an old man, he heard the warnings again. The humans are coming. This time, this time it¡¯s a threat to us. This time, we should send our young ones to fight and die beside the vampire and her disposable progeny. He¡¯d heard it before, but the humans had never come.


    "Father," he finally said after several minutes. "I¡¯m afraid they will not allow my horn to rest next to yours. What I¡¯m about to do, they will not understand. They will call me a traitor. They are too focused on the danger beyond the mountains to see the one breathing down or neck. I will show them, but they will cast me out for it."


    Light shimmered from his father¡¯s horn to the illusory figure trapped in the ice beneath it before a faint, frail voice sounded.


    "Look to the row beyond me, my son," the voice said. "Do you think they waited patiently for a place on the Step of Servants? Do you think they did as they were told?"


    "Father?" Paulus said, his eyes misting at the sound of the voice that spoke to him so rarely in the years since his father¡¯s death.


    "Do what you know is right," the voice said, before the light began to fade. "Let the results speak for themselves."


    "I, I understand," Paulus said softly, reaching out with a hand made stiff by age, gently tracing a claw along the ice before he bowed low, touching the tip of his horn to his father¡¯s horn. "They won¡¯t understand now, but they may thank me one day. As long as they don¡¯t grind my horn to dust, it can always be moved here later."


    Striding out of the ancient chamber, Paulus restored the barrier before slowly ascending the spiral stairs of the northern tower. By the time he reached his destination, the feast below had long ended and the stars twinkled high overhead while clouds rolled in below the mountaintop.


    Staring out over the frozen mountain tops, Paulus spent several minutes in silence before finally setting to work. His horn glowed with a bright ice blue light as he carefully constructed an ice lantern, heavily frosted on all but one side to prevent light from spilling out where it shouldn¡¯t go.


    When he finished, the lantern flashed with a brilliant purple light, once, twice, and then several more times before he withdrew his magic from the lantern. Minutes later, on the slopes of the mountain on the opposite side of the pass, an answering orange light blinked into existence, pulsing several times before it too winked out as though it had never been there. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m getting too old for this skulking about," he said, shaking his head as he began to descend the spiral staircase of the tower. "Torsten had best finish growing up to relieve me of these burdens," he muttered.


    Paulus knew that he hadn¡¯t been shaped into the form of a hero. No one would sing his praises for diligently managing supplies, reviewing agreements with foreign merchants or balancing the end of year ledgers. But his grandson was strong and fierce, moreover he was fearless in the face of danger and bold enough to take great risks.


    It should be a man like Torsten, who would fight for his own destiny, who should take the throne when Ritchel retired. Not some fawning lackey in the making like Hauke. But if no one could see the truth of that, then he would take the decision out of the hands of fools who were blinded by their fear of the humans.


    After tomorrow, they would no longer have the option to allow Hauke to become the next Lord of the High Pass, and they had only the vampire and her pet witch to blame.

 Chapter 107: Going Fishing

    Chapter 107: Going FishingAfter a night spent tangled with a cold and trembling Nyrielle, Ashlynn woke to an empty bed and a disorienting lack of awareness of time. The room, located deep in the castle in a place without windows, had become so perfectly dark that it was impossible to say whether it was early morning or if she¡¯d slept until midday.


    A knock sounded at the door, quick and sharp in a pattern that Ashlynn had come to associate with Heila.


    "My Lady," the diminutive servant¡¯s voice called. "May I enter?"


    "One moment," Ashlynn said. She briefly conjured a mote of light, just enough to locate the lamp on the bedside table and light it before banishing her sorcery. The night spent under warm furs had helped to replenish her energy after the previous evening but with her plans for the day, she had no intention of wasting energy on light when a practical, if mundane, solution was available.


    Once she¡¯d pulled a dressing gown on, she padded across the cold stone floor and let Heila into the room that she and Nyrielle had occupied for the night. A small oil lamp burned on the tray Heila carried, illuminating a simple breakfast of fresh baked bread smothered in creamy cheese and topped with smoked fish.


    "Bless you, Heila," Ashlynn said, sitting on the bed and devouring her breakfast. While it might not meet Georg¡¯s standards, she was certain that Heila or one of the other servants traveling with them had been responsible for baking the loaf as the Frost Walkers had little interest in anything that wasn¡¯t meat.


    The feast last night had been sumptuous and Ashlynn had indulged in the many different ways they prepared fish, but by the end of the meal, she deeply missed Georg¡¯s balanced dishes.


    "How late did I sleep?" Ashlynn asked around a mouthful of the firm, almost nutty bread. "It should still be fairly early, shouldn¡¯t it?"


    "The sun is only a handbreadth above the mountains," Heila said, bustling around the room and setting out an outfit for Ashlynn to wear today. With plans to spend the day fishing on the ice, she opted for the practical breeches and tunic that Ashlynn would typically wear when training with Thane, along with a heavy quilted coat and a fur cloak to wear over that along with practical, soft leather boots that came up over the knee.


    Once she¡¯d finished breakfast and dressed, Ashlynn took one last look at Nyrielle¡¯s darksteel lined daybed. No matter how many times she saw the ornately carved box, it still reminded her of a coffin.


    Nyrielle¡¯s perfect stillness while sleeping and the way she didn¡¯t even breathe made it all the more... unsettling. Despite the fact that she knew Nyrielle was sleeping in the box just a few feet away, only the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest and the closeness of their bond let her know that someone else was present in the temporarily converted storeroom.


    When Heila led her out of the room where Ashlynn was momentarily surprised to find four guards from the vale standing directly outside the door. Further, two more guards were standing at each end of the hallway, their backs straight and their weapons held at the ready.


    In the ancient castle in the Vale of Mists, there were two guards posted at the entrance to the portion of the castle where no natural light entered, and that was as close as a guard ever came to Nyrielle¡¯s bed chamber unless there was a reason to disturb her.


    When visiting a place like this, the guards posted at the end of the hallway should have been sufficient, but it looks like Captain Lennart had a different opinion of what was required to protect Nyrielle in this place. Ashlynn wondered if the obvious hostility from Paulus at the banquet was responsible for the change but whether it was or not, she trusted that he¡¯d made the right decision.


    "Virve and Andrus will be accompanying us on the trip today," Heila said, introducing two of the guards who had dressed warmly for a trip outside the castle¡¯s shelter.


    Virve was a tall, broad-shouldered woman from the Clan of the Great Claw with dark brown, almost black fur that had begun to turn silver around her eyes and nose while Andrus was an energetic and young-looking man from the Horned Clan with soft, curly locks that fell haphazardly around his thick curled horns. Both of them bowed to Ashlynn as soon as Heila introduced them.


    "I¡¯m sorry to be taking you out in the cold so early in the morning," Ashlynn said to the two as they began to walk through the icy castle. "Did you two draw the short straw to get stuck with me instead of guarding Mistress Nyrielle where it¡¯s... not as cold?" She¡¯d almost said ¡¯warmer¡¯ but it was hard to refer to a place that was so cold that ice wouldn¡¯t melt as any kind of ¡¯warm.¡¯


    "I volunteered," Andrus said brightly, his hazel eyes twinkling. "This is my first time leaving the Vale and I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll get another one so I want to see as much of it as I can."


    "Andrus," Virve chided, in a voice that was surprisingly light and gentle for a woman so large. "Remember your duty. We¡¯re here to protect Lady Ashlynn, not to sightsee."


    "Then, have you been outside the vale before?" Ashlynn asked.


    "I¡¯ve guarded the waystations between here and the vale several times," the bearish woman said simply. "I grew up in Orava Village."


    "Then you¡¯re used to the mountain and the cold," Ashlynn said, nodding at the older woman. "I¡¯m glad to have you watching over me." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Once they exited the dark, inner reaches of the icy fortress, Ashlynn got her first look at the splendor of the castle during the light of day and the sight was so bright that it was almost dazzling. It wasn¡¯t only the great hall where they¡¯d had their feast the night before that made extensive use of crystal clear ice in place of a stone roof, but throughout the fortress, large panels of clear ice allowed light to fill the fortress from every angle.


    The castle was located high enough in the mountains that it stood above the clouds, bathed both directly in sunlight and in the bright light reflecting off the pure white snow that covered neighboring peaks.


    In the courtyard, Hauke stood eagerly next to a long sled piled high with supplies for their outing.


    "Good morning," the young Frost Walker said, waving enthusiastically as Ashlynn emerged from the castle. "It¡¯s a long walk," he said, eyeing the heavy darksteel falchion that hung from Ashlynn¡¯s waist. "Are you sure you want to carry such a heavy weapon?"


    "It¡¯s not that bad," Ashlynn said, resting a hand on the sword¡¯s pommel. "And Mistress Nyrielle is very insistent that I keep it with me. I¡¯m sure nothing will happen, but, just in case," she said, spreading her arms helplessly.


    Much like her possessive public displays of affection, Ashlynn had come to accept Nyrielle¡¯s fiercely protective habits. She doubted Hauke would do anything rash on this trip, but much like the guards that followed her, she found comfort in knowing that she could protect herself if anything did happen.


    More importantly, it was a small thing that let Nyrielle rest with greater confidence that Ashlynn would be safe and that alone was worth something to Ashlynn, especially after the previous evening¡¯s sharp reminders about the progeny Nyrielle had lost.


    Thankfully, no one had suggested she don armor for the trip. Not only would it have been heavy and a little cumbersome, but the idea of wearing that much metal in the cold mountain air sounded like an invitation to frostbite. A reasonable amount of precaution was fine, but wearing armor on a fishing trip would have felt almost paranoid.

 Chapter 108: Cultural Exchange

    Chapter 108: Cultural ExchangeThe hike out to the lake itself took almost an hour as they crunched through snow or scrambled over rocks. Several times, early in the hike, Hauke attempted to be helpful and offered to carry Ashlynn over a rough bit of terrain, only to be surprised as she effortlessly hopped from one rock to the next, crossing the treacherous ground with ease.


    "Thane insisted I learn to do this," she said, landing lightly on a boulder before leaping to another rock outcropping. "As a method of avoiding trackers and hunting dogs. I didn¡¯t realize it would be so handy for avoiding mudslides though," she said, looking back at Hauke and Virve as they carried the sled of supplies over the thick gray mud and slush of melted snow.


    "Lady Ashlynn is just missing a set of horns to pass as one of us," Andrus said, matching her movements and hopping from one stone to the next with his powerful legs.


    For much of the hike, Andrus had chatted eagerly with Hauke, asking about life in the High Pass. His questions seemed almost random, covering topics from how the Frost Walkers traveled when the weather turned bad to which fish were best to eat.


    "So you hunt alone?" Andrus asked, his hazel eyes wide as he bounded from rock to rock. While he looked playful as he moved and his tone was light, his eyes constantly roamed over the terrain for anything that might be a threat.


    If anything were to threaten Lady Ashlynn, he made sure that he was close enough to help protect her from it, even if he thought she was strong enough to protect herself.


    "Even in winter?" Andrus said, pausing to glance back at Hauke.


    "Most hunters do, most of the time," Hauke replied, carefully picking his way through the soggy slush with Virve until they passed the mudslide and he could start dragging the sled again. "The cold doesn¡¯t bother us much, and prey is easier to track when you¡¯re not part of a large group. I, I haven¡¯t earned the right to hunt alone yet though," he said, his horn dipping as his head hung low for a moment.


    "I¡¯ve been following other hunters to learn though, and I join the fishing parties every autumn," he said, shaking off the moment of gloom. "When winter is close, we need to stock up in case the weather turns bad enough to keep us indoors so we¡¯ll form into large groups to fish all the lakes nearby. The rest of the year, though, most people hunt and fish alone."


    "That sounds so lonely," Andrus said, shaking his head and turning back to follow Ashlynn further up ahead. "Back home, we did everything together. Many hands make quick work," he said, mimicking his father¡¯s tone and upright posture. "When I was little, I was never alone, even if I wanted to be. There¡¯s nowhere to hide when you have seven siblings."


    "Seven siblings? What¡¯s that like?" Hauk asked, struggling to imagine how crowded things would become if he had to share space with seven other hulking Frost Walkers. The rooms and corridors of the ancient castle were all large enough for people to spread out, even in gatherings of hundreds of Frost Walkers like last night, but if he multiplied that by seven, he felt like no one would have any space to breathe much less move around.


    "It¡¯s noisy," Andrus laughed. "Warm too. We all sleep in the same hut around the fire in the middle. I have a sister who¡¯s the same age as me and she always snuck under the blankets with me when the fire went out and it got dark," he said, his voice softening with obvious affection.


    "I miss them sometimes, but I¡¯m glad I left the village because now I get to come to places like this," he said with a toothy grin, gesturing at the frigid landscape around them.


    "I¡¯ve never shared a room with anyone," Hauke admitted, quickly catching up to Ashlynn and Andrus in a few strides of his long legs. "Even if I had a brother or sister, they¡¯d have their own room once they were old enough to leave mother¡¯s room."


    "Your mother¡¯s room?" Ashlynn asked, pausing for a moment. "Doesn¡¯t she share a room with your father?"


    "No," Hauke said, furrowing his bushy eyebrows in confusion. "How could they stay married if they had to stay together day and night? Everyone needs space, even when we live together."


    "That... I suppose that makes sense," Ashlynn said. She hardly had room to say otherwise. She and Nyrielle had rooms in completely separate wings of the castle. After spending the night with her last night, in a pitch black room with no windows, she better understood why Nyrielle had never tried to force her to ¡¯move in¡¯ even though they were lovers.


    Something as simple as the natural rhythm of a sunrise and sunset was a fundamental part of Ashlynn¡¯s ¡¯normal¡¯ life and it was something that could never intrude into Nyrielle¡¯s resting place.


    From there, the conversation turned naturally to other topics. For the most part, Ashlynn was content to listen to Heila¡¯s translations of the conversation, soaking up the information like a sponge without needing to ask things for herself, though from time to time, Hauke would ask how life was different in the lowlands where Ashlynn grew up as he tried to understand not only how people like Andrus lived in the Vale of Mists, but how humans were different from the Eldritch people.


    After an hour of working their way around the mountain, however, they finally arrived at their destination, a vast frozen lake on the side of the mountain. The lake itself was shaped almost like a key, round and wide on one side with a small island in the center, then tapering off on one end where it became jagged as it narrowed into a stream that flowed down the mountain.


    Most of the lake was covered by a sheet of ice and snow, and only the narrow end seemed to refuse to freeze as melting snow from the hillside trickled in and chunks of ice broke off to tumble down stream.


    "It¡¯s beautiful," Ashlynn said, pausing to admire the lake that was unlike anything she¡¯d seen in either Blackwell County or Lothian March. "Is that a building on the island?" Ashlynn asked, holding up a hand to block the bright light of the sun and peering at what looked like several weathered stone pillars on the small island.


    "It¡¯s a memorial shrine," Hauke explained. "Long ago, this island held one of our most important ancestral caves, but the water is much higher in the lake than it used to be and the entrance to the cave is under water now so it¡¯s impossible to visit those ancestors. The memorial shrine is where people go to pay respects to their oldest ancestors, but not many people can trace their lineage back over a thousand years, so it¡¯s rarely visited."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, looking at the island in the distance. It was hard to imagine something that happened so long ago that the place where it happened had been swallowed by rising lakewater.


    In Blackwell County, the oldest buildings were at most two hundred years old, but since many of those had been torn down to make way for newer construction, even those sights were rare. To visit a grave that contained an ancestor from over a thousand years ago was all but incomprehensible.


    "Can we visit the shrine? I¡¯d like to pay my respects," Ashlynn said. Even if they weren¡¯t her ancestors, they were the honored ancestors of her allies. As Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, she felt that she should at least offer a moment of silent respect for the dead and if the shrine needed any tending, she was happy to do that as well.


    "This," Hauke said awkwardly as he searched for the words to explain. "The honored ancestors have earned their rest. We shouldn¡¯t disturb their slumber unless we have great need. It would be one thing if you were related, but outsiders shouldn¡¯t intrude unless you need an answer that only the ancestors could provide."


    "Need an answer?" Ashlynn asked, puzzled by the way Hauke had phrased it. "So you come here to pray for guidance?"


    "No," Hauke said, just as confused by Ashlynn¡¯s lack of understanding as she was by the concept he was trying to explain. For a moment, he glanced at Heila, wondering if things were getting lost in translation but that didn¡¯t seem to be the case.


    "We can commune with our ancestors," he said, tapping his horn. "They leave behind their wisdom in their horns. For our most treasured ancestors, we prepare a special block of ice that gives them the power to commune with us directly. Other ancestors who didn¡¯t have great accomplishments in life aren¡¯t as easy to commune with in their ancestral caves." S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You mean," Ashlynn said, her eyes wide. "You can actually speak with the dead?!"

 Chapter 109: Honoring Ancestors

    Chapter 109: Honoring Ancestors"You can actually speak with the dead?!" Ashlynn asked, staring at Hauke in disbelief. Thane told her that the Frost Walkers viewed their horns as sacred and that they kept them in ancestral caves but she¡¯d assumed that it was like a normal graveyard. Clearly, there was much more to it than that.


    Around her, both Heila and Andrus took steps back, their eyes wide as if the island was home to ghosts that could prey upon them at any moment. Only Virve seemed unphased by Hauke¡¯s statement, shaking her head at the antics of the young ones from the Horned Clan who spent very little if any time among their frosty neighbors.


    "I, I don¡¯t think ¡¯speaking with the dead¡¯ is the right way to think of it," Hauke said carefully after clarifying words with Heila. "More like, we commune with their memories and wisdom. Our departed ancestors aren¡¯t ghosts or vampires, they don¡¯t learn new things after they die and continue their existence."


    "It¡¯s more like, everything they were as a person is crystalized into their horn when they die," he explained. "And, if you give them the proper respect, reverence and energy, you can commune with an echo of the ancestor. I¡¯ve only done it once when I turned ten years old and father brought me to the ancestral cave to introduce me to grandmother," he said, his eyes misting slightly as he remembered the otherworldly voice that had greeted him when he paid respects to his grandmother¡¯s horn.


    Hauke¡¯s grandmother had died when Lord Ritchel was still a child, long before Hauke was born, and stories were still told about her heroic stand against Tuskan hunters who attacked an autumn fishing trip to one of the lower lakes. Despite horrific wounds, she squeezed every last drop of magic out of her body to freeze the Tuskans in place while everyone else retreated off the ice.


    In the end, his grandmother shattered the ice the Tuskans were standing on, drowning herself along with them to ensure that everyone else could escape. It hadn¡¯t been until spring the following year that her body and with it her horn, could be recovered from the icy lake and brought to the ancestral hall to join the horns of other mighty heroes.


    "I see," Ashlynn said. As curious as she was, she wasn¡¯t about to disrespect the Frost Walkers by intruding on their ancestral burial grounds. Everyone had their own traditions for the dead and no matter how much they differed from her own, it took something extreme for her to be willing to offend those traditions.


    Even Owain, she imagined, would need a proper burial. After all, the Church had traditions for how criminals and heretics should be buried to ensure they never reached the Heavenly Shores. For what he had done to her, Owain deserved at least that much consideration.


    "I¡¯m supposed to teach you about Frost Walker sorcery, right?" Hauke said, sensing that the mood had become heavy and awkward. His horn flickered briefly with a pale blue light as he gazed out over the frozen lake. His father told him that he should work hard to form a friendship with Ashlynn but he felt like he¡¯d been stumbling between how much he talked to Andrus on the hike out here and the awkward moment when he told Ashlynn they couldn¡¯t visit the shrine.


    "Even if you can¡¯t visit an ancestral cave, I can still show you a lot. Come with me," he said, tugging on the sled and striding down the hill to the lakeshore. "My grandmother used to spend a lot of time on the lakes helping to protect everyone who was fishing." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Father says I inherited her talent for creating structures, so first, I¡¯ll show you how we make an ice house for fishing," he said a touch awkwardly. "It, it would be a good way to pay respects to our ancestors, even if we don¡¯t visit them," he added, hoping that Ashlynn would find it acceptable since they couldn¡¯t visit the shrine.


    "Icehouse?" Ashlynn asked as they walked out onto the icy lake. In some places, snow had melted before freezing to the ice of the lake, giving the ice a strange pebbly texture, but even when all five of them walked out onto the ice it gave no sign of cracking under their weight.


    "The Frost Walkers can form ice into blocks, stacking them like bricks to build a shelter against the storms," Virve offered as they walked. "I¡¯ve seen them do it when sudden storms show up and they¡¯re caught between waystations. You¡¯d be surprised how warm it can become in a shelter built of ice."


    The further they walked from the shore, the more the frigid mountain wind tugged at their cloaks and stung Ashlynn¡¯s exposed cheeks. The glare off the frozen lake became even brighter and at one point, Ashlynn had the disorienting sensation that she was walking off the edge of the world in a land of pure white until she pulled her fur-trimmed hood lower and shaded her eyes against the light.


    The air was crisp and cold in her lungs and she found that, while she could endure the cold while hiking around the mountain, the biting wind pushed her beyond her limits and she had to resort to sorcery to keep the cold at bay as she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.


    Once they¡¯d walked far enough out on the lake that Hauke was certain the water beneath the ice was deep enough, he paused, holding up a hand and gesturing for everyone to stop.


    "Always respect the ice," he said, kneeling down and tapping several times with a claw. "Even if it¡¯s thick, once we put a hole in the ice for fishing, it will be weaker. If the ice is brittle when I pull out a piece, we¡¯ll have to look for a different spot."


    "It¡¯s possible to strengthen the ice with sorcery," he added quickly when he realized that Ashlynn might misunderstand what he was planning to demonstrate. "But it¡¯s a waste of energy when we could just walk a little bit further. So, wait just a moment while I make a hole."


    While Ashlynn and the others watched intently, he retrieved a large, circular blade shaped like a hoop with a handle in the center a little over half a foot in diameter. Plunging it into the thick ice with all his strength, the blade sheared through the thick ice with a quiet -SHICK- sound.


    Twisting sharply, Hauke pulled up on the handle, revealing a smooth, clean cut as he extracted a plug of clear ice more than six inches thick.


    "This is what we wanted," he said, popping the plug of ice free and sliding it across the surface of the lake for Ashlynn and the others to inspect. "It¡¯s clear and solid all the way through, so we don¡¯t have to worry about the ice giving way while we¡¯re fishing," he said with a wide grin.


    "Now, this is the part I wanted to show you," he said, taking a wide stance over the hole in the ice. "According to my father, this is how grandmother used to do it," he added, closing his eyes to focus as energy began to gather at the tip of his horn.

 Chapter 110: Frost Walker Magic

    Chapter 110: Frost Walker Magic"Fountain. Flow. As I will," Hauke intoned, his iridescent horn glowing with a brilliant blue aura.


    What happened next was a demonstration of sorcery almost as impressive and exquisite as the mist raven that Nyrielle had conjured when Ashlynn began learning sorcery. A thin rivulet of crystal clear water rose up from the hole in the ice like a serpent, tentatively looking around before becoming thicker and flowing in a circle around the young Frost Walker.


    "Amazing," Andrus breathed, his hazel eyes wide with wonder. Despite Hauke¡¯s warning to stand clear, he edged closer to watch, reminding Ashlynn of an excited child at a festival performance. "I¡¯ve seen Sir Thane shape the mists in the vale, but this is..."


    "Mind your position," Virve said, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back to a safer distance. Even as she spoke, she found it difficult to keep her focus on their surroundings while Hauke demonstrated his sorcery.


    Compared to the humble blocks of ice she¡¯d seen other Frost Walkers conjure in the past, the scale of Hauke¡¯s work alone was enough to take her breath away to say nothing for how skillfully he guided the water into the shape he wanted.


    "Frozen. Dome," he intoned once the water began to flow rapidly. The color of his horn¡¯s aura shifted, brilliant white mixing with the deep blue as the water began to freeze, building up layer by layer until it formed a large dome more than twenty feet across and ten feet tall at the center. The ice was so thick and frosted in texture that Ashlynn couldn¡¯t see more than a vague shadow of Hauke¡¯s figure within the dome.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Andrus whispered excitedly as the dome took shape, "do you think you could learn to do this in the Vale? If you could freeze the mists solid in a dome like this, I bet you could trap Lothian soldiers under it or..."


    "Don¡¯t forget yourself, little one," Virve hissed, placing a hand on Andrus¡¯ shoulder and squeezing firmly. "We¡¯re here to protect Lady Ashlynn. If you can¡¯t remember your duty, you won¡¯t be allowed to serve as her guard again."


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said softly, never taking her eyes off the glittering dome of ice. "I would forget my place too the first time I saw something this impressive." Thankfully, the first time she¡¯d seen sorcery on a large scale had been with Nyrielle who enjoyed seeing Ashlynn become absorbed in the sight of her magic, but she could understand how mesmerizing a powerful demonstration could be.


    "Still, Virve is right," Ashlynn added, not wanting to undermine the veteran soldier. "If you¡¯re too easily distracted, enemies could take advantage of a moment of inattentiveness. You should learn from Virve," she said with a nod to the large woman. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes, my Lady," Andrus said, ducking his head in embarrassment. He¡¯d worked so hard to join Captain Lennart¡¯s squad this year and this was already his second time going on an important mission with Lady Ashlynn. He didn¡¯t want to do anything that could cost him his position when it hadn¡¯t even been a year yet.


    "Ice. Melt. As I will," Hauke¡¯s voice sounded from within the dome. The next moment, a thin line appeared on the dome where the ice melted before Hauke shoved the ¡¯door¡¯ out of the way and beckoned for Ashlynn and the others to join him in the ice house.


    "What do you think?" Hauke said, a wide grin on his face as he spread his arms wide to indicate the size of the dome. "Most people can¡¯t conjure a whole ice house at once, they have to conjure blocks and build it like Virve said. Even the ones who can make a whole ice house at once usually can¡¯t make one big enough to stand up in," he boasted.


    "It, it¡¯s very impressive," Ashlynn said, stepping into the ice house and reaching out to touch the thick icy walls. She expected that the walls of the ice house might be slick, like an ice cube held in the hand and beginning to melt since they had just been frozen.


    When she touched it, however, she was shocked to find that it felt even colder than the ice of the lake¡¯s surface and it had only taken a minute or two from the time Hauke had called forth the water until the dome was complete!


    "I don¡¯t think I could make one this large," Ashlynn praised as she tried to estimate how much energy it must have taken to command so much water and freeze it in an instant. Her powers had grown since her trip to the Summer Villa but not to this extent.


    "My Lady has just started learning sorcery," Heila said, stepping up next to Ashlynn as though she had to speak up for her lady¡¯s capabilities. "I¡¯m sure that you will surpass this soon enough once you learn from the Mother of Thorns."


    "Maybe I could," Ashlynn said, slowly walking around the interior of the ice house. Now that she had a moment to examine things, she instantly realized how much warmer it felt inside the ice house, just by virtue of blocking the wind.


    "And maybe not. I feel more power with living and growing things," she explained to Hauke. "I draw more strength from trees than anything else. This," she said, gesturing at the ice dome.


    "This is a different kind of magic. It¡¯s okay if I never master it to little lord Hauke¡¯s extent. I¡¯m sure this is why Mistress Nyrielle wanted me to learn a bit from little lord Hauke," she said, smiling at the young man. "So, today, I¡¯ll call you ¡¯Teacher Hauke¡¯ and you can be my tutor."


    "We should set up for fishing first," Hauke said, retrieving the sled of supplies and pulling it into the ice house. Once he did, he began to unpack a few furs, fishing rods and spools of fishing line, and even a pair of oil heaters to warm the space in the ice house.


    "I guess I can teach you the first form of ice sorcery," Hauke said, furrowing his bushy brows as he looked at the supplies. "It¡¯s like the one I used to make the ice house. We call this the art of ¡¯Formed Ice¡¯ when you command ice to take a specific shape."


    "First, I¡¯ll make a block of ice that you can shape," he said, summoning another rivulet of water and forming a block of ice just over a foot tall and wide. "For formed ice, it¡¯s important to have a clear image of the shape you want to create. The details are really important or the ice construct will be weak with hidden flaws," he explained, holding out a hand to demonstrate.


    "Ice. Shape. Stool," he intoned, unleashing a small wave of dark blue energy that enveloped the block of ice.


    As Ashlynn watched, the ice seemed to ¡¯flow¡¯ without melting, reshaping itself into a three legged stool with cross braces between the legs and a wide, cupped seat large enough for Hauke to sit on.


    "See?" the young Frost Walker said, kneeling down and pointing at the cross braces. "I¡¯m heavy so it has to be strong. Just making the legs thicker doesn¡¯t give you the best strength for the amount of ice you use and the more ice you use, the more energy it takes. But now, even if we have to sit for hours before something bites, we don¡¯t have to sit on the lake," he said with a wide grin.


    "Let me try," Ashlynn said, stepping forward while Hauke conjured another block of ice for her. Despite the amount of energy he said it consumed, he seemed to have a nearly inexhaustible supply as he manipulated the ice with ease.


    "Ice. Shape. Stool," Ashlynn said, staring intently at the block of ice. The stool she envisioned was taller and more slender than the one Hauke had conjured, with four legs and braces between them. While Hauke seemed content to sit just off the ground with his legs splayed out in front of him, Ashlynn refused to imitate such an undignified pose.


    When the ice formed, however, she couldn¡¯t help but laugh at the misshapen lump she¡¯d created which looked like a crudely formed woman sitting atop a wobbly stool.


    "I, um, I think my attention wandered," she said, her face heating in embarrassment.


    "It¡¯s all right," Hauke said, awkwardly trying to comfort her while Heila translated for them. "We have all day to practice..."

 Chapter 111: Hauke’s Uniqueness

    Chapter 111: Hauke¡¯s UniquenessIt took Ashlynn several more attempts before she was able to conjure a functional stool that she quickly draped a fur over before taking a seat across the hole in the ice from Hauke.


    "That is much harder than you make it look," Ashlynn said as she carefully tested her stool to make sure it would hold her weight.


    Once she¡¯d taken a seat, she attempted to replicate Hauke¡¯s actions of threading the thick, barbed fishing hook through the small bait fish he¡¯d caught for her. After several attempts, she finally managed to hook the bait in a way that felt secure though she¡¯d poked several additional holes in the fish in the process.


    "I¡¯m sure it¡¯s easier without gloves getting in the way," Hauke said, feeling somewhat awkward as he created an ice spike for her to use if she managed to catch anything. "I¡¯m sorry, I should have offered..."


    "No, no, not the fish," Ashlynn quickly said, unrolling a considerable length of line before throwing her hooked bait into the hole in the ice with a loud -PLUNK- sound. "I meant, how do you make things that look so delicate out of something as fragile as ice?" Ashlynn asked, pointing at the Frost Walker¡¯s stool.


    "It isn¡¯t easy," the young Frost Walker admitted, conjuring another stool for Heila to sit on next to Ashlynn. "My father spent a great deal to buy books for me from other Eldritch nations. Math, engineering, natural science. He even hired a tutor from the High Fen who taught me how they designed the canals and waterways of the fen." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You, you studied math and engineering to enhance your sorcery?" Ashlynn asked, momentarily taken off guard by his answer. Nyrielle¡¯s approach to sorcery was more, primal she supposed, grounded in using power to directly enforce her will on the environment or people.


    Growing up, her tutors had referred to Eldritch sorcery as ¡¯superstitions that can manifest in reality¡¯ and nothing she¡¯d seen so far had forced her to shed that worldview. What Hauke was saying, however, sounded far more educated and refined than anything she¡¯d seen so far from Nyrielle and her progeny.


    "Sorcery is about bending the world to our will," Hauke said as though he were quoting one of his tutors. "But the world resists being bent. The more you force something to be what it isn¡¯t, the harder it becomes and the more energy it takes. But if you don¡¯t change much and you use natural laws when you form your constructs, it takes much less energy to achieve results."


    For several minutes, Ashlynn considered his words, thinking about the ways she¡¯d used sorcery so far as well as her limited experience with witchcraft. While she thought, the fishing line in her hands twitched, or at least, she thought it did, but when she pulled on the line, there was no resistance that would suggest she¡¯d hooked anything.


    What Hauke was saying sounded more like her experience with witchcraft than what Nyrielle had taught her about sorcery but maybe the two things weren¡¯t as different as she thought?


    Her experience cooperating with trees almost aligned with what he was saying. It was impossible to ask a tree for something it couldn¡¯t give, and the tree needed things in return. She still had the branch from the Ancient Oak that she hoped the Mother of Thorns could help her fashion into a wand and in exchange she had promised the oak to plant some of its seeds.


    "I wish I could introduce you to someone I admire," Ashlynn said, looking at Hauke with a trace of sadness in her emerald eyes. "Isabell is a Master Engineer in Blackwell City. She studied hard to apply the latest discoveries in math and engineering to all of her work. When she rebuilt part of my family¡¯s home, she was able to replace walls that had tiny, narrow windows with much larger ones that brightened up the oldest parts of our home without making the walls any weaker."


    As much as Ashlynn tried to keep her voice light, she couldn¡¯t help but worry about Master Isabell. By now, she was certain that the capable engineer had received her letter, she only hoped that it arrived soon enough for her to make arrangements before Owain arrived in Blackwell County.


    While the two women weren¡¯t close enough to be considered friends, she deeply admired Isabell for rising to the top of her guild. More than that, as someone who had been trusted to rebuild part of the Blackwell manor, she felt she could trust her to keep an eye on Jocelynn.


    "I bet she used a bunch of arches to distribute the load," Hauke said with a toothy grin, oblivious to the wrinkled brow that had formed on Ashlynn¡¯s face. "Arches and domes are very strong. That¡¯s why I shaped the icehouse like this," he said, gesturing at the dome that kept them safe from the biting wind outside. "If it snows and we need to shelter here, the dome could hold the weight of snow much better than a flat roof."


    "You said that your father had to bring in books from other nations and he hired a tutor from the High Fen," Ashlynn said, changing the topic slightly. "I¡¯m guessing that most Frost Walkers don¡¯t practice sorcery the way you do, so why did Lord Ritchel want you to do things differently than everyone else?"


    "Because of this," Hauke said, tapping his iridescent horn. "There are seven different kinds of sorcery we practice. The most common ones are Formed Ice like the stool you made and Dancing Snow that creates or manipulates snow drifting on the air," he said before his voice trailed off as he watched Ashlynn checking her fishing line yet again.


    "Um, it¡¯s probably hard to feel the line for tugs with gloves on too, isn¡¯t it?" Hauke said. "Here, I can do something that will help. Ice. Sphere. Line," he intoned quickly, forming a small ball of ice around Ashlynn¡¯t fishing line where it entered the water. "Now you just need to watch the ice ball, if it dips below the water, then pull."


    "That¡¯s brilliant," Ashlynn said, staring at the line. She¡¯d seen fishermen use various kinds of floats to mark where they put nets or traps but it was her first time seeing a float used to mark a fishing line. "Thank you. So, Formed Ice, Drifting Snow, what are the others?"


    "There¡¯s also Formless Ice," he said, conjuring a small ball of ice that he twisted and shaped in his hands like it was clay.


    "Formless Ice is very rare," Hauke continued, wrapping a thin layer of ice around his wrist like a bracelet before flexing his wrist. As he moved, the ice deformed and returned back to its original shape. "People who understand Formless Ice can clad themselves in armor made of ice that will flex when it needs to and harden the rest of the time."


    "I don¡¯t think I understand how that would work," Ashlynn said. It seemed to be the opposite of working with the natural laws of ice. Didn¡¯t ice seek to hold its shape?


    "I don¡¯t know if I can explain it easily. I¡¯m not sure if I have the right words," Hauke said, looking at Heila and receiving a head shake in reply. It wasn¡¯t that there was a language barrier that she couldn¡¯t help him translate through, if he knew the words he wanted to use she could find a way to explain it. But if he wasn¡¯t sure how to explain something in Eldritch, she didn¡¯t know enough about sorcery to help him figure out how to articulate things.


    When Hauke glanced at Andrus, the young soldier also shook his head. He and Virve were taking turns keeping watch outside the icehouse so they had time to recover from the frigid winds, but after receiving a scolding from Virve, he was trying to be mindful of his place.


    Thankfully, he had no talent for sorcery and he really couldn¡¯t contribute to the conversation, even if he wanted to. Instead, he stood patiently at Lady Ashlynn¡¯s shoulder and watched the hole in the ice as though a fish monster might erupt from the lake to threaten his charge.


    Virve had assured him that the fish served to them the night before were harmless, but when he saw the giant fish frozen in blocks of ice as trophies, he couldn¡¯t help but worry that such a monstrous fish could swallow him whole. Some of the fish were more than twice as long as he was tall and weighed as much as four of him!


    No matter what anyone said, Andrus wasn¡¯t about to treat the hole in the ice as a harmless thing. If one of those monster fish leaped out of it, then he would be ready to protect Lady Ashlynn from it.

 Chapter 112: Concerning Trends

    Chapter 112: Concerning Trends"It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said as Hauke struggled to find a way to explain Formless Ice. She reminded herself that despite his size, Hauke was still more than five years younger than her. Learning something well enough to use the knowledge was one thing, but even she recognized that it took even greater knowledge to teach it to someone else.


    "You said there were seven kinds of sorcery your people practice," Ashlynn said, offering a way to get the conversation back on track. "Is Formless Ice the one that convinced your father to invest so heavily in teaching you differently or is there more?"


    "Right, seven," Hauke said, relieved that she wasn¡¯t going to press him for an explanation. Lady Nyrielle had asked him to teach but now that he found himself trying to explain things to someone who hadn¡¯t grown up around snow and ice their whole lives, he was finding it much harder than he thought it would be to do so.


    "When we¡¯re born, every Frost Walker has a bit of talent for at least one form of sorcery," he explained, pointing at his horn. "It shows up as the primary color at the base of the horn. Pale blue for Formed Ice, milky white for Drifting Snow, and so on. People who have only one color are said to be very unlucky unless their talent is so overwhelmingly strong that it makes up for the lack of versatility."


    "But, your horn doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s any one color, or even two or three colors," Ashlynn said. "It even feels like it changes color depending on how the light hits it."


    "That¡¯s why Father insisted I study so much," Hauke said. "Because I have all the colors. I can use all seven kinds of sorcery. It, it¡¯s very rare," he said, his shoulders slumping slightly. "No one has had an iridescent horn in more than two hundred years. But everyone who has had one has been a legendary Eldritch Lord or Hero."


    "That sounds like a lot of pressure," Ashlynn said, handing her fishing pole to a surprised-looking Andrus and getting up to rest a hand on Hauke¡¯s furry arm. "Do you want to be the next Eldritch Lord? Or do you wish you could just study your magic and do something else to help your people?"


    "I need to be the next Eldritch Lord," Hauke said, his voice growing firm. "Father is right that change is coming whether we want it to or not. Even our mountains are changing. The lakes are getting deeper and the glaciers are smaller than they were in my grandparents¡¯ time."


    "Some people are excited because there are more fish than ever before," he said with a heavy sigh. "And only the elders remember having lean winters where we ran out of supplies before the pass began to thaw. But Father is worried about the milder winters. He¡¯s afraid that the mountains won¡¯t protect us as well as they used to."


    "And humans are coming," Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh of her own. "It¡¯s the worst time for the weather to change. It makes you vulnerable right when a new enemy is preparing to attack. Wait," she said, a sudden thought occurring to her.


    "I¡¯ve been thinking about the pass between the Vale of Mists and the High Fen, but what about Airgead Mountain? Is there a route from here to there that¡¯s affected by the change in weather?" Ashlynn asked. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "There is," Hauke said, pulling on his fishing line for a moment and then relaxing when he didn¡¯t feel the resistance he expected. To his practiced fingers, it felt like there was still bait on the hook, but whatever had tugged on his line hadn¡¯t taken the bait.


    Opposite him, Andrus watched his motions carefully. Part of him was excited to have a chance to catch something on his own. With so many older siblings, he¡¯d never been able to do more than watch the bucket full of his older siblings catch or help them with a net once they caught something.


    At the same time, he almost hoped Lady Ashlynn would take the pole back before he caught one of the monster fish that he was certain was lurking somewhere down there beneath the ice.


    "There¡¯s a ridgeline trail wide enough for an ox cart or small wagon," Hauke said. "It¡¯s usually a muddy mess even when it¡¯s not covered in snow, but with the snow melting earlier..."


    "Which is why your father said that if Airgead Mountain fell it would be a danger to the High Pass. And yet, Paulus isn¡¯t worried about humans because, in his era, the weather would have kept you safe, even if the trail was open because an invading army couldn¡¯t send many troops down it very quickly. But not anymore. Your father recognizes that and Paulus doesn¡¯t."


    "That¡¯s why I have to be the next Eldritch Lord," Hauke said, a layer of frost forming over his fur as his emotions stirred. "Last year, I spent the summer taking measurements with my tutor from High Fen."


    "We marked out how much smaller the glaciers seem to be getting each year and how much deeper the lakes are," he said, meeting Ashlynn¡¯s gaze with worried eyes. "Unless something changes, then in another fifty years, people will be able to get through the pass all year long unless there¡¯s a sudden storm."


    "You know, you¡¯re pretty impressive, little lord Hauke," Ashlynn said warmly. "I always loved books and learning things but I never had to do what you¡¯re doing. I¡¯ve never heard anyone say that they¡¯re worried about the weather in fifty years before, but you¡¯re thinking about it now, recognizing how it¡¯s going to affect your people and I bet you¡¯re starting to think about what you¡¯ll do to be ready for it."


    "I am, but... all that time studying means I¡¯m not as good at hunting or fighting as other people my age," he said, his horn dipping low. "That¡¯s why Torsten is such a problem. He and others like him know that they can defeat me in a challenge so they don¡¯t listen to what I have to say. They don¡¯t see knowledge as strength."


    "In that case, let¡¯s work together," Ashlynn said, giving him a wide smile. "You studied math and engineering. I studied history, governance, and law. I might not be able to help you grow stronger, but I can help you learn to manage people and apply justice."


    "We can strengthen our magic together too," she said with a smile. "You may not feel very strong, but if I was as strong as you are when Owain..." she started, then stopped, drawing a deep breath before she continued.


    "What I mean is, we both have people we need to become stronger than," she said. "And I¡¯d like to visit after my trip to the Mother of Thorns so we can keep helping each other grow stronger. Maybe you could even visit the Vale of Mists in the winter?"


    "I, I¡¯d like that," Hauke said, flashing a wide grin. "I¡¯d like that a lot. Talking to my tutor, I get the feeling that he thinks of Frost Walkers as simple people compared to everyone in the big cities to the west, but..."


    "Um, what do I do?" Andrus interrupted, digging his cloven hooves into the ice and pulling hard on the fishing pole that had bent like a drawn bow. "I think I caught one of those monsters!"

 Chapter 113: Caught

    Chapter 113: CaughtHeila flung herself at Andrus as soon as he cried out, wrapping her arms around his torso and setting her cloven feet wide apart on the ice as he fought against the pull of whatever had taken the bait.


    "Ashlynn," Hauke said quickly. "Wrap the line around the ice spike," he said, pointing at a thick spike of ice he¡¯d conjured near the hole in the ice. "Pull slowly!"


    "Got it," Ashlynn replied in Eldritch without waiting for Heila to translate since the diminutive horned woman had her hands full keeping Andrus from being pulled into the hole in the ice.


    Reaching out, she captured the trembling line as it danced at the end of the fishing pole, pulling slowly but firmly on the line to prevent any sudden motions from snapping the line or dislodging the fish. Working carefully, she looped the line around the spike several times, transferring the force of the pull from the fishing pole to the thick shaft of ice anchored to the frozen surface of the lake.


    "You can let go of the pole now," Hauke told the struggling Andrus. "Lady Ashlynn, just keep doing what you¡¯re doing. Pull in a bit of line and loop it around the spike, then pull in some more."


    "Andrus, well done," Ashlynn said with a smile as she steadily worked on hauling in the fish. The line shook and trembled in her hand as the fish thrashed on the hook, desperate to escape, but Ashlynn wasn¡¯t about to let up on it.


    Andrus stared nervously at the hole in the ice, both eager to see what he had caught and frightened of the monster that might emerge from the ice. His right hand dropped to the mace at his waist and lifted the weapon free, ready to club the fish monster into submission if need be.


    "Use this," Hauke said, retrieving a smooth stone cudgel from their supplies and handing it to Andrus. While it fit as conveniently in Hauke¡¯s large, furry hands as a butcher¡¯s knife, to Andrus, it was just as large and heavy as his steel mace. "This is smooth and blunt. When the fish is pulled to the surface, hit it between the eyes." sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Between the eyes? Is that the monster¡¯s weak spot?" Andrus asked, feeling the heft of the stone club in his hands.


    "You can think of it that way," Hauke laughed. "It will stun the fish so we can bleed it out. It¡¯s kinder to the fish to die that way."


    "Why do we have to be kind to the fish monster?" Andrus asked, never taking his eyes off the hole in the ice as Ashlynn slowly hauled in the fish.


    "It tastes better that way," Ashlynn said. There wasn¡¯t much line left and the fish was fighting harder than ever. Her gloves had become soaked with icy water from handling the line but she ignored the chill creeping into her fingers as she focused on bringing in their catch.


    "I was going to say it¡¯s respectful to the fish," Hauke said with a slight frown. "But it also tastes better. If it¡¯s stressful when it dies, it can sour the meat. And it¡¯s not a monster, just a fish. Probably not very large," he said, noting how easily Ashlynn seemed to be hauling in the fish.


    Standing next to the hole in the ice, Andrus held his stone club at the ready while Heila took several steps back and hid herself behind the sled of supplies. It wasn¡¯t that she was afraid of the fish, she told herself, just that she didn¡¯t want to be in the way.


    Finally, the water in the hole began to churn and splash as a giant sturgeon¡¯s head emerged from the water, its eyes unblinking as it thrashed about on Ashlynn¡¯s line.


    "Now, hit it!" Hauke said, his eyes wide at the size of the fish on Ashlynn¡¯s line. From the way she¡¯d pulled it in so easily, he¡¯d estimated it at maybe a hundred pounds or so, but seeing the size of the head alone was enough to make him wonder if the fish would fit through the hole in the ice!


    Andrus, to his credit, didn¡¯t move as soon as Hauke shouted for him to hit the fish. Taking a deep breath, he waited until Ashlynn had looped the fishing line around the ice spike again before bringing the club crashing down on the fish, right between the eyes.


    In an instant, the fish went limp, dropping back into the water as the line slipped from Ashlynn¡¯s hands with the force of Andrus¡¯ blow.


    "Perfect," Huake praised. "Little friend, you have very good aim," he said, returning to the sled to retrieve more tools.


    "I have to be good at something," the horned soldier boasted. "Getting a position on Captain Lennart¡¯s squad isn¡¯t easy."


    "Well done," Ashlynn praised. "I¡¯ll tell Captain Lennart you helped so you can join us when we feast on this fish," she said, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder before gripping the line again and pulling the fish up out of the water.


    Much to Hauke¡¯s chagrin, the hole in the ice turned out to be too small for the fish that Ashlynn had hauled in but a few moments work with an ice ax expanded the hole to nearly twice it¡¯s initial size, allowing them to retrieve the fish that was almost as long as Hauke was tall.


    "Just how strong are you, Lady Ashlynn?" Hauke asked as he looked from the fish to the short woman who had hauled it in. She hadn¡¯t once asked him for help, even when it thrashed against the line, rather, she¡¯d made it look almost effortless.


    "This is the strength of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s gift," Ashlynn said, collapsing onto her misshapen stool and drawing several deep breaths. As easy as it had looked, hauling the fish in had been several times more difficult than wielding her darksteel falchion.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for Thane¡¯s additional training with heavy weights during her blossoming period, she would never have had the strength to do what she just had. As is, the muscles of her arms, back, and legs all trembled with the aftermath of her exertion and her back was slick with sweat under her warm winter clothing.


    "Virve, Virve, come inside," Andrus called, ducking his head out to wave at the bearish woman who was still taking her turn in the icy wind when they¡¯d caught the fish. "You have to see the monster we caught. I helped subdue it!"


    Taking one last look around the icy lake, Virve chuckled at her young companion¡¯s enthusiasm. They weren¡¯t supposed to be fishing, they were supposed to be protecting Lady Ashlynn while she fished, but from what little she¡¯d heard of the excitement within the icehouse, they had asked Andrus to help so she could hardly fault him.


    "All right," she said, stepping in through the open doorway of the ice house. "Let¡¯s see this ¡¯monster¡¯ of yours."


    ***


    A few hundred feet away from the icehouse, on the lonely island that held the Frost Walker memorial shrine, a hulking figure smiled as he saw the last person enter the icehouse after a bout of excitement.


    It had taken hours longer than expected to reach the lake, but the route Paulus had provided was as good as he claimed and avoided all of the places where Frost Walker soldiers or hunters patrolled the area.


    Standing up from the place he¡¯d lain prone to watch the group on the lake, the shaggy-haired man turned to his companions further down the hill with a wide grin forming around his gleaming white tusks.


    "It¡¯s finally time, boys," he said, lifting an enormous maul and resting it on his shoulder. "Today, we claim the rarest trophy of all - an iridescent horn!"

 Chapter 114: Shattered

    Chapter 114: ShatteredIn the icehouse, Hauke hung the enormous fish from a large metal hook and quickly bled the fish into the water beneath the ice while Virve listened to Andrus¡¯ excited retelling of the battle to catch the ¡¯monster fish¡¯, including his heroic -BONK- between the fish¡¯s eyes.


    "It is impressive," Virve admitted. "Have you thanked Heila yet for keeping it from pulling you into the water?"


    "Oh! No, Heila, I¡¯m so sorry," the young soldier said, blushing to the base of his horns in embarrassment when he looked at the servant who had already begun preparing a space on the sled for them to place their fish for the hike home.


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said, her ears heating when she thought about the way she¡¯d wrapped her arms around the strong young soldier to stop him from being pulled under the ice. For a few moments until Ashlynn wrapped the line around the ice spike, her entire torso had been pressed up against Andrus and even through his thick coat, her hands felt the power in his muscles as he strained against the fish.


    "I¡¯m supposed to go unnoticed when I¡¯m going about my work," she added, turning away from Andrus before she noticed the way she¡¯d looked at him. "So it¡¯s not a problem."


    "No, it¡¯s," Andrus started to say, only to be interrupted by a loud -CRACK- as a rock the size of his head crashed through the dome of the ice house, sending shards of ice flying before it landed on the frozen lake surface at the opposite side of the ice house.


    The bitter wind that the dome had kept at bay rushed in through the breach, stealing their breath away as the temperature plummeted. Ice crystals formed in the air, stinging their exposed skin and eyes as they swirled through the newly formed hole.


    "My Lady!" Virve bellowed. "Get down!" As she spoke, the bearish woman stepped between the hole in the icehouse and Ashlynn moments before a second and third rock slammed into the dome, skittering across the ice and collapsing a portion of the dome.


    Ashlyn crouched low behind the stool she¡¯d made of ice, her cold hands fumbling for the hilt of her sword as she inwardly cursed at the numbness that had spread to her fingers from the cold, wet gloves. Despite all of her practice to quickly draw a sword when attacked, Thane had never taught her anything that would help her fight with hands that felt half frozen.


    For a moment, the blade nearly slipped from her hands until she forced herself to stop rushing. As much as her racing heart clamored at her to do something, anything to protect herself, if she was careless, things would only go from bad to worse. Once she had a firm hold on her sword, she peaked around the ice stool she¡¯d crouched behind to see what was attacking them.


    Outside, through the gaping hole in the icehouse, she got her first look at the attackers. Mammoth was the first word that came to mind as she looked at the giant figures striding across the ice, loading head-sized stones into giant slings to hurl at the ice house as they made their slow, inexorable advance across the ice.


    Each one of the four figures would tower over even Hauke, the shortest of them easily matching Lord Ritchel¡¯s ten feet in height while the tallest stood head and shoulders taller than that. Long, shaggy reddish-brown hair covered their heads and exposed arms and their bodies were wrapped in long, sleeveless tunics and breeches made of sewn together pelts.


    Most striking of all, however, were the long, bone white tusks that protruded from their mouths, extending all the way to their waists before curling upward and outward to wicked points. A long flexible trunk hung from the middle of their leathery faces and large, droopy ears fluttered in the frigid wind along with their shaggy hair.


    "Tuskans," Hauke breathed, his eyes wide in shock. It shouldn¡¯t be possible for anyone hostile to reach this lake. Not only was it deep in the territory claimed by the Frost Walkers, but as the home of an ancestral cave, even one that was no longer accessible, the area around it was constantly patrolled by a number of soldiers. That protection was part of why his father had recommended this lake to take Ashlynn to when they discussed it at the banquet the night before.


    "Hauke, fix wall!" Ashlynn snapped, pointing at the hole in the wall as another rain of stones came crashing through the hole in the ice dome.


    One of the stones narrowly missed Virve, crashing through the opposite side of the ice dome. A second one slammed into the hanging fish, tearing through it¡¯s flesh and crushing bones while a third smashed the sled that carried their supplies, knocking Heila off her feet as she tried to move out of the way.


    "Water. Flow. Freezing. Shield!" Hauke intoned, snapping out of his daze and summoning a spout of water to form a thick curved shield between his companions and the advancing Tuskans. Fixing the dome would be pointless if the rocks could just keep crashing through other parts of it but the shield he created, even though it was shorter and narrower, was much thicker and curved in a way that should help deflect the force of the boulders.


    "My Lady," Virve said, ducking behind Hauke¡¯s shield a moment before Andrus arrived beside her. "You and little lord Hauke should run. Andrus and I will hold them here."


    "No," Ashlynn said, joining her two guards behind the ice shield as more rocks slammed into it, careening off the shield and falling onto the frozen surface of the lake at the edges of the ice house. "I¡¯m fighting with you. Besides, we¡¯d never escape those rocks if we ran." sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Heila," Hauke said, reaching out with a large, furry hand to grab the diminutive horned woman. "Stay close to me," he said, conjuring a second ice shield to protect the two of them from the boulders.


    Heila nodded, her hands clutching at the skinning knife she¡¯d retrieved from the broken supply sled. It seemed like a small and feeble weapon against foes as large as the Tuskans, but she refused to be helpless, even if her chances of doing any real damage with the small knife were low, it was better than cowering behind the shield and waiting to die.


    "Virve," Ashlynn said. "You¡¯re in charge. What do we do?" She¡¯d stripped off her wet gloves and her hands clutched tightly at the leather-wrapped hilt of her darksteel falchion. It wasn¡¯t ideal, but given the choice, she preferred to be without the cumbersome mitts. Thane¡¯s lessons had covered many things and she was an even better fighter than she had been when she fought her duel with Broll. Still, that didn¡¯t mean she could keep up with professional soldiers like Virve in a pitched battle and she needed every advantage she could get right now.


    "We need to even the odds," Virve said, peeking around the edge of the ice shield. The Tuscans had exhausted their supply of stones to hurl but they seemed in no hurry, continuing their steady march across the ice as they brought out other weapons.


    The two largest Tuscans carried heavy mauls with heads that tapered to a point on one side and were blunt on the other. A third Tuscan wore a loop of heavy chain draped over his shoulder that was half again as long as he was tall while the final man carried a club that looked like it had been carved from a tree trunk before being covered with sharpened iron nails and...


    "Are those, are those Frost Walker horns in his club?" Andrus asked, blinking in disbelief as he looked at the glittering icy spikes protruding from the club.


    "They are," Hauke said grimly. "Look," he added, pointing at the Tuskans as their flexible trunks retrieved wide leather cuffs from pouches at their waists before slipping them over their curved tusks. Each cuff had been set with several iron spikes to make the wicked natural weapons even more deadly, but in addition to the iron spikes, they contained between one to three more Frost Walker horns, carved into blades that emanated an icy aura.


    "That¡¯s what they do when they hunt one of us," Hauke said with a heavy gulp. "They tear out our horns..."


    "And turn them into weapons," Ashlynn said, a chill running down her spine. "How do we fight that?"


    "Would you look at that, boys," the largest of the Tuscans said, grinning as he watched Ashlynn and her companions cowering behind their ice shields. "Old man Paulus didn¡¯t lie to us after all. He really does have an iridescent horn. Save our trophy for last, kill the

 Chapter 115: Battle On The Ice

    Chapter 115: Battle On The Ice"Save our trophy for last, kill the rest!"


    The words pierced Hauke¡¯s heart like a knife. This was his fault. He¡¯d just started to feel the barriers between them beginning to melt as they celebrated catching an enormous sturgeon when the Tuscans hurled stones shattered everything around them. They were going to kill his new friends, just to get to him.


    A second behind that thought, however, his panicked mind processed the other thing the Tuscan leader had said. ¡¯Old man Paulus didn¡¯t lie.¡¯ The Tuscans had come for him, yes, but it wasn¡¯t his fault. Elder Paulus had sold them out. The realization chilled his heart, bringing an icy calm to him as his fear vanished, replaced by a cold, crystalline rage.


    "Hauke," Virve, said, watching the young Frost Walker struggle to process what was happening. "Can you hurl spears of ice, or do anything else to break up their group? We can¡¯t fight them all at once or we¡¯ll be overwhelmed."


    "I can," Hauke said. "Shatter. Windstorm. Ice Blades," he intoned, gathering a mixture of pale white and icy blue energy to his horn before forcefully making a fist as though he was crushing something in his hand. The next instant, the remainder of the icy dome shattered, transforming from a simple shelter into hundreds of blades of ice, each one as sharp as shards of broken glass.


    The frigid wind changed directions, swirling around Hauke and his companions before rushing at the Tuscans and carrying the shards of ice with it.


    Rather than scatter at the rushing shards, however, the Tuscans clustered behind the man with the heavy chain who began to spin it rapidly in front of them like a shield. Ice shattered as the heavy iron links smashed through the wind born blades of ice but it stopped dozens, it couldn¡¯t stop hundreds of ice shards.


    Dozens of the ice shards that made it past the spinning chain missed the Tuscans entirely, breaking against the frozen surface of the lake. Still others delivered only glancing blows to the Tuscan¡¯s pelt-covered torsos or were deflected by the weapons they raised to protect their heads and faces from the storm of shards.


    But none of the Tuscans came through the storm unscathed. Several shards of ice pierced the thick hair and tough hides of their exposed arms and even more tore at their floppy ears. Blood began to flow from dozens of small wounds before Hauke¡¯s spell ran out of icy shards to throw.


    While the Tuscans paused their advance to deal with the sudden ice storm, Virve and Andrus didn¡¯t stay still. Using all of his natural advantages, Andrus dashed out from behind cover, sprinting as fast as his cloven-hoofed legs would carry him, with Virve charging not far behind him.


    ¡¯Go low, break knees,¡¯ had been Virve¡¯s command to the horned soldier and he intended to do exactly that, building momentum to deliver a crushing blow to the chain-wielding Tuscan¡¯s leg. He didn¡¯t have to kill the giant of a man, he wasn¡¯t even sure that he could, but if he could cripple one then they could turn the battle into a hit-and-run game of tag that forced the other Tuscans to leave their wounded member behind.


    "Stupid brat," the chain-wielding Tuscan sneered, changing the direction of his spinning chain into a wide, flat arc that would shatter or entangle the legs of anyone it struck.


    "Clumsy," Andrus taunted, leaping over the lashing chain like it was one of his sisters¡¯ skipping ropes. Behind him, Virve paused in her charge to allow the chain to whip in front of her but Andruss charged in directly, zigzagging like a drunken mountain goat rushing down a mountain as he closed on the chain-wielding Tuscan.


    -CRUNCH-


    The sound of shattering bone echoed across the ice as Andrus¡¯s mace found its mark, smashing into the side of the Tuscan¡¯s right knee. The giant¡¯s leg buckled sideways, unable to support his massive weight, and for a moment, his trunk flailed wildly as he fought to keep his balance.


    "Rargh! You insect," the Tuscan shouted, his voice tight with pain as he lashed out at Andrus. The spikes attached to his ivory tusks tore at the horned soldier¡¯s padded armor and sent him sliding across the icy surface of the lake, but in his desperation to strike back, the Tuscan¡¯s attack failed to draw even a drop of blood.


    The next moment, Virve charged into the opening created by Andrus¡¯ attack, slamming both hands into the towering giant¡¯s abdomen. On her hands, she wore sturdy darksteel gauntlets, and her claws were sheathed in inch-long darksteel blades that sliced through the Tuscan¡¯s pelts like knives through soft cheese.


    As much as she wanted to tear into the Tuscan, spilling his entrails across the ice, she had no time to become mired in close-quarters combat. Instead, she used her momentum and all the power of the muscles in her arms and back to shove the wounded Tuscan at his companions, briefly entangling all of them while she dashed after Andrus to return to Ashlynn¡¯s side.


    "Well struck," Ashlynn said, clutching her falchion and wishing she could have joined in the charge.


    "We should run, Virve said, her brow glistening with sweat and steam pouring from her mouth as she caught her breath after rushing back from her charge. "Before..."


    "Kill them!" Imnek, the lead Tuscan shouted, abandoning their steady advance to charge at Hauke¡¯s protectors.


    Paulus had told him to be cautious of the human witch who had demonstrated extraordinary strength to take down his grandson Torsten but at this point, Imnek hadn¡¯t seen anything other than a pathetic display of cowering behind ice from the woman and he refused to give Hauke any more opportunities to use sorcery against them. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Too late," Ashlynn said, her mind spinning rapidly as the Tuscans charged. "Drifting snow," Ashlynn shouted, turning to look at Hauke. "Blind them with a snow flurry, hide us!"


    "Geyser. Freeze. Flurry. Fly," Hauke intoned, summoning an explosive fountain of water from the hole in the ice where they¡¯d been fishing. In a flash, the geyser of water produced a cloud of droplets that froze into soft, slushy snowflakes before a gust of wind flung them at the faces of the charging Tuscans.


    The Tuscans¡¯ trunks shot upward, releasing powerful blasts of air that momentarily parted the cloud of snow like curtains. But for every snowflake they blew away, a dozen more swirled in to take its place. Within moments, they¡¯d become nearly completely engulfed in the flurry of slushy snowflakes that clung to their long hair, dripping in rivulets as it melted under their hot breath before freezing again in icy clumps that obscured their vision even further.


    As soon as the snow began to fly, Ashlynn darted out at the charging Tuscans. Andrus and Virve had done their best, but even if she wasn¡¯t as skilled as they were, she was much, much faster and stronger than either of them and her darksteel falchion was far more deadly.


    At the moment, it didn¡¯t matter to her that they were supposed to be protecting her and not the other way around. All she knew was that, as long as she had the strength and the power to help, she couldn¡¯t sit idle while others fought.


    Now, the Tuscans would learn firsthand what it meant to fight the Seneschal of a True Vampire!

 Chapter 116: Blood On Ice

    Chapter 116: Blood On Ice"In general, there are two kinds of fighters," Thane explained to Ashlynn on a dark and misty night in the Vale of Mists before her departure. "Power fighters," he said, lifting a large and heavy two handed sword, before delivering a crushing overhand blow to one of the practice targets. "And speed fighters," he added, lifting a lighter, slender rapier and deftly puncturing the target several times in quick succession.


    "Which kind of fighter are you?" Ashlynn asked, furrowing her brow at him as she caught her breath after several minutes of intense practice. She found him to be both much faster than her and to be significantly stronger so she struggled to place him in either category.


    "When I was a knight, I was a power fighter," he said, offering a courtly bow. "Heavy armor slows you down, and the weapons you need to overcome an armored opponent aren¡¯t light either. If you¡¯re strong enough though, you can wade through even crowded battlefields and keep fighting like an unstoppable juggernaut."


    "My sister was the opposite," he said, setting a hand gently on the rapier¡¯s hilt. "Speed fighters don¡¯t belong on crowded battlefields. They¡¯re deadly in duels and less honorable fights in places where people don¡¯t wear armor to protect themselves. On the battlefield, against an armored knight, a speed fighter has no chance, but take away the armor and attack that same knight in a crowded tavern and they¡¯ll die before they¡¯ve finished pulling back their sword to swing."


    "You said ¡¯when you were a night,¡¯" Ashlynn pointed out. "Does that mean you¡¯re a speed fighter now?"


    "No," Thane said with a deep chuckle. "It means that the dichotomy no longer applies once I became a vampire. Even in armor, I¡¯m faster than any human would ever be and at the same time, I¡¯m stronger than even our friends from the Clan of the Great Claw."


    "That¡¯s why I picked the falchion for you," he reminded her. "You¡¯re faster than humans now, and stronger than many among the Eldritch peoples. Use that combination of speed and power and you¡¯ll understand why vampires are so feared, even within the Eldritch nations."


    Now, as she raced across the ice, Ashlynn understood what Thane had meant far better than she had at the time. Broll had been a power fighter who was used to fighting in armor and he died because he was overly reliant on the armor¡¯s protection to accommodate his wide, powerful swings.


    The Tuscans were just like Broll, doubled in size with added tusks. They wore heavy pelts and had thick skin under their shaggy fur in place of armor but they all carried heavy weapons. A single blow, whether from the mauls or the clubs, or even the long iron chain, would be enough to cripple, maim, or kill a person.


    Ashlynn recognized this, yet she charged them anyway. Behind her, she vaguely heard Virve¡¯s cry of protest as she and Andrus scrambled to keep up with her, but Ashlynn had no intention of holding back from using any of her gifts to end this fight as quickly as possible, before anyone could be hurt.


    "Mist Walker. Dance," Ashlynn whispered, springing off the ice and allowing the frigid wind at her back to carry her even faster through the air as she soared above the lead Tuscan in a blur of movement that was too fast for his snow-blinded eyes to follow.


    Dismissing her sorcery after a final push off of the snow-filled air, Ashlynn dropped onto her unsuspecting prey like an eagle swooping down from the sky. Her darksteel blade whistled through the air, its curved blade aimed directly at the face of the second maul-wielding Tuscan.


    Too late, the hairy Tuscan realized the danger he was in, raising the haft of his maul to block Ashlynn¡¯s blade. After dozens of hours of practice, her sword cleaved through the thick wooden haft of the maul with only the slightest shiver of resistance before it met flesh.


    Blood erupted as the Tuscan¡¯s final attempt to bat away her blade with his flexible trunk failed. Half of his trunk fell to the ice with a meaty -SPLAT- while her blade cleaved past the trunk and into his face, destroying one eye before Ashlynn fell further and came to a stop, her blade wedged in the ivory of his trunk.


    "Rarwgh!" the wounded Tuscan bellowed in pain and fury, dropping the two halves of his broken maul to snatch at the witch who dangled from his tusk.


    Letting go of her sword, Ashlynn dropped to the icy surface of the lake, barely avoiding the Tuscan¡¯s powerful grasp. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My Lady," Andrus yelled, whipping his mace forward as he raced toward the woman he was supposed to be protecting. "Catch!"


    For a moment, Ashlynn almost leaped for the weapon only to dash out of the way as the wounded Tuscan thrashed, his spiked tusks whistling through the air and leaving a trail of glittering icy energy in their wake. Andrus¡¯ throw went wide as Ashlynn moved quickly to avoid the wildly stomping feet of the Tuscan and the mace clattered to the ice more than a dozen feet away from her.


    "Andrus watch out!" Virve cried, struggling to catch up to Ashlynn¡¯s sorcery-fueled flight and the horned soldier¡¯s fleet-footed dash.


    The warning, however, came a moment too late. Imnek, the leader of the Tuscan hunters, had given up on his companions, charging ahead to reach his prize, the Frost Walker with an iridescent horn. Imnek completely ignored Andrus in his rush to reach his prize, but the club-wielding Tuscan behind him didn¡¯t.


    Alerted by Virve¡¯s cry, Ashlynn was too far away to do anything but watch in horror as the spiked club tore through the air and slammed into Andrus diminutive figure. Against Lothian swords and spears, the young horned soldier¡¯s thick gambeson and heavy fur-lined cloak would have done much to protect his life.


    Against the spiked club as thick as a tree trunk, however, it was little different than a summer tunic for all the protection it provided him. Bones crunched sickeningly and blood splattered across the ice. Brilliant blue-white energy flared as one of the sharpened Frost Walker horns embedded in the club pierced deeply into Andrus¡¯ chest.


    For a moment, Andrus¡¯ hazel eyes met Ashlynn¡¯s. His mouth was open and his face contorted in pain but no sounds came out as icy magic washed over him, freezing his blood and flesh from the inside out before the Tuscan shook his club, dropping Andrus¡¯ frozen corpse on the ice with a heavy -THUNK.-


    For a moment, the only thing Ashlynn could hear was the whistling of the icy wind. The bellowing of the wounded Tuscan, the clash as Virve blocked Imnek¡¯s charge, she heard none of it as her world narrowed to the man who had killed her young bodyguard.


    Somewhere deep inside her, something fell into place. Something that had struggled to connect with ¡¯nature¡¯ in this barren, icy landscape found its resonance with the cold fury that gripped her heart.


    The wind that tore the tears from her eyes spun around her, gathering the shattered fragments of the ice house that remained after Hauke¡¯s attack and blending them with frozen blood from the injured Tuscan into a terrifying cyclone of nature¡¯s fury bent to Ashlynn¡¯s will.


    "You. Will. All. Die," she said in a voice even colder than the icy air around her.

 Chapter 117: Nature’s Fury

    Chapter 117: Nature¡¯s FuryNyrielle¡¯s library, as vast as it was, contained very few books about witchcraft. Ashlynn understood, from what she¡¯d read so far, that sorcery drew on a person¡¯s own life energy while witchcraft drew on the energy of nature and the elements.


    Thus far, Ashlynn had only been able to connect to the energy of living plants and the earth itself. At times, she wondered if that connection had been formed when she was buried underneath a cedar tree when Owain nearly killed her. Her desperation to survive let her touch magic that she¡¯d never dared to dream about and the trees and earth had responded to her need.


    Now, as she watched Andrus¡¯ wide-open eyes freeze over before the Tuscan shook him off the spiked club, she found herself in tune with the icy winds and frozen lake in a way she¡¯d never expected to.


    The winds scoured the lands, stinging everything and robbing everyone it touched of the warmth of life. The ice formed a cage that locked away anything living in the lake and the water itself was heavy, dark, and chilling in its depths.


    The instant she watched Andrus die, she wanted nothing more than to cleanse the earth of the people who had brought violence to what had been a joyous day of making friends and learning. Now, one of those new friends would never follow her, clambering from rock to rock in the mountainous terrain. He would never taste the ¡¯monster fish¡¯ he¡¯d helped to catch or boast to his seven siblings about his accomplishment the way he¡¯d boasted to Virve.


    The Tuscans had taken all of that from them and more. Worst of all, he had died chasing after her, and as much as she hated the Tuscans for killing him, she hated herself for putting him into that position.


    The winds and ice were harder to control than anything she¡¯d ever done with trees or the earth, and the winds and ice shards stung her exposed skin even as it bent to her will. Maybe it stung her because deep down, she felt that she should suffer for her role in Andrus¡¯ death. It didn¡¯t matter, all that mattered was that she had the strength now to kill the man who killed him.


    It only took a few heartbeats of time before Ashlynn began to move, stalking across the ice to the wailing, wounded Tuscan. Her sword was still embedded in his tusk and she needed it to kill someone.


    As she approached, the blood staining the Tuscan¡¯s shaggy hair froze and he scrambled on the ice in a frenzied attempt to escape the approaching icy reaper. His trunk had been severed, an eye destroyed and pain flooded his mind as bone-chilling cold radiated from each of his wounds. He¡¯d completely lost the demeanor of an indomitable hunter marching toward an inexorable victory.


    By the time Ashlynn reached him, his limbs had frozen in place and he¡¯d fallen to his hands and knees on the icy surface of the lake. His lungs burned with a cold like thousands of shards of ice stabbing from within every time he drew a shuddering breath and frost had covered his remaining eye. When Ashlynn wrenched her sword free of his tusk, it snapped off clattering to the ice like a dropped toy.


    "She really is a child of the earth," Tunerk the club-wielding Tuscan breathed, tightening his grip on his weapon as a slow grin spread between his tusks. "Her head will be a fine trophy!"


    Seeing her power, Tunerk raised his trunk in the air, letting out a mighty blast of air that echoed off the frozen lake like the sound of a dark and twisted trumpet. The Frost Walker horns in his club and lashed to his tusks began to glow, each one radiating different forms of frosty power.


    Tunerk held nothing back. He slammed his club into the ice, glaring at Ashlynn as if he was issuing a challenge. More than a simple display of dominance, however, the cracks that formed in the ice allowed him to draw forth the icy water of the lake, freezing it into a thick shield that covered his left arm. Several more spears of ice formed in the air around him, circling lazily as though they were waiting for their prey to make a move.


    "Just how many Frost Walkers did you have to kill and defile to gain that power," Ashlynn said as she stalked toward Tunerk. "How many were innocently fishing when you killed them? How many of them were never a threat to your life until you decided to murder and plunder?"


    Tunerk scowled at the human witch, clearly not understanding her language but Ashlynn didn¡¯t care whether he understood or not. His actions only served to strengthen her conviction that this man should never be allowed to harm another.


    For a tense moment, neither of them moved. The next moment, Tunerk began to raise his club for a charge when Ashlynn shot toward him with the speed of an arrow fired from a crossbow.


    "Mist Walker. Dance," Ashlynn said softly as she leaped into the air, taking several steps to soar above the startled Tuscan before diving for the ground behind him. She¡¯d already seen what happened when Andrus charged a Tuscan from the front and she had no desire to contend with his spiked tusks in addition to the deadly club.


    One of the ice spears grazed off her left leg as she shot toward the ground, tearing through the warm breeches and spilling a thin rivulet of blood that stung mightily the instant it was exposed to the cold air. In the heat of the moment, however, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t allow herself to care for minor wounds.


    As soon as her feet touched the icy surface of the lake she lunged for the back of the Tuscan¡¯s knees, slicing powerfully with her falchion to sever the tendons in each leg. Blood erupted from the wounds, spurting from severed arteries and splattering across Ashlynn¡¯s face and chest as she dashed out of the way of the falling Tuscan.


    Ice cracked as his body fell heavily to the ice. His trunk blared out a furious blast of shock and pain as he fell. Several icy spears launched at Ashlynn as the Tuscan attempted to roll around in a way that would let him crush the devious insect that had laid him low.


    ¡¯Don¡¯t block, attack the weapon.¡¯ Thane¡¯s words echoed in Ashlynn¡¯s mind as the darksteel falchion danced in her hands, shattering the icy spears one after another. Shards of ice peppered her face and hands leaving behind several small cuts but not one of the spears survived her onslaught to inflict any meaningful damage.


    Already, the icy wind flowing over the wound on her leg had begun to accelerate the healing of the only serious injury Tunerk had inflicted. The wounds on her face and hands healed at a rate that was visible to the naked eye. Each of those wounds still came with its own measure of pain. Just because it healed quickly didn¡¯t mean that it didn¡¯t hurt, but Ashlynn welcomed the pain as part of the penance she owed to Andrus.


    "Die, witch!" Tunerk shouted, doing the only thing he could think of to bring down this terrifying woman. He raised his club high overhead, intending to smash it into the ice and send both himself and Ashlynn tumbling into the icy depths below. At least they would die together.


    As soon as she saw his intention, however, Ashlynn dashed forward, her falchion flickering out in a blur too fast for most eyes to see. The next instant, Tunerk¡¯s club, along with the hand holding it, sailed through the air before falling to the ice dozens of feet away.


    More blood erupted from the severed limb and Tunerk began to twist on the ice, clutching at the severed limb and howling in rage and pain.


    "Enough," Ashlynn spat, stepping in and thrusting out with her sword. The blade shivered in her hands as she struck, becoming lodged in the Tuscan¡¯s skull without penetrating until Ashlynn summoned all of her strength, drawing on the stinging winds and the icy energy around her to thrust deeply into the Tuscan¡¯s skull.


    The darksteel blade seemed to drink in the warmth of the Tuscan¡¯s blood, absorbing it to feed the cold, crystalline patterns of frost spreading from where it pierced flesh and bone. As her sword sank deeper, the blade drank deeper and frost raced through the Tuscan¡¯s veins like flame consuming lamp oil, transforming blood to ice in an instant.


    Ashlynn watched with a cold, murderous stare as Tunerk¡¯s wide eyes clouded over with the same deadly frost that had claimed Andrus¡¯ life. It did nothing to bring Andrus back, but as she watched the light fade from the Tuscan¡¯s eyes, she promised herself that she would douse the hairy giant in enough lamp oil to create a pyre that could be seen from miles away. At least his death could light the way for Andrus¡¯ journey to the Heavenly Shores.


    Wrenching her blade free, Ashlynn felt the fury that gripped her heart subsiding along with a great deal of the icy energy she¡¯d borrowed from the environment around her. Freed from the tunnel vision that accompanied her rage, she looked around the lake to see how the rest of the battle was faring, hoping that Virve and Hauke had been successful in defeating the other remaining Tuscan.


    What she saw, however, sent an entirely different chill down her spine.


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 Chapter 118: Freezing Doom

    Chapter 118: Freezing DoomWhile Ashlynn had been engaged in her battle with Tunerk, Imnek had relentlessly attempted to reach Hauke to obtain his iridescent horn. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Virve, however, resolutely stood in the way of the Tuscan leader. Seeing Ashlynn smoothly sever the trunk of one of the Tuscans, even with the loss of her sword, was a powerful reminder that Ashlynn was like Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. The power at her command was far greater than what Virve herself could manifest, and worse, she was likely to get in Ashlynn¡¯s way if she attempted to join the fray.


    That didn¡¯t mean that her duties as a guard ended the moment Ashlynn set foot on the battlefield. Instead, as much as she wanted to sink her claws into the man who clubbed Andrus to death, she turned on the last remaining foe, intent on protecting Heila and Hauke.


    Placing herself between Imnek and the others provoked the ire of the Tuscan leader who furiously swung his maul at her, treating her much the same way that Tunerk had treated Andrus. Unfortunately for Imnek, Virve was nothing like the young horned soldier out on his first venture to the frozen mountains.


    Where Andrus had relied on his advantage in raw speed and precise aim to dash in and strike a blow before darting away, Virve moved with the practiced efficiency of a veteran warrior. Each time the maul swung, she shifted just enough to let it pass, never wasting movement or leaving herself off balance.


    Riding the edge of Imnek¡¯s range, each time the maul mist her by a less than a hand¡¯s breadth, she darted back in, her darksteel claws tearing into Imnek¡¯s arms, leaving behind crisscrossing cuts that slowly dyed the Tuscan giant¡¯s fur red before dripping to the ice below, leaving a bloody trail as the pair moved across the ice.


    For a moment, it seemed to Hauke and Heila that the powerful Tuscan would be easily defeated. Already, the damage done to his arms had slowed his swings and when he did strike out with the maul, Virve seemed to have an easier time avoiding the rash and impatient blows.


    Unfortunately, Imnek¡¯s impatience didn¡¯t get the best of him for long. As soon as he recognized Virve as a genuine threat, he turned his full murderous attention on her. His maul struck out again and again, no longer aiming at her torso but seeking to destroy her limbs any time she extended an arm to swipe at him or stepped forward to advance.


    "You need to help her," Heila insisted, tugging on Hauke¡¯s deep blue tunic. "It¡¯s not fair, he¡¯s too much bigger than Virve. Please," she said, her eyes wide and filled with tears after seeing Andrus fall. "She needs your help."


    "I know she does," the young Frost Walker said. His voice sounded frightened and frustrated. The Tuscan was even larger than his father and his tusks bore thirteen sharpened horns that spoke of just how many of Hauke¡¯s clansmen he¡¯d killed. The icy aura around him was thick and malicious, as if the spirits of the slain Frost Walkers had become bloodthirsty revenants eager for others to suffer the same cruel fate they had.


    "I don¡¯t know how to hurt him without hurting her in the process," Hauke said, wracking his brain for anything he could do that would be useful.


    -CRUNCH-


    The sickening sound of bone shattering filled the air as Imnek¡¯s maul crashed into Virve¡¯s forearm, shattering both bones in a single blow. A deep and haunting trumpet blast of victory blared from the Tuscan¡¯s trunk as he pressed forward, tearing through Virve¡¯s thick padded armor with the sharpened horns mounted on his tusks.


    "His feet and legs," Heila said, tapping rapidly on Hauke¡¯s leg to make her point. "Or his knees like, like Andrus did when he hit the first one," she explained, looking around the lake for what had happened to the wounded Tuscan only to find that he¡¯d moved far from the battle, pulling himself across the ice to reach the island in the middle of the frozen lake.


    "Lady Nyrielle always tells Lady Ashlynn that sorcery is about finding the most efficient way to use energy," Heila added, thinking back over the things she¡¯d overheard while attending to her lady during Lady Nyrielle¡¯s dinner-time lessons.


    "She says that using a small amount of energy to tip something precarious is better than pushing against a steady boulder," Heila said, hoping she had recalled Lady Nyrielle¡¯s point correctly. "Can you hit him when he takes a step or something?"


    "If I try to hurl an ice spear or anything else at him, I might hit Virve," Hauke protested. It was better, in his mind, to aim for the head since Imnek towered over Virve by several feet, but the giant Tuscan moved too quickly to be an easy target. He¡¯d already spent a good deal of his energy in the morning to create the ice house and practice sorcery with Ashlynn.


    Now, after creating a new barrier and the few attacks he¡¯d made on the group of Tuscans, he was rapidly approaching his limits. If he was going to do anything, he couldn¡¯t afford to waste his magic on attacks that wouldn¡¯t land.


    "What about what you did to make the icehouse?" Heila asked. "Could you trap his legs in ice?"


    "That, that might work," Hauke said, looking at the situation rapidly deteriorating for Virve. In order to land a few strikes of her own she¡¯d taken a punishing blow to the body from Imnek¡¯s maul. Now, bright pink foamy blood could be seen on her lips and her every breath was accompanied by a high-pitched wheeze.


    "Fountain. Flow. Soaking Serpent," Hauke intoned, his horn glowing a flickering shade of icy blue as he summoned a tendril of water from the hole in the ice that snaked its way across the frozen surface of the lake to reach the Tuscan giant¡¯s legs. Icy water pooled around Imnek¡¯s feet before ascending his legs like oil drawn up the wick of a lamp, soaking through the pelts that formed his breeches until his hairy legs were sodden to the skin.


    "What the!" Imnek shouted, startled by the sudden chill on his legs. In the moment of distraction, Virve rushed him, sinking the claws of her right hand deep into the flesh of his ribs and raking the length of his torso.


    "Flash Freeze!" Hauke intoned, instantly locking Imnek¡¯s legs in place as a layer of ice encased both legs.


    The powerful Tuscan roared in pain and anger, shaking his head and shredding Vivek¡¯s padded armor with the cruel, sharpened horns mounted on his tusks. A moment later, his trunk snaked around the bearish woman¡¯s neck, lifting her off the ground as her broken arm dangled uselessly at her side.


    "Virve!" Ashlyn shouted, horrified at the sight that greeted her eyes as soon as she looked away from the fallen Tunerk. Before she could process everything else that was happening, her feet had already started to move, dashing across the ice in a desperate attempt to reach her remaining guardian before she met the same fate as Andrus. The icy wind seemed to bend around her, pushing her from behind as if the earth itself wanted her to make it in time.


    Hearing Ashlynn¡¯s cry, Virve smiled weakly in the Tuscan¡¯s grip. If she was going to die today, she thought, raising her uninjured arm to grab hold of the Tuscan¡¯s trunk, she would at least take a piece of this giant with her before she died.

 Chapter 119: Broken

    Chapter 119: BrokenFor the first time since beginning this hunt, Imnek felt the icy grip of fear on his heart. Two of his fellows were dead, one had fallen and retreated, and they¡¯d only managed to kill one pathetic horned soldier in return. When Paulus warned him about the witch, he had dismissed her because she was cowering behind an ice shield. Now, he realized that she wasn¡¯t cowering, she was a hunter herself, choosing her time to spring a trap.


    Five years ago, he¡¯d left the frozen islands of his homeland in search of a trophy worthy of a hunter who could bear the mantle of leadership. For too long, the Tuscans had cowered in the safety of their islands, protected by the treacherous frozen seas. But if he wanted to change any of that, he first had to prove that he was strong enough to lead.


    When Paulus told him about a Frost Walker with an iridescent horn, he thought he¡¯d finally found that trophy. Now, however, facing the human witch, he realized that he¡¯d set his sights too low. If he could survive this deadly hunt, returning with not only the iridescent horn but the skin bearing this woman¡¯s mark of the witch, no one would question his capabilities as a hunter!


    A cold fire blazed in his eyes as Imnek twisted as much as he could with his legs frozen in place, hurling the wounded woman who had barred his path directly at the oncoming witch. Virve sank her claws deep into his trunk as he threw her, tearing long and bloody rents in his majestic trunk but Imnek had no time to care.


    Ashlynn threw herself to the side as Virve came hurtling toward her like a giant furry boulder. It wasn¡¯t chivalrous or knightly and part of her felt like she should have tried to catch Virve and break her fall but one of the many lessons Thane had drilled into her was that acts of ¡¯valor and heroism¡¯ on the battlefield often resulted in losing a fight you could have won. If they survived this, she would apologize to Virve afterward.


    The time Ashlynn spent avoiding Virve slowed her charge just enough for Imnek to smash his maul into the ice covering his legs. He couldn¡¯t clear all of it and his movements were slow and stiff compared to before, but he was able to turn enough to meet Ashlynn¡¯s charge head-on.


    The sound of steel colliding rang across the ice as Ashlynn¡¯s darksteel falchion met Imnek¡¯s heavy maul. Far from being a clumsy brute, Imnek wielded his maul much like a soldier would use a halberd or billhook, combining powerful thrusts with heavy swings and strikes from the butt end of the weapon to keep up with Ashlynn¡¯s terrifying speed.


    Their clash of weapons was echoed in a clash of sorcery. The sharpened Frost Walker horns lashed to Imnek¡¯s tusks glowed in colors that ranged from dark blue to icy white, conjuring icicles that flew at Ashlynn like thrown daggers, shrouded in flurries of snow in an attempt to obscure her vision.


    The wind swirling around Ashlynn intensified, clearing the snow from the air and deflecting the icicles enough for her to evade them without disengaging her blade from Imnek¡¯s maul. To Heila, watching from behind Hauke¡¯s ice barrier, it seemed like Ashlynn had completely neutralized Imnek¡¯s sorcery.


    Hauke, however, realized that even though the giant Tuscan¡¯s sorcery never directly harmed Ashlynn, the pressure it exerted stopped her from using her Mist Walker Dance or any other sorcery that could help her gain an advantage in this fight.


    "Can you do anything to help her?" Heila asked with pleading eyes.


    "It was hard to interfere when Virve was fighting him," Hauke said, shaking his head slightly without ever taking his eyes off the fight. "Seneschal Ashlynn is far too fast for me to attempt anything," he added bitterly.


    If his skill was greater, he wouldn¡¯t be so powerless now. The fact that the hunters had come for his iridescent horn only made him feel worse as he looked at the blood-splattered ice around their fishing hole. All of this, he felt, was happening because of him, yet all he could do at the moment was to hope that Ashlynn could overcome the last of the Tuscan giants.


    "You¡¯re no witch," Imnek spat, his trunk dripping blood as he and Ashlynn continued to clash. "What are you?"


    Even though she understood him, Ashlynn didn¡¯t bother to respond. Superior strength and speed could make up for a lack of technique and training but only to an extent. Right now, it was taking every ounce of concentration and focus she had to keep up with Imnek¡¯s deceptive attacks and the flurry of icy sorcery that flowed around them.


    Worse, Ashlynn was rapidly depleting her energy. While the freezing wind bolstered her strength, it wasn¡¯t as easy for her to draw upon as the energy of trees or the earth. In the process of using the icy wind as a weapon, she was slowly freezing herself from the outside in.


    Her mind worked furiously to find a solution before she ran out of strength. Imnek had too many advantages. He was much taller, had longer reach, greater skill and more weapons to use than she did. Even if she evaded his maul, he still had his horn studded tusks to fight with, and if she ever allowed herself to be caught in a bind with his maul, the tusks immediately sought her flesh. Speed and power alone weren¡¯t enough to overcome so many disadvantages.


    "Heila," she said as she arrived at the only conclusion she could think of under these circumstances. "If I fall, you take Hauke and Virve and you run, you hear me?"


    "My Lady, no!" Heila shouted.


    "What, what did she say?" Hauke asked. As much as Ashlynn worked hard to master the Eldritch tongue, Hauke hadn¡¯t spent any time doing the reverse and when Ashlynn and Heila spoke in the human tongue, he quickly became lost.


    Before Heila could answer, however, Ashlynn made her move. Without the advantage of mobility, in a frontal collision with the giant Tuscan, she was doomed to lose a battle of attrition as the fight wore on. Instead, she stopped using the winds to resist the icy assault of Imnek¡¯s sorcery and channeled her energy elsewhere.


    "Mist Walker. Dance," she said softly. The instant she shifted her focus, she dashed away to the side in the hopes of escaping at least some of Imnek¡¯s icy onslaught. Hail the size of walnuts and icicles as sharp as daggers pelted her body leaving behind countless bruises and half a dozen shallow cuts. Blood froze as soon as ice tore her flesh and piercing cold pain penetrated deep into her arms, legs, and chest.


    For a moment, Ashlynn¡¯s vision went red as the pain threatened to overwhelm her concentration. Biting her lower lip, she pushed through the pain and dashed through the air, soaring above Imnek to attack him from behind. Though she aimed for his neck as she passed, he was quick enough to turn, denying her a fatal strike but suffering a deep wound to his shoulder as she passed.


    Imnek¡¯s trunk trumpeted in rage, splattering more blood across the ice as he rounded on the human witch. Ashlynn, however, had already made her next move, this time coming from the opposite side and thrusting her sword deep into his chest from underneath the ribs.


    Too late, Ashlynn realized her mistake. Before she could wrench her sword free, Imnek brought a massive arm down, clapping her on the back, knocking the wind from her lungs, and pinning her against his hairy, pelt-clad body. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Blood spurted from Imnek¡¯s mouth, flowing down his tusks and even more blood flowed from his wounds. Along his tusks, swirling ice blue, pale white, and even dark blue energy began to pour from the sharpened Frost Walker horns lashed to his tusks, rising around him like mist above a grave.


    "No, no, you can¡¯t!" Imnek cried, his eyes trembling in fear. Ghostly voices of Frost Walkers long dead whispered in his giant, floppy ears and cackled gleefully as they pulled free of his control. Frost spread rapidly up his tusks as two phantom Frost Walkers advanced inexorably toward his face, impaling themselves on his tusks much as he had impaled them so many years ago.


    Dark blue apparitions latched onto his open wounds, plunging icy hands into his body and freezing his blood as they seeped into his flesh until their icy hands gripped his still-beating heart.


    White mist flowed outward from him, surrounding both Imnek and Ashlynn with a fog that pulled the warmth from their bodies and poured it into the ice below. Cracks reverberated across the frozen lake as the ice weakened and shattered under Imnek¡¯s feet. Beneath the cracking sound, early drowned out by Imnek¡¯s dying roars, laughing voices celebrated as the owners of his trophies finally claimed their revenge.


    "My Lady!" Heila cried, darting out from behind Hauke¡¯s ice shield as the ice beneath Ashlynn and Imnek gave way, plunging them both into the frigid watery depths below.

 Chapter 120: Connected

    Chapter 120: ConnectedWarm golden light spilled from crystal chandeliers and lamps along the wall to fill an opulent ballroom with enough light that the elegantly dressed guests had to remind themselves that they were deep underground.


    A long banquet table occupied a raised platform at one end of the hall, serving as a gathering spot for some of the most powerful people east of the great desert. Torbin, the Eldritch High Lord of the Vale of Mists, stood at the center of the banquet table, smiling with pride as he gazed upon his many guests.


    Torbin¡¯s once black fur had long turned a shocking shade of white and his eyes had taken on a distinctly red hue as he aged, yet those were the only signs that any time had passed for the three hundred-year-old vampire who had united the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw in the Vale of Mists.


    Next to him, a young Nyrielle did her best to endure the crowded and boisterous environment. She remembered this night well, and while she had never come to enjoy crowded festivities, she enjoyed any chance she had to relive the days when her parents and grandsire were still alive.


    Thane had once told her that human dreams could be wildly varied, composed of impossible things that hadn¡¯t happened before and likely never would. Dreams of journeys to fantastical places or sensual dreams with people who would never consent to indulge in carnal desires with the dreamer.


    Those dreams stopped when a person died. The dreams of vampires no longer contained infinite possibilities, and for Nyrielle, they never had. Instead, when the sun rose, it disturbed a vampire¡¯s precarious balance between life and death, pressing upon them until they experienced what humans referred to as ¡¯seeing their life pass before their eyes¡¯ in the moments before death.


    It was no surprise to dream of another banquet from another time after an evening spent feasting with the Frost Walkers, but Nyrielle was grateful to Ashlynn for the hours of comfort before she slept for the day. Without them, she feared that she would be treated to memories of time spent with her fallen progeny to remember again how badly she failed them.


    "You look bored," Torbin said, smiling at the child he considered to be his granddaughter. Even though she was born of humans and he was Eldritch, she had been born to his progeny. Other distinctions didn¡¯t matter as far as the old bear was concerned. "You know we have a special guest tonight."


    "I know," Nyrielle said, offering her grandsire a better smile than the half-hearted one she¡¯d given him that night. He¡¯d worked hard to make this arrangement, inviting one of the other three True Vampires to come and mentor her. When she was young, she hadn¡¯t understood how different she was from her parents or her grandsire and she¡¯d resisted the notion of needing a tutor.


    Now, she just wanted to see that large, proud smile on Torbin¡¯s bearish face and the twinkle in his red eyes.


    -BOOM, BOOM-


    The sound of the doorman¡¯s staff striking the ground brought Nyrielle¡¯s attention to the large, gilded doors of the ballroom. In a moment, High Lord Rasko would enter the ballroom, dressed like the groom at a wedding coming to meet his bride rather than a tutor coming to greet his student.


    "Presenting, Baron Iarlaith Willowcreek, his wife Orla, and their guest, Lady Ashlynn Blackwell!"


    At the beginning of the announcement, Nyrielle had started to frown. In her memories, her parents had long discarded the titles they once held. The Barony of Willowcreek no longer existed, or at least, it had passed from her family¡¯s hands and they treated it as a dead land that no longer mattered to their lives and futures.


    When the doorman announced Ashlynn, however, Nyrielle couldn¡¯t hold herself back, jumping to her feet and knocking the chair behind her over in the process.


    The heavy gilded doors opened wide, admitting a trio of people who couldn¡¯t be more familiar to her, but at the same time, could never have been present in the same place together.


    Baron Iarlaith had inherited his sire¡¯s stark white hair though his face, with its delicate and refined features, remained as youthful as the day he¡¯d arrived in the Vale of Mists to seek refuge among Torbin¡¯s people. Despite abandoning his title, he carried himself with the practiced grace of nobility and wore fitted breaches and an elaborately embroidered tunic that had gone out of fashion among humans decades ago. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Tonight, his pale skin seemed to glow in the golden lamplight. The dark green and copper embroidery of his formal outfit contrasted sharply with his bone-white skin, but in Nyrielle¡¯s memories, he¡¯d always said that it didn¡¯t matter whether something ¡¯suited¡¯ a person or not, only that they liked it.


    Next to him, Lady Orla stood at her husband¡¯s side, her own white hair elaborately styled and adorned with sapphires that matched her striking blue eyes. Like her husband, her skin had taken on the same pale shade as Torbin¡¯s white fur, transforming her from the warm summer maiden she¡¯d been into a cool, ethereal beauty who continued to enchant anyone who gazed upon her.


    As striking as her parent¡¯s entrance was, however, Nyrielle only had eyes for the woman who entered on her father¡¯s other arm, somehow managing to stand just far enough apart to avoid the appearance of intimacy as Iarlaith escorted her into the hall.


    "I told you we had a special guest," Torbin said with a smile. "Go to her, you don¡¯t need to hold yourself back for appearance¡¯s sake. We¡¯re here to celebrate your union after all."


    Much like High Lord Rasko in her memories, Ashlynn had arrived at the banquet dressed more for a wedding than for a simple ball. White satin and lace flowed from her hips in a voluminous skirt while the rest of the dress hugged her slender waist and generous chest, with a plunging neckline that exposed a deep valley of cleavage.


    In a blink, Nyrielle appeared next to her, casting a confused glance at her father and mother who seemed delighted by the flustered expression on her face.


    "Look at her," Iarlaith said, leaning over to his wife as if to be discreet, though he didn¡¯t lower his voice at all. "It¡¯s like we don¡¯t even exist anymore."


    "Hush you," Orla teased, her sapphire blue eyes twinkling with delight. "You looked at me the same way once, or have you forgotten?"


    "Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered, stepping close enough to the other woman to reach out and take her hands. "How are you here? You, you shouldn¡¯t be able to be here. This is a memory, you haven¡¯t even been born yet..."


    "Does it matter?" Ashlynn asked, pulling Nyrielle toward the dance floor. "Didn¡¯t I say to let me comfort you this time? So let me comfort you..."


    At the side of the grand hall, musicians began to play a slow, enchanting song. The lights overhead dimmed and Nyrielle¡¯s world shrank until it was only her and Ashlynn on the dance floor and just her parents and grandsire in the audience.

 Chapter 121: Growing Cold

    Chapter 121: Growing ColdThe music never seemed to stop as Nyrielle and Ashlynn lost themselves in the dance. White and black skirts swirled around each other and they held each other close enough to feel the other woman¡¯s heartbeat clearly.


    The familiar scent of lavender soap mingled with something warmer, the rich scent of cedar mixed with green, growing things that seemed to almost permeate Ashlynn¡¯s skin ever since she began to draw on her power as a witch. As they danced, the fragrance grew stronger, awakening a hunger that Nyrielle briefly struggled to control.


    As they danced, Nyrielle¡¯s cool hands found the bare skin of Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders, tracing gentle patterns from soft shoulders to delicate neck and then lower, to rest just above Ashlynn¡¯s beating heart. The music slowed and Ashlynn¡¯s warm fingers played with the lace at Nyrielle¡¯s waist, tugging as if she was seeking a way to reach the cool skin beneath the dark dress.


    Each turn around the dance floor brought them closer together until Ashlynn¡¯s cheek rested against Nyrielle¡¯s collarbone, her breath warming Nyrielle¡¯s skin through the thin fabric of her gown.


    It was a moment that had never happened, one that could never happen, but at the moment, Nyrielle let herself go completely, drifting in the illusion that her parents and grandsire were watching her dance with her darling Ashlynn.


    At some point, the music faded away, becoming muffled and indistinct as though the musicians were playing from a different room. The Ashlynn in Nyrielle¡¯s arms grew cold, her body first matching Nyrielle¡¯s normal corpse-like chill and then growing colder still until Nyrielle felt like she was dancing with a block of ice.


    "Ashlynn, what¡¯s happening to you?" Nyrielle asked, searching the shorter woman¡¯s emerald eyes for answers.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, her slippered feet splashing through icy water that covered the dance floor. "I¡¯m sorry..."


    "Ashlynn, Ashlynn, what..." Before Nyrielle could ask any other questions, the woman in her arms faded away, vanishing in a cold mist that evaporated like fog in a strong wind.


    "No, no, no, something is very, very wrong," Nyrielle said.


    In her daybed, Nyrielle forced her midnight blue eyes open, fumbling at the locks that kept her secure from anyone who would drag her into the sun while she lay helpless and asleep.


    Even though she was far underground in the Frost Walker¡¯s forest, she could feel the burning sun pressing down on her, sapping her strength and compelling her to sink back into dreams that were memories of times long passed.


    Her fingernails grew into claws and her heart beat faster as she felt the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest growing slow and weak. Of the two of them, Ashlynn¡¯s heart usually beat two or three times to her one, but now, it had become even slower, beating only once for every two of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeats.


    Finally, the last of the latches clicked open and Nyrielle flung the heavy lid of her coffin-like daybed open, dashing directly from her bed to the room¡¯s only door and wrenching it open. In her haste, she shattered the heavy wooden bar that held the door closed and tore the door itself from the heavy iron hinges but she neither noticed nor cared for the damage she caused in her haste to find answers.


    "My Lady?" Captain Lennart said, startled by her early awakening. There were still at least three hours until the sun set and even when Nyrielle woke early, it was never this early, particularly when they were in a place like the High Pass without clouds, fog or tree cover to obscure the sun.


    "Help," Nyrielle said, grabbing hold of Lennart¡¯s tunic and pulling him forward. "Let me feed..."


    "Yes," Lennart said, even more confused than he was a moment ago. She¡¯d fed before they left Orava Village, how could she need to feed again so soon? Still, he did not hesitate to fulfill her demand. As soon as she mentioned feeding, he tore at his tunic, turning his head to bare his neck to her fangs.


    Nyrielle¡¯s bite wasn¡¯t as neat or precise as it usually was and she knew that she likely caused Lennart considerable pain before the pleasure of feeding overwhelmed him, but at the moment it didn¡¯t matter. She needed to feed to resist the pressure of the sun and every moment she delayed it became harder to stay awake.


    Minutes ticked by as she drank deeply until Lennart cried out in pain. Still, she drank until the bearish man lost his ability to stand. Only then did she withdraw her fangs, meeting the gaze of the shocked soldiers who had come to see why she¡¯d risen so early.


    "Something happened, no, something is happening to Ashlynn," he said, looking at the gathered soldiers. "Go to her, go quickly. And tell Lord Ritchel that I want to speak to him here," she said, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Despite the burning pressure of the sun above, her midnight blue eyes had grown dark and predatory and her fingernails remained pointed and sharp enough to tear flesh from bone.


    Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat was very weak but it hadn¡¯t stopped. At least, it hadn¡¯t stopped yet. Whatever was happening to her, Nyrielle hoped she could hold on, at least a few hours more for the sun to set.


    "What is happening to you, my darling?" she whispered, kneeling to check on Captain Lennart as the others raced to follow her instructions. She¡¯d nearly gone too far, she realized, looking at the state he was in. As is, he would need days of bed rest to recover and she might need to feed again before the sunset.


    Whether it was feeding on one of her own or one of Lord Ritchel¡¯s Frost Walkers, she didn¡¯t care. At the moment, even if she had gone too far when she fed on Lennart, even if she¡¯d crossed a line she shouldn¡¯t, she wouldn¡¯t regret it.


    When Cellach Lothian set fire to the Vale of Mists, she¡¯d thought that she¡¯d never again feel a fear and helplessness that would drive her to sacrifice the people around her. In the long years since those terrible days, she¡¯d slowly clawed her way back from the abyss that called out to her to surrender to her hunger and an even more primal thirst for power.


    Now, she felt the abyss calling to her again and she wasn¡¯t sure that she could turn away from it. Not if that was the price to pay to save her Ashlynn. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 122: Beneath the Ice

    Chapter 122: Beneath the IceAshlynn only had a brief moment to realize that the dying Tuscan intended to drag her down to death with him. The next moment, she was overwhelmed by the sensation of falling and the rush of cold water flowing over her. A single gasp of air filled her lungs before she plunged beneath the icy surface of the lake.


    Ice enveloped Imnek¡¯s body as the lingering malice of long-dead Frost Walkers radiated outward from his tusks. As Ashlynn struggled to free herself, that same ice locked her in place, unable to get free of the dead Tuscan¡¯s grasp.


    On the surface of the lake, Heila skidded to a stop at the edge of the hole in the ice that Ashlynn had fallen into. Dimly, she could see Ashlynn struggling to free herself even as Imnek dragged her further down. More concerning, however, was the lingering icy energy that had begun to refreeze the lake in the space where Ashlynn fell.


    ¡¯Find something that truly matters to you if you want to transform yourself into something more,¡¯ Zedya¡¯s words echoed in the diminutive horned woman¡¯s mind as she stood at the edge of the hole in the ice, watching Ashlynn struggle. ¡¯Do not fail her again,¡¯ Nyrielle had said when she was too frightened to translate during Ashlynn¡¯s confrontation with Torsten.


    Standing at the edge of the ice, shame burned deep in Heila¡¯s heart, overwhelming reason. Andrus had died fighting, and Virve had nearly died to the same Tuscan that wouldn¡¯t let go of Ashlynn even in death. Hauke, young and inexperienced as he was, had done his best several times to use his magic to keep her safe and defeat the Tuscan hunters.


    More than anything, Ashlynn, who should have taken shelter while her guardians fought to protect her, had stormed the frontlines, slaying three of the four hunters herself. During all that time, while everyone else fought, Heila had done nearly nothing herself to help.


    "No more," she said, taking a deep breath and leaping into the hole in the ice. She couldn¡¯t be a bystander anymore. She couldn¡¯t live with the shame if she did nothing to help when there wasn¡¯t even an enemy to face, only the frigid water and spreading ice.


    The Horned Clan weren¡¯t known to be good swimmers. Their cloven hooves were ideal on the steep mountains and river valleys of the Vale of Mists and she could kick powerfully off of the ground to traverse over the most treacherous terrain. Underwater, however, very little about her compact body was suited for swimming.


    Instead, as soon as she plunged beneath the surface, she slid under the thick sheet of ice and placed her feet against it, kicking off with all of her might and shooting through the water like a spear hurled by a fisherman.


    Ashlynn¡¯s eyes opened wide in shock as Heila arrived beside her in a flurry of bubbles. The horned woman wasted no time in adopting the same approach she¡¯d used to reach Ashlynn, placing her cloven feet against the Tuscan¡¯s body and wrapping her arms around his arm to move the frozen limb enough for Ashlynn to shimmy free.


    On the surface, Hauke took several seconds to process what had happened before he scrambled out from behind the ice shield. By the time he arrived at the hole in the ice, however, it had already shrunk to half the size it was when Ashlynn fell through it and it continued to grow smaller before his eyes.


    "Ice. Melt. As I will," he said, pointing at the shrinking hole in the ice. Dark blue energy flowed from his horn and danced along the edges of the circle, but the moment his magic touched the ice, dark whispers filled his mind as though blown from somewhere impossibly cold and far away.


    "He belongs to us," the voices hissed, each one distinct yet speaking as one. "We¡¯ve waited so long for this," a single voice said, his words filling Hauke¡¯s mind with a sense of the passage of countless unbearable years.


    "Forget the outsiders," another voice whispered, cold as winter frost and dripping with disdain. "They are all the same. They will turn on you for your horn, let us save you from their greed."


    If Hauke had been rested and at his full strength, it would have been impossible for the revenants of deceased Frost Walkers to challenge his sorcery. Now, however, as he struggled to force his remaining dregs of energy to obey his will, the whispers grew more threatening.


    "Big Brother," a child¡¯s voice sang, somehow sounding both innocent and cruel. "Please don¡¯t fight us or the others will take you too. Please Big Brother, don¡¯t make them hurt you!"


    "You¡¯re tired, little lord," another voice said. "Too tired to fight us. Just let the ice close. Let the water have them all."


    "Shut, up!" Hauke roared in frustration. As the voices tormented him, all he could manage was to slow the rate of the hole¡¯s closing, and with each passing moment, frost began creeping up his legs as the vengeful spirits pressed against his weakening magic.


    Beneath the water, Ashlynn¡¯s lungs burned and she could feel herself reaching her limits. The combination of cold and lack of air was turning her vision black at the edges and struggling free of Imnek¡¯s frozen grasp had drained much of her reserves. Beside her, Heila looked even worse. Without the strength granted by Ashlynn¡¯s bond with Nyrielle, the diminutive servant was in no condition to survive in the frigid waters.


    ¡¯Death¡¯s Deception,¡¯ Ashlynn thought, focusing as much as she could while she wrapped her arms around Heila. It was a spell she¡¯d learned from Marcell in the days leading up to her infiltration of the Summer Villa, one that would allow her to convincingly ¡¯play dead¡¯ if she ever needed to do so to escape captors.


    The spell slowed her heart rate dramatically, beating only a few times a minute. More importantly, however, it allowed her body to use the energy she would normally use for sorcery to remove her need to breathe. She couldn¡¯t sustain this state indefinitely, but as she borrowed the cold, soft energy of the water in the lake, she found that she had enough strength not only for herself but for Heila as well.


    Looking into the dark water of the lake from above, Hauke¡¯s magic faltered and failed as the six remnant wills of slain Frost Walkers demanded that the ice entomb Imnek for his crimes.


    "They won¡¯t make it," he breathed. "But if we can get far enough..." Taking a deep breath, Hauke plunged through the hole in the ice mere moments before it became too small for him to fit through. Nearby, he could feel other lingering resentful presences, likely trapped in the sharpened horns mounted to the tusks of the other defeated hunters.


    Kicking his powerful legs, he descended to the point where Ashlynn and Heila hung limply in the water. Both of them appeared so still as to be dead but Hauke had lived long enough in the mountains to see people pulled from icy water revive, even when it shouldn¡¯t have been possible. As long as he could find a patch of ice that was thin enough to break through, he was confident that he could rescue the two women.


    That is, as long as nothing else conspired to keep them trapped beneath the ice. But what choice did he have? Scooping Ashlynn and Heila into his large furry arms, he kicked mightily through the water in search of a place where they could break through the ice before he ran out of air and doomed himself along with them. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 123: Ancestral Tomb

    Chapter 123: Ancestral TombHauke¡¯s horn glowed a dark blue, illuminating his way has he carried Ashlynn and Heila toward the island in the center of the lake. He didn¡¯t know if he would find the thinner ice he was seeking there, but even if he didn¡¯t, he felt that it was better to choose a direction and try than to search aimlessly while Ashlynn and Heila were running out of time.


    Hauke himself felt very little distress from the cold water beneath the ice. In contests, he¡¯d shown that he could hold his breath in cold water for nearly ten minutes and the combination of his fur and a layer of fat over his muscles helped to insulate him from the cold. Frost Walkers had adapted well to life on the freezing mountain peaks and he was no exception.


    While he could endure for a long time, however, his new friends couldn¡¯t. Hauke¡¯s heart raced as he searched for a crack or weak spot in the ice only to find, to his horror, that the ice seemed to be getting even thicker. For a minute that felt like an hour, he circled the island, using a trace of his energy to bend the currents to his will and propelling him along faster than he could swim even if wasn¡¯t carrying two people.


    Just when he was about to give up and head for the far end of the lake where the ice broke at the mouth of a stream, he spotted the entrance to the ancestral cave that had been covered by the rising lakewater.


    For a moment, he paused as he tried to recall whether the cave led to another exit on the island or not. If there was another way into the cave, it wouldn¡¯t have made sense to abandon this ancient ancestral cave.


    But, looking at Ashlynn and especially Heila, he wondered if they might be able to pass through an exit that was too small for Frost Walkers. After all, some people still visited these ancient ancestors. Surely there was a way for their voice to reach the ancestors even if their body couldn¡¯t, he reasoned.


    In the end, he didn¡¯t know, but if he was right that the cave led to another exit, or even if there was air in the cave, it was safer and easier to reach than the stream at the far end of the lake. His decision made, Hauke didn¡¯t waste any more time as he dove for the cave entrance, pulling Ashlynn and Heila along with him.


    Once he entered the cave, for a moment, his world was almost completely dark. The light that filtered through the thick sheet of ice above didn¡¯t reach very far down and almost none of it extended into the cave. Only the dim blue light of his horn allowed him to find his way through the underwater cavern.


    A few moments after he entered the cave, however, ice crystals along the cave walls began to glow as if recognizing that a visitor had come after hundreds of years beneath the frigid water. Most importantly, the cave sloped upward and a hundred feet from the entrance, Hauke spotted a glowing oval of light that danced and rippled like the surface of the lake seen from below.


    "Please, please be all right," Hauke gasped when his head broke the surface of the water. Moving as quickly as he could, he pulled Ashlynn and Heila into the cavern, laying them gently on the ground a few feet from the water¡¯s edge.


    Both of them looked deathly pale, with skin that had gone cold and clammy. Neither one seemed to be breathing and their lips had turned a shade of blue that Hauke was certain wasn¡¯t good. Of the two, Heila looked even worse than Ashlynn, despite the several wounds that were visible on the latter¡¯s body.


    "Bad Water. Expel. Heila," he intoned, turning the diminutive horned woman on her side as his horn glowed green with gentle, healing light. Suddenly, Heila began to cough and hack as water spilled from her pale lips.


    "Thank you, Hauke," Ashlynn said, coughing herself as she finally released her magic. Enveloping Heila in her Death¡¯s Deceit had taken so much of her concentration that she could barely move. She¡¯d dimly seen Hauke plunge into the lake before she lost her ability to keep her eyes open in the frigid depths but she placed her trust in him to pull her to safety and from what she saw, he¡¯d done exactly that.


    "Th-th-th-thank y-y-you," Heila said through chattering teeth.


    "Where are we?" Ashlynn asked, looking around the softly glowing cave. The walls of the cave itself were roughly hewn but it had clearly been enlarged from its original size, likely to accommodate the towering Frost Walkers. Every ten paces, a large glowing ice crystal had been set in the wall, carved in a shape that resembled Eldritch characters but didn¡¯t match any of the ones that she¡¯d learned.


    "This is the ancestral cave on the island," Hauke said, using more sorcery to pull the water from Heila and Ashlynn¡¯s clothing. He couldn¡¯t get them completely dry without a source of heat but he could at least help them move from ¡¯sodden¡¯ to ¡¯slightly damp.¡¯ "I thought there might be a way out the other end of the cave, maybe one small enough for you or Heila to squeeze through even if it isn¡¯t big enough for me."


    Ashlynn nodded once Heila finished translating for her. The horned woman had to repeat herself several times as her teeth continued to chatter but she pushed through regardless.


    "Even if there isn¡¯t a way out, Mistress Nyrielle will come for us at nightfall," Ashlynn said confidently. Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat had been much faster than normal when she released her magic but once Ashlynn¡¯s own pulse had returned to normal, Nyrielle¡¯s quickly calmed down. Even though Ashlynn wasn¡¯t in danger anymore, she doubted her lover would truly relax until they were reunited.


    "Virve likely doesn¡¯t know we survived," Ashlynn realized. "If we can find a way out, then it would be good, but if we can¡¯t, we should wait here for Mistress Nyrielle to come to us."


    "This way then," Hauke said, shaking off the water that soaked his fur before offering a hand to Heila. "I¡¯m warm. I can carry you if you want."


    "No, I..." Heila started only to falter when Ashlynn gave her a disapproving look. "That is, thank you, little lord Hauke, for helping me," Heila managed to say.


    She was still ashamed of how much everyone else did to protect her, but once Hauke scooped her up into his large, furry arms, she realized that it really was warmer when he held her close to his chest. Blushing slightly at being carried like a child, she forced herself to accept it and snuggled even closer for warmth as the group headed deeper into the cave.


    The temperature dropped sharply as they moved deeper into the cave and by the time they had gone a hundred paces, the moisture that still clung to their close had begun to freeze. Ashlynn was about to suggest they turn back to the warmer portion of the cave when they began to hear whispering voices. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Br¨­tor, Lytle Br¨­tor," one voice whispered, sounding bright and excited. When the voice spoke, it was accompanied by a light, pleasant tinkling like the sound of wind moving through crystalline wind chimes.


    "Not a brother," an older, gravely voice said, echoing as though speaking from somewhere high above even though it sounded like it was in the cave with them. "Descendant. Our descendant."


    "Iridescence," a third, more feminine voice said in tones that were as clear and crisp as polished glass. "Like us. Like you. Like me."


    "Too stillness, too foraldien, too much years," a forth voice, trembling with age and frailty, whispered. "Too late. Go way."


    "No, don¡¯t go," several voices said at once. The urgency in those voices raced through the cavern like a swift wind, wrapping around Ashlynn and her companions and urging them to stay. "Descendant, lytle brother, visit, visit please...."


    "Trapped," a final voice said, sounding weak and forlorn. Unlike the voices of the broken spirits lashed to Imnek¡¯s tusks that sounded strained as if they spoke from far away, all of these voices felt close and present. The last one, however, pressed down on them like tons of ice, speaking with a heaviness that dragged along the floor of the cave like chains. "Trapped alone..."


    In the dim light of the cave, Ashlynn turned to look at Hauke, about to ask if this was what he meant about communing with ancestors only to find the young Frost Walker¡¯s horn glowing with a brilliant iridescence, far brighter than than she¡¯d seen from it before.


    It wasn¡¯t the horn, however, that stilled her tongue and stopped her from speaking. Surrounding Hauke, illuminated by his horn, were five ghostly figures. None of them were complete, several were only visible from the chest or wait up but each and every one of them possessed the same kind of iridescent horn that Hauke did.


    When they looked at Hauke, their expressions were pleading or eager and the smallest of them even reached out toward him as if asking to be carried the way Heila was. Their eyes, however, carried a very different feeling to Ashlynn, one she had come to know well since coming to the Vale of Mists.


    When they looked at Hauke, the only thing Ashlynn saw in their eyes... was an insatiable hunger.

 Chapter 124: Forgotten Guardians

    Chapter 124: Forgotten Guardians"A-ancestors," Hauke said, his voice trembling as he saw the translucent shades of the five figures arrayed around him. Without a conscious thought, he dropped to one knee, just as he had when he visited the ancestral cave with his father so many years ago.


    "My name is Hauke," he said, staring at the icy ground of the cave, unable to raise his head to meet their heavy gazes. "In the name of my father, Lord Ritchel, I apologize that no one has visited the ancestors in so long. There is no excuse," he said, lowering his head in shame.


    Since his first visit to the memorial atop the island, he¡¯d been taught that these ancient ancestors were to be respected and revered but never disturbed. All his life, he¡¯d thought that it was all but impossible to visit them, but here he stood and they sounded so very alone.


    "Good descendant," the gravelly voice said. The shade of his body was more complete than any of the others, extending from his waist to the tip of his head and including both of his arms. "The son of the current lord," it mused.


    "Your father," the clear, feminine voice said. Her figure stood strangely on one leg but half of her body was missing, as though something had cleaved her in two from shoulder to waist. "Iridescent? Like you? Like me? Like us?"


    "No," Hauke said with a shake of his head. "I, I¡¯m the only one."


    "Only one," the bright, crystalline voice said, sounding confused. The voice came from an apparition that appeared even younger than Hauke and was little more than a floating head and shoulders. "But, if Lytle Br¨­tor is only one, then..."


    "Silence," the frail-voiced apparition said, interrupting the younger one. The figure speaking was stooped with age, paler, and less visible than any of the others with one hand that clutched a ghostly cane. "We decide not. He commands, we only follow," she said, pointing the tip of her cane at the tallest, most complete apparition among them.


    "Impossible," the weary, heavy voice said. Unlike the others, this one seemed to possess all four of his limbs but had no torso to connect them to his floating head. "Too young, too weak, impossible."


    "This little lord is under my protection," Ashlynn said, stepping between Hauke and the ghost who seemed to be in command. She didn¡¯t like the hungry gleam in their eyes when they looked at Hauke and the more they spoke, the less she liked what she heard. "If you have requests for him, state them plainly."


    Hauke stared at Ashlynn with eyes wide in horror while Heila translated her words for Huake and the apparitions.


    "Who are you," the frail, aged ghost asked. "To extend your protection?"


    "Insolent," the gravelly voiced ghost said, glowering down at her from high above. "To say he needs protection from us!" As he spoke, the horns of all five apparitions glowed brilliantly and the temperature plummeted.


    In Hauke¡¯s arms, Heila shivered and burrowed as deeply into Hauke¡¯s chest as she could. Still, she refused to look away and hide from these specters. Ashlynn needed her or the specters would misunderstand and she refused to fail again.


    "She is Lady Ashlynn Blackwell," Heila said without waiting for Ashlynn to speak. "Child of the Earth and Seneschal of Eldritch Lady Nyrielle of the Vale of Mists." She didn¡¯t know if the ghosts would understand the significance of those titles but she hoped that, even if they didn¡¯t, they at least sounded impressive enough to give Ashlynn some respect.


    "And she¡¯s my student," Hauke added, feeling the need to stand up for her. "At least, at least for today, I¡¯m teaching her ice sorcery."


    "Lytle Br¨­tor under student¡¯s ward is?" the youngest ghost said, cocking its head in puzzlement. "Lytle Br¨­tor coward is? Weakling is?"


    "Seneschal," the bodiless ghost said, stepping forward with a halting stride as though each movement had to overcome resistance. "True Vampire¡¯s servant," he added, giving a pointed look at the other hovering specters. "Bring little Hauke to us."


    "Why?" Ashlynn asked. "Why should I bring him to you?"


    "We require his help," the feminine ghost said, lowering herself to stare directly into Ashlynn¡¯s eyes. "We are Iridescent Guardians. We protect against great danger. He is like me, like us, like him," she said, pointing at the looming ghostly Frost Walker.


    "We need. He needs," she said, pointing at Hauke. "We know, he doesn¡¯t know. He must learn. He must help. Required. Owed," she said, her voice growing firmer at the end.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Hauke said hesitantly. "I think I understand. I think that they¡¯re the ancestors who were like me. They¡¯ve been here, all this time, ready to use their powers to protect us. If we help them, they might be able to protect us from the humans."


    Ashlynn frowned at Hauke¡¯s speculation. If they needed the help of such a young sorcerer, could they really help against the Lothians and the Church behind them? How much power did these ancestors really have? It didn¡¯t sound quite right to her.


    "Besides," Hauke added. "I¡¯m the only one," he said, pointing at his horn. "But they¡¯re like me. They said I don¡¯t know. Maybe there are powers I don¡¯t know how to use because there¡¯s no one like me that I can learn from. Please," he said. "You don¡¯t need to come with me, but I think I need to go."


    "No, I need to go with you," Ashlynn said. "If there are things you can learn from them then it¡¯s fine. But you," she said, rounding on the young apparition. "You don¡¯t insult my friend. You don¡¯t call him a coward or a weakling. He¡¯s already shown his bravery in battle more than once today. For that alone, he¡¯s owed a measure of respect." Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Respect," the stooped ghost said in a rasping tone that seemed to find the word somehow amusing. "Yes. Respect, young hero. Come. Come help..."


    As the old ghost spoke, all five ghosts seemed to fade away, drifting deeper into the cave before vanishing from sight, leaving nothing behind but icy footprints on the cold stone floor of the cave.


    "Hauke," Ashlynn said, stepping close and whispering directly into the kneeling Frost Walker¡¯s ear. "You don¡¯t have to do this. Your ancestors have waited a long time already. They can wait a few minutes longer until Nyrielle arrives."


    "No," the young Frost Walker said resolutely. "My ancestors have summoned me. I have to go. Making them wait would be disrespectful."


    "They didn¡¯t respect you," Ashlynn pointed out. She hated seeing them manipulate him by calling him a coward and weakling. It was a cheap goad but it preyed directly on Hauke¡¯s own insecurities and she was afraid that it was working on him.


    "They¡¯re ancestors," Hauke said. "They deserve my respect or they wouldn¡¯t be honored in this ancestral cave. I haven¡¯t done anything to deserve their respect," he said, lowering his head. "But I will. I¡¯ll go alone," he added, moving to set Heila down. "You don¡¯t have to follow. You¡¯ve already done so much for me, you don¡¯t have to do more."


    "Fine," Ashlynn said, even though it wasn¡¯t. "We¡¯ll go now, but we¡¯ll go together. You understand?"


    "Yes," he said, flashing the first smile he¡¯d shown since the Tuscans attacked their icehouse. "Together."

 Chapter 125: A Frozen Barrier

    Chapter 125: A Frozen BarrierAshlynn walked slowly behind Hauke as they followed the icy footprints deeper into the ancestral cave. The air had grown chill enough that she could see her breath, but the chill went much deeper than simple cold. There was no wind in the cave yet the fine hairs on her neck stood on end as if icy fingers brushed up against her skin.


    In Hauke¡¯s arms, Heila struggled to stay awake. The day had taken a great deal out of her and she hadn¡¯t eaten since breakfast. By now, they were supposed to be feasting on the fish they¡¯d caught but instead, the icy cold pressed down on her body and her mind until she could barely keep her eyes open.


    It didn¡¯t take long to reach their destination. The cave opened into a larger space though it was impossible to tell how large the cavern truly became. Ten paces beyond what now felt like the end of the tunnel and the beginning of the larger cavern, a giant sheet of ice blocked their way.


    The wall of ice stood over fifteen feet tall and stretched twice as wide. At the bottom, ice piled up knee-high as though it had built up layer by layer over countless years. Along the ceiling, dozens of icicles hung down like a row of teeth about to descend on anyone who approached the wall of ice.


    "Lytle Br¨­tor, weakling isn¡¯t," the light and tinkling voice said as the phantoms emerged from the wall of ice. "Brake free, can. Lytle Br¨­tor, strong is, yes?"


    "Visit us," the clear, feminine voice called as the specter beckoned with her single arm. "Like us. Join us. Join and learn. Visit, iridescent kin."


    "Help us, descendant," the gravely voice said as the specter hovered high above them. "You must come to us."


    "Help him, Seneschal," the bodiless apparition said, dragging himself across the cavern to loom over Ashlynn. "Help your friend to help his ancestors."


    "This ice," Hauke said, reaching out to touch the frozen barrier. "Why it like this?"


    "Too old," the stooped ghost said, shaking its head. "Too long. Has been here since long ago. No one can visit."


    "No wonder they had to build a memorial on top of the island," Hauke whispered. "Even if the lake was drained, they still couldn¡¯t get through this. If someone tries to melt through the ice with White Water sorcery, it will just freeze as fast as it melts. Formed and Formless Ice aren¡¯t enough to do it either," he realized. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Lytle Br¨­tor, smart is," the young voice said with a light laugh that echoed off the cavern walls like the sound of shattering glass. "Only you can."


    "I can¡¯t," Hauke said, shaking his head. "I¡¯m willing, but I¡¯ve done too much today. I need to rest, to eat. I can come back in a few..."


    "No," the gravelly voice said from on high. "You can. You will," he said, descending from his position high above until he hovered above Hauke at a height that matched Lord Ritchel¡¯s height. "Help your ancestors, descendant," he commanded.


    Ashlynn frowned as the spirits cajoled and coerced Hauke into breaking down the ice wall. She hesitated to interrupt them but when the leader descended on Hauke, she felt she had no choice.


    "He¡¯s right," she said, speaking in the best Eldritch she could manage. Heila was barely awake in Hauke¡¯s arms and even if she wanted to help translate, it seemed like her body had given up on her. "Too much sorcery. He needs rest."


    "No! He is able, he will help!" The gravely voiced ghost said. Before Ashlynn could protest again, it brought its face close to Hauke¡¯s, touching the tip of his iridescent horn to the tip of the young Frost Walker¡¯s.


    "No, don¡¯t!" Ashlynn cried, realizing too late what the ancient ghost intended. Nothing she could do, however, would stop the process that the ghost had begun.


    As soon as the phantom horn touched Hauke¡¯s, energy swirled around the cavern, like a vortex pulling toward the tip of Hauke¡¯s horn. All five spirits lost their shape as a wind felt only by them pulled them inward like smoke on a breeze until they flowed into Hauke¡¯s horn.


    "Let him go," Ashlynn said, her emerald eyes flashing with murderous intent. "You cannot abuse your descendant like this!"


    "Not abuse," a clear, feminine voice sounded from Hauke¡¯s mouth. "He is us, like us, will join us. You will see. He belongs, we belong, all together now."


    "You will help him," a darker voice said, sounding like it had been pulled from deep within Hauke¡¯s chest. "Or we will hurt her," it said as Hauke¡¯s hand moved stiffly to place a claw at Heila¡¯s neck.


    "Earth Childe, strong is," a light voice spoke next. "Help him will. Help us will."


    "You!" Ashlynn trembled in rage, both at the ghostly Frost Walkers for taking her friends captive and herself for being unable to stop it. There had been so much for her to learn in the past two months and she¡¯d focused entirely on things that were immediately useful. She had no idea how to expel spirits who had seized control of her friend.


    "Will not harm," an old, frail voice said from Hauke¡¯s mouth. "Not if he helps."


    With halting steps, Hauke strode across the room, kicking out with his foot to break off a piece of ice before returning to the center of the room. His horn glowed brilliantly, shifting through several colors as the gravelly voice began to speak in a form of Eldritch far older than Ashlynn had seen or studied.


    The ice in Hauke¡¯s hand melted before forming into two frozen glyphs, each one radiating a swirling array of blues, whites, and even a hint of pale green.


    "Stand here, Earth Child," the gravelly voice said imperiously, pointing at a spot underneath one of the floating glyphs. "Your friend is nearly spent. You will give us energy to work."


    "I¡¯m also spent," Ashlynn said. Even if she wasn¡¯t struggling to resist her own exhaustion, she would have told the spirit the same thing. Seeing the icy glyph before her allowed her to recognize that there were several similar glyphs carved into the wall of ice.


    The passage of time had piled up icicles and the heaps of ice at the base of the wall, making it look almost natural, but beneath those more recent additions was a smooth sheet of ice that had been formed by sorcery rather than nature.


    Whatever was one the other side of that wall, someone had placed the wall there to keep it sealed away, and from the way these ghosts had possessed Hauke and used Heila as a hostage, Ashlynn was convinced that sealing them away had been the right thing to do.


    In her chest, she could feel the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat growing closer. It was too early for true night to have fallen, but the sun was surely beneath the horizon by now. In the Vale of Mists, this much would have been enough for Nyrielle to wake and move about the underground regions of her ancient castle. Now, however, it seemed like she was pushing herself to reach Ashlynn as soon as physically possible.


    Looking at Hauke¡¯s controlled body holding a claw to Heila¡¯s throat, however, Ashlynn was afraid that she couldn¡¯t wait for Nyrielle to rescue her. She would have to find her own way out of this or Andrus wouldn¡¯t be the only one who died today.

 Chapter 126: Abomination

    Chapter 126: AbominationIn the dimly glowing cavern, Ashlynn¡¯s mind worked rapidly as she tried to find a way out of this nightmare without doing as the ghostly Frost Walkers demanded. She wasn¡¯t sure what the floating glyph the Frost Walkers had conjured would do to her, but if they wanted her to ¡¯give energy¡¯ to their work, she had no faith that they would stop at a point that was healthy to her.


    They wouldn¡¯t wait for Hauke to recover on his own and instead seized control of his body. That told her everything she needed to know about these ¡¯ancestors¡¯ and their respect for the living. Nyrielle had warned her several times that overdrawing sorcery could leave her an aged and withered husk and she feared that these ghosts wouldn¡¯t stop using her energy until there was nothing left of her to give.


    "Wait," she said, holding up her hands and casting her gaze around the room as she backed away from the menacing glyph in the air. "There should be another way. I don¡¯t have enough energy to give. I will still help you break the ice," she insisted. "Let me find another way."


    "Lies," the dark voice controlling Hauke said. Hauke shuffled toward her, moving as if he was a puppet controlled by strings. "Earth Children, endless energy. Use your witchcraft."


    "No, no I can¡¯t," Ashlynn protested. "Not here. No trees, no soil, no wind, no energy," she explained. "But, but I still have strength," she said. From the floor of the cave, she picked up a large rock the size of a small melon.


    "Those glyphs," she said, pointing at the glyphs carved into the wall of ice. "What happens if I destroy them? Will that make it easier to break the wall?"


    "Give your energy," the gravely, imperious voice said from Hauke¡¯s mouth. "Do not delay!"


    "Don¡¯t kill if we don¡¯t need to," the feminine voice said an instant later. The claw Hauke held to Heila¡¯s neck seemed to tremble as the voices fell into disagreement. "He is like me, like you, like us. Will join us. He cares for these outsiders. Harming them harms him, harms us, harms you."


    "Lytle Sweostor, strong is," the childish voice said as Hauke¡¯s head tilted at a strange angle looking at Ashlynn. "Break glyphs will, break spell will, break wall will."


    "So if I can break the glyphs, it will break the spell?" Ashlynn confirmed. Seeing a lurching nod from Hauke, she put her full focus on the wall.


    At the moment, she was grateful that her sword had gone missing in her struggle with Imnek and the plunge into the lake. Whether it had fallen on the ice or sank beneath it, she didn¡¯t know, but she knew that using a rock to smash the glyphs in the ice would be much slower than using her darksteel blade to do the same.


    "This one first," an aged voice said as Hauke stooped low and extended a shaky hand to point at one of the glyphs. "Break it."


    Taking a deep breath, Ashlynn took a moment to feel the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest drawing closer.


    "Come quickly," Ashlynn prayed in a voice softer than a whisper. Then, aiming carefully at the glyph the ghost pointed at, Ashlynn hurled the stone in her hand at the barrier.


    Ice cracked and shattered, shards of ice flew and the stone stuck in a shallow indentation in the ice for a moment before falling to the ground and rolling across the floor. A moment after the stone fell, a wave of rippling ice blue energy danced across the surface of the barrier, and cracks spread across the surface of the ice wall.


    "Good, good," the aged voice said as it jerked Hauke¡¯s arm roughly to point at another glyph. "Now this one!"


    As much as Ashlynn had hoped that it would take more time to destroy the glyphs, the ancient magic seemed to have become almost brittle with age. As soon as she hurled a stone at one of the glyphs, the rock pulverized the ice and shattered the glyph. With each one that she destroyed, the magic rippled and flowed, becoming thinner and frayed like a wool scarf with threads pulled loose.


    When the eleventh glyph shattered, the entire cavern shook. Ice began to rain down from the ceiling and thunderous cracking sounds filled the air.


    "Get back!" Ashlynn shouted, dashing out of the way of a falling block of ice. For a moment, a disdainful look appeared on Hauke¡¯s face, looking far too old and imperious for his youthful features before one of the spirits seemed to realize that while they had nothing to fear from physical objects, the same couldn¡¯t be said for Hauke¡¯s flesh and blood body.


    In a moment of panic, the ghosts dropped Heila to the stone floor while Hauke¡¯s body lurched awkwardly away from the crumbling wall.


    "No!" Ashlynn shouted, springing forward and dodging falling blocks of ice the size of a small cart to reach Heila¡¯s side. Scooping the diminutive horned woman up in her arms, she sprinted for the back of the cavern, as close to the tunnel as she dared to go. Part of her wanted to run and escape with Heila or at least take the slumbering woman to safety but she couldn¡¯t leave Hauke behind in the clutches of these ancient spirits.


    A thick mist of drifting icy crystals filled the air, obscuring Ashlynn¡¯s vision until Hauke¡¯s horn glowed a pale icy blue and a sudden gust of frigid wind blew through the cavern, revealing the space beyond the barrier.


    Hauke had described the interior of ancestral caves to her before, but nothing he had described matched the horror that Ashlynn saw in the depths of the cavern.


    There were no pillars with horns mounted atop them, only five enormous ice sculptures topped with iridescent horns. Unlike what Hauke had described, however, these ice sculptures were shaped from a deep, crimson ice that pulsed with a sick, regular rhythm like a giant frozen heart. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Around all of the sculptures, clear ice had welded them together into a misshapen amalgamation that looked like the incomplete form of a monstrous Frost Walker far larger than any Ashlynn had ever seen. The crimson figures were trapped within its half-formed limbs and torso, like organs suspended in clear flesh, their bodies merging with the larger form wherever the bloody ice touched the clear.


    At the top of this abomination, a tall, proud-looking crimson Frost Walker had been trapped from the waist down, positioned where a head should be. Below him, a smaller, almost childish statue was entombed in ice up to its neck, frozen within the giant¡¯s chest, its body beneath the ice almost completely reshaped into a pulsing, beating heart.


    Still another figure, looking more delicate and feminine than the others, had one entire side of her body free, but the other side had already begun to merge with what appeared to be the giant¡¯s forming chest, connected to vast half-formed lungs filled with swirling icy air.


    The clear ice between them seemed to shift and flow, slowly working to join the separate pieces into one unified horror. Where the figures merged, the crimson ice spread through the clear like veins growing through crystal, tying them together into one monstrous being.


    "Free," the voices spoke together, each one overlapping the next as they emerged from Hauke¡¯s mouth.


    Slowly, the blood-red figures trapped within the ice began to move, their iridescent horns glowing in a myriad of colors while their eyes ¡¯opened¡¯ to reveal brilliant blue glowing orbs.


    "Now, descendant," the crimson Frost Walker at the top of the horrifying amalgamation said, his imperious voice booming off the cavern walls. "Spill your blood on our ice. Join with us!"

 Chapter 127: Breaking Free

    Chapter 127: Breaking FreeWisps of ghostly energy flowed from Hauke¡¯s horn as the spectral Frost Walkers returned to their ¡¯bodies¡¯, as much as the morbidly twisted red ice sculptures could be considered a ¡¯body.¡¯ The walls shook and ice cracked off the walls and ceiling of the cavern, crashing to the ground and shattering into countless shards.


    Ashlynn clutched Heila¡¯s unconscious figure close to her chest, turning her back to shelter the diminutive servant from flying shards of broken ice. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling above, afraid that the cavern itself might collapse as the earth shook and ice fell.


    Hauke¡¯s eyes began to tremble as the spirits of his ancestors released him from their control. For as long as he could remember, reverence and respect for his ancestors had been the bedrock of his life. Meeting their expectations and living a life worthy of joining the greatest honored ancestors was a goal for almost every young Frost Walker and Hauke had been no different.


    Now, for the first time in his life, his stomach turned in revulsion at what these ancient ancestors had become and his heart raced in fear as the figure atop the monstrosity stared down at him. A crushing weight fell on him as all five pairs of eyes stared at him.


    "Like us, join with us," the feminine voice said, her half formed body turning to face Hauke as she reached toward him with her only remaining hand. "Complete us."


    "Hauke," Ashlynn said. "Get away from them!"


    "Silence, Earth Child," the imperious Frost Walker atop the abomination said. Pointing with both one of its own arms and the giant mishappen limb of the abomination¡¯s arm, each of the Frost Walkers chanted in unison, speaking ancient Eldritch words that even Hauke didn¡¯t recognize.


    Ice swirled on the floor, rushing to surround Ashlynn. In the blink of an eye, the shattered ice reformed into hands that gripped her ankles, locking her in police while more icy arms reached out from the wall, wrapping around her body and pinning both her and Heila in place. A bitter cold like thousands of pins and needles stabbing into her flesh radiated from each of the hands that held her in place.


    "Save her," a dark and rumbling voice said from the Frost Walker who existed as only limbs and a head outside the incomplete giant. "Still useful later."


    "Descendant," the gravely imperious voice said, echoing around the chamber. "Spill your blood on our ice. Release your flesh and join with us."


    More energy flowed, this time a lurid blood red that swirled within the clear ice, moving from one crimson Frost Walker to the next, gathering energy and mass until a long, slender blade emerged from the giant¡¯s outstretched limb.


    "Take the blade," the frail, elderly voice said, nearly giddy with excitement. "Meld your blood with ours."


    "Lytle Br¨­tor, brave is. Help will," the childish voice called. "Fears not the pain. Courage has." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Closing her eyes, Ashlynn began to form a clear image in her mind, remembering everything Hauke had taught her about shaping ice as she gathered what little energy she had left.


    "Blade. Shatter," she commanded, unleashing a burst of energy and shattering the blood red ice blade before Hauke could even contemplate using it. "Sacrificing yourself won¡¯t save me, Hauke," she said firmly, opening her emerald eyes and glaring at the looming abomination. "And you cannot harm us."


    As soon as she spoke, a dark warmth spread through the room, like the Vale of Mists on a summer night, dimming the glowing crystals and plunging the cave into a world of dancing shadows.


    The room shook and the icy behemoth pulled back from the entrance to the cavern. All five horns across the figure pulsed in different shades of icy light and the half formed heart within it¡¯s chest tightened in terror when two midnight blue eyes appeared in the depths of the shadows.


    "We¡¯re safe now," Ashlynn whispered to the sleeping Heila. "Mistress Nyrielle has come for us."


    Sharp heels clicked on the stone floor, echoing off the cavern walls as Nyrielle¡¯s pale figure emerged from the darkness. Shadows clung to her dark dress and dripped from her sharpened, claw-like nails until she drew even with Ashlynn.


    "You¡¯ve suffered too much, my darling," Nyrielle said softly, the fear in her heart only fading away now that she saw her lover before her. The fear was quickly replaced by rage as she took in the numerous injuries scattered across Ashlynn¡¯s body. "Let me put an end to this, and then we will leave this place," she promised, tapping the icy hands that held Ashlynn and shattering them in an instant.


    "Vampire," the feminine voice whispered. "True Vampire. Save us. Restore us!"


    "No," the gravelly, imperious voice at the top of the monstrosity shouted. "Complete us! Make us one!"


    "Save you?" Nyrielle said, stalking away from Ashlynn into the center of the room. "Compete you?"


    Two thin red lines appeared on Nyrielle¡¯s alabaster back, followed a moment later by the sound of tearing flesh and twisting bones as two dark, feathered wings emerged from her body. With a single powerful beat of her raven-like wings, Nyrielle leaped into the air, flapping just enough to hover before the monstrous abomination.


    "Perhaps if you¡¯d treated my darling Ashlynn well," she said, her voice colder than the air in the cavern. "But you lost the right to beg when you moved against her."


    "Vampire blood, useful is," the childish voice called out from the beast¡¯s chest. "Complete us, can!"


    The cave shook and dark crimson energy mixed with icy blue energy until a lurid purple glow surrounded the Frost Walker Abomination. Each of five voices began to recite different incantations as they fixed their hate filled hungry stares on Nyrielle.


    Wicked barbed spears of ice formed in the air around the abomination and ice flowed and twisted along its limbs, transforming the half formed hands into giant blades larger than any individual Frost Walker. Atop the monstrosity, the crimson Frost Walker reached toward the walls, summoning a strange iridescent metal trident from what had once been a display of treasured relics and pointing the weapon directly at Nyrielle.


    "Today, we are free," the voices of all five Frost Walkers said in unison. "Today we bathe again in the blood of our enemies. Today, we rise!"


    "No," Nyrielle said, a cruel grin forming on her crimson lips as her fangs elongated to wicked points. Darkness spread through her eyes leaving behind only glowing rings of midnight blue in dark orbs that shined like the night sky. Shadows spilled from her hands, twisting into the shape of a headsman¡¯s ax. Caressing the blade with the tip of her finger, crimson blood dripped along the weapon¡¯s edge until it glowed with bloody menace.


    "Today," she said, spreading her dark feathered wings wide. "You finally die."

 Chapter 128: Execution

    Chapter 128: ExecutionIn Ashlynn¡¯s arms, Heila¡¯s eyes fluttered open as the oppressive cold that trapped her in dreamless sleep faded away like mist dispersed on the wind. What she saw, however, left her uncertain whether or not she¡¯d truly woken.


    "Lady Nyrielle?" Heila whispered, staring wide eyed at the winged figure hovering before the icy monstrosity and radiating a dark aura of menace.


    "She came for us," Ashlynn said, relieved that Heila seemed to be recovering. "Hauke," Ashlynn called. "It¡¯s not safe there, come here."


    Not far from where Nyrielle had launched herself into the air, the young Frost Walker stood with his mouth agape in a horrified daze.


    "Ancestors," he murmured, looking at the abomination his revered ancestors had become. Was it true? Was he like them? Was this the fate that awaited anyone with an iridescent horn? His heart shook as he wondered if the horn he¡¯d taken as a blessing all these years was actually a curse.


    "Hauke!" Ashlynn shouted. "Whatever they once were, they¡¯ve become something else. Get out of the way before you get hurt!"


    "You, you¡¯re right," he said, slowly backing away as the swirling purple energy began to crackle against Nyrielle¡¯s shadows. Whether he was looking at a vision of his future or not, standing here was clearly a bad idea.


    Hauke¡¯s movement seemed like a signal and the abomination struck first, hurling dozens of icy spears at the hovering vampire. On the ground around the monstrosity, chains of ice glowing with dark purple energy began to circle around the creature, whipping through the air as if to entangle anyone who dared approach.


    Nyrielle¡¯s ax danced in her hands, spinning like a baton, smashing through the icy spears as she dove toward the beast. Her lips curled in a silent snarl as she hurled herself along with all of her pent up emotions at the creature who sought to prey on her and her beloved Ashlynn.


    Magic clashed and the cavern shook when Nyrielle¡¯s ax cleaved into the blade-like arms of the gruesome creature. All five mouths roared in frustration as the icy blade was hewn from the limb, falling to the ground and shattering on the cavern floor.


    Chains of ice whipped at Nyrielle forcing her to dodge away instead of continuing her dive, but the beast¡¯s reprieve only lasted for a moment.


    "Blood Corruption. Agony," Nyrielle said, her voice rolling through the cavern like a dark whisper from the grave. Slicing the tip of her small finger with a sharpened nail, she flung a drop of blood shrouded in darkness at the creature¡¯s icy body.


    Rather than splattering or freezing on the surface of the ice, Nyrielle¡¯s dark blood sank into the creature, spreading along the half formed veins and arteries as it raced toward the pulsing heart.


    Three of the five crimson Frost Walkers howled in pain and the one atop the beast nearly dropped his trident. On the beast¡¯s chest, the childish figure attached to the creature¡¯s heart began to chant, summoning pale green healing energy in a desperate attempt to purge the cursed blood from its body.


    The final crimson figure let loose a banshee like wail, her piercing scream carrying with it a blinding flurry of snowflakes and a bitter, freezing wind.


    "The dead do not fear the cold," Nyrielle said, diving toward the feminine figure half encased in the creature. "And blood cannot hide from vampires." The blade of her ax whistled through the air, severing the crimson Frost Walker¡¯s head at the neck and sending it crashing to the ground.


    The remainder of her body twisted and flowed, sinking into the creature where it became fully formed crimson lungs wrapped in a crimson ribcage of hardened ice.


    "NOOOOOO!" The remaining heads wailed, each one directing a murderous glare at Nyrielle. "Always together. Never apart," they cried. More ice spears formed around the beast, flying through the air in a desperate attempt to pin down the agile vampire. The cavern walls trembled with the force of the blows, shaking loose giant blocks of ice and stone that tumbled to the ground.


    "Hauke," Ashlynn said, tugging on the young Frost Walker¡¯s fur. "We need to go, or we¡¯ll get hurt."


    "But," he began to say, but he couldn¡¯t finish the words. After serving as a vessel for their spirits, it was impossible that there was no trace of the ancient Frost Walkers left within him. These five had once been the greatest champions of their generation, selfless heroes who vowed to serve their people beyond death. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now, he felt like he was watching the true death not only of the greatest Frost Walkers who had ever lived, but five heroes who had each shared with him a sliver of their vast experience. Eugen the Greenwind Healer, Ines the Unending Blizzard, Ansgar the Lord of Seven Peaks... he knew them all. Not as the monstrosities they¡¯d become but as champions who protected their people for centuries after their deaths.


    "If you can¡¯t go," Ashlynn said, sensing his hesitation. "Then form a barrier to protect us. If you¡¯re too drained to do that then I¡¯m sorry but we can only flee."


    "I, I can make a barrier," he said, unwilling to look away as he formed an icy shield around them.


    Nyrielle¡¯s ax hadn¡¯t been idle and the head of the aged, stooped Frost Walker had joined the head of of the first to fall victim to her ax, falling into the ground and shattering while the body of the beast absorbed the remainder of her crimson ice.


    With the death of the crone, the ice spears fell to the ground as the three remaining Frost Walkers put all of their energy into fighting with the giant body and the whipping chains. At the center of its chest, the young Frost Walker continued to chant, healing the cracks on the monstrous body and restoring the lost arm blade to deadly sharpness.


    "Enough," Nyrielle said, pulling back from the creature and hovering in the air before it. "Curse of Blood Destruction. Boil," she said, slicing the tips of three fingers before flinging a drop of dark crimson blood at each of the remaining Frost Walkers.


    This time, when the drops fell on the ice creatures, the effect was immediate and explosive. Cracks shot along the ice seconds before each of the creatures exploded in a cloud of red steam and ice fragments.


    Hundreds of pounds of ice crashed into the cavern floor as the clear icy body that remained collapsed under its own weight, unable to sustain itself without the reinforcement of the ancient Frost Walker¡¯s magic.


    Shards the size of fists pelted Hauke¡¯s barrier sending spiderwebs of cracks across its surface before the wave of icy debris passed harmlessly by, leaving a shimmering red crystalline mist in the air beneath Nyrielle¡¯s slowly beating wings.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said softly, picking her way over the broken pieces of ice and stone as she made her way to the descending vampire.


    "My Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered, gently wrapping her arms around her wounded lover and allowing her dark, shadowy magic to dissipate.


    "You¡¯re safe now," she whispered, wrapping her dark feathered wings around them and pulling Ashlynn close enough to tuck her lover¡¯s head beneath her chin.


    On the ice below, two teardrops fell, one clear and the other pink, blending together before freezing in place while both women held each other in a silent stillness that belonged to them alone.

 Chapter 129: Leaving the Tomb

    Chapter 129: Leaving the TombSeveral minutes passed while Ashlynn and Nyrielle held each other. Neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away but even sheltered by Nyrielle¡¯s dark, feathered wings, Ashlynn found herself struggling in the invasive cold of the underground tomb.


    "You never told me you had wings," Ashlynn said, stepping back and looking at Nyrielle¡¯s pale, artfully sculpted face. With her dark hair falling in ringlets and the black wings wrapped around them, she looked like a fallen angel that had come to rescue her from the depths of some horrible nightmare.


    "I¡¯m not dreaming, am I?" Ashlynn said, reaching out and gently cupping Nyrielle¡¯s face. "You really came for me?"


    "I¡¯ll always come for you," Nyrielle promised, leaning into Ashlynn¡¯s touch. "But darling," she purred, leaning close to whisper in Ashlynn¡¯s ear. "You can¡¯t keep torturing me like this. Finding you covered in wounds, it¡¯s..."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, lowering her head. "But I¡¯ll heal. Andrus... he..."


    "I see," Nyrielle said softly, brushing Ashlynn¡¯s blond hair aside and lifting her chin to meet her gaze. "It should be dark enough now for Zedya to reach the lake. Let¡¯s take you all back to the castle. Lord Ritchel owes us an explanation," she said, her voice growing cold as she directed a dark look at Hauke.


    "It was Paulus," the young Frost Walker protested. "He¡¯s the one who conspired with the Tuscans."


    "Tuscans?" Nyrielle said, raising an eyebrow. "I don¡¯t see any Tuscans here. No, I will have an accounting for all of this, including your part in it, little lord."


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, pulling the vampire¡¯s midnight blue gaze back to her. "Hauke helped to save me. So did Heila."


    "I understand, my darling. We will hear it all out and those who must be punished for what happened tonight will suffer for their crimes," Nyrielle promised. "Just like those who rose above themselves will be rewarded," she added, giving Heila a small smile.


    "Now, let¡¯s go," she said, scooping Ashlynn up in her arms and carrying her back into the tunnel. "You may collect their horns, young Hauke," Nyrielle said as she passed by him. "Whatever they became at the end, they were once your honored ancestors. You may still treat them as such."


    "Th-thank you," Hauke said, bowing deeply before dashing to the places where the iridescent horns had fallen. Each of them showed some damage from the recent battle, cracks that ran along their surface, or a tip that had chipped, but all of them still held traces of both power and presence.


    They may have been greatly diminished after becoming the... thing that they had been, and the battle had taken its toll on them, but at least something of those honored ancestors still remained.


    When Nyrielle and the others reached the low point in the ancestral cave that slipped beneath the waterline, Nyrielle gave Ashlynn an awkward look.


    "I¡¯m sorry, my darling, I know you¡¯re injured, but I need at least a small trace of your power to leave this place," she said.


    "Mmm," Ashlynn nodded, closing her eyes and turning her head to bare her neck. "Take what you need."


    "Not that much," Nyrielle said, lowering her head and brushing her lips over Ashlynn¡¯s. Her tongue darted out, gliding across Ashlynn¡¯s chapped and abused lips, teasing them open before going further with barely restrained hunger. A fang pricked ever so lightly on Ashlynn¡¯s lower lip, spilling a few drops of blood that the vampire eagerly devoured.


    The wound closed almost instantly, but the kiss lasted longer as Ashlynn wrapped her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s neck, running her fingers through the other woman¡¯s dark curls and drinking in the softness of her lover¡¯s lips. When they finally parted, both Hauke and Heila were awkwardly staring at the wall, neither daring to look until Nyrielle spoke.


    "Recede before royalty," Nyrielle commanded, her voice dark and rich with a combination of her sorcery and Ashlynn¡¯s living witchcraft. When she spoke, the water level in the cave dropped, rolling away from her as though bowing to her majesty with each step she took.


    "Follow closely," she said. "The water is avoiding us, but not you."


    Once they stepped outside the cave, not only the water but broken chunks of ice left by Nyrielle¡¯s passage moved out of their way, allowing them to climb onto the dry land of the island without so much as their feet getting wet.


    Stars twinkled in the clear night sky overhead and an even colder wind blew across the frozen lake than had been present during the day. Once they climbed high enough on the island to be above the waterline, Nyrielle released her magic and allowed water to flood back into the ancestral cave behind her.


    "My Lady," Zedya said, stepping out of the shadows. Moving with a practiced ease, the amethyst-eyed vampire draped a warm, heavy blanket over Ashlynn, protecting her from the chill wind. Seeing Heila¡¯s bedraggled state, she also removed her own fur cloak, bundling it around the diminutive horned woman and scooping her up much the same way that Nyrielle carried Ashlynn.


    "I¡¯m glad you are still alive," Zedya said quietly as she tucked the cloak around Heila. "I hear that you did something very dangerous and very brave. You can sleep for now," she said, her eyes glowing with a faint amethyst light. "Sleep, and know that I am proud of you."


    "I, I didn¡¯t fail her, this time..." Heila said softly as Zedya¡¯s words washed over her. Somehow, hearing that Lady Nyrielle¡¯s closest personal servant was proud of her warmed the horned woman¡¯s heart more than even praise from her own mother would, carrying her off to a sleep that was soft, comforting, and free of the nightmares she¡¯d just survived.


    "No, you didn¡¯t," Zedya whispered tenderly before she turned to Nyrielle and Ashlynn. "My Lady, we have a prisoner, Virve is standing guard while we await Captain Lennart and Lord Ritchel¡¯s men. Would you like to speak to the prisoner?"


    "I would see him," Nyrielle said, "but then I will take Ashlynn back where it is warm. Show me."


    Halfway around the small island, Zedya led Nyrielle to a sheltered hollow on the rocky shore where Virve sat watchfully by the Tuscan with a shattered knee. The man had succeeded in crawling over the ice to reach the island, escaping the fate of his companions, only to be caught almost instantly when Zedya arrived.


    Now, faint purple energy could be seen dancing in his glassy eyes as he stared numbly at the night sky. Despite his clear lack of ability to resist Zedya¡¯s Mesmerizing Gaze, Virve had still taken the heavy chain the Tuscan used as a weapon to bind his hands and prevent him from trying to escape.


    Next to her, the sled they¡¯d set out with in the morning had been stripped of most of its supplies. Instead, a small, wrapped body could be seen, secured to the shed alongside Ashlynn¡¯s sword. Strangely, the giant sturgeon they¡¯d caught had also been lashed to the sled.


    "My Lady," Virve said, standing stiffly and bowing despite the pain of her wounds.


    "You can rest, Virve," Nyrielle said. "You kept my Ashlynn safe today. I will not forget." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you, my Lady," the bearish woman said, sinking back down to the ground. When she noticed Ashlynn¡¯s surprise at the fish, she offered a weak smile. "Andrus hooked it and he landed the felling blow. His family may never feast on it, but if Lady Ashlynn permits, I¡¯ll bring them the bones as a trophy of his achievement."


    "You can," Ashlynn said, nodding quickly as she blinked away tears that threatened to freeze on her long lashes in the bitterly cold wind. A few hours ago, Andrus had been scampering around the icehouse, boasting about clubbing the fish unconscious and wondering what kind of feast they could make from such a ¡¯monster¡¯ fish. Now, as quickly as they¡¯d pulled the fish from the lake, his life and joyous smile had been taken from them.


    "But the greater trophy should come from this man," she said bitterly, glaring at the captive Tuscan. "I do not expect we will leave him alive. When he dies, claim his tusks for Andrus. He had the courage to face down a giant nearly three times his size. His family should know that too. I, I hope that they would be proud," she said, her throat growing tight at the thought of Andrus¡¯s parents and his seven siblings learning of his death in the cold and frozen mountains.


    All her life, Ashlynn had grown up reading about bold heroes winning great victories to leave their names in the history books. She¡¯d also read countless tales of courageous men who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect something or someone dear.


    At the time, such tales felt both romantic and tragic, but now, seeing a hero who had fallen to protect her, felt like a knife plunged in her chest and twisted. There was no honor or glory here, even though she would ensure that his family knew about his actions today. There was only bitterness at his loss and a simmering rage at the people responsible for such a senseless death.


    "Of course, Lady Ashlynn," Virve said, giving the wounded Tuscan an angry stare. "Without Andrus, we wouldn¡¯t have a captive to testify to Paulus¡¯ treachery."


    "Paulus," Nyrielle said darkly. "It¡¯s time that we go. Zedya, stay with them until Captain Lennart arrives, and then come join us. Bring Heila with you," she said before flapping her dark feathered wings and launching herself into the air.


    "There will be an accounting for this," she promised Ashlynn as they glided through the night sky to the Frost Walker¡¯s fortress. "On that, you have my word."

 Chapter 130: A Traitor Among You (Part One)

    Chapter 130: A Traitor Among You (Part One)In the great hall of the Frost Walker¡¯s fortress, tension hung thickly in the chill air. A night ago they had feasted on delicacies and listened to ancient tales of heroism, sacrifice, and war. The mood hadn¡¯t always been joyful, but Frost Walkers survived in the bitterest, coldest, most barren places in the world. They didn¡¯t expect every celebration to be filled with nothing but joy. As long as stories ended in triumph and feasts ended with full bellies, Lord Ritchel¡¯s people would be content and even happy at the end of the night.


    Now, one night later, the festive decorations had been removed along with the long banquet tables. A half circle of high backed chairs flanked by small tables had been arranged facing the elevated dias and Lord Ritchel alone occupied his icy throne as he stared at the men and women he had summoned here after speaking with Nyrielle before the sun set.


    For a lord to be summoned within his own fortress was an insult few could stomach but when he saw Nyrielle¡¯s ragged state as she resisted the effects of waking before the sun had set he swallowed his pride and listened to what she had to say.


    When she told him that her Seneschal was hovering near death his stomach sank and his fur twitched with worry about the future of the High Pass if the Vale of Mists blamed them for Ashlynn¡¯s loss. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When she added that she wasn¡¯t sure if Hauke or any of the others were still alive, however, he felt like someone had pressed a hot torch against his chest and all thoughts of politics vanished from his mind as if consumed by a raging inferno. If Hauke had fallen along with Ashlynn, nothing would stop him from personally painting the ice red with blood as soon as he could lay his claws on the person responsible.


    Now, he had summoned his closest advisors as well as the commander of his warriors to a late-night council meeting. Normally, the smaller, slightly more delicate throne next to his own would hold his wife, Odette, however, it currently sat empty while his wife joined his other advisors in the seats below.


    No one sat idle. Commander Jannik, a striking black-furred Frost Walker who had once contended for the position as Lord of the High Pass, passed a number of orders to his soldiers and received a steady stream of reports as people returned with information.


    Even Odette, as Mistress of the Castle, received reports from across the castle about their readiness should the High Pass come under siege. Beyond that, she ordered a small meal to be served to the advisors while they awaited word.


    No one looked comfortable while they ate, and a few even grumbled that they didn¡¯t understand why they couldn¡¯t return to their own chambers until it was time for discussions to begin. A pointed look from Lord Ritchel, accompanied by a menacing dark blue glow surrounding his horn silenced the grumbles but did nothing to diminish the anxiety or discontent that was mounting in the hall.


    Paulus did his best to wear the same grim, concerned face as the others. At the moment, Lord Ritchel had only announced that Hauke¡¯s fishing party had been attacked, their life and death unknown.


    Paulus, however, had great faith in Imnek and his band of hunters. This was hardly the first time that he¡¯d provided the Tuscan with an opportunity to complete a hunt in the High Pass. One day, perhaps people would understand that sacrificing a few of the least important members of their community had saved the lives of many others, but he doubted it.


    Some secrets could never be told, even if they pertained to great deeds, because the common people would never understand the sacrifices demanded of true leaders.


    Now, as Paulus received reports from some of the most studious Frost Walkers in the castle about the foreigners who had entered the past recently, he schooled his expression into one of great concern as he considered if any of those outsiders could be blamed for bringing the Tuscans into the High Pass.


    An hour after full dark, a grim faced soldier entered the great hall and spoke in hushed tones to Lord Ritchel. The more the soldier spoke, the darker his expression became. His fur lifted in agitation and frost formed along his horn as he clenched his fists in both distress and obvious anger.


    "Husband," Odette said anxiously after Ritchel gave his own orders to the soldier who departed at a run. "What word?"


    "Commander Jannik," Lord Ritchel said. "I want fifty of your strongest warriors in this chamber within the hour and another hundred lining the way from the gates to this hall."


    "My Lord?" Commander Jannik said, his dark brows lowering in worry. There were very few reasons he could think of to need so many guards in the great hall during a council meeting and none of them were good.


    "Is the news...?" Glancing at the Mistress of the castle, the veteran warrior paused, unable to bring himself to ask the question that hung on everyone¡¯s lips. How could he ask if his lord¡¯s only child had died during what was supposed to be a simple fishing trip when the child¡¯s mother was sitting just two seats away from him? Frost Walkers might be cold, but none of them were heartless.


    "An honor guard is required to receive the bodies of the slain," Ritchel said. His words fell like stones into the silence of the great hall. Servants stopped in their tracks and the few elders who were eating very slowly set down their food as they struggled to process the news.


    Odette¡¯s sharp intake of breath drew every eye in the room. The Mistress of the Castle pressed one fur-covered hand to her chest while the other gripped the arm of her chair until her claws gouged deep grooves into the armrest.


    "Not a word more will be said until they arrive," Ritchel added, his voice carrying the bitter chill of a winter storm. As he spoke, his horn began to glow with a dark, menacing blue light that made several of the gathered elders shift uneasily in their seats.

 Chapter 131: A Traitor Among You (Part Two)

    Chapter 131: A Traitor Among You (Part Two)Inwardly, Ritchel seethed, consumed more by fury than fear. ¡¯Say nothing,¡¯ the messenger had said. ¡¯There is a traitor on the council. Hauke is alive and Lady Nyrielle¡¯s men suffered losses protecting him.¡¯


    The report was brief and brought both immediate relief but the relief was consumed by a fury colder than the peak of the mountain in winter. Clearly Nyrielle didn¡¯t possess enough trust to pass the identity of the traitor to him via a messenger but there were only a few possibilities that stood out to the Eldritch Lord.


    Paulus had been outspoken in suggesting that they groom Torsten as the next Lord of the High Pass. That, combined with the fact that the attack had put Hauke at risk placed the aging Elder at the top of his list of suspects.


    More concerning, however, was the notion that Jannik intended to challenge him for leadership of the nation again. Both of them were growing old but neither of them was willing to yield to the next generation yet. While Ritchel had confidence that he could defeat Jannik in a fair fight if they were to duel again, he had little confidence in resisting the full might of the army Jannik had trained.


    While the other elders each had their own long held grudges and petty disagreements with Lord Ritchel and his decades of rule in the High Pass, none of it stood out to him as significant enough to provoke a genuine betrayal.


    Of all the elders gathered, only Old Svenja remained inscrutable. As the oldest living elder, she spent much of her time tending to the ancestral caves. In council meetings, she spoke for the honored dead and had learned more from them than anyone else in this room. Her eyes had gone milky white with age and a young girl stood constantly at her side to tend to her needs, but no one would call her feeble or frail.


    The idea that Svenja had betrayed them in some way terrified Ritchel more than anyone else on the council. If she felt it necessary to make a move against him then it was as good as a condemnation from the ancestors in which case he could only pray for a clean death.


    Time passed far too slowly in the grand hall. The arrival of fifty armed warriors dressed in resplendent blue and silver tunics to pay respect to the honored dead came as a cold comfort. If Jannik had betrayed him then summoning so many of his soldiers was as good as placing a knife against his own neck, but if the traitor was anyone else then they would be the first line of defense against further treachery.


    The tension in the great hall grew thicker with each passing minute. Guards shifted uneasily at their posts, hands never far from their weapons. While the words hadn¡¯t been spoken in the great hall, Lord Ritchel¡¯s instructions had been to come ¡¯dressed for a funeral and prepared for battle.¡¯ While none of them dared to speak, their fur stood on end and their ears strained for the slightest hint about what was about to happen.


    Among the council members, whispers passed like winter wind through empty canyons. By this point, all of them had heard a few bits of news from their subordinates outside the great hall, but none of them had enough information to know what was really going on.


    "My hunters say they found traces of a Tuscan camp, close enough to be within sight of the castle," one elder muttered to another. "Something that close to the keep, Commander Jannik¡¯s men should have seen it."


    "Silence," Old Svenja snapped, her milky eyes somehow finding the speaker. "We await the honored dead and the ones who will speak for them. Now is not a time for idle gossip." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When she spoke, even the other elders with dull fur and faded horns became as mindful as children before their tutors, none daring to speak further. On the opposite side of the half circle of councilors, Commander Jannik lowered his horn briefly in thanks, though if Old Svenja saw it, she gave no indication.


    Paulus kept his expression carefully neutral as he observed the others. Hearing that the Tuscan camp had been discovered was a surprise, but if that was the case it likely meant that everything had been successful and Imnek had already departed with their prize. Even better, suspicion was already starting to fall on Commander Jannik. He would just need to nudge things along in the right direction when the time came.


    Out of everyone present, Lord Ritchel¡¯s wife, Odette, showed the greatest signs of strain. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to move to her seat next to her husband, to find out if he knew anything about the fate of their son. It didn¡¯t escape her attention that he called for a very large honor guard for the dead and her heart shook with the idea that she may be preparing to witness her only child¡¯s funeral procession.


    Another hour passed before the doors to the great hall opened again. This time, however, rather than admitting another soldier or messenger, when the doors opened, the lights dimmed and a dark hush swept over the room.


    Last night, they had seen a version of Nyrielle that looked very human. She dined with them, humbled herself to honor one of the longest lived members of their community and even flirted with her Seneschal in front of the entire banquet before the night was over. It was easy to dismiss her as someone who was only strong enough to rule the Vale of Mists because it had fallen so far from its days of glory under her grandsire Torbin.


    The Nyrielle who entered now, however, appeared like an avatar of death descending into their council chambers. Dark shadows flowed across the cold stone floor, swirling around her feet and blending with her dark, feathered wings. Her fingers were tipped with wickedly sharp nails nearly two inches long and no whites were visible in her dark, world devouring eyes.


    When Nyrielle ascended to the throne next to Lord Ritchel, a few of the guards in the room dropped their hands to weapons, afraid that her deathly aura would harm their lord just by sitting next to him.


    This, they realized, was the true face of the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists. The polite face she showed last night had been a courtesy to a group of carnivores who considered themselves to be the apex predators of the High Pass. Now, in the presence of death itself, the assembled Frost Walkers felt for the first time in their lives like they had become prey.


    "My Ashlynn has gone to join little lord Hauke at the gates," Nyrielle said. When she spoke, her voice was no louder than if she was speaking to Lord Ritchel next to her yet it sounded to the people in the room like she¡¯d spoken from just a few inches away from their necks.


    "Today, there is blood between the Vale of Mists and the High Pass," Nyrielle said, fixing her gaze on the assembled council before turning to the man next to her. Despite standing several feet taller than her, even he felt pressured and small next to the domineering True vampire.


    "Lord Ritchel, there will be an accounting for this blood debt tonight," she said in a dark tone that accepted no argument.


    "There most certainly will be," Ritchel promised her before turning his own gaze on the assembled council. "Blood has been spilled and lives have been lost. The night will not end until those responsible have suffered the same!"

 Chapter 132: Different Customs

    Chapter 132: Different Customs When Hauke finally reached the front gates of the fortress, he moved stiffly with a bone-deep weariness. Captain Lennart had offered to pull him most of the way on a sled, but the young man had his pride. Unlike Ashlynn and Virve, he¡¯d suffered no real injuries beyond the strain of his encounter with the ghosts of the ancestors. He refused to be carried when he was capable of walking. When he reunited with Ashlynn in the small gatehouse, however, he was surprised to see how much she had changed in the time it took for him to return with the others.


    Ashlynn had traded the comfortable and practical clothing she wore to the fishing trip for an elegant green dress trimmed in luxurious black furs. Her long blond hair had been styled into an elaborate braid that included a long strand of emeralds and a second strand of sapphires as if to provide a subtle reminder of how closely she was entangled with Nyrielle.


    The most shocking part of her appearance to Hauke, however, was how refreshed she looked. While he moved slowly and stiffly with fatigue, she stood with her back straight and the elegant grace of a refined noblewoman. His fur hung limp and heavy with frozen lake water while she appeared fresh and ready to attend another banquet.


    "Zedya," Ashlynn said, turning to the vampire servant standing attentively nearby. Despite Heila¡¯s willingness to return to Ashlynn¡¯s side tonight, Zedya insisted that the diminutive horned woman rest her body after their ordeals. For tonight, Zedya would take Heila¡¯s place as both attendant and translator.


    "Please help Hauke the way you helped me," Ashlynn said before turning to the little lord. "Hauke, appearances are important for what¡¯s about to happen. We will have justice tonight," she said firmly. "But to obtain it, we need to arrive like a thundering lion, not like a pair of drowned cats. Do not resist Zedya¡¯s help."


    "Your father sent men with a change of clothes for you," Zedya said, her amethyst eyes beginning to glow as she stepped around Ashlynn to address the young Frost Walker directly. "Before they help you change, I need you to listen carefully to my words."


    "Carefully," Hauke repeated numbly, nodding at Zedya¡¯s instructions while his eyes reflected her amethyst glow.


    "You have great strength," she whispered to him, placing a hand on his chest and looking deeply into his eyes. "Your mind is clear, your body is free of aches and pains. You have slain Tuscans and faced an unspeakable horror, you can stand tall and proud in your victory."


    As she spoke, Hauke¡¯s demeanor shifted subtly. His body no longer troubled him and his fatigue melted like ice in the summer sun. By the time she was done, he felt better than he did after a full night¡¯s rest and he had begun to radiate a faint aura of a victorious warrior.


    "It¡¯s important that you remember that the way you feel now is false," Zedya cautioned after her eyes stopped glowing. "You still have wounds that have not healed and your body is still very drained. Do not attempt to use sorcery or fight right now, you will overdraw yourself if you do."


    "The next battle will be fought with words," Ashlynn added, placing a reassuring hand on Hauke¡¯s furry arm. "For a battle of words, appearances are like weapons. Your father¡¯s men will help you clean up while Zedya and I make the rest of our preparations."


    "Thank you, Madame Zedya, Lady Ashlynn," Hauke said with genuine feeling. As much as he dreaded it, he knew that a venomous traitor like Paulus couldn¡¯t be allowed even one more day to inflict more damage on their nation but the entire trip home, a growing ball of dread had formed in his stomach as he imagined the coming confrontation. Now, after just a few words from Zedya, his fears had been replaced with determination to see justice done.


    When Hauke emerged from the gatehouse, his fur had been neatly combed and he was wrapped in a fresh great kilt made of rich, royal purple fabric and adorned with silver embroidered snowflakes along the hem. Now, even more than he had the night before, he truly looked like a future lord of the high pass.


    "I dislike this tradition," Ashlynn was saying to Zedya as she stood over the litter on which Andrus¡¯s body had been laid. The shroud that covered him had been removed and his cold body had been placed with care on a wood and leather litter to be carried by Virve and Captain Lennart. Behind him, the corpses of the Tuscans had been tied to similar frames, though it would take two fully grown Frost Walkers to carry just one of the fallen Tuscans.


    "I understand, my Lady," Zedya said gently. "If you wish, you can still burn the body of his killer to light his way to the Heavenly Shores, but this is the Eldritch way. You must bring him to the local Eldritch Lord and demand justice in his name. Tonight, Andrus will see justice done."  Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ve explained it, but I still dislike it," she said, placing a hand lightly on the litter beside the small figure of the horned soldier. "It feels like we¡¯re using his body as a prop."


    "In a way, we are," Zedya acknowledged, though she didn¡¯t look bothered by it. She had left the faith of the Holy Lord of Light behind long ago and over the years, she¡¯d come to see the sense of many Eldritch traditions, even if they had once seemed savage or barbaric to her.


    "It is too easy for a lord to dismiss the lives of their common subjects when they aren¡¯t confronted directly by the consequences of their decisions," Zedya said. "It is much harder to make light of a man¡¯s death and give way to political expediency when the dead are in attendance. An Eldritch Lord should never sit comfortably on his throne and this tradition helps prevent them from sweeping a man¡¯s death under the rug to protect their friends and allies."


    "Then let¡¯s get this over with," Ashlynn said, seeing that Hauke had emerged from the gatehouse. Her emerald eyes flickered from Andrus¡¯s broken body to the bodies of his killers and the people who had gathered to carry them.


    From the Frost Walker warriors in their ceremonial outfits to the armored figures of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s guards, no one made light of the events unfolding tonight. Several Frost Walkers couldn¡¯t help but cast pensive glances at the bodies of the fallen Tuscan giants and more notably the glassy-eyed Tuscan who stood in chains at the back of the procession.


    The contrast between the four Tuscans and the single diminutive horned soldier who had died was just too overwhelming of a sight. Several of them had looked down on the Vale of Mists for being suppressed by the weaker humans for so many years, but now, seeing such a small group from the Vale defeat so many of their fiercest foes brought to mind Ashlynn¡¯s history lesson¡¯ from the night before.


    Had they been wrong all these years? They had believed that the Vale of Mists had grown weak since High Lord Torbin¡¯s death, especially since Nyrielle could no longer claim the title of ¡¯High Lady¡¯, but perhaps the Vale was much, much stronger than they¡¯d thought. In which case, what did that say about the level of threat the humans represented? None of them were comfortable with the answer to that question.


    "The sooner we claim justice," Ashlynn said, taking her place alongside Hauke at the head of the procession. "The sooner Andrus can finally rest."

 Chapter 133: Explosive Accusation

    Chapter 133: Explosive AccusationNyrielle hadn¡¯t moved since taking a seat on the icy throne next to Lord Ritchel. To the assembled Frost Walkers, it felt like a goddess of death sat among them, waiting for someone to make a wrong move to give her an excuse to fall upon them and reap their lives. Drinks and half-finished meals sat forgotten and the councilors kept their movements to a minimum lest they break the delicate silence that had descended on the great hall like a fresh blanket of snow.


    They didn¡¯t have to wait long, however, before they began to hear the steady beat of a pair of drums. The drumbeats were low, slow, and punctuated at regular intervals by a sharp slap on the body of the drum.


    Odette tightened her grip on the arms of her chair as she recognized the sound of a funeral march. Silently, she counted the beats, four heavy -THUMP-s followed by a sharp -CRACK- and then the drum beats resumed. Five people, one death.


    Her eyes flicked to Lady Nyrielle in the hopes of seeing something on the other woman¡¯s face that would give her the answer she badly needed to hear. If only one member of Hauke¡¯s fishing party had died...


    The odds were that her son had survived, particularly when the Eldritch Lady of the Vale had said there was a blood debt to be paid. When she looked at Nyrielle¡¯s face, however, she saw only a cold, expressionless mask with eyes that looked past the councilors to the great doors behind them.


    As the procession came closer, Paulus frowned, barely resisting the urge to turn and look at the door. The footfalls were measured in time with the drum beats and they were very heavy, but why was he hearing the clank of chains? It made no sense for a funeral procession to carry heavy chains, unless...


    Unless Imnek was sloppy or hurried, Paulus realized. All Imnek cared about was taking his trophy. If he had torn the horn from Hauke¡¯s head but left the young man alive, surely they would need to bind him with chains to prevent him from going completely out of control. One dead, likely the vampire¡¯s pet witch, and the other driven insane by the loss of his horn. Just the idea of it made it difficult for Paulus to keep a grin from forming on his face.


    The doors opened with a forceful -BOOM- as if they had been struck by a powerful force rather than simply being pushed open. Other than Ritchel and Nyrielle who remained seated, the gathered councilors stood, turning to bow respectfully to the fallen.


    No matter what they may have suspected, however, nothing could prepare them for the entrance of Ashlynn and the procession that followed her.


    Paulus¡¯ eyes went wide as he realized that both Hauke and the witch, Ashlynn, were alive and well. The body carried on the litter belonged to a nameless horned soldier, a nobody in the grand scheme of things whose name Paulus had never bothered to learn.


    Of the two guards carrying the body, only one of them looked to be injured with bandages visible on her arms and wrapped around her head, but otherwise, no one even looked hurt. Ashlynn and Hauke moved with purpose and grace without so much as a limp or a flinch to indicate injuries covered by their clothing. How was this possible?


    More distressing than the survival of Hauke and Ashlynn was the sight of two Tuscan corpses, hauled behind the funeral procession like hunting trophies. The sharpened Frost Walker horns had been removed from their tusks, but Paulus had met with them often enough to realize that neither body belonged to Imnek.


    Perhaps the leader of the group had escaped? If that was the case, then all would have been well if not for the even more troublesome figure at the very back of the procession. Paulus had never bothered to learn the names of the Tuscans other than Imnek but the glassy-eyed stare of the bound and chained man who had been dragged into the great hall sent a shiver down Paulus¡¯ spine.


    His mind began to work rapidly as he tried to think of a way out of the trap he felt springing shut around him. The fact that it wasn¡¯t Imnek was a good thing, this lower level hunter likely knew less than the leader of their hunting band.


    Moreover, he was clearly under the spell of the amethyst-eyed vampire and her Mesmerizing Gaze. He could likely be commanded to say anything, Paulus would just have to demonstrate that the captive was a puppet and not a reliable source of testimony. Sweat froze on his fur and his hands clenched and unclenched as he began to plan his next moves. Never in his life had things looked so grim but he refused to believe they were hopeless!


    Visible relief had just begun to spread through the other councilors when they realized that Hauke had survived the ordeal and even returned with both slain enemies and a captive prisoner. To many of them, it was a sign that their little lord had taken his first step on the road to inheriting his father¡¯s mantle and truly possessed the strength to be a Lord of the High Pass.


    To Odette, it was much simpler. Her son was alive and from the way he stood, he was completely uninjured. As a member of the council, she had many fears and concerns about what it meant to have been attacked so close to their home, but as a mother, her heart knew only joy.


    Those warming expressions froze when Virve and Captain Lenart stepped forward to place the litter bearing Andrus¡¯s body in front of Lord Ritchel and Lady Nyrielle. Ashlynn stepped forward and spoke in slow, slightly accented Eldritch.


    "Lord Ritchel," she said, her voice rippling with an icy power that was both familiar to and distinctly different from anything the Frost Walkers had experienced before, as though when she spoke, she spoke with the voice of the mountain wind.


    "Andrus gave his life today to defend against men who attacked us to harvest your son¡¯s horn," she said, her emerald eyes flashing as she met the Frost Walker Lord¡¯s gaze. "I have come to you for justice."


    "If he protected my son, he is a hero to my family and he will be remembered as such," Lord Ritchel promised solemnly. He knew there was more to come, but the councilors didn¡¯t. Some expected him to say more, heaping praise on the fallen hero, but when Lord Ritchel said nothing further, their gazes returned to the human witch.


    "Thank you, my Lord," Ashlynn said formally, offering a slight curtsey before she continued. "But Andrus demands more before he may rest. His killer is dead, but the person who sent murderers after your son is still alive and stands in this chamber."


    Audible gasps rippled through the councilors, many of whom began to eye each other in disbelief. Commander Jannik¡¯s gaze roamed over his soldiers clutching their weapons, his expression growing dark as he looked at Lord Ritchel. Was he suspected? Is that why so many soldiers had been summoned? Not as an honor guard, but to subdue a traitor? S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If someone in this room betrayed us to the Tuscans," Ritchel said, glaring at the assembled councilors. "You will have your justice. Tell us what happened and who is responsible for this crime?"


    "Lord Ritchel," Ashlynn said, turning to face the assembled Frost Walkers. "Though he accomplished some of his schemes by commanding others, the man most responsible for this tragedy is Elder Paulus," she said, pointing directly at the scowling elder.


    "A life has been lost," she said, turning her gaze back to the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass. "In return, I claim his life and horn as forfeit!"

 Chapter 134: Getting Answers (Part One)

    Chapter 134: Getting Answers (Part One)"I claim his life and horn as forfeit!"


    For a moment, Ashlynn¡¯s words shocked the assembled council, soldiers and servants into complete silence. The ones who had carried the fallen Tuscans here already regarded Ashlynn and Hauke with deep awe, and a bit of that even spilled over onto Virve, though no one believed that the greatest credit for the battle went to the veteran soldier.


    It would take more than skill at battle to defeat an almost equal number of Tuscans. The Frost Walkers believed that victory had been achieved due to the combined powers of their little lord with his iridescent horn and the vampire¡¯s Seneschal with her witchcraft.


    Because of this admiration, they were sympathetic when she asked for Andrus¡¯ heroics to be recognized, even if his accomplishments were minor. Nothing, however, could prepare them for the accusation leveled by the woman whose strength they had just come to recognize.


    "Preposterous!" Paulus shouted, standing up and looking aggrieved. "This human woman is slandering me over our disagreement last night! Shameful! Shameful human deceit! I would never do such a thing," he protested.


    "Guards," Jannik said, giving his soldiers a stern look. "Apprehend Elder Paulus. If he resists, use force."


    On his icy throne, Lord Ritchel smiled as Jannik took action without the need of orders. He might be insulting the dignity of an elder by doing so, but perhaps Jannik had reasons of his own to find the accusation credible.


    "My lord," Paulus protested as he was surrounded by armed soldiers. "What proof is there other than this woman¡¯s words? You cannot do this to me without evidence of a crime! I have done nothing wrong," he insisted.


    "Seneschal Ashlynn," Lord Ritchel said, leaning forward and carefully regarding the witch before him. She seemed much colder than she had the night before, and firmer as well, as though they had been baptized in the icy waters of the mountains and gained a measure of their frigid strength.


    "I will listen to evidence, but you will not speak first. You may take a seat among us," he said, gesturing for the servants to bring in additional chairs for both Ashlynn and Hauke. "We will hear the evidence first from my son. Tell us, Hauke, what happened during your fishing trip."


    "Lord Father," Hauke began, bowing deeply to Ritchel before turning to face the council.


    Hauke kept his retelling simple from the beginning to the end. He explained their trip to the lake and that they saw no signs of Tuscans. He told them about the ice house and their time spent fishing and the lesson he gave Ashlynn on ice sorcery.


    When he spoke of the boulders hurled by the Tuscans and that there had been four, not three, who had attacked them, several of the councilors found themselves leaning forward, their fur twitching with anxiety as they imagined the scene unfolding.


    He stopped his story with the defeat of Imnek, saying that his body had been lost to the lake along with the sharpened horns that turned against him in the end. At the end, Hauke directed an accusatory stare at Elder Paulus.


    "They boasted of receiving Elder Paulus¡¯s help in locating the best ¡¯trophy¡¯," he said, his iridescent horn flashing brilliantly in barely contained fury as he looked at the confident-looking elder. Even surrounded by guards, Paulus looked like he had everything in control. "Without his help, they never would have found us at the lake."


    "That¡¯s it?" Paulus sneered. "A few Tuscans mention my name and you believe I¡¯d betray our people? My Lord," the elder said, turning to face Lord Ritchel. "Your son fought bravely, but we all know that Tuscans are deceitful savages who will say anything to break the spirits of the people they¡¯re hunting. They could just as easily have given your name as mine."


    "We should stop here and mourn for the dead," Paulus said, sounding old and wise as he spoke. "This matter of Tuscans slandering me can be forgotten about. It isn¡¯t the fault of the young that they believe these lies when they hear them. Tuscans are good at breaking spirits as well as bodies. We should be celebrating your heroic son¡¯s victory, not hunting for traitors where there are none."


    "You forget," Ashlynn said after hearing Zedya¡¯s translation. "We have a prisoner. Zedya, please question our captive so everyone can hear his answers."


    Of course, Zedya had already asked many questions when she first brought the prisoner under her spell, and Ashlynn was aware of what she¡¯d learned. Right now, this wasn¡¯t about discovering the truth, it was about revealing it to everyone else so Paulus¡¯s treachery could be fully understood by everyone present.


    "More lies and deceit," Paulus said, shaking his head as though he was disappointed. "The mesmerizing prowess of Madame Zedya was spoken of even in my youth, but her prisoner will say whatever she tells him to say. My Lord," Paulus said, putting on an act of sounding like he was exercising great patience with the young ones.


    "I admit to my disagreements with Lady Nyrielle and Seneschal Ashlynn last night, but there is no reason to carry on with this sham, is there?" Paulus said. "If an apology is owed for last night, then I will give it. Before that, we should put this wounded beast out of its misery. Commander Jannik, have your men kill this beast before it sows more dissent in our halls with its poisonous lies."


    To many of the councilors, Paulus¡¯ words sounded both humble and wise. He admitted disagreement where it existed, offered apology if needed and reminded everyone that the Tuscans could be dangerous with not only their physical might but their poisonous words. This, they thought, was why his voice had been valued on the council for so many years.


    "You think one of my progeny would stoop so low as to force this beast to lie?" Nyrielle said, her voice instantly silencing the approving murmurs that had begun to echo in the great hall after Paulus¡¯ wise-sounding statements.


    It was only when she spoke that the councilors remembered that she was still present. The vampire lady sat with such quiet stillness that once they had begun to listen to Hauke¡¯s harrowing tale of survival and valor in battle, they had ceased to notice her presence. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now, however, they felt like the windows had somehow blown open to let in an even colder wind than the ones that descended from the mountaintops. The room dimmed and shadows lengthened as if the sun were setting only instead of lengthening in one direction, every shadow seemed like it was being pulled toward Nyrielle.


    "Lady Nyrielle," Jannik said, stepping forward and bowing politely. "I am very interested in what the prisoner has to say and I believe that Madame Zedya would never tamper with a witness," he said quickly. "But perhaps, before we hear from him, since Elder Paulus has cast doubts, you would let me remove those doubts from the minds of my fellows on the council."


    "Oh?" Nyrielle said, a dark eyebrow raised slightly. "You have something to share, commander?"


    Around the council chamber, all eyes fell on the dark-furred commander. It took courage none of them possessed to step in front of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s terrifying gaze and even more courage to suggest he could do a better job at resolving the council¡¯s doubts than one of her progeny could.


    Now, everyone looked at Jannik expectantly, wondering what insight he could have on Paulus¡¯ supposed treachery that would be worth risking drawing the ire of a powerful Eldritch Lady.

 Chapter 135: Getting Answers (Part Two)

    Chapter 135: Getting Answers (Part Two)"You have something to share, commander?" Nyrielle¡¯s words might be phrased as a polite inquiry but her tone left no doubt how little she would appreciate it if the man¡¯s words held no value. Still, Jannik hadn¡¯t become the commander of the warriors in the High Pass by backing down from powerful foes and he wasn¡¯t about to cower before an ally.


    "I do have something to share, and I think my fellow councilors will find it worth listening to," the dark-furred Frost Walker said. Turning to his soldiers by the door, he gave his next commands. "I am responsible for the men who patrol all of our territory within a day of the fortress and I have sent questions to everyone who was on duty today," he explained.


    "Bring me a map so I can show everyone where our people are expected to be," he told one of the servants. "From what our hunters and trackers have learned, the Tuscans approached from the north side of the lake and snuck onto the island to draw close to little lord Hauke¡¯s fishing party."


    "Two people were responsible for guarding along that approach," Jannik explained. "The first is a capable and reliable veteran named Malte, and the second is a young and powerful warrior known to many for his strength - Torsten. Have both of them brought here immediately."


    As soon as Hannik said ¡¯Torsten¡¯ it was like an icicle had fallen from the roof to shatter against the floor. Whispers started immediately and several more suspicious glances fell on Paulus. After all, while many knew Torsten just the way Jannik had described him, as a strong and capable warrior, no one in this room forgot the rest of his identity.


    Torsten was Hauke¡¯s most direct opponent in becoming the next lord of the High Pass. That alone gave him a motive to conspire against his rival. More importantly, however, he was also Paulus¡¯s grandson.


    More eyes fell on Ashlynn as they considered what Jannik had said. Hadn¡¯t Seneschal Ashlynn said that Paulus worked through others? If his grandson was in on this plot...


    No one wanted to say it, but around the hall, everyone¡¯s fur rose slightly and ice crystals began to spread across the floor as people struggled to contain their emotions. There were some in this hall who had still felt that Torsten could be an adequate next Lord of the High Pass. Not brilliant, perhaps, but stronger and more mature than young Hauke.


    Now, all of them considered what it would be like if they¡¯d put a man on the throne who would conspire with Tuscans, just to eliminate their rivals. The notion was the same as asking a heron to guard a fishing pond. It might scare off some predators but you would still lose half the fish you needed to survive.


    Now, the looks that turned to Paulus were even more unfriendly than they¡¯d been just minutes ago. Just how deep did the rot go?


    It didn¡¯t take long to fetch both men to the hall. Of the two, Malte possessed the demeanor of an experienced soldier, standing politely at attention and awaiting orders. Torsten, on the other hand, cast a brief glance at his grandfather before puffing himself up, attempting to look down his nose at the seated councilors, as though he had come to judge them and not the other way around. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For his grandfather to be surrounded by soldiers was a concerning sight, but what did this have to do with him? He had made no mistakes. As long as he stuck to his lines, no blame would fall on him at all. After all, he wasn¡¯t the one who had conspired with the Tuscans. He had only followed his grandfather¡¯s instructions. If someone was to suffer today, it wouldn¡¯t be him.


    Perhaps he felt that he looked grand or somehow superior. To the gathered elders, however, he suddenly looked much younger and much less capable than they¡¯d taken him for before. Here he stood, proud, arrogant, and looking down on them, and yet what accomplishments did he have?


    Compared to little lord Hauke who had returned from battling against Tuscans but still spoke respectfully to the councilors, Torsten looked much, much less capable than he had just a few days ago.


    Once the two young men were present, Jannik set out a map for everyone to see and looked at the two warriors who should have intercepted the Tuscans. He never would have expected two young men to stop four Tuscan hunters, but they didn¡¯t need to stop them, they needed to sound an alarm. Since they hadn¡¯t, something had clearly gone wrong.


    "Torsten, where were you commanded to patrol today and did you see any signs of Tuscans there?" Jannik asked.


    "Here, Commander," Torsten said, casually gesturing to an area of the map. "North of the lake and down the slope. I never saw any Tuscans," he said confidently.


    "And you stayed in this area the whole time?" Jannik asked, raising a dark, bushy eyebrow at the young man.


    "No, I received instructions to move upslope and to the west to check outsiders," Torsten said, glancing briefly at his grandfather. The glance lasted only an instant, but it hinted to many of the observers where those instructions had come from.


    "And you Malte?" Jannik asked pointedly. "Where were you supposed to be?"


    "Between the lake shore and Torsten¡¯s position," Malte said. "But, as I mentioned to your messenger, Torsten came up the slope and asked for my help in tracking down outsiders who had camped on our mountains. He told me the orders came from you."


    Several gasps rippled through the crowd and even Paulus put on a show of being vindicated at the moment. Jannik, however, wasn¡¯t willing to let people misunderstand for long.


    "I never sent those orders," Jannik said. "Torsten, who gave those orders to you?"


    "I, I received those instructions from Grandfather," he said, putting on an act of looking betrayed. "He told me that you were concerned after seeing suspicious fires after last night¡¯s dinner and that I should meet with Malte to seek out the source of those fires. I, I didn¡¯t know that he was lying!"


    "You wretch," Paulus spat, his fur-raising and his horn glowing with frosty outrage. "You deserted your post and you¡¯re trying to make it look like it¡¯s my fault! You dare!"


    As the two Frost Walkers glared at each other, Ashlynn began to clap slowly, interrupting them before they could speak further. These two... The grandson had no loyalty to his grandfather and thought he could cast all the blame upward and escape while the grandfather thought his grandson would follow every instruction no matter how bad the results of doing so might be. Truly an admirable pair.


    "Thank you, Commander Jannik," Ashlynn said politely before she looked at the other councilors. "I¡¯m sure these two would spit accusations at each other for hours if we let them. Torsten will hold himself up as a blameless patsy, maybe Elder Paulus would say that he was misunderstood and gave no instructions but only mentioned worries... ah," she said, noticing Paulus flinch. "I can see he was planning on it."


    "This act is too clumsy," Ashlynn said, shaking her head at the pair. "In my father¡¯s court, I have seen this act played out between everything from squabbling merchants over the price of grain to lesser lords arguing over who moved a border post between their lands."


    "As long as the issue wasn¡¯t large enough to warrant an Inquisitor, people would attempt to muddy the water with half-truths and vague statements until no one appeared blameless. Ultimately, it is a strategy of the guilty," she said, shaking her head as though she was embarrassed to see such a display in a place like this.


    At the mention of an Inquisitor, several people fidgeted nervously. After last night¡¯s story, everyone had gained a measure of fear of the Church and their strange magic, especially the ones who could summon fire with ease. The idea that such people would be called upon to resolve disputes sounded terrifying and made many of them wonder just what sort of measures Ashlynn¡¯s people used to avoid being caught when confronted by such wicked sorcerers.


    "The Frost Walkers I¡¯ve come to admire are as solid as ice and fierce as the wind," she praised, gaining approving nods from many of the gathered Frost Walkers. "These two stand up under pressure as well as wet fur. Perhaps in the High Pass, there is time to allow acts like this to play out, but Mistress Nyrielle cannot wait for the sun to rise while these two waste our time. Zedya, you know what to do."


    "Yes, my Lady," Zedya said, smiling darkly as she rounded on Torsten. Marcell had his methods to gather information as did Thane. Hers might be slightly more circumspect than Thane¡¯s Voice of Command but no one who had seen her work would deny her results.


    Several elders looked like they were about to protest. After all, one of their own was being subjected to the sorcery of an outsider. Lord Ritchel, however, shook his head before anyone could raise an objection. In this, he was in complete agreement with Lady Ashlynn.


    Left to their own devices, a Frost Walker council discussion could move with the speed of a retreating glacier. Since Lady Nyrielle had progeny who could cut through the delays, he saw no reason not to make use of her. The faster she produced answers, the sooner he could tear the horns from the heads of everyone who dared to attack his son!


    Slowly, power began to swirl in Zedya¡¯s eyes as the whites turned dark and her amethyst irises seemed to bleed inward to pupils that were so deep and dark they could swallow the spirit of anyone who fell into her gaze.

 Chapter 136: Zedya’s Power

    Chapter 136: Zedya¡¯s Power"This is a cruel place that you¡¯re standing," Zedya told Torsten, her voice growing rich with power while her eyes glowed brilliantly. Thane¡¯s Voice of Command could directly compel the truth but for her, she needed to draw her victim into a state similar to dreaming where her suggestions could reshape their world.


    "It¡¯s a barren, empty place," she continued, building the dream world that Torsten would become trapped in. "In this place, you don¡¯t need to worry about what anyone else thinks. You don¡¯t need to worry about the rules of your ancestors or the ways of your people," she said. Several elders frowned at her but she continued anyway. "You only need to worry about the rules of the place that you¡¯re currently standing, here, with me."


    "In this place, if you lie, your horn will shine as brightly as the sun and you will feel the pain of your horn being plunged into a bed of burning coals," she explained, watching his eyes begin to glow as he fell under her spell. "But this place isn¡¯t hopeless. There is a purple-eyed savior who can take away all the pain you feel if you are helpful to her. Do you want to be helpful?" Zedya asked sweetly, standing before the Frost Walker and placing her fingers gently under his chin tugging slightly down on the white fur of his short beard until he looked directly into her eyes.


    "Helpful, yes," Torsten said, swaying slightly on his feet as though he was asleep.


    "My Lord, this is wrong!" Paulus cried, desperately trying to find a way to put a stop to what was happening. "Can¡¯t you see that she¡¯s twisting his mind? Torsten is a strong warrior. After this, he will only be her puppet!"


    "SILENCE!" Lord Ritchel roared, his voice shaking the walls as he stood up from his throne. "Speak again or do anything to interrupt and I will assume that you are guilty of everything they¡¯ve said. Guards, if he speaks again, you will share his fate," he said, glowering at the men who surrounded Paulus.


    Some of them, it seemed, were reluctant to act against an Elder but hearing Lord Ritchel¡¯s fury, even the most reluctant of them stiffened up their spines and drew their weapons, ready to subdue Paulus at an instant.


    "It¡¯s good that you want to be helpful," Zedya purred, ignoring Paulus¡¯ antics while she focused on her task. She was pleased to see that Torsten had succumbed so quickly. Because most of them were accomplished sorcerers, Frost Walkers formed a certain resistance to her powers over time, but Torsten was both far too young and much too simple-minded to put up much of a fight, even if compared to someone like Hauke.


    "Now," she said sweetly, turning his head lightly with her hand and pointing across the hall. "You see that wounded Tuscan over there? Please tell everyone what his name is and how long ago you met him?"


    Zedya¡¯s question took everyone off guard. Wasn¡¯t she going to ask about who told him to collect Malte and leave the place they were supposed to patrol? Why would she ask about the wounded Tuscan?


    "Not sure about his name," Torsten said, fidgeting slightly. He wanted to be helpful, he really did, but he wasn¡¯t sure about his answer! "Siquak, Silaq? Something like that," he said, his eyes shining as he hoped the purple-eyed savior would find his answer helpful. "He¡¯s not as important as Imnek so I¡¯m not sure."


    All around the council chambers, the room went still as people stared at him in horror. If they needed proof that he had colluded with the Tuscans, this was certainly a damning start!


    "And how long ago did you meet little Siluaq?" Zedya asked, turning his gaze back to her. "Tell me the truth so I can help you."


    "Six, no, seven years ago," Torsten said eagerly, excited that he knew the right answer this time. "The first time I saw him was seven years ago!"


    "Tell everyone," Zedya said with a slow smile. "How is it that you met these Tuscans when you were so young? How is it that you¡¯re still alive today? I¡¯m sure everyone wants to know."


    "I was fishing with Grandfather and two other boys, Soren and Benj," Torsten began. "The Tuscans attacked. Grandfather made a deal. He gave them Soren and Benj to let us go. He promised to help them find others to hunt, to tell them when the caravans were leaving so they could set ambushes and he warned them when the scouts were searching for them."


    As he spoke, several people shifted uncomfortably. Torsten¡¯s story, briefly told as it was, explained so many tragedies over the years that they didn¡¯t want to believe it could be true, but neither could they deny it. It was hard enough to reconcile the treachery with what they knew of Paulus, but hearing it from Torsten in such a cheerful tone, as if he was a school child eager to please his teacher, somehow made it even worse.


    "How have you helped your grandfather with the Tuscans?" Zedya asked, gently stroking his furry face while the entranced Frost Walker stared deep into her eyes.


    "At first, I didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t even know. But, Grandfather is getting old," Torsten said, as though it was a very reasonable thing. "He needs me to carry messages out of the castle and sometimes to distract other guards and hunters so the Tuscans can slip by. This time he even..."


    "Enough!" Ritchel shouted, his fur nearly standing on end as an icy wind swirled around him. "I¡¯ve heard enough! Lady Nyrielle," Ritchel said, turning to face the impassive vampire and bowing deeply. "These two will be dead within an hour. Their horns will be ground to dust and scattered on the wind. I trust this justice will satisfy you and your fallen man?" Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, it won¡¯t," Nyrielle said coldly. "My Ashlynn claimed their lives and horns. I will have both put to use."


    "My Lord," Commander Jannik said uncomfortably. "I will execute these vultures myself if you order me to, but we do not sell our own as slaves."


    "I said I would use their lives and horns," Nyrielle said darkly. Shadows danced around her body and her tongue flicked briefly over her fangs. The look she gave Paulus and Torsten was not unlike the look a connoisseur gave a fine bottle of wine or a well-prepared steak. "I never said I wanted them as slaves. Zedya, take them both. I will have instructions for you later."


    "Lady Nyrielle," Lord Ritchel growled. "You are not in your Vale of Mists. This is the High Pass. We have our own ways to see justice done."


    "Your council member sent assassins after my Seneschal," Nyrielle said sharply. "I¡¯m being courteous by not treating it as an act of war between us. Do not test me, young Ritchel, we still have other matters to discuss tonight for which I will have answers."


    Across the hall, no one dared to move. The icy pressure that Lord Ritchel exuded seemed to vanish in an endless abyss that surrounded Nyrielle, unable to ruffle so much as a strand of her hair. Paulus and Torsten had both become bystanders, reduced to little more than gutted fish while the butchers argued over how to carve them.


    Lord Ritchel would already endure significant pressure to step down after this incident. That Paulus had betrayed them so deeply and for so many years without being caught wasn¡¯t just something that doomed the scheming elder. By failing to detect it until now, it might doom Ritchel as well. If he could demonstrate his strength in the way he resolved matters, it would do much to maintain his power after the incident ended.


    Nyrielle, however, was done honoring and respecting her young neighbor. He could be incompetent in his own realm as long as it didn¡¯t harm her or her people, but his incompetence had nearly cost her Ashlynn.


    As far as she was concerned, she was being merciful by not claiming his own life and horn for his failures. In her mind, Ritchel needed to suffer a bit in this as well, and taking the guilty away from him to deal with as she pleased was a relatively mild rebuke, all things considered.


    "Give them to her," an old, wizened voice said. The glassy eyed Old Svenja had said nothing during the entire proceeding but she spoke up now. "The ancestors care nothing for the lives or horns of these traitors. Let the Blood Princess do as she pleases."


    "Old Svenja," Ritchel said, struggling to pull back his icy fierceness when he addressed the old woman who was closer to the ancestors than any of them. "Are you certain?"


    "The Blood Princess is right," the old woman said. "We have more important things to discuss tonight," she added, standing slowly and moving to stand before Hauke. Her movements were slow and stiff but she needed no help from the young woman next to her to find the person she needed to address.


    "You have been touched by the Ancestors," she said, not as a question, but as a statement. Others might not recognize the aura that clung to Hauke like frost clinging to fur but how could she miss it? "And you have brought something of them back with you. Now, my question is, will you admit to what you¡¯ve done?"

 Chapter 137: A Legacy of Blood

    Chapter 137: A Legacy of BloodOld Svenja¡¯s words swept away the growing tension between Nyrielle and Ritchel like a bucket of ice water thrown on the floor. The entire council turned to stare at little lord Hauke, curious about what Old Svenja sensed in him.


    "Old Svenja," Hauke said slowly, uncertain how he should speak of what happened. "I..."


    "Stop," his father interrupted. "Old Svenja, I will accept your wisdom. Lady Nyrielle, do with these traitors as you please. So long as their horns never reach our ancestral caves, I no longer care."


    "Wise indeed," Nyrielle said, leaning back on her icy throne with a slight nod of approval to the old woman.


    "Everyone else, leave this place," Ritchel commanded. "Matters of the ancestors should not be spoken of lightly."


    "My Lord," Commander Jannik said, standing and giving a salute to Ritchel. "I still have questions for Paulus. We don¡¯t know why he betrayed us or...."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter why," Nyrielle interrupted. "It will do you no good to understand the motives of a traitor. He gave up the sons and daughters of others to preserve his own life. That is all you need to understand about him. Anything else that he says, any rationalization he presents, any noble justification of his actions is nothing more than a delusion manufactured by a desire to see himself as somehow righteous."


    Hearing Nyrielle¡¯s words, Ashlynn frowned. A person driven to preserve their own life could often be forgiven when they were forced against their will and from Torsten¡¯s words, that had been the case, at least at the start. What happened after, however... she struggled to imagine anything that could justify it. Perhaps Nyrielle was right that it didn¡¯t matter, but she understood Jannik¡¯s desire to understand why a person he thought he knew well had betrayed them so badly.


    For a moment, Ashlynn considered asking Zedya to help Jannik find his answers, but in the end, she said nothing. Matters had already escalated beyond individuals. The honor and pride of both the High Pass and the Vale of Mists were at stake in this hall tonight. Since Nyrielle had made her statement on the matter, it would reflect very poorly on both herself and Nyrielle if she offered a different opinion on the matter.


    If it was important, Ashlynn believed that she would still speak up, even if doing so angered Nyrielle. But just to satisfy the curiosity of Commander Jannik and the other Frost Walkers.... It wasn¡¯t worth it to create an appearance of discord between a Seneschal and her Mistress.


    As brave as Jannik was, he could tell that he would have no support if he chose to press matters with Nyrielle and so he, along with nearly everyone else, left the great hall until only the two Eldritch lords, Ashlynn, Hauke, and Old Svenja remained.


    "Son," Ritchel said, trying to relax the atmosphere now that the council had left. "Your story stopped when the last Tuscan was slain, but you didn¡¯t explain what happened after Seneschal Ashlynn fell under the ice. Will you tell us the rest now?"


    "Hauke saved me," Ashlynn said, sensing the heavy atmosphere. "He saved Heila and I both by bringing us to a cave underwater. Without him, we might, no, we would have died. Whatever else he may be guilty of, he really did save our lives."


    "Young one," Old Svenja said with a slight smile that was missing several teeth. "I have not said what he did was wrong. Only he knows that. It may be a good thing. Let him speak first."


    "My darling," Nyrielle said, beckoning for Ashlynn to join her. "Sit with me. I will translate for you if you have questions. I am most interested in what little Hauke and young Ritchel have to say about this."


    "You just want an excuse to whisper in my ear," Ashlynn said under her breath as she took a seat beside the vampire on the massive throne. Sitting close to Nyrielle in this guise, with her dark eyes and black wings felt strange to Ashlynn.


    On the one hand, the power she felt from Nyrielle wrapped around her like a soft, welcoming embrace that offered protection from the cold. At the same time, even when Nyrielle touched her gently, she didn¡¯t see any warmth in the vampire¡¯s expression.


    Nyrielle had once said that, unlike her parents, she had never been human. Now, seeing Nyrielle in this state, she was starting to wonder if she was finally seeing the other woman¡¯s true appearance. Those questions, however, would have to wait until they were alone. For now, she put her attention on Hauke as he recounted their terrifying encounter in the ancestral cave.


    "So it¡¯s true," Old Svenja whispered after hearing the tale. She sat heavily in her seat, clutching at the armrests in a futile attempt to stop her hands from trembling. What Hauke had described sounded like a cruel and unending torment inflicted on some of their greatest heroes. If a fate like that awaited her, she felt like she would rather have her horn ground to dust than have it enter the ancestral hall.


    "The oldest ancestors spoke of great protectors who would always guard the High Pass. After hearing this one speak last night," she said, pointing a cracked claw at Ashlynn. "I consulted the ancestors to know if we had reason to fear an invasion by humans."


    "The oldest ancestors said that we should rely on our greatest ancestors," Svenja said, looking at Ritchel with glassy eyes. "The younger ancestors said we can only rely on our own strength. They would not tell me why."


    "This is a matter of great shame," Ritchel said after several uncomfortable moments of silence. "It is a story told to each new Eldritch Lord by the one before him, written in the tomes kept in the lord¡¯s library. The text is so old and the story has been told so many times that I have wondered how much is truth and how much is misunderstanding."


    "Father, do you know what was done to those ancestors?" Hauke asked. "They, they kept saying that I was like them. Am I, is that what I will become if my horn is placed in an ancestral cave?" Hauke asked, his voice cracking at the end. He could see an echo of his own fears in Svenja¡¯s sightless eyes. The sense of torment he¡¯d felt from those ancestors would likely leave him with nightmares for months, if not the rest of his life.


    "The records are not clear," Ritchel said, shaking his head. "They say only that those with an iridescent horn can become a great guardian or a terrifying scourge for our people. Their horns are to be treated with great care. No one has had an iridescent horn in generations and the last one to appear," Ritchel sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Losing that hero to a battle with Tuscans started a war that lasted a dozen years and didn¡¯t end until the humans attacked the Tuscans and gave them other troubles to worry about."


    "The one thing that I do know is that the lake was flooded by a previous Lord of the High Pass," Ritchel said. "The memorial atop the island exists so that we may pay respects, but every Eldritch Lord is instructed by his predecessor that the ancestral cave on that island must never be opened and those ancestors are never to be disturbed. Now, it seems we know why." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You have nothing to fear, little Hauke," Nyrielle said in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. "Whatever ancestor you had who performed that rite, they departed the High Pass long ago. For better or for worse, you will never have guardians like that again."


    "You sound very sure of this," Old Svenja said. "Could it be that you know what was done to make these ancestors so different from the others?"


    "I recognized the sorcery that shaped them," Nyrielle admitted. As she spoke, she pulled Ashlynn close, holding her as if to comfort herself. "I admit, I never thought of using it on Frost Walkers. Freezing blood like that, in caves where ice can never melt, it turns something that is already powerful and cruel into a true horror."


    "Were our ancestors profaned by this sorcery?" Old Svenja asked. The oldest ancestors spoke of these powerful guardians as if they had received the highest honors, but perhaps it wasn¡¯t as simple as that.


    "I didn¡¯t say that," Nyrielle said carefully. "Perhaps they were willing to be transformed in this way. Lord Ritchel, my grandsire was not born a vampire as I was. He was the progeny of another vampire who was himself descended from the Jaws of Death. Do your records mention any lords of the High Pass that were vampires?"


    "None," Ritchel said flatly. "Why? Is this sorcery unique to vampires?"


    "Perhaps it can be practiced by sorcerers who aren¡¯t vampires," Nyrielle said, her gaze growing intense. "But this magic belongs to the True Vampire who taught sorcery to me. There is no True Vampire older than him and if the person who used that sorcery on your ancestors was one of his progeny..."


    "Which True Vampire is it?" Lord Ritchel asked, color draining from his face. If a former lord of the High Pass was the progeny of a true vampire, then it was possible that they were still alive, or that they had left those twisted ancestors behind for some other purpose.


    Nyrielle¡¯s visit had given him several reminders that Vampires were among the longest-lived of all the Eldritch races. The way she thought about time spanned generations of rulers. Suddenly, Ritchel was afraid that they may have offended an incomparably old and powerful ancestor without even realizing that he could still be alive to seek retribution.


    "I was taught by the Fangs of Death," Nyrielle said. "Though you might know him as the Great Lord of the Black Wood. "I¡¯m afraid that if he has sunk his fangs deeply into the Frost Walkers, he will not easily let you go."

 Chapter 138: A Complicated Legacy

    Chapter 138: A Complicated Legacy"A Great Lord," Ritchel said, his shoulders slumping. "Why would a Great Lord involve himself with us? We¡¯re so far away from the Black Wood, why would he even care?" S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There hadn¡¯t been any Eldritch Great Lords east of the mountains in hundreds of years, if not longer. The strength required to control such a vast territory was nearly unheard of in the modern era.


    In years past, the High Pass stood between the High Lord of the High Fen and the High Lord of the Vale of Mists. It was a safe and protected space between two powerful lords, neither of whom wished to claim the cold and barren lands that the Frost Walkers called home. For centuries, the people of the High Pass had been able to thrive here because of the protection granted by their neighbors.


    Now that humans had invaded, the Vale of Mists had fallen and Lady Nyrielle was only an Eldritch Lady though seeing her as she was now, Lord Ritchel had no doubt that she was far stronger than he would ever be, perhaps as powerful as High Lady Erna in the High Fen. But a Great Lord... that represented a level of power that Ritchel struggled to imagine.


    "This seems like something that happened long ago," Ashlynn said. "Perhaps he had reasons at the time that no longer apply?" From everyone¡¯s account so far, this had occurred long before humans arrived on the continent. Much had changed in the years since the Kingdom of Gaal was founded and humans began to conquer their way westward.


    "My darling is right," Nyrielle said, gently running a hand along the curve of Ashlynn¡¯s back. "Matters of long ago may no longer apply. He... he takes a very long view of things. It could be that one of your ancestors impressed him and he took them as one of his progeny as a reward."


    "Lady Nyrielle," Old Svenja said, turning her glassy eyes to the vampire. "You do not need to coddle us. We may be young to you, but we have our pride. Do you truly think it was that way?"


    "No," Nyrielle said, shaking her head gently. "It is more likely that he found you to be a useful tool. To create frozen Blood Golems, it must have had a purpose beyond protecting your people. He is not kind enough to expend so much effort to keep your people from perishing. It isn¡¯t his way, or his purpose."


    "His purpose?" Ritchel asked. "Can you tell us what he might have had in mind in creating such powerful... Blood Golems?" he asked, unfamiliar with the term.


    "It isn¡¯t important for you to know about his purpose," Nyrielle said. "If you want to understand his intentions, you should rely on little Hauke," she added, giving the young Frost Walker a pointed look.


    "Me?" Hauke asked. "Is it because of my horn?"


    "Not directly," Nyrielle said. "You retrieved the horns of your ancestors, didn¡¯t you? If you want to know why they were transformed the way they were, then you should ask them. Perhaps enough of them still remains to find some answers."


    "The Ancestors did more than commune with young Hauke," Old Svenja said, frowning at Nyrielle. "They invaded his body and controlled him as a puppet. This is a thing that should never be done. Those horns... perhaps they should be ground to dust."


    Both Ritchel and Hauke stared at the old woman with open mouths. No one treasured the ancestors more than Old Svenja. For her to suggest grinding their horns to dust felt like hearing a fisherman saying he should burn his poles. It was unthinkable.


    Just as Ritchel was thinking that she might be right, that the horns might represent a distinct danger to both his son and the remainder of the nation, it was Hauke who protested.


    "Father, we can¡¯t," Hauke said, jumping to his feet. "Those ancestors, they waited all alone for so long. They suffered for so long. We can¡¯t just grind them to dust and forget about them. That, that¡¯s not right!"


    "It¡¯s good that you wish to honor your ancestors, even after what they did to you," Ritchel said. "But son, if they are no longer sane and if they are a danger to you and to all of us... We were lucky that Lady Nyrielle was here to defeat them. If they were to rise again, I do not have the confidence to say that I could defeat them."


    "They will not rise again," Nyrielle said calmly. "Not the way that they were. At least, as long as no one constructs a frozen Blood Golem for them again."


    "Is that even possible?" Ashlynn asked, turning to face Nyrielle. "Their bodies have long turned to dust. They have no blood to offer up anymore now that you¡¯ve destroyed the original golems, right?"


    "My darling, a single person¡¯s body does not contain enough blood to create a Blood Golem," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a sad smile. Her darling Ashlynn was learning but she was still far too naive about some things.


    "Each one of those frozen Blood Golems required the sacrifice of dozens of lives," Nyrielle said, looking from Ashlynn to the Frost Walkers to make sure everyone understood. "A Blood Golem can only be formed with living blood."


    Hauke¡¯s eyes went wide as he began to understand what had been done to create the abomination that his ancestors had become. Even Ritchel looked uncomfortable when he heard the truth beyond what was written in the ancient records. What kind of leader, he wondered, could do such a thing? What would drive them to do so?


    "Every person who dies to give rise to a soldier that fights beyond death must remain alive while they are drained to feed the growing golem. If they die before it awakens, their blood becomes poison and the ritual fails. It often takes many failures before one succeeds. That¡¯s why I said that it was very cruel sorcery."


    Ashlynn felt Nyrielle¡¯s arms tighten around her protectively, as though the vampire feared someone might try to use her beloved in such a ritual. They both knew quite well that the blood of a witch was a potent tool for any sorcerer, but it was even more potent in the hands of a Vampire.


    The thought made Ashlynn shiver and she snuggled deeper into Nyrielle¡¯s embrace. Her lover had taken her with honor and respect, raising her up and treating her with care. But what if she¡¯d encountered the kind of vampire who created those Blood Golems? The kind of person who could see her as nothing more than in ingredient?


    "This," Old Svenja began but she couldn¡¯t describe the words to express the horror she felt. These ancestors had been preserved at the cost of dozens of lives? And this had been done not just once, but at least five times? Just how many had been sacrificed to this cruel sorcery?


    "They weren¡¯t cruel," Hauke insisted. "At least, not when they were alive. They were heroes. They wanted to protect us, I know it. Lady Nyrielle, you know I¡¯m right, don¡¯t you?"


    "No, I don¡¯t," Nyrielle said. "But I do know that a person who continues to exist after they have died may change in numerous ways. You are right to say that they were very different in the end from what they were in life."


    "I have told you what I needed to," Nyrielle said, standing up from the throne and taking Ashlynn in her arms as she stood. "I hoped that you knew more about my teacher¡¯s intention, but since you don¡¯t, there¡¯s no reason for me to discuss this further."


    "Little Hauke," Nyrielle said, turning her dark, midnight gaze on him. "A word of advice. There is knowledge to be gained from the dead if you continue to commune with them, but the closer you become to the departed, the more of their burdens you will bear. If you are not strong enough to bear those burdens, the day may come when you share their fate."


    "But I might also be able to learn from them," Hauke said, a look of cold determination forming in his eyes. "The humans are coming, aren¡¯t they? If I don¡¯t risk myself to learn more and become stronger, do my people have a chance of surviving when the humans come?"


    "No one can answer that for you, young lord Hauke," Nyrielle said, changing the way she addressed him. It seemed like he was finally willing to take a step forward that few people acknowledged existed. Without taking great personal risks, it was impossible to develop great personal power. "But it¡¯s good that you¡¯re considering it."


    "Think carefully about what you do with those horns," Nyrielle advised as she carried Ashlynn from the great hall. "They could become keys to salvation, or they could become portents of doom. If you do not think yourself brave enough or strong enough, it is best to do as Svenja says and grind them to dust."

 Chapter 139: Nyrielle’s True Face

    Chapter 139: Nyrielle¡¯s True FaceWhen they reached the windowless room in the depths of the castle, Ashlynn found that several changes had been made. Several oil heaters had been lit in the corners of the room, raising the temperature to a level that felt like a sauna after so much time spent in the icy cold even though it was little warmer than a late spring day in the Vale of Mists.


    Beyond that, dozens of candles had been lit around the room and soft fabrics had been draped on all of the walls, trapping the heat and filling the room with a softly flickering golden glow. This much open flame in the Frost Walker fortress would doubtless be considered rude by their hosts but Nyrielle had ceased to care when they failed to keep her precious Ashlynn safe on a simple fishing trip.


    Once they were alone, Nyrielle did something completely unexpected. After setting Ashlynn down on the bed, the ancient vampire knelt on the cool stone floor and bowed her head low.


    "My darling, Ashlynn," she said softly. All traces of her domineering and commanding presence had vanished from her voice, replaced by a slight tremble that started in her voice and spread along her arms to the tips of her fingers.


    "I should never have trusted others to keep you safe. Today, I nearly lost you," she said, looking up at Ashlynn with her dark, inhuman eyes. "And it would have been my fault. Please, forgive me," she said, searching Ashlynn¡¯s face for a trace of what her young lover felt.


    "You cannot protect me from everything," Ashlynn said, reaching out to caress Nyrielle¡¯s sharp features with the tips of her fingers. "If you did, I would be no different from a violet grown under glass. Beautiful, fragile, and unable to be touched. You don¡¯t want that," Ashlynn said firmly. "And neither do I."


    "Still," the vampire said, capturing Ashlynn¡¯s hands and holding them gently like a captured dove. "It was too soon. I will keep you closer in the High Fen. Once you have learned from the Mother of Thorns, perhaps my heart will be at ease even when I am not by your side."


    "And will you be like this in the High Fen?" Ashlynn said, looking over Nyrielle¡¯s altered figure and her dark, feathered wings. Seen up close, she realized that far more had changed about Nyrielle than just her wings, fangs, and eyes.


    Her entire body felt... longer. Her fingers were longer, more slender, and ended with long, sharp nails. Her legs had grown longer as had her arms and torso and in the process, the bones of her body felt sharper and more prominent as if her pale skin had been stretched to accommodate a longer, taller frame.


    Her face looked even sharper with higher cheekbones and eyes that weren¡¯t just dark, they felt like they¡¯d sunken deeper into the sockets of her eyes. It was a transformation that made her look fiercer, hungrier, and more inhuman than Ashlynn had ever seen her before.


    "Is this," Ashlynn began to ask, biting her lower lip as she sought the words. "Is this the real you? The ¡¯vampire¡¯ version of you? Is the face you usually show the world just a mask?"


    "It¡¯s not like that," Nyrielle said. "This is real. That is also real. I should have told you sooner but I didn¡¯t want you to..." I didn¡¯t want you to be afraid of me. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to say it but she felt it to her bones. She¡¯d shown Ashlynn early on what it looked like when she fed on others so that she would understand but she¡¯d never shown her this side of herself.


    "My savior," Ashlynn said, leaning in close and bestowing a kiss on Nyrielle¡¯s forehead before she pulled the other woman into bed with her. Up close, the vampire¡¯s presence was even more otherworldly and overwhelming but Ashlynn refused to flinch from this side of her lover.


    "You¡¯re beautiful," Ashlynn whispered, tracing her fingers along Nyrielle¡¯s cheek, down her neck and along the scoop of her dark lace dress just under the clavicle. "Like a raven swooping out of the darkness to snatch me back from the brink of death and disaster. My heroine."


    "You don¡¯t mind?" Nyrielle asked hesitantly. "I don¡¯t frighten you like this?"


    "You said that this is real, and so is the face you wore when we bound ourselves together," Ashlynn said. "I just need to get to know this face too. Your wings," she said, reaching out and tracing gently along the soft, black feathers of the graceful wings that Nyrielle had folded close against her back. "What do they feel like?"


    "Sensitive," the vampire said, her face heating involuntarily at Ashlynn¡¯s intimate caress. "When the wind flows through my wings I can feel every feather, like fingers through my hair but when you touch them, it¡¯s..." her breath caught as Ashlynn¡¯s exploring fingers found a particularly sensitive spot. "It¡¯s like you¡¯re touching the ridge of my hip or the skin of my thigh, it¡¯s very...."


    "Should I stop?" Ashlynn asked. This was a side of Nyrielle that she hadn¡¯t seen before. Uncertain and vulnerable in a way that was different than what she¡¯d seen the night before. It was as though she¡¯d expended her dominance on outsiders and what was left when they returned was a version of Nyrielle that was just as fragile as Ashlynn herself had been.


    Part of her wanted to scoop the vampire into her arms and offer her gentle comfort. They had both been through a great deal and simple touch alone would be comforting. A different part of her, however, wanted to go further than simple touch. To reassure Nyrielle with unmistakable actions that she accepted this version of her lover as well as the face she showed the world more frequently.


    "It¡¯s dangerous if you go to far when I¡¯m like this," Nyrielle said, capturing Ashlynn¡¯s hands again even though she wanted nothing more than to drown in the other woman¡¯s touch. "It¡¯s much, much harder for me to hold back when I¡¯m like this and you¡¯re far too intoxicating." S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You mean that I¡¯m too weak to stop you when you¡¯re like this," Ashlynn said, a trace of bitterness coloring her voice even though she tried to suppress it. "We¡¯re still too unequal, you and I. Will I ever catch up to you? Or will you always be impossibly far ahead of me."


    "Oh, you will catch me, I have no doubt," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn into a tight embrace and folding a wing around them. "You¡¯ve worked so hard, come so far, so fast. Some day, I may be the one feeling that things have grown too unequal between us. When that day comes, you must make sure to dote on me," she teased.


    "Then, then you have to dote on me more until I¡¯m the stronger one," Ashlynn said, a twinkle forming in her emerald eyes. "I¡¯ll only spoil you as much as you spoil me."


    "Then prepare yourself, my darling," Nyrielle said, her dark eyes beginning to return to normal as she withdrew much of her power. Her sharp features seemed to soften and she gasped as her wings visibly shrank before withdrawing back under her snow-white skin, leaving behind two faint red lines that ran down her finely sculpted back.


    "I will not feed on you tonight," she whispered, brushing her lips over Ashlynn¡¯s ear. "But that doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t devour you..."

 Chapter 140: Jocelynn’s Journey

    Chapter 140: Jocelynn¡¯s JourneyThis year, Jocelynn had come to truly despise carriages. Originally, she¡¯d protested when her father and Bors Lothian arranged for Ashlynn¡¯s wedding to take place very early in the spring. Nothing was in bloom during her sister¡¯s wedding and the nights were cold and chilly when they arrived in Lothian March. It almost never snowed in Blackwell County but there had still been snow on the ground in some places during the long carriage ride from her home to Lothian City.


    Now that she was making the trip in late spring during the height of the rainy season, Jocelynn understood all too well why her father had insisted that they either travel before the rains started or well into summer.


    The carriage rocked and swayed with every rut in the road, and her bones ached from days of being tossed about like she was in the belly of a ship in a storm. Even the cushions had become her enemies, turning lumpy and misshapen after the first few days of travel. The whole carriage needed a good wash inside and out after a few days, and no amount of potpourri could cover up the musty smell that had invaded the perpetually damp carpet on the floor of the carriage.


    The trip that had only taken ten days at the beginning of spring took fifteen now. Twice they¡¯d been forced to wait in tiny villages while rainstorms pelted the land and once they¡¯d been forced to backtrack to take a different road because a bridge had washed out on the route they were using and wouldn¡¯t be repaired for over a week.


    The landscape had changed dramatically since they left Blackwell County behind. Jocelynn found herself missing the cool salty breeze that always seemed to blow in from the sea. It had been replaced by fresher, chillier air that carried the scent of fresh cut timber and wet earth that in her mind she¡¯d come to associate with the untamed and uncivilized wilderness at the far edges of the Kingdom of Gaal.


    The gentle rolling hills of home had given way to steep, rocky slopes covered in ancient forests that the common folk were still working to pacify. She¡¯d lost count of how many logging camps and hunting lookouts they¡¯d passed in the days since leaving Blackwell County behind and she¡¯d long grown tired of playing the game where she tried to guess how many of the great trees that had been felled it would take to produce just one of the sailing ships in Blackwell Harbor.


    Even the villages they stopped in felt different. Back home, every settlement had boats pulled up on the shore and nets hanging out to dry. Here, the tiny hamlets they sheltered in were surrounded by wooden palisades, and Eleanor had noticed more than one village where their wooden walls bore deep gouges from attacks by demons.


    If not for the company of so many Templars traveling with them, she didn¡¯t know how she would have slept at night, especially with the strange noises that seemed to echo off the rocky hills after the sun went down.


    "We¡¯re getting close to Lothian City," their guard captain had announced that morning providing the news that Jocelynn had been waiting to hear for so many days. "We¡¯ll be following an old demon road from here on. It¡¯s more comfortable and faster travel, but keep your eyes on the tree line. There haven¡¯t been any reports of demons striking this deep in more than a decade but..." His voice trailed off with an uncertain shrug and the way he fingered his sword hilt while speaking did little to settle Jocelynn¡¯s nerves


    The time alone would wear on any young woman, but to Jocelynn, she felt like she¡¯d become a prisoner in a shaking, leaky wooden box. Worst of all, the woman she shared a carriage with seemed completely immune to the indignities of travel!


    Confessor Eleanor was the worst traveling companion that Jocelynn could imagine. Each time Jocelynn complained about some problem with their journey, the Confessor responded with a quote from scripture of some piece of ¡¯advice¡¯ intended for young women of virtue.


    "So long as one bathes in the light, they may thrive in any soil. When the strong are uprooted and placed in new lands, those who are mindful of the light will grow stronger wherever they arrive," Eleanor had said when Jocelynn complained that her body ached from several days of bouncing along the rough country roads.


    "I¡¯m sure I will thrive in Lothian March," Jocelynn said in a tone that Eleanor could only describe as petulant. "It¡¯s just getting there that¡¯s far too painful. How will anyone respect me if I look like a sodden battered cabbage by the time we arrive?" sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Peel away the outer leaves of the cabbage and the core is still good," Eleanor said patiently. "As long as long as you don¡¯t let things fester and rot within, then you will recover your splendor quickly enough that a moment of weakness will be quickly forgotten. Your sister made many trips to Lothian March after she was betrothed, didn¡¯t she? How did the travel affect her?"


    As much as she took her duty to guide this young woman seriously, Confessor Eleanor never forgot why she had been sent to accompany her on this journey to the Lothian Summer Villa. The Inquisition only had a misshapen birthmark as proof of the accusation that Ashlynn Blackwell was a witch. Thus far, no one had ever spoken of seeing her perform any witchcraft.


    Diarmuid had asked for a Confessor to collect information about the deceased Blackwell sister using ¡¯gentler methods¡¯ than those available to an Inquisitor. Now, whenever the opportunity presented itself, Eleanor encouraged Jocelynn to talk about her departed sister.


    The atmosphere in the carriage grew heavy as soon as Eleanor asked about Ashlynn. It was clear to her that Jocelynn had complex feelings about the matter, as any sister should. Making the decision to reveal her sister¡¯s witchcraft to her sister¡¯s husband couldn¡¯t be easy and the violence that followed would torment even the most devout followers of the Holy Lord of Light, to say nothing of a teenage girl.


    As obvious as Jocelynn¡¯s emotional wounds were, however, Eleanor didn¡¯t have the luxury of allowing them to heal over before getting her answers. In fact, the more raw and tender those wounds were, the easier it was to discover the truth in unintended utterances and hasty responses. She just had to keep prodding and eventually, she was certain that the truth would slip loose.

 Chapter 141: A Sister’s Memories

    Chapter 141: A Sister¡¯s Memories"Ashlynn isn¡¯t like me," Jocelynn said, looking out the window and fidgeting uncomfortably. She done the right thing, she was certain of it, but whenever Eleanor brought up Ashlynn it made her wonder if she should have done things differently. If she¡¯d had the courage to speak up before the wedding, things could have been rearranged to allow her to marry Owain instead.


    Now, everything had become so much more complicated. Eleanor had become one of the only people she could talk to who knew the truth of what had happened but somehow, the conversations about her sister never brought her any comfort.


    "Ashlynn always looked forward to these trips because she didn¡¯t get out of the manor very often," Jocelynn said after spending a few minutes gathering her thoughts. "It didn¡¯t matter whether it was hot or cold, raining or sunny, any excuse to leave the house was something she looked forward to."


    "Did she do anything interesting while she was away from home?" Eleanor asked gently. "Was there something she looked forward to more than anything else?" sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s silly," Jocelynn said. "We¡¯re supposed to be refined ladies but my big sister always played in the dirt with plants. On her first trip to Lothian March, she brought back a whole wagon load of plants in pots, just to try to grow them in her garden at home."


    "Her garden?" Eleanor asked, sitting up a little straighter. "She had her own?"


    "Mother spoiled her at home," Jocelynn said, though her voice lacked any trace of bitterness or jealousy. "Mother always tried to make sure that we were both given things together. If I got a new dress for a ball that Ashlynn couldn¡¯t attend, then mother bought Ashlynn a new book for her library, or new stationery or whatever she liked."


    "A garden all to yourself is different from getting a book instead of a dress," Eleanor pointed out. Each witch was unique but many of them drew power from natural things. More importantly, some of the most dangerous witches were adept with poisons and other foul concoctions which required rare ingredients. If she¡¯d asked for a place to grow her own collection of deadly herbs, it would be another piece of evidence that she really had been a practicing witch.


    "I asked my father for a horse of my own that year," Jocelynn said. "Mother said that since I would be able to tour the countryside as I wished to see its beauty, Ashlynn should have a place to bring the beauty of the countryside to her."


    "When she came back from Lothian March, she brought a different kind of apple tree than the ones we have at home, but she never got it to bear any fruit. Some of the bushes wouldn¡¯t bloom, but Mother said it was already a miracle none of her plants died after the hard trip."


    "Did she make things using the plants in her garden?" Eleanor asked directly.


    "Just arrangements of flowers," Jocelynn said. "She gave them to Mother and I all spring and summer long. In the autumn, sometimes she had vegetables that she¡¯d give to the cooks to turn into special dishes," she added, shaking her head. "Can you believe it? The daughter of a count, growing vegetables like a common farmer."


    "Different people see the world in different ways," Eleanor said, leaning back on her seat in the swaying carriage and looking out the window herself. Once she got the full story out of Jocelynn it sounded less like witchcraft and more like... a desire for something simple and normal. Maybe the illusion of freedom.


    It was clear from the stories Jocelynn told that her family all believed Ashlynn¡¯s mark of the witch to be genuine. They kept her isolated from the world much of the time, turning her into the ghost of Blackwell Manor.


    When Eleanor talked to the servants accompanying them, many of them said they¡¯d only rarely spoken with the eldest Blackwell girl. They had seen her sitting and observing Count Rhys Blackwell when he held court and she seemed to spend much of her time studiously in the library of the manor.


    Many of the household staff thought that she had a frail constitution and a weak body, incapable of bearing the strain of large gatherings or long trips. Others said that she spent all of her time trying to find ways to assist her father since he had no sons to bear the burdens of the Blackwell name in the future. They felt that Owain was lucky to have married a woman who would be so helpful in leading Lothian March in the future.


    The more she learned and the clearer her image of Ashlynn Blackwell became, the less certain Eleanor was that she¡¯d done anything the church would have executed her for. There were no tales of strange events late at night, no stories of mysterious disappearances or misfortune seeming to haunt people who had offended the eldest Blackwell daughter.


    It was the petty things that most frequently exposed young women who had begun to consort with demons or practice black magic. A girl who won the favor of a boy they both liked would find herself unable to speak or her hair would turn gray and fall out. A parent who was firm with discipline would suffer unexplainable falls or find themselves attacked by feral dogs when venturing out of the house.


    Petty conflicts were a normal part of growing up, but when a child had access to dark powers that others couldn¡¯t defend against, they tended to make the mistake of using it without restraint. But Eleanor found no such stories when she listened to people speak about Ashlynn Blackwell.


    Rather, the young lady seemed like the type of studious, filial daughter that would spark envy from a number of rivals, likely without understanding why anyone would envy her in the first place.


    It was still much too soon to draw any conclusions, but the more she spoke with Jocelynn, the more she agreed with Diarmuid¡¯s assessments. There was something more going on here than a simple accusation of witchcraft, and it reminded her far more of secular scheming than demonic intervention.


    As she continued to talk to Lady Jocelynn about her deceased sister, Eleanor paid just as much attention to the young woman¡¯s body language as she did to her words. Sometimes, she saw misty eyes that could be said to be swimming with grief. Most of the time, however, she saw anxious fidgeting, guilty eyes that wouldn¡¯t meet her own, and a voice that trembled with occasional fear.


    Whether it was fear of being caught in a lie or fear that she might suffer the same fate as her sister, Eleanor couldn¡¯t say. All she could say was that the truth was buried in darkness, and she wouldn¡¯t rest until she¡¯d brought it into the light.

 Chapter 142: Owain’s New Knights

    Chapter 142: Owain¡¯s New KnightsIt was late in the day at the Lothian castle when Owain gathered several of his new companions to welcome Lady Jocelynn Blackwell to Lothian March.


    For several days, Owain had struggled to contain his growing impatience with the delays in his future bride¡¯s arrival. Every carrier pigeon that brought word of a washed-out bridge, a bad storm or some other setback on her journey just made the time he spent waiting more unbearable.


    Under his father¡¯s orders, he had gone to each of the western barons seeking support to hunt the demons responsible for slaughtering Sir Broll and any trace of the mysterious ¡¯Lynnda¡¯ or the missing kitchen boy ¡¯Ollie.¡¯ In order to secure the support of those barons quickly enough, he¡¯d made a number of promises and concessions.


    Now, as one day of delay had turned into two, and two turned into four, he cursed the promises he¡¯d made and the price he¡¯d paid when it turned out to be completely unnecessary.


    Standing next to him in the courtyard, Sir Rian Aleese looked positively smug. The portly man was built much like the boar that adorned his green and white shield, with a pronounced underbite and a jaw that resembled a hunting hound¡¯s.


    Despite his poor looks and his frequently crude demeanor, he had secured an appointment as one of Owain¡¯s new personal guards, replacing the fallen Sir Broll as a permanent member of Owain¡¯s staff.


    Rian¡¯s older brother would likely be the next Baron Aleese within a few years and the old Baron had been almost eager to see his younger son taken away where he couldn¡¯t cause trouble with the succession in upcoming years.


    To his other side, the hawk-nosed and blade-thin Sir Hugo Hanrahan at least managed to look refined and dignified. As Owain¡¯s new Steward, Sir Hugo was poised to rise far above the station he should normally have been entitled to.


    Securing his services had cost more than almost anyone else, but Baron Hanrahan insisted that his bastard son be given a proper title and the ability to found his own family line so long as he served well.


    Promising a title to a second son wouldn¡¯t have been too big of a problem for Owain. As the future Marquis of Lothian, he still had vast unsettled areas where he could issue a decree to construct a village and install a loyal retainer as the new lord of the land. This would be especially easy after they secured the rich lands of Airgead Mountain or the fertile fields of the Southern Steppe.


    The problem was that Hugo bore the stigma of a bastard, born to a scullery maid that his father bedded in a night of drunken revels as a much younger man. Now, Hugo¡¯s questionable status would cling to Owain wherever he went.


    Worse, bastards like Hugo were hated by noblemen and commoners alike. Nobles disdained their impure origins while commoners resented the way men like Hugo could rise above the station of their mother just because of an accident of birth. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As Owain¡¯s steward, no matter how capable Hugo was, he would always have to work against the stigma that haunted him, and that stigma would make him a less effective tool for Owain¡¯s use.


    As Jocelynn¡¯s carriage pulled into the courtyard, he tried to banish the traces of disgruntlement from his face, putting on a joyous expression as he strode eagerly toward the carriage door.


    "Lady Jocelynn," he said warmly as the tired-looking young woman exited the carriage. "Sister-in-law, this journey must have been hard on you," he said, taking both of her hands and helping her down from the carriage.


    Compared to Ashlynn, Owain found the younger Blackwell sister to be even more to his liking. While her chest was a touch more humble, she made up for it with a taller figure and paler seafoam green eyes that were bright even in the fading evening light.


    More than her figure, however, it was the natural poise she possessed, the light way that she laughed on the occasions that they¡¯d spoken, and her more outgoing and cheerful demeanor that had called out to him in a way that Ashlynn¡¯s subdued, intellectual beauty never had.


    Now, however, that bubbly smile seemed to have wilted under the strain of her journey and she moved with a stiffness that robbed her of any of the grace she¡¯d displayed before. Before he could say anything further, however, the Confessor emerged from the carriage behind Jocelynn, her presence quickly reminding Owain that he needed to maintain appearances, especially in the presence of so many onlookers.


    There would be time for flirtatious words and ¡¯accidental¡¯ touches later, when there weren¡¯t any witnesses who could see it as improper from a married man to the woman who was supposed to be his sister-in-law.


    "It¡¯s been a longer than expected journey, Lord Owain," Jocelynn said politely, offering Owain a weak smile. Here he stood, dashing and elegant as always with soft hair that fluttered lightly in the wind and strong hands that held her own, yet she felt like a soggy worn-out shoe in his handsome presence.


    The world was too unfair! This was her first time meeting him again since their families had agreed that she would take her sister¡¯s place in a little over a year¡¯s time. It should have been a magical, romantic moment when she could flutter her eyelashes at him and they could gaze into each other¡¯s eyes like lovers finally reuniting.


    Instead, she only wanted a hot bath and a fresh change of clothing to wash away the aches and smells of the journey. After so many days of travel, she actually stepped back from Owain, afraid that he would catch a whiff of the scents of the journey that had seeped into her clothing and even her hair after so many days of travel. The thought of him wrinkling his nose at her as soon as they reunited was something she just couldn¡¯t bear!


    "You seem very tired," Owain said gently. "Please, call me ¡¯brother-in-law¡¯ or just Owain, we¡¯re family now. Come, I¡¯ve had a feast prepared for your arrival. Sir Hugo has prepared a place for you to refresh yourself and then we can talk at tonight¡¯s feast."


    "Lady Jocelynn," the hawk-nosed man said, stepping forward and bowing deeply enough to disguise the lingering look he gave her rounded bosom and curvy figure. "I¡¯ll have your belongings tended to while you freshen up, just follow me and I¡¯ll see that you¡¯re well taken care of."


    "I¡¯ll be accompanying her," Confessor Eleanor said, stepping up next to her young charge. Jocelynn might be busy looking at Owain with star-filled eyes but she hadn¡¯t missed the way that the collection of ¡¯knights¡¯ had eyed her young charge.


    It seemed like matters in the frontier were wilder and less refined than she¡¯d given them credit for. These young noblemen looked less like honorable guard dogs than ravenous wolves. Looking at the Templars who had accompanied them on the journey, Eleanor waived one of them to follow along as well. Seeing these men, she finally understood why Count Rhys had wanted a confessor to protect Jocelynn¡¯s virtue until she could wed Owain Lothian.


    Now, more than ever, she was glad she¡¯d left the family behind and given her life over to the Church. She would never have to worry about a father trading her away to men like these in the name of politics. As she walked behind the starry-eyed Lady Jocelynn, she couldn¡¯t help but shake her head at the young woman¡¯s actions.


    Owain might be the future Marquis, but in the eyes of Confessor Eleanor, he was no different from the scoundrels he surrounded himself with.

 Chapter 143: A Decadent Gathering

    Chapter 143: A Decadent GatheringWith the arrival of so many esteemed guests, the feast Owain prepared needed to be far grander than the sad affair that had welcomed him to the summer villa. This time, even though his father Bors declared that it should be a feast for the young ones, more than fifty distinguished guests had arrived to fill the tables of the great hall.


    The cooks had begun work as soon as they received a message the night before that Jocelynn would be arriving today. Three whole venison, two large boars and countless fowl had been roasted on giant spits before being placed on the feasting tables for carving.


    Casks of wine had been tapped just for this occasion and hopped ale flowed freely from kegs brought by the Church of the Holy Lord of Light. If Owain had one complaint for the evening it was that the casks of foamy ale weren¡¯t the only things that had come from the temple at the heart of the city.


    "Loman," Owain said, throwing his arms open wide to greet his younger brother. "I thought that you had taken a vow of isolation these past few months. What made you carry your shoes all the way here to attend our little gathering?"


    Loman did his best not to frown at the festivities taking place in the great hall. The musicians played bright, joyous songs and the tumblers and jugglers provided a lively mood. If these were the only entertainers his brother had arranged, it would have been within the bounds of propriety.


    His brother, or perhaps his new Steward Hugo, had gone further to ¡¯enhance the ambiance.¡¯ All around the great hall, attractive men and women had been painted in silver and gold body paint to resemble nude statues perched on pedestals atop tables covered with sweets and confections. These ¡¯living statues¡¯ moved from one suggestive pose to another while some guests called out suggestions for more ¡¯interesting¡¯ poses. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I don¡¯t remember your feasts having quite this tone, Brother," Loman said, struggling to keep the disapproval from his voice. "Are you sure this is the way for a married man to welcome his sister-in-law?"


    "Pay it no mind," Owain said, guiding his brother up to the high table where the other distinguished guests waited. "I¡¯m told that this has become popular in the Royal Capital recently, it¡¯s only now making its way out here. I wouldn¡¯t want my beloved Ashlynn¡¯s sister thinking of us as country bumpkins in the hills, would I?"


    "It is indeed a trend in the Royal Capital," a crisp, authoritative voice said from behind Loman as they walked toward the high table. It had been Inquisitor Diarmuid who pressured Loman into coming to the banquet in the first place.


    Clearly, the younger Lothian brother was still uncomfortable around Owain, especially with the casual way that the elder brother lied about his murdered wife. Since it had been his need to attend that forced the younger brother back into his ancestral home, Diarmuid felt that taking the attention off of him was the least he could do.


    "This trend actually started in the Holy City," Diarmuid explained. "People would assume poses from sacred art while ¡¯Clad only in Light,¡¯ during important gatherings in the church. The imitations, however, are much less... spiritual," he said, turning away from the painted, posing men and women.


    "Inquisitor," Owain said as he struggled to maintain his composure. His last encounter with the Inquisitor had been far from pleasant, but they could hardly bar one of the Church¡¯s investigators from Lothian Manor, even if he wanted to. "I hadn¡¯t expected you to be joining us."


    "I came to see Confessor Eleanor," the sharp-featured Inquisitor said, looking around pointedly. "She and I are old acquaintances from the Holy City."


    "She¡¯ll be arriving with Lady Jocelynn," Owain said, taking his seat at the high table and gesturing for Owain to take the seat across from him. To many, it would have been an insult, forcing his own brother to turn in his seat if he wanted to view the entertainment, but Loman took it as a kindness instead. Despite how little they¡¯d seen each other in the past few years, his brother still understood him well.


    "Lord Loman," a dark-skinned knight with a shaved head greeted him warmly when he joined them. "Since you¡¯ve come, does that mean that you and the Inquisitor will be joining us for the hunt?"


    "Sir Tiernan," Loman greeted politely. Of all the men that his brother seemed to have brought to this gathering, he was pleasantly surprised to see the Blackhammer Knight among them.


    While Tiernan had a questionable reputation when it came to his conduct in brothels, he was known as an avid hunter of demons who routinely brought offerings of horns, claws, tails and other proof of kills to the church. Loman had encouraged him to join the Templars on more than one occasion but the powerfully built knight refused to give up his pleasures for a life of service.


    Before Loman could answer, the doors to the great hall opened wide to admit a dazzling blonde woman wearing a seafoam blue gown followed by a more subdued looking woman in the robes of a confessor. When she appeared, the music stopped, the jugglers paused and all eyes turned to see the guest of honor making her entrance.


    As the footman loudly announced her name, a smile spread across Jocelynn¡¯s bow-shaped lips. Tired as she was from her travels, this was the moment she had craved. For what felt like the first time in her life, she wasn¡¯t announced as ¡¯accompanying Count and Countess Blackwell¡¯, nor was she announced in tandem with her sister Ashlynn.


    All eyes gathered on her as the guest of honor and she drank in the attention as she glided across the stone floor to greet the handsome and dashing Owain Lothian.


    "Brother-in-law," she said, offering a polite curtsey when she reached the high table. "I must have been a dreadful sight when I arrived. I hope you¡¯ll forget about it now that I¡¯ve had the chance to make a proper appearance."


    Several of the knights at the high table stood when she arrived and a few of them cast covetous glances at the stunning younger sister of their liege lord¡¯s wife. None of them had been important enough to receive wedding invitations when Owan and Ashlynn were married but now that they got a look at the younger Blackwell Sister, they understood instantly how the elder sister would have captivated someone as notorious for chasing skirts as Owain Lothian.


    "Sister-in-law is as radiant as the sun," Owain praised, taking her hand and escorting her to her seat at the table. "We were just about to discuss an upcoming hunt for the demons who made trouble near the Summer Villa," he said as she sat.


    "The conversation won¡¯t be too," Owain hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Too unsettling for you, will it?"


    "Nothing is more important than my sister¡¯s safety," Jocelynn said smoothly. "Demons are unholy creatures that must be purged from the land so the people can know peace and prosperity. I would be delighted to hear about your upcoming hunt."


    "After all," she added, looking up at Owain¡¯s handsome face through fluttering lashes. "I¡¯ll sleep better knowing how the hero of Lothian March is going to keep his people safe from the demon scourge."

 Chapter 144: Demons In Lothian March (Part One)

    Chapter 144: Demons In Lothian March (Part One)"I¡¯ll sleep better knowing how the hero of Lothian March is going to keep his people safe from the demon scourge."


    Jocelynn¡¯s words were well received by everyone at the table and many lifted their goblets in a toast to Owain¡¯s health and future hunt. One person, however, seemed less optimistic about this hunt than the others.


    "I¡¯m hoping that Lord Owain is like the heroes of old," Sir Tiernan said, offering a subdued toast. "Demon hunting is dangerous business, especially in the western forests."


    "Lord Owain has fought and slain demons before," Sir Hugo quickly interjected, not wanting to see his new employer embarrassed. "And we have you with us as well, Sir Tiernan. Surely we have nothing to fear from mangy demons with so many brave knights gathered."


    "I would never say anything to disrespect Lord Owain, or to question his prowess in battle," the dark-skinned night said. While his words were polite, his tone was anything but apologetic. "It¡¯s just, from the stories I¡¯ve heard, Lord Owain¡¯s accomplishments were all earned on the Southern Steppe fighting the minions of the Horse Lord. Things in the mountain forests are different than they are on the Southern Steppe."


    "Aren¡¯t they just demons?" Jocelynn said brightly. "The demons survive to this day because humans can¡¯t be everywhere at once, so some may live where we have not yet gone. But anywhere Lord Owain chooses to stand, what can they do but die?"


    While Ashlynn had studied the history of Lothian March in detail, including records from many of the important battles or first-person accounts from knights and lords who had carved out a life on the frontier, Jocelynn¡¯s perspective was more shallow.


    Three hundred years ago, all of the land now claimed by the Kingdom of Gaal was owned by demons. Once humans established their kingdom, under the grace of the Church, demons had been driven back year over year and humans had only grown stronger and more prosperous. Victory, in her mind, was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.


    "It¡¯s not quite that simple, my Lady," Confessor Eleanor said politely from her side. "Demons have many forms and each one is a different kind of threat to face. No one can guarantee victory in every battle, even if we are sure to win the war."


    "A demon is a demon," Hugo insisted, scowling at the woman beside the dazzling Lady Jocelynn. He was enjoying being seated at the high table near such an exquisite beauty but the Confessor next to her buzzed like a fly in fine wine. "Dead is dead, whether by lance or sword. Lord Owain will not be troubled by minor differences."


    "You¡¯re making a mistake, Hugo," Sir Tiernan countered, leaning on the table and glaring at the bastard. From what he¡¯d heard, the man had made all of his accomplishments as a clerk and scholar and had only been trained as a warrior in case something unfortunate became of his younger, legitimate brother. Making a good impression on your liege lord was one thing, but stupidity and ignorance couldn¡¯t be tolerated when facing demons.


    "On the Steppe, you can wear full plate over mail and fight from horseback," the dark-skinned knight explained. "Those horse demons might be quick, but their arrows barely scratch good armor. In the forest," he said, letting his voice trail off as he glanced around the table.


    "In the forest, you have to leave almost all of that behind. Forget plate armor entirely, just wearing a coat of mail is a struggle through the thick brush."


    "Sir Tiernan is wise to offer his advice," Loman said, nodding at the bald knight, grateful for at least one voice of reason among his brother¡¯s new companions. The temple¡¯s archives held detailed accounts of demon-hunting expeditions, both successful and tragic. These boasting knights with their casual attitudes toward demon hunting reminded him far too much of the tragic accounts.


    "He¡¯s well known at the temple for returning from the deepest forests in the western mountains with proof of demons slain. In this generation, there may be no knight greater than him in single combat against the demons," Loman praised.


    There wasn¡¯t much that he could do to help his brother and despite many days of quiet contemplation, he still wasn¡¯t sure whether he should or not. It wasn¡¯t easy to look at his brother the same way he once had after learning how he¡¯d brutally murdered his wife on the mere suspicion that she was a witch.


    At the same time, no one deserved to die at the hands of the demons, and his brother was responsible for more lives than his own. He just hoped that throwing a bit of support behind Sir Tiernan would help wake these other men up to the dangers that still lurked in the forests of Lothian March.


    "The demons of the mountain forests are still mongrels compared to the Southern Steppe and Airgead Mountain," Owain said, brushing off the concerns of others. "It isn¡¯t until you enter the Vale of Mists that they truly become a threat."


    "If that¡¯s the case," Sir Tiernan countered. "Then what is it that happened to Sir Broll when he ventured into the western forests? Anyone who has ever fought him says that fighting Sir Broll was like fighting a force of nature, even when he dismounted."


    "But without his armor, fighting demons in the forest, he was ripped apart so badly that all we¡¯ve managed to find are pieces of him," the knight said, suppressing a shudder at the idea of how Broll must have suffered in his final moments. "I understand that all of the pieces of his body still haven¡¯t been found."


    Both Loman and Inquisitor Diarmuid perked up their ears as they looked to Owain Lothian for a response. It had been several weeks since Sir Broll¡¯s tragic death and neither of them had heard a satisfactory answer to what had happened in the woods. Now, they were hoping that Owain would present some answers.


    The men from the Church weren¡¯t the only ones who were interested in what had happened. All around the high table, people paused in their eating, leaning closer to the conversation at the center of the table.


    News of Sir Broll and Sir Kaefin¡¯s deaths had rocked high society in Lothian City and many rumors circulated from an affair with a kitchen girl gone wrong to the rise of a witch that consorted with demons but no one knew the truth. Perhaps, they were finally about to find out.


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 Chapter 145: Demons in Lothian March (Part Two)

    Chapter 145: Demons in Lothian March (Part Two)"We¡¯ve sent more hunters and trackers into the area," Owain said, tearing into roasted lamb chop as though he wasn¡¯t concerned about matters and gesturing with the bone to punctuate his statements. Despite the heavy gazes, he tried to downplay how serious things were. The last thing he wanted was to set off a wave of panic among the young nobles and wealthy merchants who had come to his feast.


    "They found tracks of horned demons mixed in with several other demon tracks in the area," Owain said, as though it was an ordinary occurrence. "We think that woman, Lynnda, led Broll and his men into a nest of spider demons, and then a fight broke out between the demons to devour everyone," Owain explained. "Spider demons are well known for taking their kills back to their nests to devour. That¡¯s why we haven¡¯t found any other remains. For this hunt, we¡¯re going to seek out the nest of spiders and burn it to the ground."


    "Wait," Sir Rian said, his attention finally pulled away from the painted women posing in the hall when he heard a mention of spider demons. "You only mentioned tracks of horned demons. No one said anything about fighting spider demons!"


    "As my charming sister-in-law said, it¡¯s not much different when you get right down to it," Owain said, giving the golden-haired young woman a dazzling smile. "All of them burn. I intend to bring enough blessed oil to make the forest resemble the setting sun at night."


    Across the table from him, Loman wore a slightly pained expression. He and Owain weren¡¯t children anymore, but he couldn¡¯t help but wish their father was present. When Owain had been sent to the Southern Steppe to gain experience fighting demons, it clearly helped to build his confidence but he was still underestimating the demons far too much.


    Bors had never been shy about giving his sons a good verbal tongue-lashing when they stepped truly out of line, nor was he above physically impressing on them the importance of his words. Now that he seemed to be stepping back to allow Owain to build his own strength as a leader, Loman was increasingly afraid that no one could make his brother see reason.


    "Why don¡¯t you bring an Inquisitor instead?" Diarmuid said, leaning forward, his dark eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. He still had many questions that needed answers, but if he could both embed himself with Owain¡¯s hunting party to gather information and burn down a nest of demons in the process then it was as good as reaping two harvests at once.


    "I know your family has quite the stockpile of blessed oil, but a conflagration of that size can be difficult for your own men to escape," Diarmuid explained. "I¡¯ll bring a pair of Templars with me to secure our flanks. This way, Brother Loman won¡¯t have to worry about his brother¡¯s safety facing demons."


    Owain¡¯s hand tightened on his goblet as he forced himself to adopt a pleasant demeanor. While it was true that bringing an Inquisitor and a pair of Templars into the forest would make the expedition safer, it would also complicate his plans tremendously.


    The existence of a nest of spider demons was pure speculation on his father¡¯s part. They¡¯d seen no real proof of it, but it was the only possibility they could come up with unless a group of flat-tailed demons had used the bodies of the slain as logs in one of their dams somewhere.


    The problem was that he never intended to confront demons in the first place. The rainy season this year had come early and with unexpected fury. His trip to Blackwell County had already been delayed by the need to resolve matters near the Summer Villa and he didn¡¯t want to waste more time than he had to.


    He had originally planned to spend a few days searching the woods around the summer villa for any traces of demon camps or hidden nests. A simple search could be done in four or five days and provide a level of assurance that nothing threatened the villa itself. After that, he would declare that the demons had ¡¯escaped¡¯, call off the search and be about his business.


    Now, however, he had two problems. First, an Inquisitor wouldn¡¯t easily give up the search. They could be in the forest for a month without finding anything and as long as there was a tiny thread to follow, the Inquisitor would keep pushing. Second, and almost worse from Owain¡¯s perspective, he would have to share any glory that he earned with the Church. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    This entire hunting trip was his father¡¯s punishment for events at the villa. Giving up because there was nothing to find was one thing. As long as he put in the work, Bors Lothian would likely forgive his son and heir. If he came home with stories that the Lothians couldn¡¯t hunt demons without the aid of the Church, however, he was likely to suffer an even worse punishment.


    "Inquisitor Diarmuid," Owain said, politely schooling his features to display a welcoming grin. "I know that you¡¯re a busy man. I couldn¡¯t possibly impose on you and your Templars when we aren¡¯t a hundred percent assured of finding a nest of demons to eradicate."


    "Nonsense," the Inquisitor insisted. "It is the duty of the Inquisition to find evil wherever it dwells," he said, giving Owain a pointed look. "The searing flames of the Holy Lord of Light cannot be resisted. Having us close at hand is a boon for every righteous man, wouldn¡¯t you agree?"


    Sweat broke out on Owain¡¯s brow under the intensity of the Inquisitor¡¯s stare. While his brother might take the hint that his meddling wasn¡¯t welcome, and by extension, the meddling of the Church, Inquisitor Diarmuid was built of much sterner stuff.


    "Please, Brother-in-law," Jocelynn said, placing a hand on his arm. She could feel the tension in his muscles even through his fine tunic and knew she needed to give him a graceful way to yield. Looking up at him with wide, seafoam green eyes, she continued.


    "I know you are brave and mighty, but the demons may be cunning and devious. Since Inquisitor Diarmuid offered, you should accept his help. I¡¯m sure my sister would be devastated if anything were to happen to you, and so would I," she said, placing extra emphasis on her last four words.


    "Well then," Owain said, swallowing his resentment along with a mouthful of strong wine before putting on the best smile he could manage. "Since my sister-in-law wishes it, I suppose I can¡¯t refuse. Inquisitor Diarmuid," he added, raising his goblet high. "A toast! To drowning demons in holy fire!"

 Chapter 146: Lady Heila

    Chapter 146: Lady HeilaFor Ashlynn, the final hours she¡¯d spent with Nyrielle before sunrise had been among the most tender that the two women had yet shared. It seemed impossible for the vampire to restrain herself completely from sampling Ashlynn¡¯s blood, but this time around, the blood seemed secondary to her desire to help Ashlynn heal.


    From her toes to her head, Nyrielle¡¯s lips slid up Ashlynn¡¯s body, pausing whenever there was a wound that broke the surface of the skin. This time, Ashlynn¡¯s injuries had been frighteningly severe with dozens of cuts from shards of ice, including one gash that ran almost the entire length of her thigh.


    Ashlynn¡¯s own healing powers were considerable, any normal human would likely have succumbed, not from the injuries directly, but from being plunged into icy water and forced to endure everything that had followed her battle with the Tuscans.


    When Nyrielle¡¯s lips encountered one of Ashlynn¡¯s wounds she bit the tender flesh softly, just enough to stimulate the flow of blood before gently kissing the wound. A vampire¡¯s bite healed in hours instead of days. Spreading her power to other wounds would allow Ashlynn to return to her full strength within a day or at most two.


    The two women hadn¡¯t stopped at intimacy that fueled healing. Both of them craved the touch of the other after Ashlynn¡¯s brush with death on the frozen lake. That night, it had been Ashlynn¡¯s nails that tore at Nyrielle¡¯s flesh, deeply marking her lover as she clung to the most important person in her life.


    It was only when dawn pulled them apart that Ashlynn realized how drained she was. The darkness of the room combined with the soft furs and warm bed pulled her directly to sleep. Her dreams that night were strange, filled with visions of Nyrielle at glorious balls where the two danced the night away or quiet moments spent in Nyrielle¡¯s chambers where she kept her lover company while Nyrielle painted the scenery of the Vale of Mists.


    The dreams felt more real, clearer, and without the random feeling occurrences that so often intruded in dreams. When she woke, her memories of the dreams faded quickly, leaving her with a warm and cozy feeling like she had spent the day sleeping in Nyrielle¡¯s arms even though her lover had retreated to her darksteel-lined daybed and would remain there until the sun set.


    Now that she was awake, she had to resist the urge to seek out Hauke or Lord Ritchel to discuss the happenings last night. From the revelations about Paulus¡¯s treachery to the strange blood magic used on the Frost Walker ancestors, there were many things that could be discussed while Nyrielle still slept.


    Unfortunately, Nyrielle had forbidden it. Lord Ritchel¡¯s people had lost much of her trust when it came to keeping Ashlynn safe during the day so instead, Ashlynn washed and dressed herself before asking the guards outside the door to fetch her a meal.


    It was a surprise, not many minutes later, when Heila arrived with freshly baked bread and a delicate fish soup for her breakfast.


    "How is it that you¡¯re up and about already?" Ashlynn asked between mouthfuls of soft, fluffy bread. She hadn¡¯t noticed until Heila brought food for her but it had been more than a full day since her last meal and she was truly ravenous. "Shouldn¡¯t you be resting after yesterday¡¯s ordeal?"


    "My Lady," Heila said awkwardly, having a hard time meeting Ashlynn¡¯s eyes. If it was before, she could still laugh and joke a bit with the strange human who had become an increasingly important part of her life. Now, however, her heart hung heavy with shame after watching helplessly as first Hauke and then Ashlynn both had to rescue her.


    "Madame Zedya already gave me the whole night to sleep when we returned," Heila said. "After you did so much yesterday, I couldn¡¯t bear it if I wasn¡¯t here to help you once you woke."


    "Oh, Heila," Ashlynn said, kneeling down next to the diminutive horned woman. "You rescued me too yesterday. Without you, I might have been pulled down to the bottom of the lake. You were very brave and I¡¯m very lucky to have you helping me, but you shouldn¡¯t push too hard."


    "I know," Heila said bitterly. "I know that I¡¯m weak and I can¡¯t fight. I know you don¡¯t need me to protect you, just like Lady Nyrielle doesn¡¯t need Madame Zedya to protect her. But, compared to Zedya, I¡¯m much too useless. So, at least I can do these small things for you," she said. Her eyes turned misty and drops began to fall from her eyes as she stared at the cold, stone floor.


    "Hey, look at me," Ashlynn said gently, reaching out and lifting Heila¡¯s chin until their eyes met. "You aren¡¯t like Zedya. Of course, you can¡¯t do what she can do. But you still do so many things that I count on you for, and not just fetching meals or helping me dress."


    "Ever since I came to the Vale of Mists, you¡¯ve helped me to understand countless things," Ashlynn said. The Eldritch people had so many different customs to learn and the Vale of Mists had been like a whole new country to her. In many ways, Heila had been just as much of a tutor to her as the scholars she learned from at home. "I¡¯d be very, very lost without you, so don¡¯t go looking down on yourself now."


    "Then, you¡¯re not going to have me replaced?" Heila said, her lower lip quivering. She¡¯d replayed the events of that day countless times and she kept thinking that someone like Virve suited Lady Ashlynn much better. Someone who was older, wiser, and dependable enough to fight back when their enemies attacked.


    "Heila, you are my first friend in the Vale of Mists," Ashlynn said firmly. "You should get the same level of treatment that Ollie does with a nice room down the hall from me. This is my fault," she said after a few moments of thinking. "I¡¯ve let you continue on like one of the other servants when that¡¯s not what you are to me at all."


    "But, my Lady," Heila said, confused by what Ashlynn was saying. If she wasn¡¯t a servant, what was she? "I¡¯ve been a servant in the castle since I was tall enough to scrub the floors. If I¡¯m not your personal servant, then what am I?"


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, her tone becoming very solemn. "I¡¯ve vowed to kill Owain Lothian for what he did to me, but killing him isn¡¯t enough. Since he dared to marry me and then betray me, then I will take what is mine from him. I will become the Marchioness of Lothian March. As a Marchioness, I¡¯m allowed to have my own knights. Maybe one day, Ollie will be ¡¯Sir Ollie.¡¯"


    "At the same time," Ashlynn said with a smile blossoming on her face. "I¡¯m allowed to have my own ladies-in-waiting. I still need to rely on you for all the things you do now, but also much, much more. So, will you be my first lady-in-waiting? Lady Heila?" Ashlynn asked.


    "I, I can¡¯t," Heila said, stepping back and bowing her head deeply. "I¡¯m not reliable enough, I¡¯m not worthy, not after..."


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, reaching out and scooping the horned woman into her arms. "I¡¯m not a proper witch yet. I¡¯m not a very good Seneschal yet either. But I¡¯m learning to be both of those things. You may not be ready yet, but after yesterday, I know you can be. If you want to."


    "Please," Ashlynn whispered, gently stroking the horned woman¡¯s hair. "Let me be a good Lady who¡¯s worthy of your service. Let me take care of you a little and recognize you for what you¡¯re becoming. A servant can only come so close, but a lady-in-waiting can also be my friend. You¡¯ve been that for a while now, so let me tell everyone else. That way, they¡¯ll know they have to respect my friend too."


    "Is, is it really okay?" Heila asked, pulling back to look at Ashlynn with a watery gaze. "Will Lady Nyrielle allow it?"


    "After yesterday, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll let me be this willful," Ashlynn said. "Now, stand up, the floor is cold. I¡¯m going to ask one of the men outside to fetch another portion because I¡¯m very hungry. If you¡¯re hungry too, I¡¯ll have him fetch one for you as well," she said decisively. "It would be nice, after yesterday, to have a meal with a friend, wouldn¡¯t it?"


    "Yes," Heilla said, nodding her head eagerly. "It, it would be nice to have a meal together... Ashlynn," she said, smiling for the first time since she¡¯d woken early in the morning.


    She hadn¡¯t entirely understood Zedya when they arrived, but after facing life and death together with Ashlynn, she felt like she finally understood why Zedya would give so much for Lady Nyrielle. She knew that she still had much to learn to be worthy of the trust Ashlynn was extending to her but she promised herself that even if she wasn¡¯t worthy of the title Lady Ashlynn was extending to her now, she would live up to it soon enough. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 147: The Fate of Traitors

    Chapter 147: The Fate of TraitorsWhen Zedya arrived outside the icy prison cell that held Paulus and Torsten she was both surprised and slightly dismayed to find an exhausted-looking Captain Lennart standing outside the prison.


    The Frost Walkers had sent their own guards, of course, and from the look of the men sent by Lord Ritchel, they were refreshed and had only recently come on shift. By contrast, the bearish captain¡¯s rounded ears drooped with fatigue, and his relaxed posture leaning against the wall concealed how much difficulty he was having just standing at the post he¡¯d assigned himself.


    "Little Lenny," Zedya said, gliding across the floor to him before reaching up to cup his cheek. "What are you still doing here? These men won¡¯t escape. It would have been fine to allow one of the wagon drivers or someone else to watch and report if my instructions weren¡¯t followed."


    "Hm, hm," Lennart could only chuckle in response. Among all the soldiers in Nyrielle¡¯s army, the number of people who would still call him ¡¯Lenny¡¯ likely amounted to no more than five. But before Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, none of them could escape their embarrassing youth.


    "Isn¡¯t it the oath, Madame Zedya?" Lennart said lightly, pushing off the wall and saluting respectfully. "When she sleeps, we carry her will. Anyone could watch, but if one of those Elders came to cause trouble, could any wagon driver stand up to represent Lady Nyrielle¡¯s will?"


    "And?" Zedya asked lightly, her amethyst eyes moist with concern. He had lost a soldier but instead of taking the time to grieve, he was standing guard over their captives. If this wasn¡¯t punishing himself, she couldn¡¯t think of any other reason for him to be here. Or perhaps, as a good commander should, he was standing here so others under his command could grieve. "Did anyone come to cause trouble?"


    "He didn¡¯t cause trouble," the bearish soldier said with a shake of his head. "But Commander Jannik still wanted to ask questions of Elder Paulus. He wanted to understand why his old friend would betray them so badly. I gather that Jannik lost a nephew to Paulus¡¯s schemes a few years ago."


    "Then take a message to him," Zedya said, turning her gaze to the prisoners. "Tell him that Paulus believed that fewer people would die this way than if he let the Tuscans rampage without control. Tell him that Paulus wanted to choose the most ¡¯expendable¡¯ people in his nation so they didn¡¯t lose any treasures like his own grandson. Tell him that Paulus thought he would be remembered as a great man one day when people understood that this was better than fighting the Tuscans openly."


    Beside them, the Frost Walkers standing guard all stared open-mouthed at Zedya¡¯s words. None of them had been present for the explosive revelations the night before and they had only half believed what they had been told when they started their shift this evening.


    Shock only lasted for a moment before the guards turned toward the prison cells, their horns glowing with icy light and their fur rising in barely suppressed rage.


    "Gentlemen," Zedya said calmly before any of them could take action. "They are dead men. Don¡¯t waste your anger on them. If you have lost loved ones because of them, consider them avenged. If you know others who have, spend the energy you would spend on hate to console your loved ones instead."


    "Dead men?" One of the guards said fiercely while pointing at the two prisoners. "Then why do they look so comfortable? I thought this was preferential treatment given to the elder but..."


    A dark smile blossomed on Zedya¡¯s lips as she looked at the two Frost Walkers in prison cells. Her instructions had been followed quite well. They had comfortable beds, abundant food, and drink, and even fine wine and delicacies. Their spirits could be said to be at rest and their hearts were completely unburdened.


    "Little Lenny," Zedya said, standing close to the fatigued captain and looking at the captive Frost Walkers. "Do you know why it¡¯s so difficult to obtain a weapon crafted from the horn of a Frost Walker?"


    "Because even outside of the High Pass, every nation that respects Frost Walkers considers such things an abomination," Lennart said, looking at Zedya in confusion. "Or am I mistaken?"


    "It isn¡¯t just that it¡¯s considered an abomination," Zedya said. "It¡¯s that harvesting Frost Walker horns is a very difficult thing to do. From young Hauke¡¯s retelling yesterday, the captured horns used as weapons by the Tuscans still carried a remnant will that turned on the Tuscan leader as soon as they were no longer suppressed by his sorcery."


    "But these two," Zedya said, giving a pointed look to the horrified-looking guards. "I will make sure that they have no lingering resentment left in their bodies before I rip the horns from their heads."


    "More than that, I will spend tonight stripping away their sense of self," she explained. "I didn¡¯t have much time before the sun rose last night, but already they have forgotten their names. Look at them," she said, pointing at the glassy-eyed elder and his rebellious grandson.


    "They don¡¯t even realize that they¡¯re prisoners," Zedya explained. "They have forgotten that they are sentenced to die. Before I can harvest their horns, they will forget that they were once living, breathing people. They will become blank slates that only exist as repositories of their sorcery. By the time their body dies, the people known as Paulus and Torsten will have long since ceased to exist."


    Hearing her description, the Frost Walker guards took several steps away from the harmless-looking vampire servant. Tearing a person apart and grinding their horn to dust was one thing, but this...


    Suddenly none of them felt like the traitors were getting off easy. There was dignity in an execution, even in the ritual destruction of a horn there was a final sense of respect that recognized the deceased as a person. This... this was treating them like livestock to be... harvested.


    "What, what will you do with their horns?" One of the guards couldn¡¯t help but ask, reflexively touching his own horn as if to reassure himself that it was still there.


    "This incident has given Lady Nyrielle reason to fear for her Seneschal¡¯s security," Zedya said simply. "Their horns will be made into weapons for Lady Ashlynn or her close protectors to use. Despite the taboos, there are a number of people in the High Fen who are capable of doing such work."


    Hearing this, the guards exchanged uneasy glances. Many of the elders had spent years decrying the weakness of the Vale of Mists, insisting that the Vale was lucky to have what little support they were given in the fight against the humans. Now, they suddenly felt very small and very vulnerable.


    They¡¯d been told that Lord Ritchel was allowing the Eldritch Lady of the Vale to do as she pleased with the prisoners. He... he couldn¡¯t be ignorant of this, right? And there were people in the High Fen who dared to work with Frost Walker horns? If that was true then... then just how safe were they from the Eldritch nations on either side of the pass? None of them had answers to those questions and that terrified them even more than what was about to happen to Paulus and Torsten!


    "Little Lenny," Zedya said, patting Captain Lennart gently on the arm. "Lady Nyrielle¡¯s fears don¡¯t reflect poorly on you or your soldiers. She¡¯s very proud of both Virve and Andrus and she doesn¡¯t fault you. It was unthinkable for such a close ally to fail us so badly," she said, giving a pointed look at the nearby Frost Walkers.


    "This is as much a lesson to them as it is a punishment for those traitors," Zedya said coldly. "Now, please go eat. Rest. You don¡¯t need to worry about this anymore tonight. Speak to Commander Jannik in the morning if you choose to, or not if you don¡¯t. You¡¯ve done all that has been asked of you and more. You can leave the rest to me now."


    "It seems that after all these years, I still need to rely on Madame Zedya¡¯s help at the end of the day," Lennart said with a tired laugh before he turned to leave.


    "Perhaps," Zedya said quietly. The lost boy who had once stumbled into her chambers in the darkest part of the castle had turned into quite the man over the past thirty years. Even then, he¡¯d been unwilling to give up as he stumbled through the dark, trying to find a way. Now, he was no longer lost, but he was still every bit as persistent. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But back then, you could only rely on me," she said in a voice that carried to his ears alone. "But now, I also rely on you, all day long."


    When he heard her whisper, Lennart nearly stumbled as he walked down the hall. Then, he shook himself and continued on, his back a little straighter and his steps a little lighter than they¡¯d been before.

 Chapter 148: Hauke’s Decision

    Chapter 148: Hauke¡¯s DecisionMuch like Ashlynn, Huake spent most of the following day asleep and recovering from events. He took a meal by himself before retrieving five carefully preserved iridescent horns and setting them on a table in his room.


    Before the horns, Hauke could only sit on the floor. To do anything else would be far too disrespectful. Both his father and Old Svenja had suggested that one of them take custody of the horns last night, but Hauke refused.


    It was a rare act of defiance, normally he was content to follow his father¡¯s arrangements and he always listened to the advice of the elders. This time, however, it was different. It was far too personal.


    "What was done to you," Hauke said, gazing at the horns with misty eyes. "It was far too cruel. You should never have been left to suffer so long. I¡¯m sorry," he said, bowing deeply to the horns.


    The moment he apologized, the horns began to glow with a weak, flickering light. All of them were chipped and cracked and the energy that flowed through them was far from stable, but they clearly weren¡¯t ¡¯dead¡¯ horns. There was still a trace of the ancestors within them.


    One of the horns, shrouded with a white, icy mist, pulsed brighter than the others as if calling out to him. Sitting before them, Hauke struggled with what he should do. He understood, or at least, he thought he did, but the risks...


    Taking a deep breath, he shook himself, releasing a flutter of tiny ice crystals from his fur. After watching both Ashlynn and Nyrielle fight, he¡¯d seen firsthand the kind of strength it took to protect people, and he realized that he fell far short of the mark.


    Old Fabiene had told everyone how hard Nyrielle fought to build her strength, and he¡¯d watched Ashlynn struggle to learn Frost Walker sorcery. He knew that the strength they held wasn¡¯t just something they were born with. Even if they had advantages, wasn¡¯t it the same as his iridescent horn?


    But he couldn¡¯t glide along on that ability alone like he was sledding downhill. He had to put in the work and that required taking risks. If he couldn¡¯t manage to take even the first step then he had no business standing in line to be the next Lord of the High Pass.


    Moving slowly, he lowered his head until his horn made contact with the horn shrouded in the misty white glow. Instantly, his mind was pulled into a different space. It resembled the lake with the underwater cave, but the lake wasn¡¯t nearly as deep and the place he stood on the island was below the entrance to the cave but still above the frozen surface of the lake.


    "What was done to us," a soft, feminine voice said. "It wasn¡¯t cruel. What happened in the end may be tragic, but we all made our choices."


    "Ancestor Ines," Hauke said, turning to look at the lakeshore where the ancestor stood.


    Her figure was faded and incomplete, missing much of her once elegant body as she drifted above the surface of the lake, but unlike the version of her he¡¯d met in the cave, this time, she seemed clear-eyed and free of pain.


    "Please, my father, Lady Nyrielle, everyone wants to know," Hauke began. "Who transformed you like that? And why?" These were the questions that weighed heavily on everyone last night. If he could obtain answers...


    "I do not remember who," the ghostly woman said, shaking her head. "There is very little of ¡¯Ines¡¯ left. What little remains has no need of parents or children or many other memories. I do remember why, and that has been enough to serve my purpose. For all of us to serve our purpose."


    "Then why?" Hauke asked. If he could at least understand that much, it would help him know what to do next.


    "Because we are too fragile," Ines said. "People like me, like you, like the five of us, we are born to be the best of our people, the strongest of our people, but we are far too rare. Generations pass without an iridescent horn, and in those days, the Frost Walker clan had dwindled from four nations to one and it seemed that we would vanish from the face of the world."


    "What was done let us guard over our descendants in the generations where they had no other guardians," Ines said, looking out over the frozen lake as though she could see long departed families playing or fishing on its surface. "It was to preserve our power for times when our people needed it the most."


    "Did, did everyone with an iridescent horn choose this? Even, even Eugen?" Hauke¡¯s impression of the youngest among the ancestral spirits was that he had been a child even younger than himself when he was transformed into a blood golem. If that was the case, wasn¡¯t it still far too cruel?


    "Little Eugen traded his life to save someone precious to him," Ines explained. "But for a century after his death, people brought the most helplessly sick and injured to see him and receive healing from him. When things went wrong and we were... corrupted, he tried very hard to heal us but there are limits to all things."


    For several minutes, Hauke stood silently looking out over the lake with Ancestor Ines. He tried to imagine the decision they¡¯d made, to live on in the ancestral cave in order to keep using their powers to protect the last nation of Frost Walkers. It sounded both incredibly noble and also incredibly... lonely. Especially after their cave had been sealed. It must have been torment.


    "I, I don¡¯t think we can restore you to what you were," Hauke said. No one had been willing to ask Lady Nyrielle if she knew the sorcery to make a Blood Golem or not. She said it was her teacher¡¯s sorcery but that didn¡¯t mean he had passed it on to her.


    Even if her teacher had taught her the magic, her description of the ritual was so horrifying that Hauke couldn¡¯t imagine his father sacrificing so many lives in order to restore them to what they had been.


    "Did I ask you to restore us?" Ines said lightly. "I only wanted you to understand so that your heart would be at peace. Our end may have been tragic, but it was not cruel."


    "But, you haven¡¯t ended yet!" Hauke protested. "There¡¯s still something of you here..." As long as there was a trace of life left in an ancestor¡¯s horn, they deserved the worship and respect of their descendants. He felt that he should at least give them that much.


    "We are like this for a reason, young Hauke," the ghostly woman said. "Without a way to serve our purpose, we will not linger on much longer. If you wish, you may speak with the others. I¡¯m sure they will say much the same thing. This is our end. We can no longer protect you as we once did."


    "Now they have you to rely on," she said, turning to meet his gaze. "Perhaps the vampire who shattered us will offer to do for you what was once done for us when you are ready to die. You can begin the cycle anew. Or perhaps you wouldn¡¯t choose to do what we did. That decision is yours alone and has nothing to do with us."


    "No," Hauke said, sinking to his knees and shaking his head bitterly. All of those years alone, all of those years of suffering and they were just going to end? It wasn¡¯t right. They deserved better.


    "Wait," he said as remembered the words Nyrielle had said the night before. ¡¯They could become keys to salvation, or they could become portents of doom.¡¯ At the time, he¡¯d thought that attempting to commune with the ancestors would be dangerous but it seemed like the malice that had clung to them was stripped away along with the blood magic that sustained them.


    What was left behind was an ancestor who had given more than just her life to protect her people for longer than he could imagine. This... this should be a hope for the future. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You said that without a way to serve your purpose, you wouldn¡¯t linger much longer," Hauke said, firming up his resolve as he met the ghostly woman¡¯s gaze. "I am young, weak, and ignorant in the use of my sorcery. There is no one with an iridescent horn who can teach me," he said.


    "Can you, and the others, can you at least linger long enough to be my teachers?" Hauke asked. It felt incredibly selfish, but if what they needed was a way to help their people, then even if it was by teaching him, maybe it would be enough. And as long as they hadn¡¯t gone, he could search for a way to help them more. Even if he failed, they at least deserved to have someone make the attempt.


    "You will have to speak to each of them," Ines said, gliding across the ground to hover at Hauke¡¯s side. "But for myself, I will try."

 Chapter 149: Words Between Rulers

    Chapter 149: Words Between RulersAtop one of the highest towers in the Frost Walker fortress, Lord Ritchel stood with Nyrielle, Ashlynn, and Heila as they looked out across the High Pass. Clouds had rolled in obscuring much of the land beneath a white, fluffy blanket that glowed under the light of countless stars. Every now and then, the peaks of six nearby mountains could be seen above the clouds, covered in snow and shining in the night. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You didn¡¯t leave me with much pride in front of my people during this visit, Lady Nyrielle," Ritchel said, sipping from a cup of strong chilled wine as he stared out into the night. "My people feel like they have been trampled by the Vale of Mists."


    "Good," Nyrielle said bluntly. Despite the awkwardness of doing so, she¡¯d pulled Ashlynn¡¯s cloak around her own shoulders and wrapped her arms around her lover while she spoke with Ritchel. The sky at night in the High Pass was one of the most beautiful sights in the region and she wasn¡¯t going to give up her time to enjoy it with Ashlynn even if there were still important matters to discuss.


    "Your people needed a reminder," the vampire continued. "In your grandfather¡¯s days, none of his councilors would have dared to plot against one of my people, even if he was just aiming at one of yours. Your people would do well to remember who has been keeping the humans from turning them into pelts and enchanted blades all these years."


    Ritchel sighed heavily as he stared out across the clouds. While he complained, he Nyrielle was also correct. He¡¯d tried emphasizing the hard work and sacrifice of the Vale of Mists to keep humans out of their lands, but lately, all he¡¯d heard from his council were questions about charging traders from the vale to use the pass as they had in the era before humans invaded.


    Worse, some even suggested that they should conquer the lowlands themselves. While they cared nothing for the farmlands of the Vale, if they could treat it like a subordinate power it would significantly strengthen their position in dealings with Airgead Mountain and the High Fen. His people truly had forgotten how powerful the Vale of Mists was.


    "If you claimed the title of ¡¯High Lady¡¯ this would be easier," Ritchel pointed out. "They¡¯re more frightened of being swallowed up by High Lady Erna than they are of you. They think you¡¯re weak because they don¡¯t understand how strong the humans are."


    "You know that won¡¯t happen," Nyrielle said with a shake of her head. "I might have the strength, but I lack the territory. The only way to become a High Lady would be to conquer the High Pass and Airgead Mountain or to reclaim much of Lothian March from the humans."


    "I will find a way to deliver the March to you," Ashlynn said softly. "Everything that is mine is also yours. As soon as I¡¯ve taken the March from the Lothians, you may consider it your own front garden."


    Beside them, Ritchel blinked several times. He knew that Ashlynn had a grievance with the Lothians but did she truly think she could take their territory away from them? He¡¯d heard Hauke¡¯s more detailed explanation of how Ashlynn had fought against the Tuscans and the strength Nyrielle had displayed to overcome the corrupted ancestors. Both were doubtlessly strong, but neither of them seemed that strong.


    "It¡¯s fine," Nyrielle said lightly. "Young Ritchel¡¯s people will remember this lesson for years to come, they won¡¯t dare to cause trouble like this again. Hauke likely won¡¯t need a reminder either. One sharp lesson can last for a generation or two without a need to constantly bully the High Pass. It¡¯s better this way,"


    "Hauke is a good man," Ashlynn said, thinking of the young Frost Walker. "Or, he will be, once he grows up. I," she started to say, then paused, twisting to look at Nyrielle as though for permission before speaking further.


    Ashlynn had her own desires in this, and her own thoughts about relationships between the High Pass and the Vale of Mists, but ultimately, these decisions rested on Nyrielle.


    "My darling can be a little willful, if she wishes," Nyrielle said with a smile. "You were already willful when you decided to title Heila as a Lady while I was sleeping. If your words cross a line, I will pull you back."


    "Heila earned that," Ashlynn said, praising her diminutive friend. "And Hauke has earned my friendship," she continued, turning to look at Lord Ritchel. "He thinks differently than many and I think that this is no accident, my Lord," she said politely.


    "In the future, I welcome him to visit the Vale of Mists, to spend time with me learning about human methods of ruling a nation," Ashlynn offered. "Human ways aren¡¯t better than Eldritch ways, but in my time here, I¡¯ve seen places where having knowledge of human ways could be valuable. If nothing else, they can be treated as additional arrows in his quiver."


    "You¡¯ve already saved my son¡¯s life," Ritchel said, tipping his horn low in respect to the young witch. "Now you offer to tutor him. Lady Nyrielle, I feel like I have been trampled beneath your carriage only to be offered a meal when I stand up," he said, laughing helplessly.


    "It is good if Hauke has a friend he can rely on, one that will help him to grow," Ritchel said, speaking more as a father than as the Lord of the High Pass. He had known from consulting with the ancestors that the High Pass could never withstand a confrontation with the Vale of Mists, no matter how weak they appeared.


    As a lord, the entire situation left him frustrated. He couldn¡¯t even vent his fury on Paulus and his rotten grandson because Nyrielle had taken them from him. All the Lord of the High Pass could do is swallow the series of humiliations and insults that had come from Paulus¡¯s treachery.


    But as a father, he could be proud of Hauke¡¯s actions, and grateful that he had found not only a potential friend, but a way to crystalize his convictions. The Hauke who had gone out on a fishing trip had been studious, diligent, and obedient as a son should be. The one who had returned was still all of those things, but he had also become determined in a way that he wasn¡¯t before.


    In the end, this would only be good for his son, and eventually, it would be good for the High Pass as well. He just had to swallow his immediate hurts to focus on the broader view.


    "Will the humans really come for us within my lifetime?" Ritchel asked, giving Nyrielle and Ashlynn an evaluating look.


    "Bors Lothian has much in common with you, young Ritchel," Nyrielle said, looking toward the east in the direction of the Vale of Mists and Lothian March beyond it.. "He is a good and stable ruler, willing to fight the battles he must with ambition to see his territory grow mightier under his rule than it was under the rule of his father."


    "But he raised his son very differently than you raised Hauke," the vampire said, her tone growing cold and sharp. "Owain is arrogant and proud and these are his weaknesses. He is inexperienced but this will not last. When humans see him, they see how he is weak because they do not understand how a man like him will change as he outgrows his inexperience."


    "Underneath the face he shows the world, he is decisive enough to beat his own newlywed wife nearly to death at the first hint that she could be a threat to him," Nyrielle said. She hadn¡¯t just seen the wounds Owain inflicted on Ashlynn, she¡¯d studied them and that beating told her much about the man who inflicted those wounds.


    "He is cruel enough and merciless enough to do the deed himself, with his own hands," she added. "He is ambitious enough and cunning enough to create a fiction to show the world that Ashlynn is still alive and married to him, just so he can complete his plans to start the next war by borrowing the power of her family¡¯s allies. There is an element of Bors¡¯ shrewdness in this, but the hand moving pieces on the board belongs to Owain."


    "It is Owain¡¯s personal mission to become the first Lothian Duke," Ashlynn added. "Whether he has the ability to do so or not, in the end, is irrelevant. He has the desire to try, and many people will die before he succeeds or fails."


    "So what do you want of me, Lady Nyrielle?" Lord Ritchel asked. "You never come for one reason only. You have fought the humans for longer than I have drawn breath. What would you have me do?"


    "Prepare your hunters and your soldiers," Nyrielle said with a smile forming on her lips that revealed her fangs. "We are both weak in the summer, but this winter, I would like you to lend me a few of your men. A hundred or two will do. It would be good if Hauke was ready to join with them when the time comes."


    "I will prepare them," Ritchel said, swallowing the last of his wine in a gulp. "But whether or not you can use them will depend on another conversation between us in winter. Even if we have a common enemy, I will not share in the risks of fighting them if I cannot also share in the rewards."


    "I make no promises today," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn closer to her. "Much will depend on my darling Ashlynn¡¯s abilities after she studies with the Mother of Thorns. But... I do not think she will be content to wait too long before she begins to extract a price from the humans for what they have done. When the time comes, you will not lack for opportunities to join in our hunt."

 Chapter 150: Departing the High Pass

    Chapter 150: Departing the High PassAshlynn¡¯s final day in the High Pass was quiet and subdued compared to her arrival among the Frost Walkers. The people from the Vale of Mists held themselves apart in the vast fortress, clustering around the room Nyrielle had taken as her own or focusing on their preparations to leave.


    Once again, though she felt that she should be spending time getting to know the Frost Walkers or at least spending time with Hauke after what they had both been through, Ashlynn remained with Nyrielle, even while her lover slept away the daylight hours.


    In Nyrielle¡¯s opinion, Lord Ritchel needed to complete some housekeeping before she was willing to extend the same level of trust to them that she had on arrival. It was important to reset expectations and her refusal to allow Ashlynn to mingle further with the people of the High Pass was part of her rebuke for the incident. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now that night had fallen on her final day among the Frost Walkers, Ashlynn looked at the people who had come to see her off with mixed feelings. The icy wind scoured almost all life from the tops of the mountains and she felt like she had been subjected to those very same winds.


    When she infiltrated the Summer Villa, she put herself at risk. She killed Sir Kaefin because she had to and part of her had rationalized that as killing a man who was guilty of crimes that his station prevented him from being punished for. She didn¡¯t know that those crimes warranted death, but it helped her to process what happened at the time.


    Sir Broll had been different. As one of the men who dragged her into the Vale of Mists and buried her in a shallow grave, she¡¯d vowed to end his life. Doing so hadn¡¯t felt like what she expected, but it was still necessary and she was able to do it in a way that preserved the lives of not only her friends and allies, but Sir Broll¡¯s innocent followers as well.


    Neither of those deaths had changed the way she thought of herself, at least, not by much. Now, however, after fighting the Tuscans and surviving what had followed the battle on the lake, things were different. It was one thing to know that soldiers would die for their lords and ladies, it was another entirely to watch it happen.


    Her father had taught her that this was the burden of a ruler. That whether one was a baron or a king, so long as there were soldiers under their command, the day would come when they could only sit helplessly on their throne and await word of who had lived and who had died. Her studies of other lords, particularly the Lothians, had contained many similar sentiments.


    Now, however, she felt like she finally understood the Eldritch way, and the conclusion was very different. An Eldritch Lord or Lady ruled because they had greater strength than anyone under their protection. Once Nyrielle arrived, she¡¯d swept aside the danger that threatened Ashlynn and the others because at her core, that was who she was. No one was allowed to threaten the people under her protection, especially Ashlynn.


    But Ashlynn herself was far too weak and inexperienced to act in the same way. Andrus had died because of the greed of Tuscan Hunters and the cowardice and treachery of Paulus, but he had also died because Ashlynn herself didn¡¯t understand her powers well enough to protect him.


    Humans might not see it that way, but the more time she spent among the Eldritch, the less she considered herself to be the same as the humans who had raised her. Her father, even if he were to put on his armor and take up a sword, could only do so much on the field of battle. He might as well sit on his throne for all the difference it would make. But she was different, and as she prepared to leave the High Pass, she finally admitted to herself how different she¡¯d become.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Lord Ritchel called out, stepping away from the Frost Walker leaders who had gathered to see them off and approaching her directly. "When you pass through on your return home, I will send a proper gift of thanks for taking care of my son. It wouldn¡¯t be appropriate to send you with burdens on your way to the Mother of Thorns."


    "Still, the journey is long," he said, waving over a pair of Frost Walkers carrying a small metal box. "I did not expect to find a human who saw fish eggs as a delicacy. You called it ¡¯caviar¡¯ in your language didn¡¯t you? At least allow me to send some with you for your journey. When you return, we will feast properly and show our gratitude properly as well."


    "Hauke took care of me as well," Ashlynn said politely accepting the gift. "When I next visit, I hope things will be less eventful," she added pointedly. Nyrielle had made her stance clear and Ashlynn would echo that stance as well.


    "Ashlynn," Hauke said, stepping forward a touch awkwardly. "When you next pass though, I¡¯d like to visit the Vale of Mists. If, if that¡¯s all right," he said, scratching the fur behind his head with a bit of embarrassment. His father had told him about her invitation, but after the way things had gone, it still felt a little inappropriate.


    "Come here," Ashlynn said, holding her arms open wide. When she hugged him, she used enough strength to remind him that she wasn¡¯t as fragile as her size might lead a Frost Walker to expect before she stepped back and held one of his hands in both of hers.


    "I know you¡¯ve resolved to use those horns to study," she said, looking into his watery eyes. "I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s good or not. I don¡¯t entirely trust those ancestors. They were sealed away for a reason. But Mistress Nyrielle believes they may also help you find new strength so I won¡¯t argue with you. Instead, I¡¯ll say good luck, and I look forward to seeing what you¡¯ve learned when I come back."


    "I promise," Hauke said solemnly. "By the time you return, I won¡¯t be as weak as I was on that day."


    "Neither will I," Ashlynn said, releasing his hand and turning to the waiting carriage. "But Hauke," she said, turning back toward him. "If those ancestors harm you, I will grind their horns to dust myself. No one is allowed to bully my friends," she said, giving a frosty look to the gathered Frost Walkers before joining Nyrielle in the carriage.


    Several of the elders muttered darkly at the young witch¡¯s domineering tone. It seemed that she was taking directly after her Mistress and would give no respect to the strength of the Frost Walkers or to their traditions.


    The few younger Frost Walkers who had considered themselves to be Torsten¡¯s companions, however, swallowed heavily when they heard her words. While they¡¯d been shocked to learn of their friend¡¯s betrayal, a few of them thought that Torsten¡¯s death would open the door for them to contend with Hauke to be the next Lord of the High Pass.


    Hearing this witch threaten to grind horns to dust for bullying Hauke, however, many of them had second thoughts about continuing to antagonize Lord Ritchel¡¯s son.


    "I like seeing you this way," Nyrielle said, wrapping her arms around Ashlynn when she entered the carriage. "Owain was a fool to take you so lightly and a greater fool for harming you. He has no idea what¡¯s coming for him when you get home."


    "I wasn¡¯t this strong then," Ashlynn said, shaking her head and leaning into Nyrielle¡¯s embrace. "Much of my strength flows from you. Without you, I wouldn¡¯t be much of a threat."


    "For now, my darling," Nyrielle said, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde hair and inhaling her lover¡¯s unique fragrance. Even in this place of ice and snow, Ashlynn still always smelled like she¡¯d recently gone for a walk in the forest and it was a scent that Nyrielle was beginning to find a special kind of comfort in.


    "But only for now," she added quietly, her lush lips only inches from Ashlynn¡¯s ear. "After all, my darling Ashlynn is becoming a force of nature. Who could possibly stand in your way once you¡¯ve had time to grow?"

 Chapter 151: Ollie’s Changes

    Chapter 151: Ollie¡¯s ChangesOutside the Vale of Mists in the forests of the western mountains, a small group moved steadily along a trail that was barely visible in the late-night gloom. No torches burned to light their way, but for most of the group, this presented little difficulty.


    Ollie, however, found himself deeply envying his traveling companions as they trekked through the forest at night. Marcel had offered to carry him to their destination, however, Ollie stubbornly refused.


    It might look very romantic to some people when a vampire like Thane swept Ashlynn off her feet and carried her through the forest at night, but the notion of Marcel treating him the same was more than Ollie could adjust to. Besides, from the wicked smile the vampire had given him after making the offer, Ollie felt like Marcel knew he would refuse and just wanted to tease him.


    Since coming to the Vale of Mists, Ollie found himself constantly changing his expectations and adjusting to different ways of thinking about things. He¡¯d finally reached the point where the appearances of the Eldritch no longer startled him and he¡¯d removed the word ¡¯demon¡¯ from his vocabulary completely.


    He was also beginning to think of himself differently than he had before. He wasn¡¯t just a kitchen boy anymore. He was Ashlynn¡¯s friend and he was starting to think of himself as a warrior, though he had yet to fight any real battles.


    Ashlynn¡¯s suggestion that he obtain a darksteel knife had drastically shifted his training. It hadn¡¯t taken long for Thane to pass Ollie over to Marcel¡¯s tender care to learn the fine art of fighting with knives. Now, two large knives hung from his hip and as each day went by, he felt more and more like they belonged there.


    Marcel believed in starting from what was familiar and for Ollie, that had been kitchen knives. He couldn¡¯t deny that it had been a good place to start. The darksteel butcher¡¯s cleaver that hung from his left hip might be as heavy as a sword but in his hands, it felt very familiar, and the long, slender fighting knife on his right hip felt to him like a combination of a boning knife and a general cook¡¯s knife. It wasn¡¯t made of darksteel but according to Marcel, it was better that it wasn¡¯t.


    Harrod, the diminutive horned soldier he¡¯d first met with Ashlynn during their escape from the Summer Villa, had been watching Ollie¡¯s transformation up close. Marcel was far too busy to teach the former kitchen boy every night and as the nights grew shorter, he handed over more and more responsibility for Ollie¡¯s education to Harrod and Justus, the valet assigned to care for Ollie in the ancient keep.


    After so many weeks of training, just when he had been settling into his new life in the Vale of Mists, Marcel had surprised him with an invitation.


    "My spies just sent news that Owain is going to lead knights, templars, and an Inquisitor on a hunt in the outer forests," the vampire said. "Thane wants us to carry a warning to the outer villages. Why not come along and see the sights while you do?"


    "Outer villages? Are they the ones close to the walls?" Ollie asked, though his mind was only half on the answer. The rest of him was thinking about whether or not he needed to pack.


    "No," Marcel said, shaking his head and sending his raven locks tumbling with the motion. "¡¯Outer¡¯ means that they¡¯re outside the territory currently claimed by the Vale of Mists. It wasn¡¯t always that day. Long before I died, Mistress Nyreille¡¯s predecessor ruled the forests from the ancient keep to the foot of Airgead Mountain. All of the villages we¡¯re going to visit would have belonged to her if things had been different."


    "What happened?" Ollie asked. He¡¯d already heard a number of surprising stories about ¡¯the old days¡¯ from Thane, but Marcel never gave him the feeling of being an ¡¯ancient¡¯ being. More like, he was a young grandfather who was occasionally nostalgic as opposed to someone who remembered being present for things others could only learn from history books. It made the younger vampire more approachable and Ollie liked to think that they were starting to become friends. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You noticed the three walls on your way in, right?" Marcell asked rhetorically. "Those were built at different times to use the geography of the Vale of Mists to create good defensive positions to hold off the Lothian Army. Instead of building a giant wall around her entire domain, she built a narrow one in the places where the Vale of Mists form bottlenecks naturally."


    "Ordinary people can take refuge behind the walls," the vampire continued. "It¡¯s just, not everyone wanted to leave their homes and villages behind. If they¡¯re outside the walls, Lady Nyrielle can¡¯t promise protection to them but that doesn¡¯t mean she doesn¡¯t care about them."


    When Ollie asked for more details about the villages, Marcel just taunted him with a ¡¯you¡¯ll see when we get there¡¯ answer. More importantly, he warned Ollie that he might need to speak to the villagers about what things were like among the humans now. That wasn¡¯t Ollie¡¯s primary reason for coming though. That responsibility fell to the other human trudging through the dark with them.


    Daithi had been a soldier long enough to be accustomed to moving through dark forests in order to catch bandits unprepared or accomplish other tasks that couldn¡¯t easily be done in full daylight. He might not be able to keep up with Harrod and the other members of the Horned Clan as they moved through the night, but he was able to avoid embarrassing himself as they worked their way to ward the first village.


    After several hours spent hiking through the night, Marcel seemed to vanish into the darkness, appearing again a few minutes later with a smile on his face.


    "I¡¯ve let the people at Yarrin know that we¡¯re coming," he explained. "Olli, Daithi, don¡¯t expect a warm greeting. Turning up unannounced in the middle of the night is enough to put most folks out of sorts and these folks... well, you¡¯ll see."


    The first thing Ollie noticed when they approached the village was a very faint smell of woodsmoke and the sound of running water. When they came closer, however, he realized that the village had been in view for a while and he simply hadn¡¯t noticed.


    Each small house in the village had been built into the hillside with only small wooden structures protruding from the earth to indicate that someone lived there at all. Each one had been cleverly concealed with fallen branches that caught loose leaves or layers of moss growing on top of them, making them look like natural formations unless you looked truly closely.


    If he¡¯d been in a hurry, unless he stopped at the flowing stream and large pond in the center of the village for water, he might have been able to pass by it even in daylight without discovering it. Even the dam constructed across the stream looked more like something built by beavers than something built by a village of people.


    Unlike every other village he¡¯d seen in the Vale of Mists, this one was completely open. No defensive wall surrounded it and there were no roads leading to it, only a few well-worn narrow trails created by animals that came to drink at the pond.


    Compared to the villages he¡¯d seen in the Vale of Mists, this village, as cozy as it might be, struck Ollie as an incredibly lonely place. In the Vale, well-maintained roads formed a network between all of the villages, and people came to the castle town every day to trade the products of their village or purchase supplies from others.


    Here, however, there were barely even paths between individual houses. It looked like the villagers barely interacted with each other, much less the world outside their village. For someone who had grown up in the bustle of the Lothian Manor, it struck him as very... lonely.


    The villagers themselves were another surprise entirely. He¡¯d become accustomed to the appearance of people from the Clan of the Great Claw like Georg the cook back at the keep, or Harrod, Justus, and the other members of the Horned Clan he¡¯d come to know. But this was his first time seeing someone who looked like this...

 Chapter 152: The Heartwood Clan

    Chapter 152: The Heartwood Clan Humans referred to these people as "flat-tailed demons." In the stories that Ollie had grown up on, they were voracious beasts with long rabbit-like teeth that could sever a man¡¯s leg in a single bite and wide, flat tails that were powerful enough to crush a man¡¯s skull in a single swipe. Such beastly demons were said to be masters of traps, dangerous and cunning. As a child, he¡¯d heard stories of "flat-tailed demons" luring people to their deaths by crushing them with falling logs or flinging them into deep pits lined with wooden spikes before ultimately using human bodies as mortar in the dams they built for their villages.


    Marcel had corrected him before they set out. These "flat-tailed demons" referred to themselves as the Heartwood Clan. According to the vampire, they were legendary for their woodworking skills and had once formed a small community within the Vale of Mists.


    Far from being fearsome demons, the figures that emerged from the earthen homes struck Ollie as very cute. They were taller than most members of the Horned Clan but shorter than most humans. From a few curious young ones to the wizened elder who emerged from the largest burrow, they all possessed rounded faces with chubby cheeks, long whiskers and buck teeth that protruded two inches below their upper lips.


    "Well, well, well," the old woman who emerged from the largest burrow said. She wore a simple homespun dress, but around her neck hung several necklaces of elaborately carved wooden beads and in her hand, she carried a polished wooden cane though she barely seemed to need its support to move.


    "If it isn¡¯t the merchant of darkness himself," Old Nan said, her face blossoming into a wide smile. "You haven¡¯t changed a bit," she said, giving Marcel an evaluating look. "If you¡¯ve come for the statue again, you still can¡¯t have it. Wait till this old woman dies before you try to snatch her best things!"


    "Old Nan," Marcel said, putting on an exaggeratedly pained expression. "I would never snatch your things. If you haven¡¯t sold it to me yet, it¡¯s just because I haven¡¯t been able to find the right price for you. This time, I¡¯m not here to trade though," he added, gesturing at Ollie, Daithi and the horned soldiers who accompanied them.


    "May we impose for a bit? I didn¡¯t bring anything to trade but that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t have a small gift for you and your elders," he added, producing a small tin box from a pouch at his waist. "I know how hard it is to dry your tea in this damp place, let me at least give you some good leaves from across the mountains and we can drink while we speak."


    "Hmmpf," the old woman snorted in disbelief. "From across the mountains? You wouldn¡¯t be trying to swindle us with tea grown in human lands, would you? It seems you haven¡¯t left your former people entirely behind," she added, giving Ollie and Daithi a pointed look.


    "This is Ollie," Marcel said, appearing at the young man¡¯s side and throwing an arm casually over his shoulder before he noticed the vampire had moved. "He¡¯s a friend of our new Seneschal. The other fellow is Daithi. He¡¯s a prisoner, but that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s a bad man. He knows things that you should hear."


    Daithi was startled when Marcel mentioned him but as soon as he noticed the elder turning her attention to him, he gave a feeble wave and did his best to look helpless.


    When they¡¯d entered the village, he¡¯d been fairly relaxed. He had been working hard since speaking with Lady Ashlynn to accept that the ¡¯Eldritch¡¯ people weren¡¯t as demonic as he¡¯d been led to believe and so far, everyone he¡¯d met seemed amiable.


    When he entered this village, based on Marcel¡¯s description and easygoing manner, he¡¯d expected more of the same. The village didn¡¯t even have a wall or men to guard it. Surely this was a safe and secluded space.


    It was only when the doors opened and light spilled from inside the burrows that he realized how wrong he¡¯d been. While Marcel and Old Nan chatted like old friends, Daithi¡¯s eyes found at least three archers, screened by sticks and moss and looking like part of the landscape, all with their arrows knocked and pointing at the vampire.


    As a soldier, he¡¯d encountered plenty of traps set by bandits and criminals, and even walked into an ambush he felt lucky to have survived, but no one he¡¯d fought before had hidden so well. If not for a brief reaction from the archers to the flood of light, he might never have seen them at all and he still wasn¡¯t sure how many more of them there were, but he was convinced that the number was higher than three.


    "A Seneschal? I thought they were myths," the old woman said, holding out her hand for the box of tea in Marcel¡¯s hand. "Give it and then you can come inside. Don¡¯t think that I¡¯m brewing any of this for you," she added. "I intend to enjoy it by myself, not waste it on swindling merchants who bring gifts of wine just so they can drink it when they visit."  S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Old Nan," the vampire said, appearing before the old woman and placing the tin box in her hands with an elaborate bow that would have made Thane proud. "I would never swindle you, or drink the good tea I¡¯ve just brought you. Haven¡¯t you agreed to every one of our trades over the years? When have I ever let you suffer a great loss."


    "There¡¯s losing and there¡¯s losing," the old woman said, turning back to enter her burrow. "Come in, come in, we¡¯re letting the light and the heat out and we shouldn¡¯t. Everyone else," she added, looking at the several villagers who had poked their heads out to see why they had visitors. "I will explain things to everyone once I understand them. You all can go back to your evenings."


    While a few villagers looked reluctant, the youngest of them turned to their parents or older siblings and tugged eagerly on their hands, pulling them back inside the burrows as if there were things they couldn¡¯t wait to get back to. If Ollie didn¡¯t know better, he¡¯d wonder if they¡¯d interrupted someone¡¯s birthday party from how eager the children looked to go back inside.


    Once he entered Old Nan¡¯s burrow, the former kitchen boy stopped so abruptly that Daithi ran into him from behind. Both men had to stoop to enter through the small doorway but once inside they felt like they had entered a different world.


    Elaborately carved wood paneling covered the interior of a large space that crackled with warmth from a quietly burning wood stove far to the back of the home. The scenes carved into the wood panels depicted everything from great beasts within the forests to different types of Eldritch villages and even a carving of the ancient keep, looking like a hand reaching out from the walls of the home.


    In a circle around a simple rug, a number of well-made wooden chairs sat around a rustic wooden table covered with hand tools and a half-finished carving of a bird taking flight. Every bit of furniture, though simple and rustic in design, looked like it had been perfectly assembled by a master craftsman, solidly built without the slightest trace of weakness or wobble when Ollie joined the others in taking a seat.


    He¡¯d spent enough time setting out tables and chairs for feasts to recognize that even simple furniture needed to be well made if it was going to be placed at a lord¡¯s table and when he felt the smooth, almost glowing, polished surfaces of the armrests, he quickly realized that any of this furniture would have met the standards that Owain and his father Bors held for seats at their high tables.


    And this was in a simple, small village in the hills outside of the Vale of Mists. Seeing this level of care put into even everyday items, it was no wonder that Marcel regarded them as legends of woodworking.


    But if they were so talented and capable of producing something that could obviously sell for a high price, then it made even less sense to Ollie why there wasn¡¯t a road connecting this village to the Vale of Mists where their crafts could be sold.


    Just what was going on here?

 Chapter 153: Return to the Vale? (Part One)

    Chapter 153: Return to the Vale? (Part One)With everyone gathered in Old Nan¡¯s burrow, Marcel didn¡¯t waste any time on pleasantries. The nights were getting even shorter and there was too much ground to cover before they could find a place in the wilderness to hide.


    If it were up to him, he wouldn¡¯t have come out on a mission like this with such a low chance of success. There had been plenty of time for the outer villages to make their decisions. Those who were willing to return to the Vale of Mists had done so. Those who hadn¡¯t returned likely never would.


    But Thane knew Mistress Nyrielle better than any of them. He had been with her longer than any of her other progeny and when Nyrielle wasn¡¯t within the Vale of Mists, Thane ruled in her stead. Hearing the information Marcel¡¯s spies gathered, Thane had decisively ordered the younger vampire to take on this risky mission.


    To Marcel, any number of arguments could be made against this foolishness. Throwing good money after bad, or in this case, throwing good money in a wishing well and calling it a business plan. No reasonable merchant would do such a thing, yet here he was, making the attempt anyway.


    "Old Nan, I¡¯ll be direct," he said. "This latest Lothian ruler is flexing his muscles and trying to make a name for himself. He suffered a loss recently and two of his knights died. He¡¯s bringing more soldiers and even men from the Church into the mountain forests to hunt for anyone he can get his hands on."


    "We didn¡¯t have anything to do with killing his knights," Old Nan said, frowning deeply. "Our village is well hidden. There is nothing that will lead him to us here. You didn¡¯t need to waste the trip."


    "Its worth wasting the trip if it saves a few Eldritch lives," Marcel said, fighting to suppress the exasperation in his voice. Even he knew Nyrielle well enough to know that preventable loss of life would grind away at her. Even though these people were no longer her subjects, she would still feel a sting at their deaths.


    "Think of it this way," Marcel said, keeping his tone light and pleasant. "Come to the Vale as our guests. Stay until Owain Lothian and his men give up their hunt. Then, since your village is so well hidden, you can return to it when the time is right."


    "You can¡¯t swindle me that easily, old merchant," the old woman said, twitching her whiskers in disapproval. "All this isn¡¯t easy to keep. If we don¡¯t manage our dams well, sudden rains and floods can wipe all of this away in a season. The rains are still upon us and will be for weeks."


    "This place is our home," she said, thumping her cane on the wooden floor for emphasis. "You may not think much of it, but my grandfather built this village for us after the humans burned down everything in the Vale of Mists. If we leave it now, even if the humans don¡¯t come, we will lose it to the rains."


    "Maybe I shouldn¡¯t speak," Daithi said slowly. "But, your homes can be rebuilt. Lives, once lost, cannot be restored. I know Lord Owain Lothian. He will set fire to the forest just to flush you out as long as he believes you are close. If he sees your children hiding in your homes, he will set fire to those too."


    "Yes, we understand human cruelty," Old Nan said, glaring at the human soldier. "You do not need to remind us that your kind does not differentiate between soldiers and children. You cannot conquer, only eradicate."


    It had been one of the greatest shocks that her grandfather spoke of in encountering humans and the way they waged war. Eldritch Lords feuded frequently and the Vale of Mists had changed hands several times before Nyrielle¡¯s grandsire Torbin began a reign that lasted more than a century.


    The difference was that when a new Eldritch Lord came to power, they took responsibility for the people living in the lands they had just conquered. Lands without people to work them were worthless. A nation without people could not be called a nation at all. No Eldritch Lord would engage in the senseless laughter of carpenters and farmers because it would bring no benefit to their nation.


    The humans were different. They saw the Eldritch people as ¡¯demons¡¯ and slaughtered them regardless of age or occupation. Even healers would be put to the sword or burned alive at the hand of the human savages. It wasn¡¯t war that humans fought and it wasn¡¯t conquest, it was annihilation that they worshiped, like members of a crazed death cult.


    "The humans have fought many wars against your Vale of Mists," Old Nan pointed out sharply. "They have not brought their soldiers so deep into the forests that they could find trouble with us. Not when they have your walls to batter themselves against."


    "This time is different," Marcel said. "This time, they aren¡¯t trying to fight a war with the Vale or Airgead Mountain. They believe that they were attacked by the outer villages and they intend to strike back."


    "Bah, they can hunt all they like, they will not find us," Old Nan insisted. "But if they do, I will tell my men to prepare more traps to stop their men well short of our village. We are not defenseless here."


    "What about the cooks and the children?" Ollie asked suddenly. "Why not let them visit the Vale of Mists while everyone else fights?"


    "Cooks and children?" Old Nan asked, staring at the red haired human strangely. "What do cooks have to do with this?"


    "Anyone can cook if they know a little bit," Ollie said simply, as though it explained things. "But soldiers don¡¯t do their own cooking because they have to do the fighting. Every year, when the Summer Villa opens up, the first people who go there are soldiers and cooks because the soldiers won¡¯t cook for themselves."


    "If anyone ever attacked the villa, what would happen to the cooks who don¡¯t know how to fight back?" Ollie asked. "They can¡¯t stand on the walls with bows or fight at the gates with swords. If the soldiers fall, the cooks will die too because they¡¯re stuck in the fort with everyone else." S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The more Ollie spoke, the more confidence he gained but the stranger the looks directed his way became. To the Eldritch, killing the cooks after killing the soldiers was senseless, but this truly was the way humans treated others so perhaps they expected to be treated that way in turn.


    "Your homes are very beautiful," Ollie said, standing up and walking over to one of the elaborately carved panels on the wall. He had to stoop a little to avoid hitting his head on the burrow¡¯s low ceiling but it let him both see the carvings up close and even reach out to touch them.


    He couldn¡¯t imagine how long it had taken to cover an entire house with such elaborate decorations and he didn¡¯t know if any of them had special meaning, but anyone could appreciate their simple, rustic beauty.


    "I wouldn¡¯t want to leave my home if it was this beautiful," he said, turning to look at the old woman. "I didn¡¯t want to leave my home when Lady Ashlynn took me to the Vale of Mists and I especially didn¡¯t want to go there when I learned that it wasn¡¯t a place for humans," he admitted.


    His voice sounded almost bitter to Old Nan¡¯s ears but ¡¯bitter¡¯ wasn¡¯t what Ollie was feeling at all. Frustrated was a far more accurate word to describe how he felt right now. He knew how scary it was to be hunted by Owain¡¯s men, but these people didn¡¯t know what it was like when the dogs were chasing after you and they kept getting closer no matter how much you ran.


    He could tell them, but would they even believe him? This place looked so beautiful and they¡¯d worked so hard to make a home for themselves here... He had just been a kitchen boy. He didn¡¯t have very much to leave behind. But these people? This place was their everything.


    Marcel had told Ollie that it wasn¡¯t his job to convince people, but if he didn¡¯t at least say something, if he didn¡¯t try... He hadn¡¯t done anything to earn the luxurious treatment Ashlynn secured for him in the Vale of Mists.


    Deep down, part of him felt like, if he could just help these folks understand a little, he¡¯d have done something to pay her back. She might even feel a little proud of him when she returned.

 Chapter 154: Return to the Vale? (Part Two)

    Chapter 154: Return to the Vale? (Part Two)"So why did you go, boy?" Old Nan asked the red haired human, her whiskers twitching in genuine curiosity. She¡¯d known Marcel for a very long time and she¡¯d become all but immune to compliments that flowed from his lips like water from a leaking dam. He was a merchant at heart and his words always sought advantage.


    This boy, however, seemed surprisingly genuine when he praised the carvings on her wall. More than that, the look in his eyes when he looked at her and her home seemed almost... sad. Perhaps the merchant didn¡¯t understand an attachment to a home. She had heard that humans bought and sold homes freely. But this young man seemed like he understood, at least a little bit.


    "I went because Lady Ashlynn was right," Ollie said firmly. "If I didn¡¯t go, then Lord Owain would have killed me. I don¡¯t know what it took to build and make all this," he said, gesturing at the interior of the burrow. "But I understand wanting to stay to keep it safe."


    "But does everyone need to stay? Or just your soldiers? What about the cooks, the carpenters and the children? Can they visit the Vale while everyone else protects your homes from the rains?"


    "And give them to the Vale of Mists to use as hostages?" Old Nan spat. "Child, I knew humans were cruel, but saying that to my face..."


    "Old Nan," Marcel interrupted. "Ollie doesn¡¯t think that way. Neither does Lady Nyrielle. She isn¡¯t even in the Vale right now," he said, feeling helpless before this old woman. Some things couldn¡¯t be bought or sold at any price. While he felt like Old Nan was overvaluing something as simple as a home, Ollie had reminded him how much work the people of the Heartwood clan put into their homes.


    Asking them to leave this place wasn¡¯t just asking them to give up a hut that kept them warm in the winter and dry in the rainy season. Each burrow represented lifetimes of effort to transform their home into a living work of art. Ollie might not know what it took to make this place, but Marcel did.


    The oldest carvings here had been added by Old Nan¡¯s grandfather, then by her mother. The most recent ones had been carved by her sons, two of whom were standing outside with bows trained on the entrance to the burrow right now. It was just too precious to lose.


    Ollie¡¯s proposal made a lot of sense to an outsider. Send away your children while a war is being fought. Only, to the Heartwood Clan, it was seen as pulling their future and the continuation of their legacy into the jaws of a trap, using them as bait to get the rest of the clan.


    "Mistress Nyrielle would mourn your loss," Marcel said, standing to leave. "But she cannot send men to defend every one of the outer villages. Young Ollie¡¯s suggestion isn¡¯t bad to save at least some of your people while the rest fight to protect your village. It would be better though, if all of you came."


    "If Lady Nyrielle isn¡¯t in the Vale," Old Nan said, her whiskers twitching in confusion. "Who is making this offer and why? What is it you want from us?"


    "It comes from Thane," Marcel said simply. "He doesn¡¯t want to see Lady Nyrielle pained over the loss of your lives. Summer is coming. It¡¯s already hard for me to come here to deliver a warning, but I came. You can at least think about it."


    "Do you know when the humans will enter the forests?" Old Nan asked. She still wasn¡¯t convinced that they needed to flee but she wanted to know how much time they had to build additional defenses in the forest. Whether setting traps or constructing blinds and hides for their warriors to use, all of it would take time.


    "Owain is in a hurry," Marcel said. "He¡¯s leaving for the Summer Villa in the morning if he hasn¡¯t left already. Once a few people in his party are there, the rest will head into the forests in search of anyone they can get their hands on. He doesn¡¯t really care who killed his knights. As long as he can return home with horns or claws or tails as trophies, he will achieve his goals."


    "That¡¯s why, this time is different," Marcel said, gesturing for Ollie and Daithi to join him. "I still have a few more villages that I will try to warn. I can¡¯t stay to argue. We¡¯ve told you what¡¯s coming. You can seek shelter in the Vale of Mists and return when it¡¯s over or even move your entire village there and we will find a place for you."


    "Or, you can remain here," he said, opening the door to leave. "In which case, I can only hope that you¡¯re right and that the humans won¡¯t be able to find you."


    Old Nan didn¡¯t stop them from leaving. She¡¯d heard what they had to say and she¡¯d made her own stance clear. There was no reason to haggle with a merchant who was clearly reluctant to make this sale when she herself wasn¡¯t looking to buy. The red haired human boy, however, looked deeply troubled when he left, which told Old Nan more than any of Marcel¡¯s words had.


    Several minutes passed before the door to her burrow opened and two men entered. Both wore large, wide brimmed hats and heavy ponchos that had been covered with bits of moss, twigs, and fallen leaves to help them blend into the forest around the village.


    "Mother," her eldest son Milo said as he removed his hat, revealing a face that was full of youthful energy with whiskers that were barely long enough to extend beyond his cheeks. "The visitors have left. Lako and I watched until they passed the traps but nothing missed the merchant¡¯s eyes."


    "No, it¡¯s very difficult to hide things from the Merchant of Darkness," Old Nan said, shaking her head. "Lako, go follow them. I want to know which other villages they visit and if any of them take this offer of sanctuary from the Vale of Mists." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes, Mother," Lako said with a light chuckle. He hadn¡¯t even taken his hat and boots off and already he was being sent back out into the night. It was hard being the youngest. "Mother," he said, pausing to look over his shoulder at Old Nan. "We¡¯re not moving, right?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Old Nan said, thinking carefully and replaying every word that had been said during her brief meeting. "I learned a long time ago, that merchant never lies, but the truth you hear isn¡¯t always the truth you thought it was. This time he was unusually direct. He didn¡¯t even ask after the statue this time or play any of his usual games."


    "If Lady Nyrielle was strong enough to protect us, we wouldn¡¯t need to move," Milo said, frowning at his mother. "If we go to the Vale of Mists, we won¡¯t just lose our homes, we¡¯ll become a burden in their vale. If the other villages send people, can the vale really feed so many of us? The Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw already hold the best land in the vale, what will be left for us?"


    "I don¡¯t know if they can care for us or not," Old Nan said with a deep sigh. Her long, flat tail twitched, thumping softly against the wooden floor as she thought. "But that which is best for the other clans may not be what is best for us."


    "Find out what the others are doing. I don¡¯t want to leave," she emphasized. "But Milo is just married and hasn¡¯t even given me a grandchild yet. As much as I want to see his children carving on our walls... I have to see them born first."


    "Mother," Lako said, looking deeply wounded. "Am I nothing but air to you? Are you sending me into the night because I haven¡¯t found a good woman yet?"


    "Hah," Old Nan laughed. "Milo should get back to his wife. When you have a wife to stay up late and worry about you, I¡¯ll pick on someone else¡¯s child. Now go before they get too far away. It¡¯s fine if they spot you but don¡¯t make things awkward if you¡¯re discovered. The important thing is to learn what the others will do."


    "Yes, Mother," Lako said, stepping out into the night and closing the door behind him. Within a moment, he had vanished into the underbrush, following along behind Marcel and the others. The vampire might notice him, but no one else would, especially not the humans.


    Hopefully, he thought, the other villages would see reason and hold their ground. The humans hadn¡¯t found them yet and he didn¡¯t believe they were about to. Besides, he¡¯d just started working on his own burrow in the hopes of catching Cetna¡¯s eye with a place that had a good view of the waterfalls. He didn¡¯t want to lose his home along with the chance to woo a beautiful woman just because someone in the Vale underestimated their ability to protect themselves.

 Chapter 155: Entering the High Fen

    Chapter 155: Entering the High FenAshlynn¡¯s next several days after departing the High Pass were oddly relaxing for days spent traveling through frigid mountains in a carriage. As before, additional horses had been arranged to allow the group to move both day and night.


    Unlike her trip to the High Pass, however, Nyrielle all but forbade any additional training or studying during these days and nights.


    "You worked hard to be ready for the High Pass," Nyrille said on the first night of their journey. "The High Fen isn¡¯t like the High Pass. You don¡¯t need to prepare the same way and if you throw yourself back into intense study, you¡¯ll only exhaust yourself. Take these days to rest and recover from what you have just been through."


    As much as Ashlynn wanted to protest, Nyrielle was adamant. It didn¡¯t help that the vampire took advantage of the close confines of the carriage to have her way with Ashlynn at every opportunity.


    Whether it was the hollow of her hip next to the witch¡¯s mark, the subtle spot where her delicate neck met her rounded shoulders or the ticklish spot behind her knees, there was no part of Ashlynn¡¯s body that Nyrielle neglected during the nights of their journey.


    The nights were becoming even shorter, but each time Nyrielle slid her slender fingers along Ashlynn¡¯s creamy thighs, teasing at her most intimate places while her lush lips feasted on Ashlynn¡¯s mouth, the young witch found herself helplessly melting into her lover¡¯s embrace.


    A few days after setting out, the carriage finally began to descend from the mountains on the far side of the pass. The barren, snow-covered landscape gave way to sparse, hearty trees that quickly became thicker when they entered a mountain forest.


    "Are those... the Clan of the Great Claw?" Ashlynn asked Heila as they followed the ancient road out of the mountains. In the forest, she saw several of the bearish men felling trees and clearing away any brush that had grown too close to the road.


    In the kingdom of Gaal, this kind of work, keeping the king¡¯s roads from being swallowed by nature, would be done by convicts or bondsmen but when Ashlynn looked around she didn¡¯t see any jailors or chains on the men working. In fact, they seemed rather... happy.


    "They are," Heila said with a complicated expression on her face. "There are lots of people from the Horned Clan here too, further down the mountains. A long time ago, when the Vale was attacked, most people ran away. Only a few, like my family, came back."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, watching the men work as the carriage passed by. In Blackwell County, it had been hundreds of years since humans drove out the original Eldritch inhabitants. People could point to seven generations of ancestors who had ¡¯always lived there.¡¯ No one thought much about where the ¡¯demons¡¯ went when they were driven from their lands.


    In the Vale of Mists, people like Nyrielle still remembered the wars that drove her people across the mountains. It had been more than a hundred years, but even if Heila didn¡¯t have any grandparents who had been affected by those wars, her grandparents likely grew up on stories told by people who lived through them. Maybe Heila even had distant family members on this side of the mountains who refused to return to the Vale when Nyrielle retook it from the Lothians.


    Memories were longer for the Eldritch in general and even more so for Nyrielle. In Blackwell County, people seemed to focus only on the most recent events of the past, with far more concern for the events of the present and the opportunities for the future. Among the Eldritch, however, she felt like she was constantly walking through layers of history that stretched back for hundreds of years.


    As they left the narrow pass, Ashlynn was greeted by a sweeping vista. Bright blue sky with puffy clouds seemed to stretch endlessly to the west over vast fields of gently swaying grasses. Birds and butterflies danced through the air and small villages could be seen in the distance, dotting the landscape as if they¡¯d been dripped onto the earth by an artist¡¯s brush.


    "This... it¡¯s beautiful," Ashlynn breathed, all but leaning out the carriage window as she watched the sights rolling by. It wasn¡¯t that she¡¯d never seen open fields or farmland before, she¡¯d seen several different types of farms when she traveled between Blackwell County and Lothian March.


    What struck her this time was how abundant and alive the land felt when they reached the High Fen. The trees on this side of the mountain were tough, tenacious things that thrived in the rocky soil and eked out a life made of at least fifty percent stubbornness. The feeling those trees gave off was very different from the welcoming, inviting feeling of the forests in the Vale of Mists.


    It wasn¡¯t until they were traveling through the open fields of the fen that she felt the land reaching out to her, like a distant relative greeting her first arrival. The air smelled moist and peaty and after so many days spent in the dry cold air of the High Pass, every pore on her body sang in joy as she breathed in the damp, warm air.


    The further the carriage traveled, the more new sights greeted her. She recognized both members of the Clan of the Great Claw and the Horned Clan among the local population, but she also spotted several new Eldritch clans she hadn¡¯t seen before.


    "The ones with the long necks and legs are called the Glass Eyed Clan," Heila said, pointing at several tall individuals with stick-thin legs and swan-like necks who were wading through one of the many streams that crisscrossed the High Fen. "They can see through even murky water as though it were clear as glass and they¡¯re said to have no blind spots when they take up weapons."


    As she watched, Ashlynn had to suppress a shudder when she saw members of this clan twist their necks to watch the carriage as it passed. Not only were their eyes set very wide on their angular, birdlike faces, but their long necks allowed them to look in any direction without turning their bodies.


    "What about the ones on the boats?" Ashlynn asked, pointing to a group of figures pushing a flat-bottomed boat along another stream. These individuals were broad-shouldered with large bellies and thick limbs. Their skin held a greenish hue and looked thick and leathery while their eyes seemed to glow a yellowish color whenever they caught the light.


    "They¡¯re called Muckin," Heila said, hiding herself behind the curtain as she peeked out at the men on the boat. "No one likes them. They¡¯re loud, obnoxious, drink strong ale, and look for excuses to start fights. They, um, they have very long tongues that can grab things and they¡¯ll eat anything. You, you should stay away from them."


    "You said no one likes them, but they seem to be getting on well here," Ashlynn said, pointing to several of the Muckin who were conversing with people from the Glass Eyed clan. The conversation looked lively and no one seemed to be acting distant from anyone else.


    "I meant no one likes them outside of the High Fen," Heila said, continuing to hide. "They like to snatch things... and people. Women especially. Not everywhere is like the High Fen. I hear that some Muckin travel around other nations, snatching people to fight in the High Fen¡¯s arena. They¡¯re very scary."


    "Humans say that all Eldritch people are very scary," Ashlynn reminded her new lady-in-waiting. "They make up all manner of lies about the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw. I used to believe those things. I don¡¯t anymore."


    "I, I¡¯m sorry," Heila said sheepishly. She was supposed to be helping Ashlynn learn more about other Eldritch people, but Heila had never left the Vale of Mists herself. She¡¯d met the occasional visitor from across the mountains when they came to the Vale to trade and she knew a little bit about the people of the High Pass and the High Fen, but she had to admit that her knowledge wasn¡¯t vast and much of it was second hand.


    "I think, if you want to meet anyone, Lady Nyrielle can help you know who you should talk to and who to avoid," Heila said. "Once we reach High Fen City, there will be more than a dozen clans present, plus everyone who¡¯s visiting from somewhere else. It¡¯s really much bigger than our little Vale of Mists."


    "I¡¯m looking forward to it," Ashlynn said with a smile. "But, I don¡¯t think Mistress Nyrielle intends to stay for very long. Perhaps I¡¯ll only get to meet with a few people."


    "Per-perhaps," Heila said, nodding her head quickly. Visiting the High Fen was very different from visiting the High Pass after all. The size and scale of this place could swallow the current Vale of Mists and the High Pass combined and the people might not even notice that they¡¯d gained new neighbors. There really was too much happening in this place to experience much of it in a brief visit.


    Only, Heila knew that Nyrielle was planning something special for Ashlynn when they arrived. While Nyrielle herself had kept Ashlynn occupied at night, Heila had spent her evenings on the carriage driver¡¯s seat alongside Zedya. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There were some things that Zedya would do for Nyrielle once they arrived but other surprises required the help of someone who could be active during daylight hours. As Ashlynn¡¯s new lady-in-waiting, Zedya hadn¡¯t hesitated to bring her new diminutive peer into the conspiracy.


    As the carriage rolled on, a small, secretive smile spread across Heila¡¯s face. Once they arrived in High Fen City, Ashlynn was in for a number of surprises, and Heila was filled with a sense of anticipation to see how her friend would respond to all of them.

 Chapter 156: The Splendor of High Fen City

    Chapter 156: The Splendor of High Fen CityNyrielle was unwilling to enter High Fen City during the day. While she had a greater measure of trust for the people who served High Lady Erna, the harassment that Ashlynn was subjected to wasn¡¯t something she would tolerate again.


    A year from now, Nyrielle was confident that she could leave such matters in Ashlynn¡¯s hands with ease, but for now, her young Seneschal was still too new to dealing with the Eldritch and had yet to master her powers to an extent that would make people fearful of drawing her ire.


    Because they waited for nightfall, Ashlynn¡¯s first look at High Fen City was when they topped a small rise that revealed a vast, glittering jewel in the dark of the night. For several minutes as the carriage rolled along the ancient road leading into the city, Ashlynn could only stare at the sight as her mind struggled to come to terms with the size of the sprawling city.


    She had seen Blackwell City from ships in the harbor and she¡¯d seen Lothian City from the highest tower of the imposing Lothian fortress. Both cities were old with tens of thousands of residents packed densely into the city walls. At night, the lamps that burned by people¡¯s front doors turned the city into a miniature starscape like a piece of the night sky fallen to the earth.


    High Fen City, however, was much, much too large for Ashlynn to think of it the same way she thought of the cities she was familiar with. There were just too many lights! The sky above the city itself seemed to possess a faint glow, like the sun refused to completely set on the sprawling city.


    "This can¡¯t all be the light of the city," Ashlynn said, looking to Nyrielle for confirmation. "Is there an Eldritch Clan that glows in the dark, like fireflies? Some of those lights are moving, I think, but... it¡¯s so bright!"


    "High Fen City never sleeps, not really," Nyrielle said with a smile that revealed a hint of her fangs. "You¡¯ve seen the Muckins and the Glass Eyed Clan, but the Clan of Painted Masks are almost completely nocturnal and there are many of them here."


    "The scaled clan is also more active at night as well," the vampire added. "It¡¯s one of the reasons that I¡¯ve been able to build a comfortable relationship with the High Lords and High Ladies that rule here. At a certain surface level, we actually have much in common."


    "What¡¯s High Lady Erna like?" Ashlynn asked. Compared to her visit to the High Pass, Nyrielle had barely spoken of the lord that would be hosting them when they arrived in the city.


    "Dangerous, venomous, ruthless," Nyrielle said lightly. "All things you would expect from someone who succeeded in seizing power here. I¡¯m told that she spared three of her siblings when she ascended but I¡¯ve been too busy with matters at home to pay much attention to the struggle of this generation."


    "Spared? She spared three of her siblings?" Ashlynn said, her eyes wide as she tried to imagine the kind of tyrant who would slay their own siblings just to inherit a title. Thankfully, she and Jocelynn had never been very competitive for anything.


    Jocelynn had her interests and Ashlynn followed other pursuits. There had never been a reason for the two to turn on each other the way she¡¯d heard that some men did when multiple brothers contended for a throne.


    "The Scaled Clan is different from what you are accustomed to," Nyrielle said as the carriage began to approach the entrance to the city. "They hatch in clutches of five to ten. It is a tradition of the ruling family that only the strongest of each generation may become the next ruler of the High Fen. The competition between them is fierce and encompasses far more than their ability to fight in the arena. Some years, only one victor survives the competition."


    "So, you¡¯re saying that Erna is kinder than previous rulers because she spared three of her siblings?" Ashlynn asked.


    "No, I¡¯m not saying she¡¯s kinder at all," Nyrielle said with a shake of her head. "She¡¯s just that much stronger than her weakest siblings. Even combined, they pose no threat to her so she has no reason to sink her fangs into them."


    Further conversation was interrupted by their arrival in High Fen City. Now that they were closer, Ashlynn realized the first thing about the city that seemed strange to her. The city gate they arrived at had stood for centuries but it wasn¡¯t connected to a wider city wall at all. If not for the soggy ground, it looked like a person could simply walk around the gate and enter the city without encountering any barrier at all.


    Once they rolled through the gate, however, Ashlynn began to realize why a wall would have been a strange structure in a city like this.


    The ancient road took a winding course through town, winding its way among a network of roads and waterways that gave the city its unique layout. On the waterways, Ashlynn spotted several flat-bottomed boats being pushed along by men using long poles that reached all the way to the bottom of the canals. Each boat carried a lantern at each end, creating a constantly dancing tapestry of lights that wove through the city at night like fireflies above the water.


    The streets themselves were wide, well maintained and completely free of the kinds of garbage she was accustomed to encountering along busy roads in Blackwell or Lothian City. Beyond that, much like the castle town in the Vale of Mists, the streets were lined by large oil lamps set atop stone pillars or metal posts, spaced evenly along the road.


    Several of the shops they rolled past had closed their shutters for the night, but Ashlynn was amazed to see brightly illuminated shops still open even at this late hour of the day. In fact, the number of people moving around the wide streets at night would have looked very normal for Blackwell city at mid-day almost any day of the year.


    The air in the city carried a rich scent of woodsmoke mingled with the slightly peaty, boggy scent from the canals along with the aroma of baked goods and grilled meats wafting from a number of shops happily selling their wares to late-night shoppers.


    Their carriage passed through a number of bustling plazas adorned with splashing fountains and happy people idling in the cool evening air. Some were drinking and boisterous, others were thoughtful, brooding over gameboards set outside cafes and smoking pipes that gave off an almost cloying, sweet scent.


    "Just how many people live here?" Ashlynn breathed as she looked around the busy city. The buildings weren¡¯t as densely packed as they were in Lothian or Blackwell cities, and none of them were quite as tall but that didn¡¯t stop the place from looking every bit as busy as any city she¡¯d ever seen.


    "Erna is a High Lady," Ashlynn said a touch wistfully as she looked out the window. "When my grandsire Torbin was a High Lord, there were more than a hundred thousand people in Mist City and almost half a million across his domain. High Lady Erna¡¯s domain shouldn¡¯t be any smaller."


    For a moment, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t say anything. This was easily twice the size of Lothian March, on par with any of the great Duchies of the Kingdom of Gaal. Even the Royal Capital was barely larger than this!


    Fast on the recognition of how large of a place they¡¯d come, however, came another realization as she processed what Nyrielle had said. The Vale of Mists had once been just as large. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She¡¯d heard the story from Thane that the original city outside the ancient fortress had been burned to the ground, but only now did she have a sense of scale for what kind of loss that had truly been. Looking out the window at the seemingly carefree people out for a stroll in the cool evening air, Ashlynn tried to imagine what it would be like if humans arrived here with one of their crusades.


    Buildings burning, people fleeing and Templars eagerly cutting down anyone who tried to flee whether that person posed any kind of a threat or not. Looking at Nyrielle¡¯s complicated expression as the vampire gazed out of the window, Ashlynn reached out gently to wrap her arms around her lover.


    No wonder she¡¯d taken such desperate actions to avenge her people. To set fire to a place like this... Ever since Owain attacked her, Ashlynn had come to see the Lothians as brutal and relentless in the pursuit of their goals. She would even call them cruel.


    But to burn a city this size to the ground... after doing such a thing, could they even still call themselves human?


    "The Vale will be like this again," Ashlynn promised softly, tightening her embrace around Nyrielle. She had no idea how long it would take but seeing what her lover had lost only further strengthened the resolve in Ashlynn¡¯s heart. There was no place for the Lothians and their cruelty in this world.


    As long as they pointed their swords at the Vale of Mists, there could be no true reconstruction and without that, how was her lover supposed to heal? Restoring the glory of the Vale of Mists would take years, maybe even decades, but as she was constantly being reminded with her travels through Eldritch lands. She had the time, it was only a question of whether or not she had the strength.

 Chapter 157: High Lady Erna

    Chapter 157: High Lady ErnaAs the carriage trundled through the city, Ashlynn continued to marvel at a variety of sights in the bustling areas of the city. After several minutes, they reached a second set of gates where much more imposing guards inspected every carriage or party passing through. Seeing the sharp, angular glyph on the side of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s carriage, the guards bowed deeply and waved them through.


    The city beyond the gate was much quieter and less festive. Stately manors sat behind elaborate iron gates on large plots of land interspersed with exclusive-looking shopping districts, most of which had shuttered for the night. When they arrived at their destination, however, Ashlynn was stunned at the sight that greeted her.


    High Lady Erna¡¯s palace rose from the heart of the city like a dream of gleaming marble and reflected moonlight. Unlike the imposing fortresses of human lords or even the mighty fortress built by Frost Walkers, this was a palace built to celebrate power and flaunt wealth more than a military fortification built to defend it.


    Graceful columns soared skyward, supporting elaborate archways adorned with carved serpents that were so intricately detailed that they seemed to move in the flickering lamplight of the courtyard, as though they could come to life at any moment. A few of them even carried traces of sorcery that made Ashlynn wonder if the giant pythons could actually come to life.


    Opulent fountains dominated the sprawling courtyard, their waters cascading through elaborate tiers where larger than life statues of the Scaled Clan¡¯s greatest rulers stood like silent guardians defending the palace from would-be attackers.


    These weren¡¯t the stiff, formal statues Ashlynn knew from human lands. Each figure was captured in motion, their serpentine lower bodies coiled with lethal grace while their human torsos twisted in poses of attack or defense, as though they were locked in eternal combat. The aura of mystic energy that clung to them was even greater than what Ashlynn sensed from the carved serpents.


    "Those statues," Ashlynn whispered, pointing at an imposing male figure with perfectly sculpted musculature raising a spear high overhead as though he was ready to impale their carriage. "Are they like the Blood Golems? Preserved protectors of fallen warriors?"


    "The Scaled Clan celebrates their heroes and rulers like this," Nyrielle said, smiling as she noticed the most recent addition to the courtyard. "It¡¯s true that they are more than simple decorations, but they have no connection to the dead. A living sorcerer must connect with them in order to direct their actions."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, as she continued to look around the courtyard. At first, she hadn¡¯t seen it as being a well-defended fortification but it seemed like her notion of ¡¯fortification¡¯ was far too simple for the Eldritch clans on this side of the mountains.


    The palace itself spread outward rather than upward, its wings embracing the courtyard like the coils of some great serpent. Warm light spilled from countless windows, and everywhere Ashlynn looked, she saw little details that spoke to the Scaled Clan¡¯s nature. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In some places, she noticed scales worked into the marble columns, or serpentine motifs in the decorative metalwork. While it never went as far as to resemble a literal snake, the curved walls and flowing direction of the paths nonetheless exuded a certain serpentine feeling to the entire building.


    "The Scaled Clan believes beauty and power go hand in hand," Nyrielle said softly as their carriage approached the palace entrance. "Each ruler adds their own touch to the palace and it¡¯s grown significantly over the years, but no one dares to remove what came before. It¡¯s a palace, but it¡¯s also a living monument to a thousand years of pride and glory."


    "What about that one?" Ashlynn said, pointing at the newest statue that Nyrielle had smiled at. "You seemed to like that one."


    "High Lord Luka was High Lady Erna¡¯s father and someone I considered to be a good friend," Nyrielle said with a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "His statue wasn¡¯t complete the last time I visited but whoever made this one clearly remembers his days in the arena. Even his scars are captured faithfully and that look on his face, like he¡¯s laughing at his opponent... It¡¯s very accurate."


    "So how close are you with High Lady Erna?" Ashlynn asked.


    "That¡¯s hard to say," The vampire said honestly as the carriage came to a stop. "It¡¯s easy enough to send letters but you can see how difficult it is to visit. The last time I visited, she had yet to claim the throne from her father and all nine of her siblings were still alive."


    "I¡¯m sure she¡¯s faced her share of hardships to secure her throne and that can change a person drastically from the little girl she was into the ruthless ruler she must be," Nyrielle said. "Perhaps she barely remembers the time we spent together when she was young."


    "I don¡¯t think anyone could forget you," Ashlynn said, wrapping an arm around Nyrielle¡¯s slender waist and giving her a gentle squeeze.


    Exiting the carriage, they were joined by Zedya and Heila as they approached the palace. By the time they had reached the foot of a long ramp leading up into the ornate palace entrance, rows of uniformed servants spilled from the elaborately carved gates and formed into neat lines to welcome the Eldritch Lady of the Vale and her companions.


    At the front of those servants, a powerfully built man slid across the ground on a golden serpentine tail. He wore a shimmering, pleated skirt held up by a pair of leather belts that crossed over his sculpted, muscular chest. Seen up close, Ashlynn realized why the statues in the courtyard had been so disconcerting.


    The Frost Walkers had been the least similar to human members of the Eldritch peoples that she¡¯d met so far, but their faces still had enough similarity with human faces to feel familiar. The Scaled Clan, on the other hand, felt like they were... half finished.


    The muscular servant that greeted them was completely hairless with a pattern of gold, yellow and orange scales that started like the point of a spear between his wide, unblinking eyes and expanded as it ran back over his smooth scalp. His heavy brows were completely hairless and his face lacked a true nose though there were two small slits above his thin lips that seemed to serve the function of a nose.


    "Greetings, Blood Princess Nyrielle," the man said, his forked tongue flickering to taste the air when he came within a few paces of them. "High Lady Erna has been eagerly anticipating your arrival. If you¡¯ll follow me, these others will attend to the remainder of your party."


    Following the serpentine servant, Ashlynn was no longer surprised to find the interior of the palace to be even more lavish than its exterior. Statues gave way to intricate paintings, rich tapestries and ornate pieces of furniture that seemed almost too beautiful to use. Large crystalline chandeliers hung from the ceiling and every surface of the palace had been cleaned and polished until it gleamed.


    After the reception they received in the High Pass, Ashlynn expected a similar greeting in the High Fen, however the servant led them away from the main, more public areas of the palace until they reached a lush and secluded garden in one of the rear wings of the palace.


    Fires burned in several bronze firepits in addition to a number of lamps and plush, comfortable looking couches ringed a low table covered with dozens of small, bitesized dishes. While a few servants dressed similarly to their guide stood nearby, the only person waiting for them in a seat was a stunning woman with dark black and gold diamond patterned scales and a lithe, muscular body above her long, serpentine tail.


    "Auntie," High Lady Erna said, sliding smoothly off of her sofa as soon as she saw Nyrielle and her companions enter the garden. "You finally came to visit," she said with a cheerful smile that revealed a set of wicked, scimitar-shaped fangs.


    Before Nyrielle could respond to the greeting, the powerful woman darted across the seating area, her arms spread wide as she flung herself into a fierce hug. All around the garden, servants stood with their mouths open as the fearsome woman who ruled like a tyrant instantly shed her majesty and dignity in front of the visiting Eldritch Lord.


    Several of them had been curious about how close the relationship between their High Lady and this distant Eldritch Lady truly was. To receive someone in the private gardens rather than the great hall was already a strong declaration of friendship but wasn¡¯t this a little too excessive?


    "You¡¯ve worked hard, Little Snake," Nyrielle said, gently caressing the scales of the other woman¡¯s head with a nostalgic smile on her lips. If Erna had wanted to, she could easily draw herself up to seven or eight feet in height with the length of her tail but she¡¯d approached Nyrielle with a lower posture and greeted her the same way she had so many years ago. Compared to their arrival in the High Pass, it couldn¡¯t be better.


    "Zedya, I remember," Erna said, pulling back to look at the people who had arrived with Nyrielle. "But who is this one," she asked, turning her gaze to Ashlynn. With the speed of a striking snake, she stood before the young witch, her tongue flickering in the air as if she could taste the magical energy surrounding Ashlynn.


    "She¡¯s very woody, isn¡¯t she?" Erna said bluntly, rapidly circling Ashlynn like a predator circling their prey. By the time she had completed her circuit around the young witch, her unblinking gaze had lost its kindness, turning into an intense stare that seemed to radiate hunger.


    "But Aunty, this aura is so thin and weak," she said in a tone that was both sweet and menacing. "How can you take in someone like this as your Seneschal? If you needed someone strong to take a place at your side, let me host an event in the arena to find you a fitting champion."


    "Only a champion bathed in the blood of dozens of challengers could be worthy to stand at the side of the Blood Princess," she said, as though it was common sense. "Allow me to devour this one and I will find you someone better."

 Chapter 158: The Purpose of her Visit

    Chapter 158: The Purpose of her Visit"Allow me to devour this one and I will find you someone better."


    Tension hung thick in the garden the moment High Lady Erna made her offer. None of the servants in the garden were armed, it would be useless to think they could fight off someone like Lady Nyrielle and they¡¯d been told that having armed guards present would be insulting as well as useless.


    But, seeing the dark stares from both Heila and more importantly, the amethyst-eyed Zedya, some of the servants wondered why they weren¡¯t at least offered some protection against Lady Nyrielle¡¯s companions. If a fight broke out between Eldritch Ladies over Erna¡¯s words, it would be nice to have someone to stop the conflict from spreading to others, wouldn¡¯t it?


    Nyrielle, however, said nothing at all. Her face remained calm and impassive though people who had seen her wear an expressionless mask often enough would detect a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips and a twinkle in her eyes as she looked at her Seneschal staring down the Eldritch High Lady.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said without looking away from Erna¡¯s unblinking stare. "I¡¯ll need to trouble you to fetch my sword and armor. It sounds like we¡¯ll be adding snakeskins to our collections of Frost Walker horns and Tuscan tusks at this stop of our trip."


    The Ashlynn from a few weeks ago might have said something different. She might have deflected the challenge by pointing out that Nyrielle¡¯s choice of Seneschal was no one¡¯s business but hers, or that she might be weak now but she¡¯d only just begun to master her powers.


    The Ashlynn who stood before High Lady Erna had come to realize that those excuses, true as they might be, would only be taken as signs of weakness by the Eldritch. A challenge had been issued. If she retreated from it, then it was as good as declaring that she wasn¡¯t worthy of Nyrielle.


    While she could accept people calling her weak, because she still was when compared to the likes of Nyrielle and Lord Ritchel, she would never accept the implication that she wasn¡¯t worthy of her partner¡¯s love.


    "How many bodies would you need to see piled up at my feet to feel that I belong at Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s side?" Ashlynn asked directly.


    "None," Nyrielle interrupted, pulling Ashlynn into a close embrace. "My darling Ashlynn has slaughtered enough on this trip. She¡¯s been so beaten and bruised that I¡¯ve barely been able to enjoy the sweetness of her blood for fear of interrupting her healing. Don¡¯t deprive me of my favorite delicacy just because you want to test my darling¡¯s strength."


    "Oh, if you¡¯re hungry, I have a treat for you," Erna said, the fierceness in her gaze dropping away instantly as she turned to her nervous looking servants. "Please, bring the special meal I prepared for Auntie," she said with a wide smile.


    "You have some steel in you," Erna said, turning back to Ashlynn. "You have no idea how much it would delight my people to see a Child of the Earth in the arena. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s happened... maybe ever. To be the first witch to stand on the sands of blood and honor, people would surely come from two or three nations away."


    "But, willing as you are, you¡¯re not ready yet," she said, her tongue flicking out again as she more closely sampled Ashlynn¡¯s aura. "And since Auntie doesn¡¯t want you to fight, I would never force the issue. Perhaps after you¡¯ve completed your visit to the Mother of Thorns you¡¯ll be ready to entertain us."


    "Even then," Nyrielle said, her eyes darkening. "My Ashlynn doesn¡¯t belong on the sands. There¡¯s nothing so important that she needs to take that risk as long as I¡¯m here."


    "Is that how it is?" Erna said, smiling widely. "Then come, Little Witch, there are several things to try, I hope you¡¯ll enjoy them."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said politely, taking a seat on one of the plush sofas where she could snuggle close to Nyrielle. "Is this a custom of the Scaled Clan? Meals of many small bites?"


    "No, not at all," Erna said, selecting a delicate morsel of grilled vegetable topped with a spicy red sauce. "We prefer to gorge ourselves on something substantial and then spend a day or two digesting. This is for Auntie. It¡¯s been so long since she visited, I wanted to give her as many different dishes as I could," she said, sounding more like a spoiled child seeking praise than a powerful ruler.


    "You didn¡¯t have to do this, Little Snake," Nyrielle said warmly, selecting an olive stuffed with herbs and creamy cheese which she bit in half, savoring one bite before feeding the rest of the olive to Ashlynn. "But it matches well with the purpose of my visit, so I¡¯m very glad that you did."


    "My Ladies," a servant said, interrupting the conversation. "We¡¯ve brought the meal that High Lady Erna prepared for Lady Nyrielle," he said, turning to gesture to a trio of bound and gagged individuals.


    One of the men was a member of the Scaled Clan, another from the Glass Eyed Clan and the third came from a clan that Ashlynn had never seen before with bull-like horns and a broad, stocky body covered in dark black fur.


    "I hunted them myself when you sent your letter," Erna said proudly. "Each of them is very strong with a glorious record in the arena. If they had accepted their sentences, they might even have won enough victories to be forgiven for their crimes. Since they dared to defy the law and escape, they¡¯ve lost the honor they gained."


    "You don¡¯t need to worry about leaving them alive," the High Lady added. "Their lives are forfeit one way or another. Since you haven¡¯t been able to feed on your enchanting delicacy, feel free to indulge in the blood of the strong. You shouldn¡¯t be disappointed," she said sweetly.


    "Go," Ashlynn said, tapping Nyrielle gently and pulling back. She felt the moment of hesitation from Nyrielle as soon as the criminals were presented, but she had no intention of turning away from this. While Nyrielle benefitted tremendously from feeding on Ashlynn, she never took enough from her to sate herself.


    After asking Ashlynn to watch her feed once, Nyrielle had never brought Ashlynn along to see her feed again, but once had been enough for Ashlynn to accept the way Nyrielle fed. The people of the Vale of Mists offered themselves up willingly and considered it an honor for Nyrielle to feed on them.


    Here, it seemed that High Lady Erna had different thoughts on the matter. Ashlynn didn¡¯t know what crimes these men had committed, but clearly, they had been judged, sentenced, and attempted to escape that sentence. Whether Nyrielle took their lives by feeding on them or Erna had them beheaded, the result would be the same and there was no reason to be upset by it. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Doing all this," Ashlynn said, gesturing at the food on the table and the men Nyrielle had begun to feed on. "Mistress Nyrielle must mean a great deal to you."


    "I pestered Father for a year to invite her here to teach me how to fight before I entered the arena for the first time," Erna admitted readily. "You know there¡¯s a statue of her at the arena that records the names of everyone she defeated to become the Blood Princess of the arena. When I was little, I wanted to become even stronger than her so people would call me the Blood Queen and accept me as their ruler."


    "And?" Ashlynn asked, selecting a plump red fruit and savoring the sweet juices that threatened to run down her chin when she took her first bite. "Do they call you the Blood Queen?"


    "No," the other woman said with an ironic smile. "I had my share of fights in the arena but by the time I was strong enough to contemplate what she had done, I no longer had a reason to do so. I had gained too much and defeat would cost me more than I was willing to pay. That¡¯s when I finally understood, at least a little bit, just how much desperation was driving Auntie in those days."


    "Those days are over," Nyrielle said, returning to her place on the sofa next to Ashlynn. "Now I have people I can¡¯t afford to lose," she added, giving Ashlynn a light kiss before retrieving a pickled beat from the collection of small morsels. "And there are things about High Fen City I¡¯d like to share with her that have nothing to do with the arena."


    "Oh? Then what is it you have in mind for your visit?" Erna asked lightly.


    "My darling has suffered greatly and worked hard since a foolish human attempted to murder her," Nyrielle said, a hint of darkness creeping into her gaze before she blinked it away. "Now that we¡¯re here, I intend to spoil her with a few days of decadence before we resume our journey to the Mother of Thorns."


    "My darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, cupping her lover¡¯s cheek and gazing into her emerald eyes with warmth and affection. "You won¡¯t object to my arrangements, will you?"


    Ashlynn¡¯s face heated under the vampire¡¯s intensely affectionate gaze. At times like this, even though there were several other people present, her eyes only saw Nyrielle.


    "When you put it like that," Ashlynn said, leaning forward to whisper in her lover¡¯s ear. "You can do with me as you please and I will always be yours."

 Chapter 159: Real and Fake

    Chapter 159: Real and FakeIn the courtyard of the Lothian¡¯s Summer Villa, Samira stood next to the captain of the guard, her heart hammering in her chest while she watched a mighty procession wind its way up the road toward the villa.


    Weeks ago, when Owain brought her here, she had thought it was a marvelous trip with two dozen soldiers, more than a dozen servants, and three knights. She¡¯d never in her life been part of such a grand event.


    Now, seeing the arrival of Jocelynn Blackwell, she couldn¡¯t help but laugh at herself for feeling like she¡¯d been treated like a genuine noblewoman. Counting the banners, there were more than ten knights in the procession approaching the Summer Villa. Some of them she recognized but others bore the personal emblems of knights from far away Blackwell County.


    In addition to the knights, she counted at least six armored templars riding under the banner of the Holy Lord of Light, and one of the carriages flew the red and gold banner of the Inquisition.


    All of this would have been impressive enough, but the armored knights and ornate carriages were only the beginning of the procession. Nearly twenty wagons stretched behind the carriages. Some were loaded high with crate after crate of supplies and personal belongings while others were filled with dozens of servants and attendants coming to take up any number of responsibilities in the Summer Villa.


    Bringing up the rear of the winding column, Samira couldn¡¯t begin to count the number of armored soldiers marching in neat rows four men abreast but she estimated it at more than a hundred men.


    In comparison, her own arrival suddenly felt like she had snuck out of Lothian City in the hopes that no one would pay much attention to her. The arrival of so many important people put incredible pressure on her. Sweat beaded between her shoulder blades and she clutched at her skirts with hand that had grown damp as she felt the pressure increasing.


    With an event as important as this, she¡¯d dressed in her best dress, a deep ocean blue that she paired with a necklace of pearls that seemed to be the most expensive piece of jewelry in Ashlynn Blackwell¡¯s collection. She wore her blonde hair in a loose braid and kept her makeup simple as Owain had told her repeatedly that Ashlynn rarely bothered to paint herself up.


    When the carriages finally arrived, she had to hold herself back from rushing forward to greet Owain as he exited the carriage. Under the light of the midday sun, Owain seemed to almost glow in the light that reflected off of his crisp white tunic and soft flowing chestnut hair. When he turned back to the carriage, his handsome face wore a smile that seemed brighter than the sun as he extended a hand to the woman within.


    Samira¡¯s first look at Jocelynn hit her like she had been doused with a bucket of icy water. The grace and poise that she moved with seemed natural but had in truth been diligently practiced since she was a young child. Each movement seemed careful, deliberate, and incredibly dignified as she exited the carriage. This, Samira realized, was a real noblewoman.


    While Owain had often told Samira that she greatly resembled Ashlynn Blackwell, when she saw Jocelynn she could only laugh at herself for taking the comparison seriously. Jocelynn was taller than her and her figure had classic, elegant proportions. Her features were delicate and refined and her skin was radiant and flawless. Wrapped in a dress of pale seafoam blue, she seemed like a siren stepping from the sea into the world of mortals who lived their lives shackled to the land.


    "My pearl of the sea," Owain said, stepping forward with his arms open wide. "I have missed you, my wife."


    "Husband," Samira said, offering a very slight curtsey before gently embracing her lover. There might not have been a wedding between them, but Owain had made her his in every way a husband would claim his wife and she had yearned for his touch since he left the Summer Villa.


    "I¡¯ve missed you," she said when he pulled back away from her. Despite the public display of affection, he seemed oddly reluctant to touch her when they embraced and his hands were much more restrained on her body than they had been previously. "And I¡¯ve missed you too, sister," she said, turning to face Jocelynn.


    "Sister, it¡¯s only been a few months and you¡¯ve already changed so much," Jocelynn said lightly as she stepped forward to place a hand on the imposter¡¯s belly. "You are radiant but you shouldn¡¯t strain yourself too much when Brother-in-law has so many things to settle with his knights and soldiers. Let¡¯s retire to your chambers and you can tell me how you¡¯ve been."


    To others who did not know the real Ashlynn Blackwell, Jocelynn had to admit that the imposter Owain¡¯s father had found bore a striking resemblance to her late sister. For a moment, when she stepped out of the carriage, she felt like it had all been a bad dream and that her sister really was simply being confined to the Summer Villa in order to prevent others from discovering that she was a witch.


    As soon as the imposter spoke, the illusion shattered. Her sister¡¯s voice was light and even in formal gatherings, she would never address Jocelynn as ¡¯sister.¡¯ At that moment, if the imposter had lovingly called her ¡¯Jocey¡¯ she might have fallen into the illusion but as soon as she heard ¡¯sister¡¯, it ripped away the dream and replaced it with a reality filled with imperfections. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When the two women reached the opulent suite that Samira had been occupying, all of the polite civility drained away from Jocelynn as soon as the door closed behind her.


    "What is your name?" Jocelynn asked sharply. "And take off that necklace, give it to me."


    "My name is Samira," the imposter said, startled at the sharpness in Lady Jocelynn¡¯s tone. "But, you can still call me Ashlynn. Owain does, even when we¡¯re in private," she said. Her mind worked furiously trying to find the right words to respond to the other woman¡¯s hostility. Had she done something wrong?


    "The necklace," she said, reaching up to undo the clasp. "It was in the jewelry box Owain gave me. He said that I should make sure to always maintain the image of a proper noblewoman so..."


    "Stop, just, just stop and give me the necklace," Jocelynn said, her voice cracking slightly as she struggled to suppress the storm of emotions swirling within her chest. "That belonged to my grandmother. It¡¯s not a common trinket to be worn on days that should be cheerful, unless you¡¯re trying to mock me? Did you do this to remind me that my sister is dead and gone?"


    The more she spoke the harsher Jocelynn¡¯s words became. Months. She was supposed to live with this woman for months and pretend that she was Ashlynn? If it wasn¡¯t for the fact that it would provoke a scandal she¡¯d have the woman flogged for disgracing her grandmother. As is, she could only swallow the insult and hold out her hand for the necklace.


    "I, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know," Samira said, quickly placing the necklace in Jocelynn¡¯s outstretched hands. "Please, I..."


    "Stop, don¡¯t say anything else," Jocelynn said, clutching the necklace and closing her eyes. It took several deep breaths before she could regain her composure. She thought she¡¯d prepared herself for this, but clearly, she¡¯d been wrong. Even in this isolated villa, away from most people¡¯s prying eyes, she would have to work hard to present the appearance that this woman was really her older sister.


    "Anything that happened before I arrived can be forgiven," Jocelynn forced herself to say. "But from now on, you will take your instructions from me. In public, you may call me ¡¯sister¡¯," she said. It would be less painful that way. "In private, you will call me ¡¯Lady Jocelynn¡¯, and I expect you to remember honorifics with everyone else as well, especially Lord Owain. He is not your husband, no matter what we¡¯re pretending at the moment, and will not stand for you treating him more intimately than common custom requires when in public."


    "Now, there will be a welcoming feast tonight," Jocelynn said, taking a seat and gesturing for Samira to do the same. "It¡¯s good that you¡¯ve started to pad your dress," she added, pointing to the very faint bulge at Samira¡¯s waist. "You¡¯re supposed to be in a delicate condition which makes some things easier. Still, there are a few things that I expect from you on a night like this, so listen closely..."

 Chapter 160: Wild Conjecture

    Chapter 160: Wild ConjectureIn a different room in the Summer Villa, Inquisitor Diarmuid sat with Confessor Eleanor and the newly titled Templar Tommin. Despite the august status of each of these people, no servants were allowed to attend them and the Confessor herself poured wine for both men before pouring a cup for herself.


    "I didn¡¯t have a chance to say it during the ceremony," Eleanor said lightly as she poured. "But congratulations, Sir Tommin, on awakening the power of a Holy Light Blade. Not many who join the church so late in life are able to complete this step to become a Templar of Light in the service of the Holy Lord of Light."


    "Sir Tommin¡¯s piety should be an inspiration to all young Templars," Diarmuid praised. The sword had been one of many weapons he requested from the Inquisition when Eleanor joined Lady Jocelynn on her journey to the frontier but even he had expected it to take some time for Owain¡¯s former personal guard to master the art of empowering a Holy Light Blade.


    Diarmuid had two blades sent specifically to test the new Templar with. If Sir Tommin hadn¡¯t been able to master either of them, he would have remained an ordinary Templar within the Church. Such men were numerous and would be accorded the same privileges and treatment as secular knights both in life and on the field of battle.


    Beyond the general order of Templars, however, existed the Order of Holy Light and the Order of Holy Flame. To ignite a Holy Flame Blade required a depth of zealotry and hatred toward demons and the enemy of the Church that few possessed. If a person¡¯s faith was lacking in desire to cleanse the world of heresy and evil, they would be unable to ignite the Holy Flame.


    Sir Tommin possessed no such zeal. Instead, he possessed a deep devotion to the ideals of the Holy Lord of Light. A purity of faith that believed in the justice and mercy of the Church and its duty to protect the innocent from darkness defined the Order of Holy Light.


    Most Templars trained and prayed for years, if not decades, before they achieved a purity of devotion or zeal that would allow them to wield the Church¡¯s greatest weapons, but Sir Tommin had succeeded at the first opportunity, placing him above any of the other templars who accompanied them on this journey. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I don¡¯t think young Templars should learn from my example," Sir Tommin said with a complicated look on his face. The Tommin of a year ago would barely recognize the face of the man he saw reflected in his wine goblet.


    Joining the Templars protected him from Lord Owain and Marquis Bors who might have decided at any time to kill him or threaten his family to secure his silence about Ashlynn Blackwell¡¯s murder. At the same time, Templars were allowed no family other than their brethren in the Church. Even though he hadn¡¯t left Lothian March, he hadn¡¯t seen his wife or son in the months since he approached Lord Loman to join the Templars.


    Once, his life was balanced between three pillars; his service to Lord Owain, his dedication to his wife Rosie and his son Tonnis, and his personal faith. Now, he had lost two of his pillars and all he had left was his faith to sustain him. Perhaps for some men, lighting up one of the sacred swords was a joyous confirmation of their personal devotion but for Tommin, it was a cutting reminder of how much he¡¯d been hollowed out by Owain¡¯s actions.


    "Whether they should or not, I¡¯m grateful to have you by my side on this hunt," Diarmuid said, placing a reassuring hand on the new Templar¡¯s shoulder. Clearly, the man was suffering for his faith but in Diarmuid¡¯s eyes that only made him more worthy of admiration. "Before we hunt, Eleanor, you¡¯ve had a few weeks to spend with Lady Jocelynn, what is your opinion of her?"


    "In many ways, she¡¯s typical for girls of her age and station," Eleanor said, leaning back in her chair and sipping on the fragrant red wine. "She is deeply concerned with her image and standing. It seems like she bears some resentment to her family over the arrangements under which she was trained."


    "Oh? Did Count Blackwell have something in mind for his youngest daughter?" Diarmuid asked.


    "The merchants and merchant guilds in Blackwell County are almost as powerful as Barons or well-established knights," Eleanor explained. "Count Rhys seems to have taken the approach of wedding one daughter to the nobility and the other to an important guild. Jocelynn actually has a very good head for commerce though she seems to look down on it."


    "You think she revealed her sister¡¯s birthmark because she was jealous of her sister¡¯s betrothal? I didn¡¯t think the Blackwells could raise someone that petty," the Inquisitor said with a scowl on his face. "Did she ever provide any evidence for her sister¡¯s witchcraft?"


    "None," the stern-looking Confessor said. "At most, she was known to keep a garden of exotic plants, mostly fruit trees and vegetables. Her parents kept her highly restricted in Blackwell manor. The impression I have is that her parents feared she might become a witch and worked very hard to keep her from developing any sort of power."


    "Lady Ashlynn always seemed like a caged bird to me," Sir Tommin added. "Whenever I visited Blackwell County with Lord Owain while they were courting, she seemed just as excited to leave the manor and go sightseeing as she was to spend time with Lord Owain."


    "What about relationships with other men?" Diarmuid asked suddenly. "When I examined Lady Ashlynn¡¯s body, I found that she may not have been chaste. Is it possible that there were other men in her life? Or, Sir Tommin, did you see Lord Owain take advantage of her before they were properly wed?"


    "No, never," the Templar insisted. "Lady Ashlynn was very proper and she always had at least one other woman in the party with us whenever she was courting with Lord Owain. Often it was her sister or her mother, but at times it was a woman from one of the merchant guilds. I remember there was an older woman, a Master Isabell that Lady Ashlynn seemed to admire greatly."


    "It¡¯s not impossible," Eleanor said, setting down her wine to meet Diarmuid¡¯s dark gaze. "Ashlynn had a number of private tutors. While many of them were distinguished masters in their forties and fifties, a few were younger men in their late twenties or early thirties, and Lady Jocelynn found a few of them to be handsome. For a noblewoman to have a dalliance with one of her tutors wouldn¡¯t be unheard of."


    "I don¡¯t know," Diarmuid said. "But what if she was carrying another man¡¯s child? He doesn¡¯t strike me as someone who tolerates others coveting something he feels belongs to him."


    "You¡¯re looking for motives other than witchcraft for the murder," Eleanor said, nodding at the other man¡¯s line of reasoning. Her impression of Owain Lothian was shallow but what she had seen from the men around him didn¡¯t incline her to look on him favorably.


    "I can pry more deeply into what Jocelynn knows about her sister¡¯s associations with her tutors, guardsmen and all the rest," the Confessor said. "But we¡¯ll need more than just rumors and testimony if you want to pull down the heir to Lothian March."


    "I¡¯ve exhausted what I can learn in Lothian March," Diarmuid said, tipping back his goblet of wine to finish the first cup before pouring himself a second. "After this hunt in the forests, I intend to visit Blackwell County to follow up on any leads there. I doubt this accusation but if Lady Ashlynn was a witch, then it¡¯s possible that she was part of a dark pact or ¡¯coven¡¯ in Blackwell County."


    "You think Master Isabell may be involved in this? A senior witch advising a junior?" Sir Tommin asked.


    "It¡¯s too soon to say," Diarmuid said. "People who consort with demons are often part of vast tapestries of evil. We¡¯re poking about blindly at the edges, looking for a loose thread that will allow us to unravel whatever dark conspiracy may be hiding beneath our noses. Until we find that thread, we can only keep searching and cleansing any lesser evils we find along the way."


    "If Ashlynn Blackwell was innocent of witchcraft and was murdered unjustly," Diarmuid said heavily. "It will be very difficult to bring him to justice. Without proof of witchcraft or infidelity on the part of Lady Ashlynn, it will be hard for him to justify his actions. At that time, Sir Tommin, we¡¯ll be counting on you for your testimony. It would help matters if you¡¯re able to accumulate some achievements on this hunt."


    "I know what you mean, Brother Diarmuid," Sir Tommin said, lowering his head. If he could bathe his blade in the blood of demons, any testimony he gave, whether it was related to matters of the Church or not, would be given greater weight by the lords of a court.


    It was just that, while he was prepared to take up his blade to protect his people from demons, the idea of hunting them to accumulate merit seemed... dirtier than the ideals of his faith. The Inquisitor wasn¡¯t wrong to point it out.


    The world worked the way it did. It was just that, hearing it spoken of so bluntly chipped away at the only pillar he had left. If even his faith collapsed, then what would he have left?

 Chapter 161: Has Nyrielle Changed?

    Chapter 161: Has Nyrielle Changed?Ashlynn and Nyrielle talked with High Lady Erna late into the night. Their host kept a near endless supply of bite-sized dishes flowing, accompanied by more varieties of wine than Ashlynn had ever sampled in a single sitting. Each time she thought she¡¯d learned to anticipate the strength of Eldritch wine, a new variety would appear that tasted of berries or honey but hit her like an anchor dropped into deep water, pulling her under faster than she realized.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said with intense concentration, trying very hard to form proper words. "Your wings are very beautiful tonight. Did you know they¡¯re made of feathers? And they¡¯re the best blankets. You should wrap me up in your wings like a gift that you can unwrap later when you want to unwrap your best gift," she rambled, snuggling up close to the vampire and reaching out to caress wings that weren¡¯t there.


    "I think perhaps my darling has had enough wine," Nyrielle said, unable to suppress her smile as Ashlynn¡¯s usual composure dissolved into earnest affection. This close together, the combination of flushed cheeks and a quickened pulse gave her lover an innocent, defenseless charm that was difficult to resist taking advantage of.


    "I haven¡¯t had enough of you though," Ashlynn declared, attempting to look stern but instead managing to look like a kitten trying to intimidate a lion. "I never have enough of you. Even when you¡¯re right here, I miss you terribly." She paused, blinking slowly. "It¡¯s the sun¡¯s fault," she added, turning to glower at the night sky. "It takes you away from me."


    "I, I shouldn¡¯t, should, stop. Here," Ashlynn said with some difficulty and a great deal of embarrassment as she saw the amused expressions on both Nyrielle¡¯s and Erna¡¯s faces. Never in her life had she drank to such an intoxicated state and to do so in front of the High Lady of the High Fen... she only hoped the other woman didn¡¯t take it as any kind of insult.


    "Heila can take care of you, my favorite morsel," Nyrielle said, leaning in to steal a kiss from Ashlynn¡¯s lips. "Little Snake and I still have things to discuss."


    Erna¡¯s unblinking eyes twinkled as she watched Nyrielle¡¯s gaze soften while watching her Seneschal¡¯s clumsy affection. The Blood Princess she remembered would never have been so tender or unguarded but somehow, the gentle affection on her refined features looked even more fitting than the cold distance she was accustomed to from her former teacher.


    "I can¡¯t have me," Ashlynn told Nyrielle sternly. "I belong to the most beautiful vampire in the world and she doesn¡¯t share!"


    "This way Ashlynn," Heila said gently, turning Ashlynn in place and giving her a gentle shove in the right direction. "Let me help you get ready for bed." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Quite the Seneschal you¡¯ve acquired for yourself, Auntie," Erna said as she watched the diminutive horned woman leading the tipsy witch away.


    "Mmm," Nyrielle said, licking her lips and savoring the lingering taste of Ashlynn¡¯s kiss. "I¡¯ve never seen her let go this much before. Your welcome was wonderfully effective at helping her to lower her guard."


    "Is she usually more defensive? She seemed very open and eager, even if she struggled a bit with the Eldritch tongue," Erna observed, reclining on her overstuffed sofa and gesturing for one of her servants to bring over a different dish. As delightful as the meal of small bites had been, she wanted to finish off her evening with something more... lively.


    Moments later, a servant appeared with a small silver cage that contained small pudgy mice. These particular mice had been fed a diet of milk soaked grains until their bodies took on a flavor that was rich and fatty. By the time they were deemed ready for consumption, their bodies had grown too round for their feet to reach the ground but to Erna, this was the best way to enjoy a delicacy that had been rendered utterly helpless by its own gluttony.


    "My Ashlynn is young," Nyrielle said, unbothered by her host¡¯s choice of mignardise. The bodies of the men Nyrielle had fed on earlier in the evening had long been cleared away and in truth, Nyrielle was impressed that Erna had waited so long to include a live course in their tasting meal. "She¡¯s only been free from human dogma and control for a few months now."


    "She needed this," Nyrielle added, twirling a wine goblet between two slender fingers. "Young Ritchel let his council of elders get out of hand. One of them conspired with Tuscans and attacked my Ashlynn while she was on an outing with little Hauke."


    As Nyrielle spoke, a trace of shadowy energy lifted from her hands, wrapping around the goblet and instantly corroding the silver before she suppressed the flare of irritation and set the goblet aside.


    "Auntie," Erna said, sitting up straight and staring at Nyrielle in shock. "Do you... do you have real feelings for this woman? You aren¡¯t just mimicking affection for her benefit?"


    "It would seem it¡¯s not impossible," Nyrielle said with a smile. According to the True Vampire who tutored her, any progeny she made would experience a gradual death of emotions. Contentment was supposedly the first to die, followed by irritation, enjoyment, anxiety, surprise until eventually they lost even jealousy, anger and love. Death was like a millstone, grinding away the ability to feel.


    True vampires, however, never had feelings to begin with. That which had never been alive couldn¡¯t know the passions and agonies that came with life. Instead, her tutor insisted that True Vampires could only mimic the emotions they¡¯d seen in others.


    For Nyrielle, this hadn¡¯t seemed to be true at all. As much as she respected her teacher, she constantly reminded herself that vampires, true or progeny, existed at the edge between life and death, neither alive nor dead. Her heart knew how to feel but it took much, much more effort for anything to stir her heart, whether it was to love or to hate.


    She¡¯d lost herself in hatred when her parents died. Her blood burned too hot for it to be anything else. Now that she had Ashlynn... she couldn¡¯t deny that her heart had been stirred again. More than that, when things related to Ashlynn, she found it easier to feel other things. Pride, anger, and a host of other feelings, both good and bad, stirred within her when things were related to the witch she¡¯d bound herself to.


    "No wonder you seem so different from before," Erna said, devouring another mouse and washing it down with half a goblet of wine. "I never thought the ruthless Blood Princess I adored would become a pure-hearted woman in love."


    "Hardly pure-hearted," Nyrielle said with a dismissive snort. "I thought that emptiness was the best I could hope for after avenging my parents and grandsire. I was still very numb when we first met. I never gave you the praise I should have. I¡¯m amazed you don¡¯t resent me for the way I treated you back then."


    "I never expected praise or affection from you," the serpentine woman said. "It was enough that you taught me how to be strong. How to eliminate my enemies and my opponents. Father told me that I would have to find pride in my victories and to treat that pride as a gift given by you. I didn¡¯t understand then, but I did eventually."


    "And now, you have all this," Nyrielle said, gesturing to the opulent gardens and the vast city beyond. "Was it worth it?"


    "A thousand times over," Erna said without a trace of hesitation in her voice. "Inheriting father¡¯s legacy wasn¡¯t easy. The throne was hard to hold in my first few years. There were constant challenges. I did as you said, their deaths were public and pitiful. The challenges stopped eventually when people understood the message."


    "I¡¯m proud of you, Little Snake," Nyrielle said, leaning across the table to gently cup the serpentine woman¡¯s face. "I couldn¡¯t say it then, but I can now. Not that you require my pride or acknowledgment. You¡¯ve come this far with your own strength."


    "I don¡¯t need it," Erna agreed, relaxing into Nyrielle¡¯s hand. "But I¡¯ve still craved it. Thank you."


    "You¡¯re not that different from my darling Ashlynn," the vampire said, lightly stroking the other woman¡¯s scaled scalp "A shame that Ritchel and the other boys aren¡¯t so easy to handle."


    "Do you want my help with Ritchel?" Erna asked, her unblinking gaze turning serious. "If he¡¯s out of line..."


    "Ritchel has been handled," Nyrielle said, waving off the notion. "But I will need your help with other matters. The Lothians are finally preparing for another Holy War. This time, I may need help to keep them from crossing the mountains."


    "I see," Erna said, frowning at the news. "Tell me what¡¯s been happening. Your letters contained very little information. Once I understand where things stand with you and the others who are holding the line, we can discuss ways the High Fen can lend its strength..."

 Chapter 162: A Touch of Glamor

    Chapter 162: A Touch of GlamorBright sunlight filtered through elaborately carved stone lattice windows, spilling onto a plush bed where Ashlynn had slept the remainder of the night and much of the day away. The faint splashing of fountains could be heard outside the window along with the occasional bright high pitched notes of birdsong.


    A sharp pain behind her eyes accompanied by the feeling like sand had been poured under her eyelids made it impossible for Ashlynn to remain asleep once she¡¯d begun to wake, even though she wanted nothing more at the moment than to pull the soft blankets back over her head and shut out the world.


    "Ashlynn," Heila said softly, forcing herself to omit the honorific ¡¯my lady.¡¯ So long as they weren¡¯t in public, Ashlynn had asked to be treated more like a friend and Heila intended to do so, even if it felt uncomfortable to be so intimate with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal.


    "I have something for you to drink," Heila said, climbing onto the bed with a chilled cup in one hand. "It should make you feel better."


    "I used to mock Father¡¯s knights when this happened to them," Ashlynn said, taking the cup in both hands and drinking eagerly. The drink turned out to be a sweet, chilled willow bark tea that carried the flavor of several other herbs which brightened the mind and soothed the body.


    "Heila, please don¡¯t let me drink like that ever again," Ashlynn said as she handed the empty cup back to Heila. Near her bedside, she found another cup with a large pitcher of chilled water. After drinking two full cups down and sitting still on the soft bed for several minutes she was finally beginning to feel human again.


    "Did I make a fool of myself last night?" Ashlynn asked, raising an eyebrow at her diminutive friend. "I remember that I spoke quite a bit but I don¡¯t remember what I said."


    "No one thought you were a fool," Heila said with a light laugh. Gently, she pulled Ashlynn from bed and led her from the opulent bedroom to a private washroom. "You¡¯ll feel better when you¡¯ve had a chance to freshen up but you don¡¯t need to worry about being presentable to the public. At Lady Nyrielle¡¯s request, I¡¯ve made some arrangements for you today before the sun sets."


    "Oh?" Ashlynn said, pausing as she inhaled the rich scent of honeysuckle and sage that permeated the soap in the washroom. "What does she have in mind?"


    "Several surprises," Heila said with a bright smile. "You¡¯ll see."


    After washing up, Heila presented Ashlynn with a soft, fluffy cream-colored robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers, insisting that she didn¡¯t need to be any more dressed than that before their first appointment.


    "Appointment? Heila, I can¡¯t see people in nothing but a bathrobe," Ashlynn insisted.


    "Of course you can. You won¡¯t be keeping the robe the whole time anyway, now come," Heila said, pulling Ashlynn¡¯s hand and leading her into a luxurious sitting room with overstuffed lounge chairs.


    As soon as both women had taken a seat on the soft lounge chairs, Heila rang a bell summoning well dressed servants from the Scaled Clan who placed a tray of small sandwiches, bite sized pastries and several slices of rich cheeses between the two women. The meal was accompanied by delicate crystal goblets filled with a sparkling pear cider that tickled the tongue as well as the nose.


    "Our first visitor is a clothier named Aleydya," Heila said, ringing a bell to summon their first guest. "She¡¯s designed ball gowns and formal wear for the wealthy and powerful of High Fen City for more than thirty years and even made High Lady Erna¡¯s coronation ensemble."


    The woman who entered was an immaculately dressed member of the Scaled Clan with brilliant red and copper patterned scales who wore a figure hugging dress made of golden silk trimmed in delicate black lace. When she entered, her movements were precise and efficient, without a hint of wasted effort.


    "Greetings Seneschal Ashlynn," she said, making a strange bow that held both hands out as far to her left as she could stretch them. "Your Lady Heila brought Lady Nyrielle¡¯s request to me this morning. I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to create anything truly one of a kind for you on such short notice but I have several items that can be quickly tailored to suit your itinerary. Just tell me which pieces you like and I¡¯ll have them prepared and delivered to you in time for each of the events you¡¯re attending."


    "I¡¯m attending events?" Ashlynn asked Heila, blinking in confusion. Her itinerary? She had to check with Heila to make sure she¡¯d translated the word correctly as it wasn¡¯t part of the common Eldritch speech she¡¯d learned so far.


    "I told you, several surprises," Heila giggled. "Lady Nyrielle intends to take you on a tour of High Fen City¡¯s best entertainment. You¡¯ll need formal dresses for two nights of entertainment plus a gown fit for dancing one night."


    For the next half an hour, Ashlynn was treated to a display of one stunning dress after another. The dresses that Aleydya presented weren¡¯t just beautiful pieces of clothing, they were breathtaking works of art in silk, velvet and lace that many noble ladies in the Kingdom of Gaal would have mortgaged their own daughters to wear.


    The style of the dresses was much more ¡¯fitted¡¯ than Ashlynn was accustomed to with lace panels across the bodice that plunged so deeply and were open enough in their design that they would have been considered scandalous in either Lothian March or Blackwell County. It took Heila¡¯s whispering in her ear about how she would feel about Nyrielle seeing her in such daring dresses for Ashlynn to acquiesce to the racy designs the clothier seemed to prefer.


    Ashlynn expected that things would end there, but after taking her measurements, the three dresses were displayed on wire and muslin dress forms while Aleydya retreated to the side.


    "Next is Lemititi, High Lady Erna¡¯s personal jeweler," Heila explained with a twinkle in her eye. "The High Lady has a large collection and she¡¯s agreed to loan a few pieces to you during your stay."


    "Lady Ashlynn," the jeweler greeted, performing a bow similar to the one used by the clothier. Unlike the clothier, the jeweler was a member of the Glass Eyed Clan who arrived with several velvet lined boxes containing exquisite pieces of jewelry.


    "The current trend is to place a jewelry ¡¯net¡¯ over the top of your dress," Lemititi explained, holding up a long piece of jewelry with interlinked gold chains set with sparkling emeralds and diamonds. "Since the Scaled Clan do not nurse their young, they lack the anatomy to produce a bust as full as yours, my lady," the jeweler said, as though this were a great tragedy. "Since that¡¯s the case, might I suggest something that accents your shoulders and drapes along your arms?"


    "Isn¡¯t this a bit... extravagant?" Ashlynn said. She had never seen the crown jewels or been to any events attended by the current queen or princess but the display before her would cost as much as a dozen sailing ships in Blackwell County.


    Some of the stones were large enough that she didn¡¯t think the daughter of a count would even be allowed to wear something so luxurious. Just possessing any of them would make a noble house a target of envy from all of their neighbors and if they lacked the standing to wear them, even displaying such fine jewelry would invite comments about putting on airs or attempting to rise above their station.


    "Not at all," the jeweler insisted. "High Lady Erna¡¯s Majordomo reminded me that Lady Nyrielle was her teacher in her youth. As Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and companion, the courtesy you¡¯re shown reflects High Lady Erna¡¯s respect for her teacher and cannot be lacking. Please," he said, gesturing at the glittering cases. "Just tell me what you like and pay no mind to the details."


    Jewelry gave way to shoes and accessories, followed by hosiery and intimate undergarments made of such fine lace that it left Ashlynn both blushing in embarrassment and eagerly anticipating Nyrielle¡¯s reaction to seeing her lover wrapped in such elegant dark silk lace.


    Choosing garments, however, turned out to be only the beginning of the ¡¯surprise¡¯ that Heila was guiding her through. While her gown for the evening was being altered and other items were being prepared, Ashlynn was whisked into an opulent bathing chamber where several female servants waited to groom her for the evening¡¯s festivities.


    After bathing in jasmine scented water that seemed to caress her skin like liquid silk, Ashlynn surrendered to expert hands that worked scented oils into every muscle. The massage left her floating in a haze of pleasure as tension melted from her muscles before her skin was gently scrubbed with a mixture of coarse sugar and oils infused with unfamiliar spices that carried a warm scent that was neither floral nor woody but somehow a mixture of both.


    The calluses that had begun to form on her hands from training with the sword vanished along with the rough patches of skin that had formed on her body after several days spent in the frigid, dry air of the High Pass. From one expert¡¯s care to the next, each treatment seemed designed to make her feel more pampered than the last, until her skin glowed with renewed vitality. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Her long hair was washed, brushed out, and pressed between flat heated stones to straighten her usual soft waves. Her long fingernails were rounded and shaped, polished and painted a deep emerald green before tiny jewels were embedded in the polish to give her nails a scintillating sparkle. Even her eyebrows were carefully plucked and teased into shape until the gentle arches swept down to sharp points that gave her a more mature and sensual air that radiated a bit of danger.


    By the time the sun set, Ashlynn felt like she¡¯d been completely transformed. She had always carried herself with the poise expected of a noblewoman, but when she looked at her reflection in the mirror, her breath caught at the sight of an elegant and sophisticated woman who could only be called... regal. Perhaps the queen of Gaal herself couldn¡¯t compare.


    "My darling," Nyrielle¡¯s voice called from the doorway. "I¡¯ve come to take you away..."

 Chapter 163: Two Beauties

    Chapter 163: Two BeautiesWhen Nyrielle entered the room, her breath caught the instant her midnight blue eyes fell on Ashlynn¡¯s stunning figure. For a moment, her fingers twitched, eager to hold a paint brush so she could forever preserve the vision of refined natural beauty before her.


    Ashlynn had always been an enchanting beauty and there wasn¡¯t an inch of her body that Nyrielle hadn¡¯t committed to memory, but the woman who stood before her now resembled a cut and polished jewel compared to the brilliant stone Nyrielle had first rescued from the jaws of death.


    Hunter green silk shimmered next to emerald green crushed velvet in a dress that clung to Ashlynn¡¯s every generous curve. Long stays and tight lacing at the back of the dress trimmed her already slender waist, emphasizing her rounded hips and generous bust. Black lace stretched across a deep valley of cleavage, revealing the slightest hint of pale pink skin that crowned the snowy softness of each breast.


    The same black lace trimmed the ruffled hem of her asymmetrical skirt. One on hip, the skirt had been pulled high and tied into a rose-shaped bow to reveal the tops of black satin stockings and the barest hint of creamy thigh.


    While Ashlynn normally stood quite a bit shorter than Nyrielle¡¯s nearly six feet of height, today she wore delicate sandals with tall heels that further emphasized her shapely legs while bringing her closer to being able to directly meet Nyrielle¡¯s hungry gaze. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Her blond hair had been swept into an elaborate updo with rolls that curled around a colorful arrangement of feathers and fresh flowers. Though she left her neck completely bare, as if to entice Nyrielle to feast upon her at any moment, a net of silver chains draped from her shoulders, studded with dark sapphires that matched the shade of Nyrielle¡¯s midnight eyes.


    "Do you like it?" Ashlynn purred as she glided forward with a rolling gait. For once, she felt like the predator, descending on Nyrielle who seemed intoxicated by Ashlynn¡¯s appearance. She needed no words of praise, her lover¡¯s stunned silence was enough to fill her with a heady rush of power as she approached the other woman, her emerald eyes drinking in Nyrielle¡¯s own elegant ensemble.


    Rather than a formal gown, Nyrielle¡¯s outfit looked like someone had crafted an elegant and refined version of a loose, above the knee skirt and sleeveless tunic that she had once warn as a gladiator on the sands of the arena. Midnight blue silk caressed her slender waist while dark black lace plunged in a deep V from her neck all the way to her navel, revealing the gleaming, perfect alabaster skin beneath along with the barest hint of the inner curves of her pert breasts.


    Dark leather sandals were laced with criss-crossing straps that climbed her slender legs like twin spiral staircases leading to the heavens and her arms were covered by delicate silver chains set with sparkling diamonds that resembled a warrior¡¯s bracers.


    Even Nyrielle¡¯s dark hair had been braided with chains of silver and ruby, giving her the appearance of a warrior goddess, ready to descend at a moment¡¯s notice to reap the lives of any who failed to adore her.


    "Like doesn¡¯t begin to describe how I feel looking at you," Nyrielle said, stepping close enough to Ashlynn to draw her into a deep kiss. For both women, the world around them faded away, lost in the sensation of supple lips, sliding tongues and the sharp prick of Nyrielle¡¯s fangs.


    Slowly, Ashlynn¡¯s hands caressed their way up Nyrielle¡¯s body, sliding over the smooth silk and delicate lace of her skirt, before her fingers found their way to her lover¡¯s bare back. Her body pressed against Nyrielle¡¯s, and she felt the echo of the vampire¡¯s heartbeat within her chest quicken as her polished nails slid over the faintest marks on her lover¡¯s back that marked the place her wings would unfold from.


    From the doorway, Zedya watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. Gently, she reached out to ruffle Heila¡¯s hair and gave the younger woman an encouraging smile. So many details had been entrusted to the newly elevated lady-in-waiting and Zedya was certain that the horned woman had been busy from the time the sun rose until Ashlynn woke in order to have everything in place.


    Seeing her lady so thoroughly enchanted, and Ashlynn so completely captivated, the vampire servant hoped that Heila felt the same deep satisfaction she did. In all her years at Nyrielle¡¯s side, she¡¯d only heard stories of her Mistress being this happy in the years before humans attacked the Vale of Mists. Now, she felt like she was finally starting to see a side of her Mistress that had long been buried beneath far too many painful memories.


    Beside her, Heila fought to suppress a smile as she watched her friend and her lady together. The diminutive horned woman had worried that all the pampering might make Ashlynn feel awkward or self-conscious, but seeing the way she moved now, radiating confidence as she approached Lady Nyrielle, clearly everything had come together in the end, just as they¡¯d hoped it would.


    The two servants exchanged knowing looks before Zedya finally cleared her throat politely. As much as she hated to interrupt such a perfect moment, they did have an evening planned, after all. Though from the way their ladies remained lost in each other, completely oblivious to the world around them, perhaps they should have planned for delays.


    How long the kiss lasted, neither Ashlynn nor Nyrielle could say. It wasn¡¯t until Zedya made a polite noise from the door that Nyrielle pulled back from her breathless lover, delighting in the flushed look on the other woman¡¯s face as she struggled to regulate both her breathing and her racing pulse.


    "My Ladies," Zedya said, politely lowering her gaze to the floor while both women recollected themselves. "The carriage is prepared. We should go soon if we wish to be on time."


    "I¡¯m tempted to stay," Nyrielle said, tracing the back of her fingers along Ashlynn¡¯s cheek and sliding down to her slender neck. "The most beautiful show is surely here."


    "We shouldn¡¯t be late," Ashlynn said, shuddering slightly under Nyrielle¡¯s touch. "It seems like you¡¯ve gone to considerable effort for tonight. We shouldn¡¯t waste it."


    "Time spent with you can never be considered wasted, my darling," Nyrielle said, bestowing a brief kiss on Ashlynn¡¯s forehead. "But I wouldn¡¯t want to deprive you of tonight¡¯s delights. Shall we?" she asked, holding out an arm to Ashlynn, as though she were a gentleman escorting his lady.


    "Yes," Ashlynn said, taking her lover¡¯s arm. "I can¡¯t wait to see what you have planned."

 Chapter 164: A Night at the Opera

    Chapter 164: A Night at the OperaThe carriage that awaited them wasn¡¯t Nyrielle¡¯s usual, heavy carriage meant to be pulled by a team of six horses on cross-country journeys with windows that could be shuttered against the threat of sunlight. Instead, it was a brilliant white and gold carriage with large panels of glass set in large windows that covered nearly a third of the carriage¡¯s height.


    Emblazoned on the doors was a glyph that represented the High Lady of the High Fen, and the two white horses waiting patiently for a command from the driver had been draped in tabards bearing the same glyph.


    "My ladies," a Glass Eyed footman said, stepping down from the rear of the carriage to open the doors for them. "The ride shouldn¡¯t be longer than ten minutes. Would you prefer refreshments for the ride?"


    "No," Nyrielle said, stepping into the carriage and offering Ashlynn a hand up. "The only drink I require is this beauty."


    "Charmer," Ashlynn said softly, her face heating at the compliment.


    Despite the impressive scenery and the company of both Zedya and Heila, Ashlynn and Nyrielle only had eyes for each other. No words were required as Nyrielle laid her head on Ashlynn¡¯s chest, listening to the heartbeat that echoed within her own chest while they held each other for the ride.


    Ten minutes later, they arrived at a grand theater, taller than any Ashlynn had ever seen. Marble statues depicting musicians with their instruments or singers posed as though they were serenading the heavens lined the entrance to the glamorous building.


    At the sight of a carriage bearing the glyph of High Lady Erna, the crowds of people approaching the theater parted, giving way to Ashlynn and Nyrielle. Many in the crowd whispered, wondering which visiting dignitary had earned the High Lady¡¯s favor to arrive in her personal carriage.


    "I do not know their clan," one woman said softly as she strained to get a better look. "Could they be Western Simians?"


    "Do you think they could be forsaken ones, from across the mountains? They shouldn¡¯t be here, much less honored like this," another man said with a deep frown. While the wars against the human invaders were a distant thing, that didn¡¯t mean he could ignore the number of clans that had been exterminated by the strange people from across the sea. If some of them were starting to consort with the High Lady, that would be a troubling sign for things to come.


    It wasn¡¯t until a burly man with a bull¡¯s horns and a wide, flat face stepped forward and saluted that people learned who these women were.


    "Hail to the Blood Princess!" he bellowed, thumping his fists on his chest. "The arena remembers!"


    "Hail to the Blood Princess!" echoed several other muscular men and women in the crowd.


    "They recognize you?" Ashlynn asked, batting her eyes at Nyrielle who offered a salute of her own to the warriors who saluted her.


    "You¡¯ve seen the traditions of the High Fen," she said, pointing at the marble statues that lined the plaza. "Do you think they wouldn¡¯t have erected a statue of me near the arena?"


    "Show me later," Ashlynn said, pressing up close against Nyrielle as they entered the theater. "I want to see how well they captured you in stone."


    "Perhaps Heila can take you during the day," Nyrielle said. "I have no desire to visit the arena with you on this trip. We have better things to spend our time on," she said, giving Ashlynn a brief kiss and leading her up several flights of winding stairs.


    At the third floor of the theater, both Zedya and Heila retreated, finding their way to seats on one of the upper balconies. On the fourth floor, Nyrielle led Ashlynn into a cozy private box with a luxurious overstuffed sofa and private buffet filled with small bite sized confections and two bottles of chilled sparkling cider.


    "Tonight, I will serve you," Nyrielle said, pouring a crystal goblet full of cider for Ashlynn before pouring one of her own. "All you need to do is relax and enjoy the show." Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What is all this?" Ashlynn asked, walking over to the railing and looking at the rows of seats below them, which were filling with people. At the opposite end of the large open space, a large stage stood in front of a deep pit filled with even more seats, though it made no sense to Ashlynn why people would choose to sit beneath a stage to see a performance.


    "I¡¯ve seen human plays in Lothian City," Nyrielle said. "This is similar to that, but the story is told through song. The pit is filled with musicians who will play to accompany the actors on the stage."


    "That, that¡¯s too many musicians," Ashlynn said as she began to count seats. "There must be more than fifty! I only had a dozen musicians for my wedding. Father rarely had more than eight for even the most extravagant feasts."


    "It¡¯s called an ¡¯orchestra,¡¯ darling. Now come sit," she said, tapping a space on the sofa next to her. "We have some time before the show begins. Let me tell you the story so you can listen to the music when the time comes."


    "This is an old story," Nyrielle began. As she spoke, she selected a delicate puffed pastry filled with sweetened cream, teasing Ashlynn¡¯s full lips with it until Ashlynn took it from her, capturing Nyrielle¡¯s slender fingers with her soft lips in the process.


    "If you keep teasing me like that," Ashlynn said, licking a stray bit of sweet cream from her lips. "I¡¯m going to bite you for once," she teased.


    "I might enjoy that," her lover responded, selecting another pastry, this time filled with a thick red jelly. "The story is about a man named Sindila who fell in love with the High Lord¡¯s daughter, Mira" Nyrielle explained, continuing her story. "The High Lord, Aspar, didn¡¯t approve and forbid Sindila from seeing his love, so Sindila kidnapped Mira and fled the city."


    "I¡¯m sure that didn¡¯t go well," Ashlynn said, reaching beyond Nyrielle to select a treat to feed the vampire. "What happened when they fled?"


    "Mira¡¯s fiancee, a soldier named Ervig, captured them back," Nyrielle said, savoring the rich buttery pastry filled with chopped nuts and honey. "The marriage might have been arranged for political ends but that doesn¡¯t mean Ervig was heartless. He agonizes over what to do with the man who kidnapped his bride-to-be. If he kills him, his future wife will hate him, but if he lets him go free, High Lord Aspar won¡¯t forgive him."


    "Eventually, Sindila is captured alive and thrown into the arena where he must claim a hundred victories to regain his freedom," Nyrielle said, her eyes growing distant as she recalled her own days on the sands. A hundred victories would be impossible to most warriors, but to her, it hadn¡¯t been nearly enough to gain the number of progeny she needed to retake the Vale of Mists.


    "As he fights, Mira sneaks into the arena to visit him," Nyrielle continued after a brief pause. "During the day, she cheers for him, and at night, they share forbidden kisses between the bars of his cell."


    "What happens in the end?" Ashlynn asked, now completely caught up in the tale. "Does he win his way free?"


    "There are two endings," Nyrielle said, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s pale golden hair. "In one, Sindila is plotted against by High Lord Aspar and his Ervig. A champion from a distant nation is sent to kill him on the arena sands. Mira swears vengeance and kills Ervig on their wedding night before killing her father, Aspar, and claiming the throne for herself as the next High Lady. She remains unmarried till the day she dies, though in some versions, she gives birth to the child of her fallen love after his death."


    "That¡¯s tragic," Ashlynn said with misty eyes. "What¡¯s the other ending?"


    "The plot is much the same, but Sindila defeats the champion, gaining his freedom," Nyrielle said. "In this version, he slaughters Ervig for plotting against him and challenges High Lord Aspar for the throne. He loses, but only barely, winning Aspar¡¯s respect along with Mira¡¯s hand in marriage."


    "Do you know which version we¡¯re going to see?" Ashlynn asked, looking eagerly toward the stage. Listening to Nyrielle¡¯s retelling, she couldn¡¯t help but feel torn about the two different endings. Part of her identified deeply with Mira, trapped in her marriage to Owain and rescued by her beautiful love, Nyrielle.


    Another part of her chafed at Mira¡¯s fate in both endings. Ashlynn had resolved to claim her own vengeance with her own strength. The first version¡¯s ending suited her desire to kill Owain and Bors Lothian, claiming the Lothian March for herself. Only, why did Mira have to lose her love in order to find the strength to do what had to be done? That kind of tragedy was too sad.


    In the other ending, Mira felt greatly diminished. She enjoys a ¡¯happy ending¡¯, but it isn¡¯t because of her own strength. Perhaps a younger Ashlynn who hadn¡¯t been through what she had would find it romantic to think of a strong hero who could rescue her and win her father¡¯s favor, but that version of Ashlynn had died when Owain¡¯s knights dumped her body in a shallow grave.


    Her thoughts were interrupted when the lights in the theater suddenly dimmed. Musicians filled the pit under the stage and several bright lights aimed at the curtains on the stage, creating a pool of light just waiting for someone to step into it.


    "We¡¯ll have to wait to see," Nyrielle said, taking Ashlynn in her arms and holding her close. "But if I were fighting for you, you know there¡¯s only one way the story would unfold," she said, whispering into Ashlynn¡¯s ear as the curtains raised on the performance below.

 Chapter 165: I Would Fight For Love

    Chapter 165: I Would Fight For LoveOn the stage, a barrel-chested man from the Scaled Clan slid out onto the stage under the bright lights as the curtains raised. In the pit beneath the stage, the orchestra played a series of brief welcoming notes to gather the audience¡¯s attention before yielding to the master of the production.


    "Patrons, honored guests," the man began, speaking in a rich, echoing tone that carried throughout the large theater. "Tonight, we are honored to entertain two very special guests. The legend herself, the Blood Princess, Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists, Lady Nyrielle, and her Seneschal, Ashlynn," he said, bowing deeply to the curtained box at the center of the top floor.


    Word had already spread among the audience but several people had yet to hear who stood and turned to look, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous vampire who spent ten nights in the arena, staking her territory and an eternity of service to anyone who could defeat her. Nyrielle, however, had no intention of appearing to entertain her fans when she had a delighted Ashlynn in her lap.


    "Go," Ashlynn whispered, pulling back from her lover. "They adore you."


    "Then they can adore you too," Nyrielle said, sweeping Ashlynn up off the couch and pulling her along to the railing of the private box. Spotlights instantly fell on them and Nyrielle pulled Ashlynn close, as if to declare to the audience that her Seneschal was spoken for.


    "This is my darling¡¯s first visit to High Fen City," Nyrielle said. "Should you chance upon her in the daylight, I hope you¡¯ll all be as kind to her as you would to me," she said, smiling broadly at the audience and flashing her fangs.


    She was still uncertain about allowing Ashlynn to explore the city without her, but her love had spent too much of her life in a cage built by parents who thought they could protect her from her own power and destiny.


    In High Fen City, Nyrielle had significantly more faith in High Lady Erna¡¯s ability to keep order and if Ashlynn wished to go out to explore, she wouldn¡¯t refuse her. She only hoped that this little announcement would provide some added security should anyone have improper designs on her lover. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Blood Princess," the man on the stage said. "In honor of your attendance, we¡¯ve prepared a special rendition of our production. We hope that you and your Seneschal enjoy it."


    For a moment, Nyrielle was afraid they¡¯d attempted to graft some part of her own story in the arena onto this classic opera. If they¡¯d done so, she likely would have left rather than endure some idolized version of her desperation to recruit the strength she needed to retake the Vale of Mists from the humans who burned Mist City to the ground.


    Thankfully, there had been far too little time for the production company to implement such a sweeping change. Instead, when ¡¯Sindila¡¯ took the stage, the audience was surprised to find the role played by a woman.


    It was clear that the actress was both intimately familiar with the opera and at the same time, that she¡¯d never played the leading man¡¯s role before. Somehow, the resulting performance, while rougher, was also more raw and genuine.


    "One kiss, one touch of your lips,


    To endure one thousand whips,


    One fight, one beautiful night,


    I¡¯ll spill their blood, and prove my love..."


    As the music swelled and the story unfolded, Ashlynn settled back in Nyrielle¡¯s arms, listening to the performers on the stage and Nyrielle¡¯s whispered translation in her ear. In the darkness of the theater, the audience fell away and even the musicians faded from sight, leaving Ashlynn with the illusion that the performance on stage was just for her and Nyrielle.


    "Through these iron bars between us,


    No prison walls can screen us,


    Each scar they mark upon your skin,


    Is matched by pain I hold within,


    Though they call our love a madness,


    Only you can heal this heart of sadness..."


    The actress playing the role of Mira poured her heart into her song, wrapping her love and dedication around the imprisoned Sindila like armor before his battle against the foreign champion.


    When the actress on stage ¡¯slew¡¯ the foreign champion, Ashlynn realized the path the story was about to take. Sindila would triumph over Ervig, gain the approval of High Lord Aspar, and wed her beloved Mira. Watching it unfold, she couldn¡¯t suppress a sigh of disappointment.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" Nyrielle asked, sensing her darling¡¯s changing mood.


    "I love you," Ashlynn said, turning to gaze into Nyrielle¡¯s midnight-blue eyes. "One day, I hope my parents will understand and that they¡¯ll approve. But if they never do, it changes nothing for me, because I don¡¯t need their approval to know my own heart or yours," she said, placing her fingers lightly on Nyrielle¡¯s chest, directly above her heart.


    For the past several weeks, Ashlynn had thrown herself into her new life in the Vale of Mists and now in the Eldritch nations. She¡¯d trained to exhaustion, studied until her mind grew fuzzy, and fought battles that a younger Ashlynn would never have dreamed of.


    All of it had kept her too busy to think about the family she¡¯d left behind and the pain they must be suffering, believing she was dead. Now, however, without the pressure of adapting to her new life, in this moment of rest, the deep sorrows of cruel separation came back like a flood, pulling tears from her eyes that she¡¯d never given herself time to shed.


    "I promised you, didn¡¯t I? In the autumn or winter, when the nights are long, we can find a way to visit them," Nyrielle said, brushing a tear away from Ashlynn¡¯s watery eyes. "This distance is only temporary."


    "It should be," Ashlynn said, biting her lip and looking back toward the stage. The opera had entered its final act and Mira was encouraging a wounded Sindila to escape before Ervig arrived to finish what the champion had started.


    Strangely, at the moment, Ashlynn related more to the wounded Sindila than she did to the beautiful Mira. She might not know who had betrayed her, revealing her secret to Owain Lothian, but she knew that even if she had been pushed to the brink of death, she would claw her way back to have her vengeance. Perhaps even Nyrielle couldn¡¯t convince her otherwise.


    "Promise me something else," Ashlynn said as a dashing and handsome Ervig entered the stage to duel the wounded Sindila. As handsome and charming as he was, he took the stage in a manner that radiated dominance and oppressive physical might, moving in a way that was painfully similar to the way Owain had stalked her in their bridal suite before unleashing his rage on her fragile body.


    "Mine by law and mine by right,


    Mine to savor and my delight,


    What fool dares to steal my bride?


    Your blood will flow, a receding tide,


    Let her weep, let her rage,


    She¡¯ll learn to love her gilded cage..."


    "Promise me that you¡¯ll let me kill them with my own hands," Ashlynn said, her eyes haunted by memories of the beating she suffered at Owain¡¯s hands before she fed those memories to a cold burning rage. "Owain, Tommin, and whoever betrayed me to him. Don¡¯t claim my vengeance for me."


    "I wouldn¡¯t dream of it my darling," Nyrielle said, tightening her hold on the young woman in her arms. "Would you like to leave early? I didn¡¯t think this would disturb you so. I wanted to share a night of beauty with you but..."


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said, placing a finger on Nyrielle¡¯s lips. "It is beautiful, and it¡¯s sad at the same time. Life can be beautiful and sad."


    "Then take this time to be sad," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn close as the opera reached its climax. Aspar discovered Mira lovingly tending to Sindila¡¯s wounds and laid down an ultimatum that as long as he was the High Lord, Sindila would never be worthy of Mira¡¯s hand.


    "If I were Mira, and you were injured," Ashlynn said. "I would fight my father personally instead of forcing you to bear the burden."


    "Even if it was hopeless? Aspar is much stronger than Mira," Nyrielle said. "Would you risk yourself rather than wait for me to recover?"


    "In the other ending, Mira defeats Ervig and Aspar," Ashlynn said. "She¡¯s not weak and neither am I. If you¡¯re hurt and unable to fight, then I need to be strong enough to fight in your place. Aren¡¯t I your Seneschal?" Ashlynn said, interlacing her fingers with Nyrielle¡¯s. "We face our enemies together. I just need to catch up to where you are."


    "In time," Nyrielle agreed. "Until then, forgive me for coming to your rescue," she teased, nibbling on Ashlynn¡¯s ear to dispel the somber mood that had enveloped them. "I will always come for you, no matter what. Whenever you need me, I¡¯ll be there."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, turning in her seat to face Nyrielle. "And right now, I need you," she said, leaning in to seal her lover¡¯s lips with her own. Music swelled and on the stage, the final fight between Aspar and Sindila had begun but neither woman in the private box laid eyes on it.


    The opera had stirred up too many feelings for Ashlynn and no ending on the stage could give her the comfort that her heart desired. But what a performance couldn¡¯t do, Nyrielle could, embracing Ashlynn tightly and becoming her anchor against the storm of emotions that raged within her heart.


    Before the lights in the theater could brighten, a greater darkness filled the private box as Nyrielle gently lifted her lover and carried her out into the night. What came next belonged to them alone and she had no intention of allowing anyone to interrupt.

 Chapter 166: Taking Charge

    Chapter 166: Taking ChargeA trip through the city that took more than ten minutes by carriage took less than one for Nyrielle, enveloped by darkness and moving with the speed of mist on a breeze.


    In Ashlynn¡¯s opulent room, gossamer curtains fluttered with the speed of Nyrielle¡¯s arrival as she laid Ashlynn down gently on the soft feather bed. Silks whispered against skin as Ashlynn pulled Nyrielle down on top of her, her lips hungrily working their way up the vampire¡¯s alabaster neck until their lips met.


    It wasn¡¯t until Nyrielle¡¯s hands slid toward the laces of Ashlynn¡¯s dress that the younger woman pulled back, breaking the kiss and looking deeply into Nyrielle¡¯s hungry gaze. The sight of her lover¡¯s hunger stirred a warmth deep within Ashlynn. She¡¯d seen Nyrielle feed last night, on three people less.


    The deep desire she saw on the other woman¡¯s face had nothing to do with vampiric bloodlust and was entirely the result of the fires of passion that grew between them.


    "Not yet," Ashlynn whispered, sliding over the silk sheets to pull Nyrielle from the bed.


    Wrapped in her short skirt and sleeveless tunic, Nyrielle resembled a gladiator goddess fallen to the earth. Her pale skin glowed in the soft lamp light of the room like a marble statue wrapped in lace. It made her look so achingly beautiful that she could only ever be worshiped. Other nights, Ashlynn might have let herself be carried away into the fantasy of this warrior goddess coming to her rescue yet again, but tonight, she wanted to rescue herself.


    "Don¡¯t move," Ashlynn whispered into Nyrielle¡¯s ear, her lips brushing ever so lightly across the back of her lover¡¯s neck as she began to move. Slowly, Ashlynn¡¯s nimble fingers moved to the clasps of Nyrielle¡¯s jewelry, tracing her way down her strong, slender arms to remove the bracer like nets of silver and ruby that lent her aura a dangerous, martial air.


    Next, she knelt at Nyrielle¡¯s feet, her fingers following the double spiral of leather laces that wrapped around her slender legs like spiral stairs ascending the heavens. Her deft fingers slid beneath the hem of the short skirt, tracing her nails along alabaster skin until she found the knots at the top of Nyrielle¡¯s thighs.


    One after the other, Ashlynn unlaced the shoes, gently stripping them away before her hands rose higher, bypassing the loosely fluttering silk skirt to dive beneath the silk and lace of her lover¡¯s tunic.


    Nyrielle shuddered, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips as Ashlynn¡¯s dextrous fingers teased at her navel, before dancing across her taut stomach and caressing their way up her ribs. Part of her yearned to take Ashlynn¡¯s hands in her own, to guide them to the breasts that shook as her breathing quickened but her love had commanded her not to move.


    Nyrielle could only bite her lip and curl her fingers in anticipation as Ashlynn slowly stood, holding only a few hairs¡¯ breadth of space between them as her hands traced higher, pulling the tunic upward with them as they circled around to Nyrielle¡¯s graceful back, teasing the space between her shoulder blades where her wings slumbered and pulling yet another involuntary gasp from her lover¡¯s lips.


    Ashlynn tossed the tunic aside, marveling at Nyrielle¡¯s restraint. The feeling of power she held over her lover, her Mistress, was heady and intoxicating. When her hands traced their way lower, sliding the silk skirt over Nyrielle¡¯s slender hips before letting it fall to the floor, she felt like she¡¯d unwrapped a great treasure that belonged only to her.


    "You¡¯re mine," she whispered from behind Nyrielle, wrapping her arms around the vampire¡¯s slender torso and cupping the other woman¡¯s pert breasts with her hands. Compared to her own bust, Nyrielle¡¯s chest was far more humble but Aslynn found it to be a perfect fit, as though her lover¡¯s chest had been sculpted for her hands alone.


    "Would you like to unwrap me next," she whispered, tracing her tongue along Nyrielle¡¯s gracefully curving spine before pulling the other woman close and pressing her head between the vampire¡¯s shoulder blades. "You just have to ask..."


    "May I unwrap you, my darling," Nyrielle said, leaning into Ashlynn¡¯s touch and relishing in the feeling of sweet surrender. At the moment, more than any other moment she could recall, she had completely ceased being the Eldritch Lady of the Vale to become Ashlynn Blackwell¡¯s lover, Nyrielle.


    "Mmm," Ashlynn said, only reluctantly letting go of Nyrielle¡¯s lithe figure to allow her lover to undress her.


    At this point, the air between them felt charged with a crackling energy that made it difficult for either of them to resist their baser urges. Once Nyrielle had released the clasps on Ashlynn¡¯s delicate jewelry, she struggled to resist the urge to slice through the laces of her lover¡¯s dress.


    Visions of tearing the expensive fabric from Ashlynn¡¯s supple body flashed through her head only to be forced to the back of her mind moments later. Her breathing became fast and ragged and darkness swirled in her midnight blue eyes until she regained enough control and composure to slowly unlace the dark green green dress. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Leave the stockings," Ashlynn said once the dress had fallen to the floor. She¡¯d held out as long as she could but her body craved for more than teasing touches as she pulled Nyrielle back onto the soft feather bed.


    Nyrielle surrendered to Ashlynn¡¯s lead allowing herself to be pulled along as Ashlynn pulled Nyrielle¡¯s head to her chest, enveloping her in the softness of her lush bosom.


    "That¡¯s the heart that beats for you," Ashlynn whispered, sliding a finger under Nyrielle¡¯s chin and drawing the vampire¡¯s gaze upward to meet her adoring eyes. Already, darkness had consumed the whites of Nyrielle¡¯s eyes, leaving a deep midnight darkness and twin blue irises that were filled with several kinds of hunger.


    "The heart beats for you," Ashlynn said, cupping one of her full breasts as though she were offering up a fruit to her lover. "So feast on me."


    With Ashlynn¡¯s words, rational thought vanished from Nyrielle¡¯s mind, replaced by a blend of desires that met at the points of her elongated fangs. Sinking her teeth into the soft, snowy flesh of Ashlynn¡¯s breast, a thin rivulet of blood flowed down the generous curve before Nyrielle¡¯s lips formed a seal around the bite and she began to feed.


    Ashlynn no longer noticed the moment of pain before pleasure rippled through her body, surging more intensely than ever before. Her hands clutched at the blankets and her lower body writhed, silk stockings whispering over silk sheets as she completely surrendered to the wave of pleasure building within her body.


    Nyrielle¡¯s powerful arms wrapped around Ashlynn¡¯s torso, lifting her off the bed as she lost herself in the intoxicating taste of Ashlynn¡¯s powerful blood. Her hands flexed, her nails lengthening into claws that traced down Ashlynn¡¯s smooth back leaving bright red trails in their wake that spilled tiny droplets of blood along their length until they reached the top of Ashlynn¡¯s rounded hips.


    The moment stretched out endlessly in their minds, a second feeling like a minute, a minute like an hour until it seemed like there was nothing in life before this pleasure and there would be nothing left of life after it.


    In that moment, Ashlynn felt herself teetering on the edge of an abyss. The darkness beckoned to her, deep, warm, enveloping. It offered freedom and release along with infinite love and part of her yearned to step off the ledge to fall into that dark abyss.


    "Stop," Ashlynn said weekly, forcefully pulling herself back from the precipice. "I, I can¡¯t go any further."


    The silence that greeted her only lasted a handful of seconds but it felt like an eternity before the darkness began to fade from Nyrielle¡¯s eyes and her lover withdrew her fangs.


    A softer silence stretched between them as they both needed time to come down from the dizzying heights they¡¯d reached and to process the danger they¡¯d unintentionally provoked. Neither of them intended to come as close to the edge as they had but in those moments.... Pulling back had been one of the hardest things either of them had ever done.


    "Come here," Ashlynn said, shifting on the bed to pull Nyrielle into her embrace. "Hold me so I can feel safe in your arms."


    Gently, being mindful of the long thin red lines her claws had left on Ashlynn¡¯s back, Nyrielle gathered her lover into a tight embrace. As frightening as the moment had been when it was upon them, it was also a moment where there were no barriers between them.


    In that moment, neither of them had ever felt more loved. Now, no words were needed as they held each other in the deepening darkness of the night.

 Chapter 167: Empty Bed

    Chapter 167: Empty BedHours later, Ashlynn woke from barely remembered dreams where she was searching for something important through vast and dark forests. What she¡¯d been searching for, she couldn¡¯t remember and she¡¯d started to wonder if it had even been her dream or a fragment of Nyrielle¡¯s.


    The closer they came, the more their hearts beat in unison and the more the thin walls that kept them apart seemed to melt. Not long ago, Nyrielle¡¯s impassive, mask-like expression had troubled her greatly, but now, she found herself able to read the subtle shifts in her lover¡¯s lips and eyes as easily as reading a book. Nyrielle wasn¡¯t unfeeling, but her feelings ran deep and rarely bubbled to the surface.


    Even that, however, seemed to be changing. Whether those feelings had always been there or not, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t say. All she knew was that the Nyrielle she spent the night with was more ¡¯alive¡¯ than the one she¡¯d met in the rain on the night of her marriage to Owain.


    Now, however, after a night of passion and bliss, she woke to a bed that was disturbingly empty. Her arms and legs wrapped around a large pillow as if she¡¯d been clutching at it for hours. All around her, there were signs of their night of passion - blankets that had been torn when her body was rocked by the waves of pleasure that flowed from Nyrielle¡¯s bite, blood-stained sheets from the moment Nyrielle¡¯s control slipped and she raked her claws along Ashlynn¡¯s back...


    The proof of their passion was all around her but the person responsible for it was nowhere to be seen. It was a barrier they had yet to cross. Ashlynn still didn¡¯t have a good understanding of what happened to her lover when the sun rose, only that the sense of presence and connection she felt with Nyrielle became much weaker during daylight hours. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "When will you let me see all of you," Ashlynn whispered, tracing her fingers over the torn bedding. "What haven¡¯t I given you?"


    It wasn¡¯t a fair statement but when had feelings ever been fair? She knew that her lover had suffered greatly in the past and the more time they spent together, the more she understood that suffering.


    Nyrielle was slowly revealing herself to Ashlynn, especially on this trip. It felt petty to complain that there were still so many things that Nyrielle held back but at the same time... she¡¯d once again woken to an empty bed.


    Ashlynn had transformed herself into a creature of the night as much as she ever could. She slept through the morning hours most days and gave her nighttime hours to Nyrielle without reservation whenever she could. She wanted to be part of Nyrielle¡¯s world.


    It was just that the reverse was impossible. She could share Nyrielle¡¯s darkness but Nyrielle could never share her daylight. Her mind recognized that this was the way it would always be, but a very human part of her heart wanted things as simple and normal as a morning snuggle followed by breakfast in bed.


    "Winter will be different," she reminded herself, throwing back the torn bedding to pad across the cool stone floor into the washroom. Once winter came, the days would be much shorter and most of her waking hours would be spent in darkness. She¡¯d just have to find a way to make the best of their brief time together now and look forward to the long nights that were yet to come.


    "Heila," Ashlynn called after washing up and wrapping herself up in a soft satin robe. "I could use a bit of help."


    "Did Lady Nyrielle feed on you deeply?" Heila asked a few moments later when she entered Ashlynn¡¯s chambers. "You look very pale today," she added, her voice losing its teasing tone.


    Thankfully, Zedya was observant enough to notice their departure the night before and to inform the theater before the head of the production did anything to call attention to the empty private box. Heila had intended to tease Ashlynn a bit about being so alluring that Lady Nyrielle couldn¡¯t wait till the end of the show to feast on her but seeing Ashlynn¡¯s pale face and slow movements she worried that Lady Nyrielle had pushed Ashlynn¡¯s limits too far.


    "I¡¯m fine as long as I don¡¯t stand for too long," Ashlynn said, waving off the concern. "Once I¡¯ve had a good meal, I¡¯ll be better." A meal would do a lot to replenish her lost strength but so would spending time somewhere quiet and filled with nature. The High Fen hummed with life after the drought she¡¯d endured in the High Pass. Unfortunately, a city full of people wasn¡¯t the right sort of ¡¯teeming with life¡¯ for her needs. A good meal would have to do.


    "Help me get dressed and see if Captain Lennart can arrange a carriage for us," Ashlynn said. "I¡¯d like to go out for a meal. It doesn¡¯t have to be somewhere fancy," she added quickly. "If I thought I could stand long enough, street food would be fine. I just... I¡¯d like to get out," she said, pointedly not looking at the torn sheets and bedding.


    Her room felt too empty without Nyrielle in it. She could relax in a sitting room but the effect would be the same. High Lady Erna¡¯s palace belonged to the world that Nyrielle brought her into. She wanted to explore outside that world while her lover slept or she¡¯d just stew on the feeling of separation that daylight forced on her.


    "My La-, Ashlynn," Heila said, correcting herself. "If you¡¯re struggling to stand, you shouldn¡¯t go out to eat. I can have something brought for you, we can relax in the garden, wouldn¡¯t that be easier?"


    "It would be easier," Ashlynn agreed, reaching out to ruffle her diminutive friend¡¯s hair. "But I¡¯d be less comfortable. If it makes you feel better, I¡¯ll drink a cup of broth or something before we go, but I want to go out. This place," she gestured at the luxurious room with its exquisite furnishings and tasteful decorations. "It feels a bit too empty to me right now."


    "If Virve can join us for a meal, that would be even better," Ashlynn added. "I haven¡¯t thanked her properly for protecting us on the ice that day. I can at least give her a nice meal and an evening off to say thank you for what she did."


    "Just going out for a meal?" Heila asked hesitantly. "Nothing strenuous?" Lady Ashlynn always pushed herself to her limits and Heila still didn¡¯t understand why. During her lady¡¯s blossoming period, she could understand a little that each day was a precious opportunity to build a foundation of strength, but that had ended before they left the Vale of Mists. What could be so important about going out to dinner that she would push herself now after Lady Nyrielle had clearly fed deeply from her?


    "We¡¯ll see after the meal," Ashlynn said, unwilling to make any promises. If she could, she intended to arrive back at the palace less than an hour before sunset. Time enough to prepare for whatever surprise Nyrielle had in mind for her, but not long enough to feel like she was trapped in this lonely place where Nyrielle had so deeply imprinted herself on Ashlynn.


    After last night, her entire body ached with an almost physical craving for Nyrielle¡¯s touch. She was certain the feeling would fade within a few days, but right now, she wanted a distraction, and going out would provide a good one.


    Besides, she still needed to turn up a few surprises of her own. In a city as large as High Fen City, she was certain she could find what she was looking for.

 Chapter 168: A Shared Meal

    Chapter 168: A Shared Meal"Lady Nyrielle suspected that Lady Ashlynn might want to see a bit of the city during the day," Captain Lennart said when Heila approached him with her lady¡¯s request. "As long as we stay in the central districts and bring along a guide from the palace, things should be fine. I¡¯ll see to it, Lady Heila," he said, offering the same kind of deep bow that he would have given Madame Zedya.


    "You, you don¡¯t need to be that formal with me," Heila protested. "I¡¯m still just the same little Heila I always was. Having you bow like that, it, it¡¯s too much." S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It isn¡¯t, Lady Heila," the bearish soldier said with a smile. "Virve told me about you jumping into the lake to save Lady Ashlynn. For someone who never trained to be a soldier, that¡¯s more than heroic enough to deserve some respect and admiration. A few of the young ones might envy you a bit, but no one thinks you¡¯re unworthy."


    Making preparations took longer than Ashlynn wanted, and Heila insisted that she drink an entire bowl of rich, meaty broth before entering the carriage. When they did arrive at the carriage, however, both women were surprised by the number of guards arranged in their escort. Not only were Virve and Captain Lennart present, but four more soldiers from the Vale of Mists and nearly a dozen from the High Fen ringed the carriage.


    "This is a bit much, isn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn said as Virve helped her into the carriage. She¡¯d regained some of her strength but still felt rather weak.


    "It¡¯s an unfortunate consequence of last night," Lennart said helplessly. "High Lady Erna has enemies. After your very public introduction to high society last night, she¡¯s worried that her enemies may strike at you in order to force a rift between her and Lady Nyrielle."


    "I know you were hoping to treat me," Virve said with a complex expression on her face. "But it really would be safer to stay in the palace."


    "No," Ashlynn said resolutely. "I can accept extra protection, but I need to get out and be among people. It¡¯s either that, or I need to leave the city to visit farms or somewhere that has more abundant plants," she explained. When Nyrielle fed on her, she didn¡¯t only consume blood, she also consumed magical energy.


    A walk through the forest would be the best way to replenish that but they¡¯d left the forests behind when they left the mountains. A crowd of people couldn¡¯t give her the energy she needed but it could push away the loneliness she felt after waking up alone. If she could at least improve her state of mind, it would be easier to replenish her magic using the energy that was available in the city.


    "Leaving the city would be even more dangerous," one of the palace guards said, sliding forward on his serpentine tail. "But If what you need are abundant plants, there is a place you could get a meal and rest in a garden. It won¡¯t be fine dining, but the food will still be good."


    "Let¡¯s do that then," Ashlynn said, sitting back on the soft cushions of the carriage. "I¡¯ll just watch out the window for a bit," she added, already feeling the urge to take a nap but not wanting to miss out on the sights of the city.


    Seen in the daylight, High Fen City gleamed with a combination of polished marble and stucco facades. Fountains splashed playfully at almost every intersection and people moved about freely with an unhurried pace as though it was an idle holiday for the common folk.


    Eventually, they passed through an impressive stone archway and entered a sprawling public park. Ducks swam happily on a large pond at the center of the park and several small stalls could be spotted along one shore where lines of people queued before walking away with skewers of meat, hot hand pies or other dishes that could easily be eaten while strolling through the park.


    "Will this meet Seneschal Ashlynn¡¯s needs?" the serpentine guard asked as he gestured to the park. "You can take a rest anywhere you like and we can fetch a meal for you."


    "This is perfect," Ashlynn said, pointing at a cluster of flowering shrubs. "Heila, let¡¯s sit over there."


    While they had no blankets for a proper picnic, Ashlynn didn¡¯t care, sitting down directly on the grass and running her fingers through the soft blades. The earth beneath her fingers felt like it purred at her touch and the flowers seemed to sigh in contentment when she joined them. It wasn¡¯t the same as the deep and robust energy she received from strolling among the cedar trees of the Vale of Mists or the vastness of energy she felt from the Ancient Oak, but to the drained Ashlynn, just sitting here felt being offered a cup of water after walking through the desert.


    When the food arrived, Ashlynn wondered if the guards had bought out half the vendors supply for the day. There were heaps of soft flatbread that had been rubbed in butter and herbs paired with skewers of spiced meat and sauces that ranged in color from deep red to bright green or creamy white flecked with bright green herbs.


    "Virve, I wanted to treat you to something a little more indulgent, but..."


    "My Lady, it¡¯s already an honor to share a meal with you," the veteran soldier protested. "The spices here are incredible," Virve said, savoring another bite of flatbread dipped in the bright green sauce.


    "After days of nothing but fish and more fish in the High Pass..." She shook her head as if to dispel an unpleasant memory. "The Frost Walkers aren¡¯t shy about sharing large portions but, meat, meat, and more meat gets to be a bit much."


    "I thought I¡¯d missed fish after leaving Blackwell County," Ashlynn admitted with a laugh. "The Vale has such wonderful vegetables and fruits, but being by the sea, we ate fish or muscles at least once a day. Georg did his best with some river trout but they¡¯re not nearly the same as the big salmon and sturgeon you get on the coast."


    "Then we reached the High Pass and it felt like fish was all we ate," Ashlynn said with a rueful shake of her head. "At first, I loved it, but by the end, I was really dreaming of Georg¡¯s herb gardens."


    "It wouldn¡¯t have been so bad if the Frost Walkers cooked more of it," Virve said bluntly. "I know they¡¯re almost allergic to cooking fires but that much raw meat can¡¯t be a good thing."


    "I didn¡¯t mind the raw bits," Heila chimed in. "When they were sliced thin the flavor was really rich and mild. I still like Georg¡¯s tartar better though," she added, looking wistful at the thought of the bearish chef¡¯s artfully prepared dishes.


    For Heila, one of the best perks of serving Ashlynn was that she frequently got to sample dishes that Georg was working on, or he¡¯d share the leftovers with her after preparing portions for Ashlynn and Nyrielle. If her work didn¡¯t keep her so busy, she might have worried about fitting into her clothing after a month of sampling Georg¡¯s decadent meals!


    "You don¡¯t like intense flavors, do you?" Ashlynn observed, pointing at the bits of peppers and intensely spiced meats that Heila had set aside. It had only taken a single dip in the spicy green sauce for the horned woman to abandon anything that was a remotely similar color from her choices.


    "My father always said that spicy food was good for putting hair on your chest," Heila said, looking embarrassed. "What woman wants that?"


    "Ah, hem," Virve said, taking a piece of flatbread and scooping up a large dollop of the spicy green sauce before wolfing it down and licking her lips. "You were saying?"

 Chapter 169: A Nation’s Wealth

    Chapter 169: A Nation¡¯s WealthSeeing Virve devour a heaping portion of spicy sauce and stare challengingly at Heila, the entire group descended into laughter and good natured teasing while they continued to sample their way through the different dishes. Ashlynn had several questions for the members of the Scaled Clan that accompanied them about the various dishes.


    Some were rich and herbaceous while others had a deep, fiery heat that left her eager to gulp down the sweet fruity drink provided by a vendor who seemed favored by the children in the park.


    The cuts of meat may not have been the best, much of it had actually been ground in order to form into meat balls on skewers, and the vegetables clearly weren¡¯t the best of a harvest, but the flavors were new and exciting and the gentle atmosphere was a better sauce than anything poured over the savory flatbread.


    "I¡¯ve noticed something," Ashlynn said after finishing what must have been her tenth skewer of meat. The combination of plentiful food and gentle, nourishing energy from the earth was doing wonders for restoring her mood and she was starting to feel like she¡¯d recovered from Nyrielle¡¯s intense feeding. "Is this a place that¡¯s only visited by the wealthy?"


    "The wealthy who desire places like this keep their own gardens," one of the scaled guards said, tapping the point of his tail on the ground in confusion. "Why would you think that this is a place for the wealthy?"


    To the guards from the palace, this was a very ordinary public park, though perhaps it could be considered nicer than others as it was fairly close to the central district and the palace. Still, many of the people eating, playing, or relaxing in the park were common folks with jobs in the central district rather than people who lived there.


    "Perhaps not the elite of the city then," Ashlynn said, looking around the park with sharpened senses that captured every detail. Far beyond the strength and speed she¡¯d gained as a result of her blood bond with Nyrielle, she valued the results of her training with Georg to sharpen her senses, greatly increasing the number of things she was able to observe at a glance.


    The children splashing in the fountain weren¡¯t just well-dressed. Their clothing was recently made, lacking the patches from wear that were so common when children were young and rambunctious, and also lacking the fraying at the hems that was common when they only possessed hand-me-downs from older siblings.


    Beyond the clothing, their cheeks were round and healthy, their limbs strong, and their laughter carried the carefree joy of those who had never known true want. Even in prosperous cities like Blackwell or Lothian, it was common for ordinary folks to suffer the hardship of lean years, yet these children bore none of those signs.


    Near the pond¡¯s edge, several elderly men hunched over well made game boards. The few of them with hair wore it neatly trimmed and the few with beards even had polished silver or elaborately carved wooden beads braided into their beards. Even their canes showed signs of wealth that Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t have expected to see from common folk. Intricate patterns had been carved into the polished wood and the canes were capped with brass or silver.


    "But certainly these are successful merchants and landowners," Ashlynn continued, looking at the watching mothers who all wore simple but elegant jewelry. From delicate chains of silver or copper to small earrings set with gemstones that caught the light, every one of them resembled the wives or well kept mistresses of Masters from the powerful guilds Ashlynn had grown up around.


    "Or are you telling me that everyone in High Fen City dresses so well?" Ashlynn asked, feeling that it was a bit exaggerated. It couldn¡¯t be that even common folks enjoyed such plentiful luxuries here, could it?


    When she thought of the markets she¡¯d visited in Blackwell County, even successful merchant families carefully maintained one or two good outfits for special occasions. Here, mothers wore clothes that would suit a merchant¡¯s wife at a formal dinner while watching their children play. The difference was just too striking.


    At her statement, several of the guards from the palace adopted awkward expressions while Heila and Captain Lennart looked at the ground in embarrassment. Even Virve, who had demonstrated herself to be quite blunt once she realized she could speak freely, seemed hesitant to respond to Ashlynn¡¯s question.


    "Ashlynn," Heila finally said, fidgeting as she spoke. "Our Vale of Mists is considered somewhat... very poor by the standards of Eldritch lands. We have to be more self-sufficient than places like the High Fen. A few merchants make trips across the mountains but mostly we trade for necessities that can¡¯t be obtained in the Vale."


    "But, the Vale never struck me as lacking anything," Ashlynn said, wrinkling her brow in confusion before understanding dawned. "The Vale has fallen to a level closer to human settlements," she realized. "Eldritch lands are generally much richer than I¡¯m used to, aren¡¯t they?"


    "If you wander around the Vale of Mists enough," Lennart said slowly. "You can still find some of the traces of the original Mist City and some of the other settlements that were destroyed by the Lothians. Some of the old roads too. Only Lady Nyrielle remembers what things were like in those days, even Sir Thane isn¡¯t old enough to have seen Mist City at its height, but it should have been as large as High Fen City."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, dusting her hands off before standing up and offering a hand to Heila. "We must look like country bumpkins to the locals," she said with a light laugh. "Let¡¯s fix that. There¡¯s still enough daylight left in the day," she said, glancing at the position of the sun as it sank toward the horizon. "Let¡¯s do a little shopping."


    "Um, Ashlynn," Heila said awkwardly. "Lady Nyrielle intended to take you out to the night markets tomorrow night..."


    "That¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. The opera had been lovely but she wasn¡¯t sure that she was up for another night like the one she¡¯d just experienced. A shopping trip would be much better. Or at least it would be much easier to keep her desire under control.


    She doubted that Nyrielle would feed on her again so soon but they¡¯d both lost control last night and she wanted to take a few days before she risked a repeat of what had happened. She managed to regain her senses and pulled back from the abyss before she fell too deeply but until she understood what happened, it felt better to play it safe.


    "I¡¯m not really shopping for myself," Ashlynn said, holding Heila¡¯s hand as she led the way back to the carriage. "I¡¯m shopping for you. You¡¯re my lady-in-waiting and you should look the part," she said with a smile. "You¡¯ve done so much for me, let me repay a portion of that and treat you to a few new pieces for your wardrobe."


    For a moment, Heila wanted to protest. She really didn¡¯t need anything and she already felt privileged to be so close to Ashlynn, but... seeing the look on her friend¡¯s face, she knew protesting would be pointless. Since that was the case, wasn¡¯t it better to accept graciously?


    "In that case," Hiela said, turning to their serpentine guide. "I¡¯m told that the Scaled Clan is known for pieces with elaborate embroidery. Do you know where we might be able to buy some?"


    "For you, I can think of a few," he said with a smile. Lady Nyrielle wasn¡¯t the only Eldritch Lord to visit High Fen City with powerful servants, but of everyone he had encountered so far, this pair of Seneschal and ¡¯lady-in-waiting¡¯ seemed to put on the least airs and to have the most respect for the people around them.


    Had it been some other Lord¡¯s favored servant, he wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to lead them to places that charged three or four times what a piece was worth, just for the privilege of buying something ¡¯exclusive.¡¯


    Such people with more money than sense who relied on the strength of their master to intimidate others deserved what they got if they lacked the personal strength to cow unscrupulous merchants into doing honest business. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    This Seneschal, however... he couldn¡¯t bring himself to be so petty to a woman who was willing to sit in the grass with the common folk and eat street food like it was a refined delicacy. For her, he¡¯d show them a side of High Fen City that rarely welcomed outsiders.


    Meanwhile, Ashlynn was looking forward to the outing. When it came to the matters of merchants, her sister was far better trained and much more experienced. Not only was Jocelynn more interested in matters of fashion and jewelry, but their father had worked to extensively cultivate her relationships with the various merchant guilds in Blackwell City, training her in matters of commerce while Ashlynn studied things related to governance.


    That was what made the next part of the day¡¯s adventure so exciting. Part of her deeply wished that Jocelynn was here with her to experience this place and the countless new and exciting shops. Another part of her, however, was reveling in the idea that she was finally free to experience parts of life her sister took for granted.


    One day, when they finally reunited, Ashlynn hoped that today¡¯s events could be one of the things she shared with her sister. She¡¯d changed a great deal in a very short period of time and she was afraid that things right now would be almost as hard on Jocelynn. The only solace she could take was that, at least for the moment, Jocelynn wasn¡¯t in any immediate danger. With Owain around her, however, who knew how long that would be

 Chapter 170: The Terror of Demons

    Chapter 170: The Terror of DemonsWhile Ashlynn led Heila and her companions to do battle with merchants in search of new outfits for her lady-in-waiting, a very different battle was unfolding in the forests outside the Vale of Mists.


    "How many of them are there?" Owain Lothian snarled as he hunkered behind a large tree and glared at the Inquisitor who had forcefully joined their hunting party.


    When they entered the forest, Owain brought four knights, including his new Steward, Sir Hugo, plus thirty soldiers and a number of camp attendants. As hunting expeditions went, it was already sizeable. Inquisitor Diarmuid, however, had nearly doubled the size of the party, arriving with three templars including Sir Tommin, twenty more soldiers from the Church¡¯s private army, and their own collection of under-priests and deacons.


    Yet now, this mighty force of over fifty men had been pinned down by a small group of demons and their devilish traps.


    "I count six of them," Diarmuid said from his own position behind a tree. A bandage wrapped around his upper arm where he¡¯d narrowly dodged an arrow fired by one of the demons and sweat soaked his brow after his attempt to use sorcery to locate their enemies. "Even with the Blessing of Illumination, they¡¯re very hard to locate," he said.


    "Useless," Owain spat, looking around at the state of their soldiers.


    Of the fifty common soldiers they possessed, twelve had already fallen to a combination of devilish traps and demon arrows. The first trap they encountered had been simple and crude, a stack of fallen tree trunks that came tumbling down a hill at their exposed column as they followed a game trail through the forest.


    While it was simple and crude, it was still absolutely deadly. Each rolling log weighed at least five hundred pounds and when they slammed into soldiers who couldn¡¯t get out of the way fast enough, they shattered bones and crushed bodies.


    Worse, half of the hunting party¡¯s scouts had fallen victim to cleverly disguised pit traps filled with sharpened stakes or ambush by demon archers who fired with enough accuracy to place an arrow through a person¡¯s eye, even if they were wearing a helm!


    Now, having lost one out of five fighting men, the group had come under direct fire from several demon archers. Diarmuid¡¯s divination revealed that there were only six of them but Owain struggled to believe it was so few. They were firing from too many different angles and the arrows rained down too quickly for it to be so few people.


    "Six?" Owain asked, hating himself for relying on the Inquisitor for information. "You¡¯re sure that¡¯s the limit of them?"


    "Positive," Diarmuid answered. "They move and hide behind hunter¡¯s blinds or piles of sticks and leaves, but there are only six of them."


    "Fine," the young lord spat. "I¡¯m going to borrow one of your men," he said in a tone that made it clear he was giving an order rather than making a request. "Tommin, do you still remember how to fight or have you been spending the past several months on your knees?"


    "Left or right?" Tommin asked, ignoring the insult. He¡¯d been Owain¡¯s personal guard for over a decade and he¡¯d fought with Owain against the demons of the Southern Steppe. Even though he¡¯d left Owain¡¯s service after the young lord murdered his wife, he was still capable of fighting at the man¡¯s side when they stood against demons.


    "Advance on my right," Owain said, lifting his kite-shaped shield into place. "Fight on my left."


    "My Lord," Sir Rian protested. "If you need a man at your side..."


    "Shut it," Owain said, cursing as another volley of arrows whistled by. Some thunked harmlessly into trees but most found a target. Several soldiers screamed in pain and one let out a gurgling cry before collapsing to the ground with a black fletched arrow protruding from his neck.


    "I need a man who can fight on my left," Owain explained. He hated that he had to, but the knights he¡¯d recruited from the western barons didn¡¯t know him well enough yet to understand. If he didn¡¯t make things clear, they would do foolish things in search of personal glory or out of a misplaced sense of duty.


    "Tommin is left-handed," he said, looking at the direction the arrows had come from and making his decision. "We¡¯ve fought together like this for years. Let us clear the way. You men," Owain yelled, pointing at a small group of their own archers. "See that fallen log they¡¯re hiding behind? Volley over it, make them keep their heads down. Tommin, with me!"


    Once he¡¯d given his orders, Owain wasted no time, charging out from behind cover with his shield leading the way. Tommin fell in beside him, taking a position on Owain¡¯s right comfortably, as though they¡¯d never left.


    Arrows pelted the men, from the flanks, peppering their shields or glancing off the coats of heavy mail they wore over padded gambesons. Both men wished they could wear heavier armor to endure the deluge of arrows but it was impossible to do so in the terrain of the forest.


    More arrows whistled overhead as their own soldiers maintained a continuous stream of arrows at the hunter¡¯s blind that Owain had targeted. Without them doing so, the demons hiding behind the fallen logs would doubtless have fired their own arrows at the advancing knights and their shields wouldn¡¯t have been able to defend from enough sides at once.


    Despite the weight of their armor and the rough terrain, Owain and Tommin moved rapidly toward the blind, crossing the distance in a matter of seconds. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "All who threaten my brothers, shall be cut down!" Tommin shouted, swinging his gleaming Holy Light Blade in a powerful overhand swing while they were still several feet short of reaching the blind. Brilliant light flared from the holy sword, and an arc of light more than ten feet long cleaved through the air before cutting the fallen logs of the hunter¡¯s blind in two.


    "Die!" Owain shouted, charging forward using his shield as a battering ram to knock the logs aside while Tommin slid behind him, changing his position from one where he served as the shield on Owain¡¯s right side to the sword that swung on his left.


    Two flat tailed demons hiding behind the blind abandoned their bows, pulling long bladed knives and diving at the knights who were suddenly among them. One of the two fought with an arrow protruding from his arm but he seemed to be either immune to the pain or too crazed by fear and anger to be hindered by the wound.


    At range, with bows, the flat tailed demons were some of the most deadly opponents that Owain had ever faced. Up close, with nothing but knives in their hands and no armor other than their camouflage cloaks, they were no match for a pair of armored knights with swords who had come to kill them.


    In a matter of moments, both demons lay dead at Owain and Tommin¡¯s feet. At the edges of the battle, arrows stopped flying as the remaining demons seemed to melt in the forest as though fearful that they would be next.


    Owain, however, was certain that they¡¯d fallen back to yet another of their well-prepared position, hunkering behind even more devilish traps and waiting for him to send his men into the meat grinder.


    "There," Owain shouted down at his men who were slowly emerging from cover. "Was that so bloody hard? There were six of them, now there are four. That¡¯s four gold sovereigns waiting for someone to claim their tails for a bounty," he said, kneeling down and using his sword to lop the tail off one of the fallen demons before holding the bloody trophy up high over his head.


    "Now who is going to show me what it means to be a real man and claim their prize!"

 Chapter 171: Holy Magic

    Chapter 171: Holy MagicMilo and his younger brother Lako crouched behind a sodden and decaying log, watching the column of human soldiers sort themselves out before resuming their march deeper into the forest.


    The bodies of the slain humans were quickly wrapped in their own cloaks before they were taken up by the unarmored humans following in a second group behind the first. Looking at the faces of the ones gathering the bodies of the slain, they seemed indifferent, as though they were harvesting vegetables or hauling garbage rather than retrieving the remains of slain kin.


    "They still haven¡¯t turned back," Lako said, his flat tail thumping the ground lightly in agitation. "Do they care nothing for the lives of their soldiers?"


    "They only care about the knights and the priests," Milo said, pointing at the men with elaborately painted shields or wearing the robes of the Church. "The rest of their soldiers might as well be arrows to be fired from a bow. Good if they survive to be used again, but clearly they shed no tears for their deaths."


    "It¡¯s hard to deal with the knights," Lako said as he prepared to move again. "I can¡¯t punch through their armor at more than fifty paces but they cover that much ground too quickly."


    "Keto is luring them toward the third line of traps," Milo said with a heavy sigh. "If we can¡¯t make them pay a high enough price there, the village is likely lost."


    "Mother..." Tears formed in Lako¡¯s eyes before he forcefully blinked them away. What kind of sons were they if they let humans tear apart the village their family had built over four generations? Old Nan wouldn¡¯t abandon their homes, no matter what which meant that Milo and Lako had to stop these humans, no matter what.


    "Come," Milo said, tugging on his brother¡¯s cloak. "We¡¯ll stop them at the next line. Since the knights are hard, we should target the priests."


    "You¡¯re right," the younger man from the Heartwood clan said. "Maybe if their slave drivers fall, the soldiers will have the freedom to retreat."


    Despite offering the suggestion, Milo had no expectation that killing the priests would produce the effect they wanted. The human commander seemed too ruthless to give up because the people under his command died and the man with the glowing sword who fought beside him was far too powerful. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Those too alone were already a deadly threat to anyone who confronted them directly. If they couldn¡¯t catch them with traps, it was unlikely that any arrow would claim their lives. To the men of the Heartwood clan, it was madness to press on when so many soldiers had been slain.


    It was no different than hunting a maddened beast, the only time to sacrifice so many lives to stop such a foe was when it was upon your doorstep, yet these humans spent the lives of their soldiers like copper coins even when there was nothing to be lost by retreating.


    It made no sense, but no one ever said that an enemy like the human lords would behave rationally.


    At the third line of traps, the two brothers quickly scaled a tree, each one moving out onto a different limb behind an array of ropes that strained under the considerable force they held in place.


    Unlike the first and second lines of traps defending the village, these traps weren¡¯t intended to affect an advancing enemy directly. For things to reach this point, almost anything could be sacrificed to safeguard their village and the homes they had built there over the past four generations.


    "Ready Lako?" Milo asked heavily.


    "As soon as Keto flings their nets, I¡¯ll cut my line," the younger brother confirmed.


    A few minutes later, the column of human soldiers once again entered their view, led by a pair of knights dressed in the colors of the Church of the Holy Lord of Light.


    "They¡¯re in the trees!" Diarmuid shouted.


    After enduring withering casualties on their march toward the village, Diarmuid¡¯s heart seethed with a venomous rage. Owain refused to allow scouts to move more than an hour or two ahead of the main body of the troop, as though he just needed a single report from a scout to give them a direction to charge in.


    Because of that, they¡¯d fallen victim to several traps that the scouts had no time to discover. Privately, Diarmuid believed that they¡¯d only lost so many scouts because Owain¡¯s orders for haste forced them to act carelessly.


    Seeing Owain lead a charge side by side with Sir Tommin, however, forced Diarmuid to reevaluate the young lord. If Owain could be chastised for ignorance, then it was an ignorance of the gap between his own competence and that of his men. For Owain, perhaps it really was as simple as charging ahead and crushing the enemy beneath his boot.


    Now, if Diarmuid wanted to preserve the lives of the soldiers with them, he would have to push himself even harder and prevent battles from dragging out longer than necessary. The longer a battle was allowed to last, the more people these devious flat tailed demons would murder. Since that was the case, he didn¡¯t hesitate to use every divination available to him and the priests under his command to search for their enemies


    Neither Milo nor his younger brother knew how they¡¯d been spotted so quickly and from so far away but the priest followed his words with a strange invocation of his god before fire wreathed his hands.


    "Cut it," Milo snapped, his hands already moving to saw through the ropes in front of him.


    "But Keto..."


    "Demon. Burn in the cleansing flames of the sun!" A thundering command from the Inquisitor interrupted the men in the tree.


    Suddenly, flames exploded in one of the nearby trees, seeming to appear from nowhere and enveloping the man in a tree who had been preparing to cast a large net over the advancing soldiers. His anguished cry echoed across the damp forest moments before the burning body of their friend tumbled from the branches of the tree.


    Lako¡¯s brain struggled to process what had happened to his friend even as his hands moved to saw through the ropes. This was the sorcery wielded by human priests? There was no chance to dodge it or take shelter behind one of their hunting blinds, just flames that appeared from nowhere, enveloping a dear friend and reducing him to little more than a pile of seared flesh and bones.


    "Flames of purification. Encircle and arise!" the group of under-priests chanted at Diarmuid¡¯s command. Unlike the inquisitor, they weren¡¯t capable of pinpoint destruction of demons, but what one person could not do with precision, five could achieve with brute force. A moment later, a second explosion of flames rocked the forest, and this time it was several times larger than Diarmuid¡¯s precise sorcery.


    They lacked the precision demonstrated by the man in red and gold robes but the effect was no less devastating as the tree occupied by Keto¡¯s companion, Osev, was engulfed in flames from the base of its trunk all the way to the slender branches that formed the tree¡¯s crown.


    As tragic as Keto and Osev¡¯s deaths were, however, Diarmuid had made a critical mistake in selecting his targets. By focusing on the men who only sought to trap them on the narrow trail between two gentle slopes, they missed the opportunity to prevent Milo and Lako from completing their work.


    "You¡¯ll die for what you¡¯ve done," Milo said, a dark grin forming on his lips as he and Lako finished sawing through the last of the ropes.

 Chapter 172: Shattered Dam

    Chapter 172: Shattered DamA loud -TWANG- reverberated through the woods, followed two hard beats later by a second one and the tree the brothers occupied lurched like it had been shaken by a giant. More than a thousand pounds of tension was unleashed in an instant and the sound of crashing filled the air as a battering ram swung through the forest, aimed not at the invaders but at the dam that formed the central pond in the Heartwood clan¡¯s village.


    When Cellach Lothian burned Mist City to the ground and scattered the original inhabitants of the Vale of Mists, many members of the Heartwood clan had sought out a place they could shape to their liking, deep enough in the wilderness to escape the attention of even the most expansionist humans.


    The result had been a network of artificial dams that helped to establish a thriving village around a pool that, while it couldn¡¯t be called a lake, was large enough for dozens of the flat tailed Eldritch people to swim in at the same time. For four generations, that pond had given them everything from water for their homes to a place to escape the oppressive summer heat.


    Now, that pond became their weapon of last resort against the invaders who sought to destroy their homes.


    More flames sailed through the air and this time it was Lako¡¯s turn to scream in pain as fire hot enough to melt metal enveloped his body. The stench of burning fur and cooked meat filled the air for an instant before Lako tumbled from the tree, crashing into several branches along the way.


    Milo flung himself after his brother, scampering down the tree at a pace that could only be described as a barely controlled fall. By the time he reached the ground, humans were already beginning to move in his direction when the ground began to shake and tremble.


    Tens of thousands of barrels worth of water surged from the broken dam, sweeping aside fallen branches, loose stones and a tremendous quantity of soil. The muddy water turned into a torrent that swept along the shallow hollow between hills where the human column advanced toward the village. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "High ground! Get to high ground," Owain snapped, abandoning the advance to scramble out of the way of the oncoming flood. These demons were mad! It sounded like they were ready to bring the whole mountain down on top themselves, just to kill a few more humans. This wasn¡¯t like fighting an army, it was like fighting the forces of nature themselves.


    Sir Tiernan the Blackhammer cursed savagely as he scrambled up the soft soil of the slope, discarding his prized warhammer to latch on to a spindly tree in the hopes of withstanding the surge of water.


    He¡¯d warned them, several times, that it wasn¡¯t wise to provoke the demons high in the hills, but even the people who listened to his warnings didn¡¯t realize what it meant to fight demons who mastered their environment the way these demons had. Now, they were all paying the price for it.


    Sir Hugo fared much worse than the veteran knight, losing his footing in the scramble before the water crashed into him with the force of a charging horse. Brown water, pale sky and solid earth tumbled through his vision interchangeably before he crashed into the trunk of a tree. His vision swam turning red at the edges but he stubbornly clung to the tree like it had become the most beautiful woman in a brothel.


    At the base of the tree, Milo smiled in dark satisfaction as he watched the column of soldiers fall to disarray. Too many of them, and especially too many of the knights, had escaped death to save their village but at least Keto and Osev wouldn¡¯t be the only ones to perish on this battlefield.


    "Come, brother," Milo said, gently pulling Lako¡¯s arm over his shoulder and preparing to hoist his brother up off the ground. "That should buy us a little time to..."


    "Put me down," Lako rasped. One of his legs had broken when he hit the ground and he was certain that several ribs had cracked or broken in his fall. Every inch of his flesh burned with an agony that couldn¡¯t be described in words and his heartbeat had become irregular and feeble. "Leave a quiver for me," he said, spitting out a mouthful of foamy pink blood.


    "Brother, you can¡¯t..." Milo started only to stop when he saw the look in his brother¡¯s eyes. What flame still burned there was like the last ember of a dying fire, flaring up before it was extinguished forever.


    "I still have fingers," he said painfully. "To draw a bow. I can stall. Long enough..."


    "It¡¯s fine," Milo said, drawing his own bow and lining up a shot on the human soldiers struggling to escape the surging water and the torrent of mud that accompanied it. "I can go with you."


    "No, mother..."


    "Mother won¡¯t give up our home," Milo said, shaking his head sadly. They¡¯d argued this point until Milo and Lako had worn divots in the ground with the thumping of their tails but it had done nothing to change her mind. She¡¯d carved out a home with her own hands and she intended to protect it until the day she died. "This is the end..."


    "Make her," Lako insisted, clutching desperately at Milo¡¯s hand and stopping him from shooting at the humans. If he loosed the arrow, he had no chance of escaping, but if he didn¡¯t...


    "Leave me your arrows," Lako said again. "Run now, or mother will never see her grandchildren." Milo¡¯s wife, at least, had been among the people who choose to seek shelter behind the walls of the Vale of Mist. Even though their homes would be lost, she would survive this tragedy.


    Milo had always been the best of older brothers, constantly shielding Lako from trouble and even helping him search for a place to build his own burrow when he was ready to propose to a woman.


    Clearly, Milo intended to die together with his brother, but Lako couldn¡¯t let him. At least one of them needed to make it out of this, and of the two, Lako thought his brother was more deserving. It was just nice that it worked out this way, he just had to help his brother come to the same conclusion.


    "Damn it," Milo spat, shrugging off his quiver and dropping it at his younger brother¡¯s side. Of all the times for his brother to be sensible, why did it have to be now? "Kill that priest, brother, or I¡¯ll come back and do it myself," he said before he turned away and fled into the forest.


    Behind him, Lako watched his brother run with a sad smile on his face. He had no strength to draw his bow and his vision had grown too dark to see the priest even if he could have pulled a bow. It didn¡¯t matter though. As long as his brother believed that he would make a final stand, he¡¯d allow him the dignity to do it and maybe... maybe he could convince their stubborn mother to flee before it was too late.


    "I¡¯m sorry, Cetna," he whispered as the world went dark around him. "I won¡¯t be the one to build you a home

 Chapter 173: A Place of Refuge

    Chapter 173: A Place of RefugeIn the Vale of Mists, Ollie stood at the center of several cookfires that were only a short walk downhill from the ancient roadway and the outermost gate that it passed through.


    Originally, when Ollie had volunteered to help receive the people fleeing from Owain¡¯s assault on the Eldritch villages outside the Vale of Mists, he fully expected to fall under the command of a more senior and experienced soldier or member of the castle staff.


    Things would have worked out that way if the cook¡¯s assistants that Georg sent had any idea how to feed an incoming tide of refugees. With a capable and experienced chef, many things became very simple. Unfortunately, it had been well over a decade since the people of the Vale had been on any kind of war footing and even then, Bors Lothian had never directly assaulted the Vale of Mists in the last war, his focus had been on plundering the wealth of Airgead Mountain. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ollie wasn¡¯t used to fighting wars or feeding refugees either, but he was very accustomed to feeding a large number of servants as quickly and as cheaply as possible before they scattered to their duties in Lothian Manor or the Summer Villa.


    Seeing the number of people arriving in ones and twos or small groups of five or six on a near-constant basis, Ollie started by making a few suggestions before the horned servant who was officially in charge turned to him and asked for help.


    "Sir Ollie, I¡¯m sorry I misunderstood," the gray-bearded man said. "Clearly Chef Georg was grateful for your help because you have skills better suited to this than we do. My brigade is at your command, give us orders and we will not argue."


    For a moment, he wanted to protest. He was just a kitchen boy after all. He¡¯d never been in charge of a kitchen. But before he could back down from the responsibility, he heard Ashlynn¡¯s voice, reminding him that ¡¯from now on, you¡¯re not just a kitchen boy, you¡¯re my friend.¡¯


    If he was going to be a real friend to her, he couldn¡¯t shrink back behind the label of ¡¯just a kitchen boy¡¯ anymore. So, after taking several deep breaths, he began to give instructions to the other cooks.


    "We don¡¯t have time to make anything fancy," Ollie said. "Let¡¯s start with a batch of All-Day-Soup. Fill two large pots a third of the way up with the roughest cuts of meat and plenty of bones - shoulders, shanks, anything that has to cook for a while, get that started now with enough water to cover the bones and meat. Once it¡¯s boiled for a while, we can add more water, vegetables, and barley to the soup..."


    All-day-soup was a kitchen staple in the Lothian Manor. It started with the pieces of meat too tough to be served to the lords, the stump ends of vegetables, and all sorts of other kitchen trimmings. As the day went on and the staff consumed the soup, more trimmings would be added, more water, more barley, and so on until the soup was either finished off at the end of the night or what was left was banked on the coals to start the next day¡¯s pot of soup.


    In addition to the All-Day-Soup, Ollie ordered one of the massive pots to be dedicated to producing a thin oat porridge that could be served up all day long, along with a cook fire dedicated to turning out simple flatbread.


    The combination of soup, porridge, and bread did more than just ensure that every arriving refugee received something to eat. They received something that was warm, easy to digest after a day of trekking through the wilderness, and most importantly something that felt comforting.


    Ollie knew too well what it was like to suddenly find yourself a resident of the Vale of Mists. While it wasn¡¯t a bad place to be, and he even preferred his life here to the life he lived before, it was still a shock to be suddenly uprooted and sent somewhere else to live, perhaps for the rest of your life. Giving people in that situation something as normal as a warm meal could go a long way to easing the fear and uncertainty that came with the sudden move.


    While he was inspecting his supplies and trying to think of a way to provide something that could be considered a ¡¯treat¡¯ to the dozens of children who arrived looking lost and forlorn, a commotion at the gate distracted him.


    "Did I hear that right?" Ollie said, looking at one of the other cooks. "Did they say the Heartwood Clan¡¯s village had burned?"


    "Sounds like it," the cook said, pausing his work for a moment finding himself surprised yet again by this strange red-haired human. The expression on the young man¡¯s face was pensive and... sad? For the loss of a village that he¡¯d likely only seen once? For Lady Ashlynn to care about the Eldritch people might be considered normal, she was a Child of the Earth and the Seneschal of Lady Nyrielle. But to see so much concern from this young human was truly surprising.


    "You should go take a look," the cook said. "We can handle things here now that we¡¯ve got the system worked out."


    "I think I will, thank you," Ollie said before sprinting up the hillside to the gates where a small crowd had gathered. When he arrived, he found the easily recognizable figure of Old Nan carried in the arms of a younger man from the Heartwood Clan.


    Old Nan¡¯s clothes had been torn and singed in places and her head bore a large bruise and a shallow cut across her brow that made it look like she¡¯d received a beating before the younger man carried her away. The young man himself had singed fur and a broken-off arrow protruded from one shoulder as he curled protectively around the old woman.


    "Old Nan," Ollie shouted as he made his way forward through the crowd. "What, what happened to her?"


    "You, human," Milo said, looking at the red-haired human in surprise. His voice was thick with fatigue and his eyes were haunted. For the past day, he¡¯d told himself that they would be safe in the Vale of Mists, that if he could just reach the walls, he could put down his burdens and they would be safe.


    Now, seeing a human in this place after watching his village burn... it twisted the knife in his heart that had been buried there since his brother¡¯s death. And yet... this was the human who pleaded with them to come to safety in the first place.


    Because Ollie had suggested sending away the people who couldn¡¯t fight, Milo¡¯s wife should be somewhere in the Vale of Mists, safe and waiting for him, along with many of his friends and neighbors. Only the most stubborn residents of the village had stayed to defend it. Milo himself would have preferred to leave but neither he nor Lako could abandon their mother and so they¡¯d stayed to fight as well.


    If they hadn¡¯t...


    "You were right, human," Milo said as tears he hadn¡¯t been able to shed finally spilled from his eyes as the dam within him broke at last. "Can you, can you help her?" Milo asked, lifting his unconscious mother. "She was... stubborn."


    "Of course, I can help," Ollie said, stepping in gently and kneeling beside the wounded pair. "Let me take her to the healers. You two," he said, pointing at a pair of nearby horned soldiers. "This woman is a friend of Marcell¡¯s, and this man is...?"


    "Her foolish son, Milo," he said, his tail hanging limply on the ground as he spoke. Now that he¡¯d finally arrived, he felt hollowed out. He¡¯d staggered through the forest all night while carrying his mother and he had to subdue her when she tried to rush back to the village the first time she¡¯d woken. It broke his heart to do so, but much like when he knocked her unconscious to pull her from their home before the humans arrived, he couldn¡¯t bear the thought of leaving her to die for nothing. Now that they¡¯d arrived, however, he didn¡¯t know what he was supposed to do next.


    "Milo," Ollie said gently. "These men will help you to the healers. I can¡¯t imagine how strong you must be to go so far with an arrow in your shoulder, but you need help and so does Old Nan. Once the healers have tended to you, I¡¯ll bring you both something hot to eat."


    "All right," Milo said numbly. The human¡¯s mention of food prompted another thought that broke through the fog in his mind. "My wife, Juni, and... and Cetna. Did they make it?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Ollie said has he began to carry Old Nan to the healers. "But if they did, I¡¯ll go look for them. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be glad to see you made it too."


    After helping Milo and Old Nan to the healers and finding Juni and Cetna, Ollie returned to his makeshift kitchen with a heavy lump in his stomach. What Owain and his men had done to the Heartwood clan was far too cruel and he was powerless to have stopped it.


    The hollowed-out look in Milo¡¯s eyes and the wounds on Old Nan¡¯s body told him how important their homes had been and that they¡¯d lost far more than just their homes. And for what? So Owain Lothian could hang another trophy on his walls?


    At the moment, there was nothing he could do to stop Owain¡¯s rampage through the outlying villages, but one day, he thought, his hand dropping to the hilt of a fighting knife at his hip. One day, he wouldn¡¯t be so powerless.


    For now, all he could do was return to his kitchen and make sure that none of the refugees went hungry. When the day started, he¡¯d felt proud of himself for at least offering some comfort to the people who had lost so much but after seeing Milo, that pride withered as he focused mechanically on arranging their supplies and preparing the next batch of All-Day-Soup.

 Chapter 174: A Hunter’s Plan

    Chapter 174: A Hunter¡¯s PlanIn the refugee camp, the two biggest problems were finding people a place to rest, and making sure they had plenty of food to eat.


    Thankfully for Ollie, Sir Thane had lived through more than a few wars and he understood well the needs of people who had lost their homes. When Ollie first set out to warn the villages with Marcell, Sir Thane had already given orders for every able bodied hunter to deliver additional fish, fowl and wild game to the castle to feed the influx of people.


    Some of these people had hopes of returning to their villages, while others only had the strength to move once. No one knew yet where everyone would end up but in the near term, Thane was determined to at the very least ensure that no one starved or went without a place to sleep. Everything else could be sorted out in the days to come.


    Among the many people who had responded to Thane¡¯s call for additional hunters, two surprising figures crept through the late morning mist, moving carefully so as to avoid startling any of the small game birds that were plentiful in the forest closest to the castle.


    The human hunters Eamon and Darragh had leaped at the opportunity to do more independent work in the Vale of Mists with Eamon passionately promising that they could hunt much more efficiently if he and Darragh were allowed to work as a pair.


    Thus far, they had only been allowed to use their skills in very limited ways, assisting other hunters from the castle in occasional outings to hunt for grouse, pheasant and other birds native to the area. Longer hunts that kept them out of the castle for multiple days had been expressly forbidden, as had hunting any large game whether that was deer or bear.


    All of the captives Ashlynn had taken after defeating Sir Broll were still kept under close watch, but Commander Bassinger looked for ways to reward them for good behavior in line with Ashlynn¡¯s desire to see if more humans could integrate into the community of the Vale of Mists.


    Since Eamon and Darragh had been particularly zealous about demonstrating their good intentions toward ¡¯Her Holiness¡¯, Bassinger saw no reason to restrict the men now when their skills could be used the most.


    "Eamon," Darragh hissed, crouching low and holding out a hand with several clusters of brilliant red berries. "Red Baneberry," he said with a wide grin. "If we slather this on the meat we deliver to their ¡¯welcome camp¡¯, it should thin out the weak among the refugees. It looks like that traitor has taken command over there, the blame is sure to fall on him."


    Rather than looking happy, however, Eamon¡¯s hand struck out with the speed of a snake, knocking the berries from the younger man¡¯s hand and scattering them in the bushes. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Idiot," the grizzled hunter hissed. "This is not the time and targeting Her Holiness¡¯s friend is not a wise move." Red Baneberry, in small doses, would cause anything from a bad case of the runs to days of dizziness and weakness. Mixed into food, however, with a chance to concentrate, could produce a dish so toxic that it caused the body to spasm and weak hearts to fail.


    Perhaps people would turn on the human cook who oversaw the refugees, but Eamon had seen the gentleness in young Ollie¡¯s eyes. No one would believe that he would be so cruel. Instead, a manhunt would begin almost immediately, searching for anyone who might have poisoned the food.


    From there, it wouldn¡¯t be long before suspicion fell on the other humans who brought fresh meat to be added to the cook pots and everything they had worked for would fall apart.


    "But Eamon," the younger man said. "We need to rescue Her Holiness and take her back home to Lord Owain. You said that yourself didn¡¯t you? Weakening the people around her is a good opportunity for us. Besides, all of these refugees have escaped Lord Owain¡¯s hunt. If we can tell him that we helped clean up the strays that escaped him, won¡¯t he increase our rewards when we bring Lady Ashlynn back to him?"


    "If Lord Owain wants them to die then they will die," Eamon said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Whether they die now or die when he brings an army to trample the Vale of Mists beneath his feet, it doesn¡¯t matter. Dead is dead."


    "Right now, our concern is getting close enough to Her Holiness to rescue her from the hands of these demons," the older man said. A zealous flame burned in his eyes as he remembered Lady Ashlynn¡¯s demonstration of her holy power the night they arrived in the Vale of Mists.


    He knew then that he had to rescue her from this place, he just hadn¡¯t anticipated that she would leave the Vale entirely not long after his own arrival. He¡¯d spent several nights on his knees in prayer, trying to find an answer to how he was supposed to rescue her if she was no longer in the Vale.


    That was when he realized, as if by divine revelation, that Her Holiness would judge him for his deeds while she was away. If he wanted to be someone who could come close to her when she returned, he had to be someone who demonstrated that he could live according to her instructions even when she wasn¡¯t there to witness his deeds.


    Now, if filling the bellies of demon refugees was what it would take for him to earn his way back into her presence, then he was willing to feed demons until their stomachs burst. The methods didn¡¯t matter, only the results mattered. In the end, as long as he could stand with pride having returned Ashlynn Blackwell to her husband, he was certain to reap the best rewards from Lord Owain.


    "Just like hunting, young Darragh," Eamon said, preparing to move to a vantage point with a better view. "Don¡¯t lose the buck you¡¯re stalking because you decided to pocket a hare along the way. It¡¯s too easy to wind up with nothing but the hare, or worse, nothing at all, because you were too greedy. I know you want to kill the demons. I know it pains you to make nice with them, but you have to endure this," he said, placing a hand firmly on the young man¡¯s shoulder.


    "I know," Darragh said, looking away from Eamon¡¯s burning gaze. The passion and zealotry that burned in the older hunter since seeing Lady Ashlynn¡¯s demonstration was uncomfortably bright when Darragh himself didn¡¯t have such a strong faith. Still, he believed in Eamon¡¯s plan. Lord Owain would favor them heavily when they revealed that his wife was a miracle worker and that they¡¯d rescued her.


    For now, he would just have to hide his hatred deeper and let go of the opportunities he had to erode the strength of the Vale of Mists from within. As long as Eamon could lead him to their ultimate goal, knighthoods of their own, he would endure. And if it turned out Eamon was wrong... there was still glory to be had in slaughtering demons and there were still rewards to be claimed if he could escape with proof of his kills.


    One way or another, Darragh didn¡¯t intend to take a loss in this place. Eamon had already found one way to turn the current crisis to his advantage, Darragh would just have to look for others on his

 Chapter 175: Boundaries and Finding Balance

    Chapter 175: Boundaries and Finding BalanceAfter concluding her own outing during the day, Ashlynn¡¯s second ¡¯date night¡¯ with Nyrielle involved a more subdued visit to a musical performance that the vampire referred to as a ¡¯symphony.¡¯ There were even more musicians than at the opera but thankfully for Ashlynn¡¯s troubled heart, the performance lacked a distinct narrative. Beautiful music could be enjoyed for its own sake.


    The dinner that followed was luxurious but even Nyrielle could tell that her lover¡¯s heart wasn¡¯t in it. Their previous evening had been too intense and they were both holding themselves back from going too far tonight.


    For Ashlynn, the memory of teetering on the edge of a dark abyss as Nyrielle fed on her was far to fresh. For Nyrielle, it had been even worse. As Ashlynn had once surmised, there had been times in the past when Nyrielle lost control while feeding and killed people she hadn¡¯t intended to.


    Last night, after her close call with Ashlynn, the dreams that haunted her were recollections of the people she¡¯d lost to her hunger because she failed to restrain herself. By the time she woke this evening it took her several minutes to regain her composure before seeing Ashlynn again.


    "You should take the rest of the night to rest," Nyrielle finally said at the end of their meal. She had other plans but dismissed them when she realized that they wouldn¡¯t bring Ashlynn any joy.


    "I¡¯d hoped that this place would revitalize you more. You deserve to enjoy the finer things in life and I¡¯ve given you far too few of them. It seems I¡¯ve misunderstood, my darling," she said, tracing a finger gently down Ashlynn¡¯s cheek.


    "No, I," Ashlynn started, only to stop herself short so she could choose her words with more care. Nyrielle had a way of making her lose her composure and while she never felt that she said things that were untrue or hurtful when Nyrielle left her flustered, she did feel that she wasn¡¯t always clear when she needed to be.


    "I love you," Ashlynn said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s slender waist. "With all of my being. And I¡¯m afraid of you sometimes," she added hesitantly. "More like, I¡¯m afraid that loving you isn¡¯t as simple as ordinary human love. Last night was dangerous. I think, if I didn¡¯t pull back, I could have gotten hurt. It would have been an accident but still..."


    "And that makes you fear me," Nyrielle said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Her hands froze just short of wrapping around Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders as she hovered uncertainly on Ashlynn¡¯s words.


    "It makes me hate myself," Ashlynn said softly. "Because I¡¯m not strong enough to match up to you yet. I¡¯m putting all of the pressure on you to be perfect. To know the limits, to never harm me... It¡¯s not fair to you."


    "I never asked the world to be fair to me," Nyrielle said, crossing that last invisible line and enveloping Ashlynn in a cool embrace. "I can bear the burden of keeping you safe."


    "But I can¡¯t bear the burden of making you do it all the time," Ashlynn said, pulling back and staring deeply into Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue eyes. "Will you let me be willful?" she asked with a teasing smile forming on her lips.


    "When haven¡¯t I allowed you to be willful? Whatever your heart desires, you know I¡¯ll work to give it to you," Nyrielle said, relieved to see a smile on Ashlynn¡¯s face.


    "You planned romantic things for us to do together," Ashlynn said, holding on to Nyrielle¡¯s narrow hips as she spoke. "You wanted me to see a side of Eldritch life that I¡¯d never have thought to ask about. It was very, very sweet," she said, standing up on her tip toes to bestow a light kiss on the vampire¡¯s nose.


    "But you didn¡¯t ask me what I needed or wanted," Ashlynn pointed out. "So, while I regret nothing from last night, by the time we got to tonight... I enjoyed the music and I enjoyed dinner, but what I wanted was something else. So, whatever you have planned tomorrow, I¡¯d like you to discard those plans and replace them with something that we plan together."


    "That.... I cannot do," Nyrielle said with a heavy sigh. "Or at least, I can¡¯t do it easily or without paying a price that you wouldn¡¯t wish me to pay. I am a visiting Eldritch Lady, certain formalities must be observed. Tomorrow there will be a banquet and masquerade ball," she said with an ironic smile.


    "I see," Ashlynn said, nodding in understanding. "There are moments to enjoy but also moments of obligation. I won¡¯t be so willful as to demand you insult Lady Erna by missing the masquerade."


    While the Eldritch were very different from humans in some ways, in others, they were surprisingly similar. Visiting dignitaries always resulted in a certain amount of festivity where wine would flow and barriers between people would lower enough for politics to intermix with the event. While Ashlynn wanted to be demanding, she wasn¡¯t about to be demanding to the extent of creating trouble.


    "We still have the rest of this night," Nyrielle offered. "What does my darling wish to do?"


    "I heard you were planning to take me to the night markets to do some shopping," Ashlynn said, thinking carefully about how she wanted to phrase her request. "I want to go jewelry shopping. I want you to let me pick something out for you. You¡¯ve given me countless things but I¡¯ve given you nothing in return. Let me pick out something for you." S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That¡¯s not true," Nyrielle whispered, pulling Ashlynn close and gently brushing her lips against the younger woman¡¯s neck. "You¡¯ve given me all of you and I¡¯ve savored that gift many times over."


    "You," Ashlynn said, clinging tightly to Nyrielle¡¯s hips as the vampire¡¯s breath on her neck made her knees go weak. "You know that¡¯s not what I meant!"


    "I know, but your face turns a lovely shade when I remind you," Nyrielle whispered with a light laugh.


    When they finally left the restaurant, Ashlynn asked to explore jewelers that were more common. All of the truly noteworthy artists in the central districts of High Fen City were people who worked on commission and would take months to prepare a piece that would be worn by someone as important as the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists. That defeated the purpose of a spontaneous gift all together.


    Instead, Ashlynn delighted in finding something that was more appropriate as a gift between young lovers. Refined and elegant to be sure, but much less grand than the jewelry that High Lady Erna had loaned her.


    "I like this one," Ashlynn finally said, holding up a silver pendant shaped like a large tree. There were many items shaped like serpents, herons, and other local animals, but none of them quite suited Nyrielle.


    "It reminds me of the Ancient Oak we formed our pact beneath," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle to secure the pendant in place. "That moment changed my life in ways I never imagined," she whispered, leaning on Nyrielle and listening to the slow, steady beat of the vampire¡¯s heart. "I¡¯m so glad you found me."


    "The tree reminds me of you too," Nyrielle whispered, inhaling the faint evergreen scent that always accompanied Ashlynn no matter where they went. "I¡¯ll treasure this."


    "There¡¯s still time before we need to return to the palace," Ashlynn said, pulling back from Nyrielle. "Now that I¡¯ve been willful, was there anything else you¡¯d planned that we can still do?"


    "It may spoil the mood a bit," Nyrielle said after hesitating for a moment. "It¡¯s not what I would have ended the night with, but it is important. Zedya, you have the horns and tusks in the carriage?"


    "Yes, My Lady," Zedya said, bowing slightly as she stepped forward. "If we didn¡¯t get to them tonight, I intended to entrust this to little Heila, but it¡¯s better if we go ourselves."


    "I agree," Nyrielle said, turning to Ashlynn. "You¡¯ve had a chance to meet with Frost Walker sorcerers and learned a bit about their magic. Now, are you ready to meet with an artificer? Even if we didn¡¯t have a request to make, I promise you, it would be worth the visit."


    "Horns and tusks," Ashlynn said softly. "You mean...?"


    "You claimed the lives and horns of Paulus and his grandson as forfeit when you asked for justice for Andrus," Nyrielle reminded her. "Zedya harvested their horns in a way that will allow them to be used in the creation of artifacts without the consequences that haunted the Tuscans. Come," Nyrielle said, holding out a hand. "This is something you should see through to the end."

 Chapter 176: Artificer Erkembalt

    Chapter 176: Artificer ErkembaltThe carriage clattered through the night, carrying Ashlynn, Nyrielle, Zedya and Heila across the city into a district that was less brightly lit and well maintained than others. While there were no signs of public disorder, no trash in the streets or buildings in disrepair that Ashlynn might have expected in less prosperous districts of human cities, the lack of care could be seen in other ways.


    Far fewer lamps illuminated the night here, not because any had been neglected, but because there simply weren¡¯t as many. The boats that moved about the district¡¯s canals were smaller and showed signs of being repaired several times and the facades of many buildings looked like they could benefit from a good scrub.


    "Where are we going?" Ashlynn asked, peering outside the carriage windows. Several people stopped to stare as they passed by but, seeing the glyph of High Lady Erna emblazoned on the side of the carriage, no one dared to make any threatening movements in their direction.


    "Artificer Erkembalt," Zedya answered smoothly. "I sent him a message last night and received a favorable reply this evening. He¡¯s well known for bridging many disciplines in the pursuit of his craft."


    "And artificers are different from sorcerers?" Ashlynn asked, wanting to make sure she understood. The books Nyrielle had provided her translations of mentioned artifacts of great power but said little about their construction.


    "In a way they straddle the line between sorcery and witchcraft while producing wonders all their own," Nyrielle explained. "A sorcerer uses power from their own body and life force. A witch can draw upon the power of the natural world. An artificer works with the power imbued in unique and special items. Zedya can likely tell you more."


    "I don¡¯t have any deep insight to offer," the amethyst eyed vampire said. "I¡¯ve worked with Artificer Erkembalt before to secure weapons or specialty tools. Some items, like Frost Walker horns, are difficult to harvest safely. I¡¯ve lent him my services in obtaining those materials in exchange for his services in crafting armaments."


    "What kind of person is he?" Heila asked, forcing herself to participate in the conversation instead of remaining a passive observer. It was hard to put herself forward when Lady Nyrielle was present but seeing Zedya invited to speak gave her a boost of courage to join in herself.


    "Hard to say," Zedya said. "People change over time. It¡¯s been twenty years since I¡¯ve last done business with him. At the time, he was eager for business and showing off his pack of brats. Triplets if I remember correctly," she added with a slight smile. "He seemed very concerned about having enough money to place so many children in school."


    "Is he part of the Scaled Clan?" Ashlynn asked. From what Nyrielle made it sound like, large clusters of children were normal for families like Erna¡¯s but Zedya made it sound like the artificer had been caught off guard by so many children.


    "The Clan of Painted Masks," Zedya said with a smile. "Triplets aren¡¯t unheard of but they¡¯re not common either. Our destination is right around the corner," she said, changing the topic slightly and pointing out the window. "You¡¯ll see what he¡¯s like in just a moment."


    The storefront itself was plain and unassuming with small windows made of several round pieces of glass that looked like they¡¯d been taken from an assortment of bottles and fused together. During the day, such windows might do a good job of letting in some amount of light, but seeing the contents of the shop through them would be difficult at best.


    The sign that hung over the shop depicted a pair of iron tongs trailing several sparks and a heavy-handed script beneath the tongs read ¡¯Things Made, Curses Broken.¡¯ Other than the sign, there was nothing to mark the shop as different or more extraordinary than the barber across the street or the saddlemaker next door.


    Entering the shop, a bell rang softly, disturbing a stillness that, from the amount of dust collected on the various shelves, persisted most days without interruption. Despite the dusty, faintly mildew-scented air in the place, once Ashlynn stepped inside, she felt a prickle of energy wash over her skin as though she¡¯d walked through a beaded curtain of magical energy. Even after the wave of energy passed, the shop held a lingering charge, like the air just after a thunderstorm had passed.


    A normal human entering the shop would likely mistake it for a place that traded in odds and ends or curiosities, but each item Ashlynn looked at was more unnerving than the one before it. On one shelf, a pair of flat black scissors had been secured with a leather strap that wound around the blades several times before ending in a locking buckle, as though the shears needed to be restrained in a way a simple tool holster couldn¡¯t accomplish.


    Next to the scissors sat a polished bronze mirror that reflected the shop accurately, but none of the people inside the shop. Behind them, a basket woven from dried grass looked like it had recently been pulled from a river and a faint fishy odor clung to it even though, from the dust on the shelf, it hadn¡¯t been moved in some time.


    On another shelf, delicate saws and tweezers had been carefully arranged around a cluster of gemstones and small ingots of precious metals. It would have been easy enough to mistake them for simple jeweler¡¯s tools were it not for the dark, angular glyphs burned into the wooden handles of the tools which gave off a feeling of... emptiness.


    Perhaps the most disconcerting item Ashlynn spotted on the shelves was a small collection of straw dolls flanking a pincushion filled with pins that shimmered in the dim light with a dozen different colored pinheads. Crude faces had been stitched onto the dolls with mouths and eyes made of neat Xs as though their mouths and eyes had been stitched closed. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Madame Zedya, I¡¯d almost given up on you," a voice called from behind a stack of leather-bound books on an aged wooden counter, startling Ashlynn out of her thoughts as she inspected the strange items in the shop. "Let me guess, you haven¡¯t aged a day," the voice said as its owner emerged from behind the counter.


    Artificer Erkembalt wasn¡¯t as short as Heila or other members of the Horned Clan but he was still several inches shorter than Ashlynn herself, not quite managing to reach five feet in height. His face was round and furry, shaped like an oval set on its side with a button nose and a small mouth.


    Erkembalt¡¯s most striking feature, like most members of the Clan of Painted Masks, was the band of black fur that ran across the otherwise silvery-gray fur of his face. One could be forgiven for thinking that an artist had spent hours with a fine detailed brush, painting elegant loops and whorls of dark black that ran all the way across his face.


    An elegant swirl of dark fur arced up from his left eye, extending half way up his forehead and a matching swirl arced down from his right eye until it nearly reached his chin. On his nose, a small pair of spectacles perched with delicate chains that ran around behind his neck.


    Though Zedya had last seen him twenty years ago and time had turned some of the dark hairs in his mask silver, he still moved with the spry steps of a much younger man and the pockets of his elegant vest bulged with a number of tools used in his trade, as if he couldn¡¯t bear to be unable to get to work the moment he had something interesting in his paws.


    "You haven¡¯t changed either, Master Erkembalt," Zedya said warmly. "I¡¯ve brought important guests, Mistress Nyrielle and Seneschal Ashlynn, along with Lady Heila who serves the Seneschal as I serve Mistress Nyrielle."


    "I would have come to the palace if you¡¯d asked, Lady Nyrielle," Erkembalt said, offering a brief bow. "My bones aren¡¯t so old yet that I can¡¯t be bothered to visit an important customer."


    "But then my Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t have been able to see your shop," Nyrielle said, wrapping an arm possessively around Ashlynn¡¯s waist. "I think it¡¯s well worth the trip, just to introduce her to you and see your shop. Soon enough, she¡¯ll be visiting the Mother of Thorns and the more she learns before she arrives, the better."


    "Well, I suppose I can understand that," the artificer said. "Don¡¯t mind the dust, don¡¯t touch things you don¡¯t understand the use of, and don¡¯t go through the door to the back and you¡¯re welcome to take a look around if you like."


    "I¡¯m afraid that time is a bit too short to browse," Nyrielle said, gesturing for Zedya to bring forward the items they¡¯d come here to discuss. "Take a look at these," she said, a predatory smile forming on her lips as she watched the artificer¡¯s eyes light up in excitement. "Zedya worked hard to harvest them from a pair of Frost Walkers and a Tuscan hunter. I¡¯d like to know what you think of them..."

 Chapter 177: A Rare Opportunity

    Chapter 177: A Rare OpportunitySlowly, as if she was teasing the artificer, Zedya walked forward to place a long wooden box bound with leather straps on top of Erkembalt¡¯s counter. When she undid the buckles and pulled the straps aside to open the box, however, Ashlynn felt the temperature in the shop drop sharply, as though someone had just opened the front door on a cold winter¡¯s day.


    Inside the box, nestled in beds of dark velvet, lay two perfectly preserved Frost Walker horns and a pair of foot-long sections of weathered ivory tusk taken from a point on the tusk close enough to the face that the ivory was uncontaminated by the lingering energies of Frost Walker horns lashed to the curled ends of the tusks as weapons.


    The horns themselves had been carefully removed at the base, leaving behind smooth, polished surfaces where they had once connected to bone. A dim flickering light danced almost eagerly within each of them, as though they were strangely happy to greet the people gathered around the counter gazing upon all that remained of Paulus and Torsten.


    The larger horn of the two horns, taken from Paulus, radiated an aura that reminded Ashlynn of fresh, soft, powdery snow in the morning just after a snowstorm. Looking at it for more than a few seconds conjured memories of the mountains of the High Pass, like they were slumbering under vast white blankets made of soft, fluffy snow.


    Beneath that gentle, snowy energy lurked something bitter and spiteful, like the deadly fury of a mountain blizzard that would bury everyone and everything beneath that snowy blanket, never to be seen again.


    Beside the horn that glowed a soft, snowy white, Torsten¡¯s horn pulsed with a different kind of wintery energy. The icy blue aura that surrounded it carried a solid, unbreakable feeling, like the thick ice of the frozen lake.


    More than that, it radiated a dangerous sense of piercing sharpness, like an icicle that could puncture flesh as easily as any spear. Though it was slightly smaller than the one taken from Torsten¡¯s grandfather, the intensity of the energy from the icy blue horn was every bit as intense as the snowy white one, though its energy seemed to lack the complex subtleties at play in Paulus¡¯s horn.


    "These, these are remarkable," Erkembalt said as he hovered over the box. At his sides, his paws twitched eagerly as if he could barely restrain himself from reaching out to snatch the precious horns in the box and his bushy ringed tail quivered in excitement. "Madame Zedya, you have outdone yourself in harvesting these," he whispered.


    "They have forgotten that they were once people," Zedya said with a hint of pride in her voice. Her amethyst eyes flashed with a brief glow in the dim light of the artificer¡¯s shop and her lips curled into a smile that revealed a hint of her fangs.


    Given the importance of these items, she¡¯d done her best to meet Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s exacting standards and in this case, she felt she¡¯d surpassed her previous efforts. "They are ready to be transformed into weapons."


    "And these bits of tusk," the Artificer said a touch breathlessly, adjusting his spectacles as he examined them closely. So often he worked with things that were ancient, half broken and had to be repurposed into a new, more useful life. Working with such pristine, freshly harvested material was a rare treat for a man who had once been derided for digging through ancient trash to manufacture his treasures.


    "They seem very pure, freshly harvested and they lack any specific energy," he said, shoving his hands into pockets already filled with tools, just to keep himself from handling the materials. He wanted to pick them up, examine them under better lights, sniff them, and... But he firmly held himself back before he did something unsightly in front of his clients in a moment of exuberance.


    "If you wanted to harvest the power of Tuscan sorcery with these you should have brought me a segment taken from the ivory at the jaw," he pointed out, turning his gaze to Zedya for a moment. "Only the ivory from beneath the lips contains a trace of Tuscan words of power." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I instructed her to avoid those sections," Nyrielle said, smiling at Erkembalt¡¯s professional critique. It was her first time meeting with the man personally rather than working through Zedya and despite his obvious excitement, his observations were very good. "It should be easier to use the ivory for knife hilts this way, shouldn¡¯t it? You won¡¯t have to marry two conflicting sources of power this way."


    "I suppose you¡¯re right," the masked artificer said after a moment of careful consideration. "I don¡¯t often get specimens this pristine. Usually, when people bring me Frost Walker horn and Tuscan ivory, I¡¯m working with a horn that has already been carved into a spike and lashed to the Tuscan¡¯s tusk. The two have become interlinked and contaminated by each other," he said, shaking his head sadly.


    The hunting of any Eldritch people for the powers contained in their bodies was a near-universal taboo that only isolated savages like the Tuscans could get away with ignoring. Just because it was taboo, however, didn¡¯t stop an underground business that made use of such items from thriving.


    Grave robbing was a significant problem for some Eldritch clans as some people attempted to skirt the taboos, while using the already desecrated horns that had been harvested by Tuscans was another way people tried to escape judgment.


    Likewise, Artificers like Erkembalt occupied a difficult position both in his professional community and among Eldritch people in general. The things he crafted out of the remains of others were considered distasteful by some and sacrilegious by others. Still, as long as there were people with enough wealth and power to commission his services, those same people provided a shield against others who would see his craft banned and its practitioners exiled.


    "This," he said slowly, casting a covetous gaze at the horns and pieces of tusk. "This is a bit different. I can work from the very beginning to create something that is unique and designed for a purpose rather than turning what was already made for use by a Tuscan hunter into a tool that can be used the same way by anyone else. This is a rare, rare opportunity."

 Chapter 178: Frozen Fangs

    Chapter 178: Frozen Fangs"What would you like me to do with this opportunity," Erkembalt asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the contents of the box to look at Ashlynn and Nyrielle. When he called it rare, he wasn¡¯t just speaking about the materials. A chance to work directly for an Eldritch Lady and her most precious servant would afford him layers of protection that couldn¡¯t be bought with money.


    "A Vampire and her Seneschal," he mused, his bushy tail puffing up with excitement as he offered his first idea. "Do the two of you desire matching weapons? The horns are very distinct from each other but even if their capabilities diverge, I can ensure they look like a graceful and elegant pair meant to be carried by each of you."


    "They would be like a pair of frozen fangs," he said eagerly. Shoving aside the books on his counter he snatched a slate from underneath the books and pulled a piece of chalk from one of his many pockets before beginning to sketch two elegantly curved blades that were clearly inspired by the fangs of a vampire.


    "Originally, I had intended for one of them to be used by my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said as she watched the man excitedly sketching. "The other, I thought she might choose to give to a friend of hers who remains in the Vale of Mists. After all, a darksteel fighting knife may be a bit of a stretch for young Ollie, but something like this could give him an edge like no other," she said, giving Ashlynn a knowing look.


    "You thought of Ollie at a time like this?" Ashlynn said, raising an eyebrow in genuine surprise. Even she hadn¡¯t considered using these horns to make something for the friend she¡¯d made in the kitchens of the Summer Villa but once Nyrielle said it, it was hard to refute her thinking.


    "Ollie is important to you," Nyrielle said, running her alabaster fingers gently through Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde hair. "You have so few people like him that represent a connection to your life outside of Eldritch lands. So of course, I think of ways to strengthen the people you care about." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That¡¯s why," Nyrielle said, cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face gently as if there wasn¡¯t anyone else in the room. "If these horns don¡¯t resonate with you, since you¡¯ve declared Heila to be your lady-in-waiting, I thought you might want to use one for her as well."


    "Lady Nyrielle," Heila said, quickly dropping into a deep curtsey. "I, I¡¯m not worthy of such an extravagant gift." She already felt that her elevation was something that she didn¡¯t fully deserve. How could she possibly accept something so extravagant without doing anything to earn it?


    "No, you are," Ashlynn said, her eyes shining as she looked at her lover¡¯s smiling face. "And Mistress Nyrielle is right to suggest something like this for you," she said, turning away from Nyrielle to look at her diminutive friend.


    "Weren¡¯t you just upset that you couldn¡¯t fight back on the lake when the Tuscans attacked?" Ashlynn said, raising an eyebrow at Heila. "With something like this, you wouldn¡¯t be as helpless in the face of danger."


    "But, but I don¡¯t know anything about fighting with knives," she said in a small voice. Part of her, a very small part of her, briefly entertained a fantasy of dashing across the ice with a blade in hand, fighting beside Ashlynn and Virve against the Tuscans but she immediately shook her head at the thought. Andrus had years of training in weapons before he joined in that battle but look what had happened to him? It was foolish to think she would fare any better.


    "Little lady," Erkembalt interrupted when he saw her eyes falling to the floor. Maybe this diminutive woman wasn¡¯t a brave warrior but that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t give her a weapon that would turn her into a force to be feared. In fact, the idea of creating something that could rise to such a challenge lit a fire in his eyes that burned with eagerness to show the world that even someone like this serving girl could be deadly with one of his artifacts!


    "To someone your size, a blade made from one of these horns would almost be a small sword," he began, wiping the slate clean and beginning to sketch again. This time, it was just one blade, shaped like a curved small sword but proportioned for a much smaller wielder. "I have an idea for it if you¡¯d like to hear it," he said eagerly, hoping he could entice her into sharing his enthusiasm.


    "Please," Ashlynn said before Heila could object. It was clear that Heila still struggled with her sudden change in status but at times like this, it was her duty as Heila¡¯s lady to pull her through until she learned to stand up for herself. "Tell us what you have in mind."


    "The longer horn here," the artificer said, pointing at the softly glowing white horn. "It carries the power of snow sorcery. For a little lady who isn¡¯t good at fighting, it could be good to hide yourself in a small whirlwind of dancing snowflakes. It would help you run away or avoid the attacks of your enemies. If you learn to fight more over time, you could also use it to conceal your approach, appearing from a flurry of snow as a surprise to your enemy."


    "That¡¯s the simplest use of a blade made for snow sorcery, but it goes far beyond that," Erkembalt added, tapping his temple with a claw. "Use the blade the way a witch would use a wand and invoke the sorcery the Frost Walker once knew directly. Don¡¯t just hide yourself in a snow flurry, hide all your allies and help them advance or retreat together. Throw up a blizzard to slow and disorient your enemies. Use your mind," he emphasized. "Fight smart."


    "You could do that much with a blade made from this horn?" Ashlynn said, blinking in surprise.


    "That much and more," Erkembalt said with an eager grin. "This horn is very old. It contains many layers of sorcery built up over decades. Whoever receives the blade I make from it should be prepared to spend years mastering its depths."


    "And the other one?" Nyrielle prompted. "It¡¯s intended for a human boy, taller than I. He has limited fighting experience but I¡¯m told that he¡¯s quite skilled with butchering and skinning knives used in kitchens."


    "Hmm... the energy from this horn is much less complex, but it hasn¡¯t been worn down by old age," the artificer said, examining Torsten¡¯s horn closely. "You mentioned that it would be difficult for this boy to use a darksteel blade. I can make something for him that would be just as sharp. Moreover, freezing the blood of anyone he stabs with such a knife shouldn¡¯t be terribly difficult," he said, painting a grizzly picture of the wounds that would be inflicted by such a blade.


    Even if only a small quantity of blood was frozen, the wound would likely suffer from frostbite and become difficult to stitch closed even after the freezing magic had lost its hold on the body. Small wounds that might have been survivable could become deadly, something that an amateur fighter like Ollie might need when encountering veteran warriors like the knights who surrounded Owain.


    "Beyond that, he¡¯ll have to experiment with the uses of sorcery frozen within the horn," Erkembalt added as he adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "He might be able to conjure a shield made of ice with this, or perhaps he could conjure spears of ice to hurl at distant opponents. The flexibility is less but the potency is just as great as the other horn."


    "That sounds like something very useful for my friend," Ashlynn said, smiling again at her lover for being so thoughtful. "I don¡¯t need a blade for myself. Please craft things that my friends can use to protect themselves in times of danger."


    "My Lady," Heila started, tears forming in her eyes. Just earlier today, Ashlynn had spent an exorbitant amount of money to provide her lady-in-waiting with a new wardrobe including a few pieces of jewelry that each cost more than an entire year of her previous wages. Now, she was bestowing an artifact on her rather than taking it for herself. It was... it was too much and the emotions that surged in her chest were too hard to contain.


    "You¡¯re my friend, Heila," Ashlynn said, reaching out to gently stroke the diminutive woman¡¯s soft chestnut curls. "I¡¯ll feel better knowing you have something like this to keep you safe. So accept this from me and don¡¯t complain that it¡¯s too much."


    "Th-thank you, Ashlynn," Heila managed to say after taking several deep breaths. "I promise, I¡¯ll learn how to use it and I¡¯ll use it to keep both of us safe." She might not be able to rush into battle the way Virve and Andrus had but maybe, just maybe, she could find other ways to fight at Ashlynn¡¯s side.


    While the two younger women shared a moment, Nyrielle and Zedya shared a look of their own. It had been Zedya¡¯s suggestion to bestow one of the horn-weapons on Heila in the first place. Now that Nyrielle saw the look of delight on Ashlynn¡¯s face when she was able to do something so meaningful for Heila and Ollie...


    As much as Nyrielle wanted to give Ashlynn stronger tools to protect herself, this was just as good, if not better. There would be other opportunities to strengthen her lover, and until she found one, she would just have to stay closer to Ashlynn to protect her directly. And that... that wasn¡¯t a bad outcome either.

 Chapter 179: Preparing for the Masquerade

    Chapter 179: Preparing for the MasqueradeThe weapons that Artificer Erkembalt promised to craft for Ollie and Heila would take at least several weeks to complete. For Nyrielle, however, he promised to do his best work and to personally deliver them to the Vale of Mists if they weren¡¯t complete by the time Ashlynn returned to the High Fen on her way back home.


    After returning to High Lady Erna¡¯s palace, Ashlynn and Nyrielle parted reluctantly with a chaste, bloodless kiss. The evening, practical as it had become by the end, might not have been as romantic as Nyrielle had desired, but it did a great deal to restore the balance and closeness between them after coming so close to a dangerous point.


    The following day, Ashlynn and Heila slept late before preparing for the Masquerade Ball arranged by High Lady Erna. According to Heila, the first part of the evening would be spent in masks and it was expected that even if attendees knew who the person behind the mask was, they would pretend that they didn¡¯t until the ¡¯unmasking¡¯ halfway through the event.


    "Why do it that way?" Ashlynn asked while attendants massaged sweet-scented oils into her body, releasing the tension from her flesh in preparation for a night of dancing and small gatherings with few opportunities to sit. "Why wear masks at all if you can tell who the person behind the mask is? And what¡¯s the point when everyone is going to remove their masks halfway through anyway?"


    "Everything is relaxed while wearing masks," Heila said, enjoying the opportunity to receive the same lavish treatment as Ashlynn as a servant worked away on her body. Not long ago, she might have contested with the staff at High Lady Erna¡¯s palace for the right to attend to Ashlynn¡¯s needs personally.,


    Now, as the attendant¡¯s strong hands pressed along her hips, Heila felt her resistance to enjoying her new station melting along with the aches from her body. She still had much to learn from Zedya about how to balance her greater responsibilities, but just being able to attend the masquerade as a participant was a privilege she hadn¡¯t dreamed she¡¯d be bestowed with on this trip. The pampering that preceded was exactly what she needed to relax rather than being consumed with anxiety before the grand event.


    "Rules of etiquette are relaxed while wearing masks," Heila continued. "So are expectations about keeping to your own station. There will be gladiators from the arena attending, wealthy merchants, skilled artisans, and more. No one who attends an event like this is unimportant but not everyone attending is the same sort of important."


    "So, if a gladiator encountered someone like High Lady Erna during the masked portion of the dance?" Ashlynn asked. "They could meet as equals?"


    "Ahhhh," Heila moaned as a particularly stubborn knot in her lower back finally released, bringing relief from a pain she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d been carrying after several days in a carriage. "Yes, that¡¯s it exactly. It¡¯s a time to relax. Relationships that form during a masquerade can cross the invisible lines that keep people apart in daily life."


    "And when the masks come off, those lines come back," Ashlynn said. "The fact that the masks come off before the night ends probably keeps everyone in line as well. No one will step too far out of accepted norms because they know that even if they weren¡¯t recognized, they would be once the masks come off."


    "It¡¯s good that you recognize this," the serpentine attendant said lightly. "Seneschal Ashlynn will most certainly stand out tonight, as will your lady-in-waiting. Few from the Horned Clan will be in attendance but the only people who were once human will be yourself and Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny."


    "I wonder if Mistress Nyrielle will unfurl her wings tonight," Ashlynn mused. It seemed that her decision to maintain her winged form while sitting in judgment over Paulus alongside Lord Ritchel was born of more than mere convenience.


    By maintaining such an otherworldly appearance, she clearly set herself apart from her human lineage and established herself in the minds of the audience as a powerful being with an unquestionable right to rule. Would she do the same tonight?


    For this evening¡¯s masquerade, Ashlynn had chosen to depart from her usual dark greens and black lace. It was a masquerade and she wanted to do something different. She also expected that Nyrielle would continue to cloak herself in layers of darkness, rich purples or midnight blues where she didn¡¯t wear pure black. With that in mind, she chose something she felt would present a beautiful contrast to her lover¡¯s usual tastes.


    Shimmering ice-blue silk spilled from her hips in a tiered skirt pooled around her like a frozen fountain. Spills of white lace draped over the blue silk, resembling icicles that glittered with reflections and refractions from hundreds of tiny crystals set into the shimmering dress.


    Above the waist, she surrendered herself completely to local fashion. There was enough silk in her bodice to provide some structure to the garment but otherwise, her entire torso had been covered with layers of crisp white and icy blue lace.


    An intricate net of silver chains set with midnight blue sapphires that reminded her of Nyrielle¡¯s eyes draped over everything, adding an elegant touch of opulence that made her feel like the queen of a vast frozen kingdom.


    Her mask for the evening bore similar icy themes, shaped like the points of a snowflake and crafted from a thin sheet of silver covered with glittering crystals in elaborate patterns that must have taken a skilled jeweler months or even years to complete.


    As the attendants dressed her in the ice blue silk and white lace, each layer felt like part of a gift she was wrapping for Nyrielle to unwrap later. The midnight blue sapphires in her jewelry were carefully chosen to match her lover¡¯s eyes, a not-so-subtle message of devotion that she hoped other attendees would recognize at a glance.


    This gift was meant to be unwrapped by one person alone and anyone else who had intentions to cross the line with her tonight should understand the limits to which they could indulge in the anonymity of the first part of the evening.


    Next to her, Heila¡¯s warm, coppery dress gave off a subtle, earthy feeling. The simple spills of gold lace combined with a leaf-shaped mask to make her feel like the forest itself had come to life, offering up a diminutive denizen filled with innocent charm and grace. Even her horns had been elaborately decorated, painted with copper leaf that made her horns resemble sculpted works of art rather than natural parts of her body.


    Finally, not long after the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Nyrielle and Zedya swept into the room where Ashlynn and Heila were putting the finishing touches on their hair and jewelry for the evening.


    Zedya glided into the room with an inhuman grace that left one wondering if her feet touched the ground at all. Rich, royal purple contrasted with brighter amethyst on a gown that had been covered in midnight blue and pale lavender embroidery shaped like a swarm of butterflies taking flight. As she moved, gemstones set in the embroidery sparkled, creating an illusion that the butterflies might lift off from her elegant gown at any moment.


    As enchanting as the vampire-servant¡¯s appearance was, however, anyone could be forgiven for failing to notice her when she followed behind the star of the evening¡¯s gathering.


    While Nyrielle¡¯s ensemble for the opera gave the impression of a glamorous gladiator goddess ascending far above the bloody sands of the arena, her current appearance reveled in her title as the famed and feared ¡¯Blood Princess.¡¯ S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Deep crimson lace draped in layers over sumptuous vermillion silks gave the pale-skinned vampire the appearance that she had emerged from a pool of blood and formed it into a gown fit for royalty. Rubies and garnets sparkled from every angle of the dress and the mask she¡¯d donned was shaped into a brilliant gold tiara set with some of the largest rubies Ashlynn had ever seen. Gold chains set with even more rubies hung down from the tiara like a vale, revealing only hints of the perfectly sculpted features behind the glittering jewels.


    "The icy blue suits you surprisingly well, my darling," Nyrielle whispered when she approached her lover. "It¡¯s an excellent reminder that others will never know the warmth from you that I know," she said, brushing her fangs across Ashlynn¡¯s neck.


    Nyrielle¡¯s breath sent shivers down Ashlynn¡¯s spine and she quickly placed her hands on Nyrielle¡¯s slender hips when she felt her knees go weak.


    "I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll dance with others tonight," Ashlynn said, brushing aside the strands of jewels that obscured her lover¡¯s face. "But at the end of the night, I¡¯ll only melt for you."

 Chapter 180: The Masquerade

    Chapter 180: The MasqueradeIn a different part of the palace, performers lined the road leading up to the entrance of the great hall where the masquerade would be held. Some juggled fire while others danced with long flowing pieces of silk that caught the light in brilliant flashes like the scales of fish beneath the water. Near the statues of heroic figures, a few musicians could even be heard, singing songs about ancient glories and great victories.


    A long line of elegant and decorated carriages stretched all the way to the palace gates as more and more notable people arrived at the grand event. The palace itself blazed with light as every available lamp seemed to have been lit for the occasion. Large iron firepits ringed the statues and fountains in the grand plaza, burning with bonfires that cast a flickering golden glow over the entire square.


    From one carriage, a powerfully muscled member of the scaled clan emerged with one beautiful woman on each of his arms. All of them wore brilliantly polished masks made to resemble helmets worn by gladiators in the arena and their outfits glittered with jewels like drops of sweat on a warrior¡¯s skin when they made their way toward the great hall.


    From another carriage, a distinguished gentleman from the Clan of Painted Masks emerged in an elegantly tailored ensemble. A long black coat with tails fluttered in the breeze and in his hand he clutched a walking stick carved to resemble an assortment of wild animals marching in a spiraling line up to the fist-sized piece of polished obsidian at the top of the cane. On his face, a dark mask shaped to resemble an eagle covered the markings of his own ¡¯mask¡¯ completely leaving onlookers guessing about who he might be.


    Inside the great hall, the formal space had been transformed even more dramatically than the spectacle occurring outside. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the towering arched ceiling, each one scattering hundreds of motes of bright light across the floor below.


    Elsewhere, the giant marble columns supporting the ceiling had been wrapped in flowering vines that gave off a subtle, intoxicating perfume. Some attendees who recognized the scent avoided the columns lest the fragrance lower their inhibitions more than they heady alcohol would while others sought it out as if to find extra ¡¯courage¡¯ to let loose during the masquerade.


    The hall itself had been divided into distinct spaces that flowed naturally into one another. At its heart, the main dance floor spread out beneath the largest chandelier. The polished stone surface reflected light like the surface of a midnight lake giving the illusion that dancers were floating on water as they swept across its surface.


    Around this central space, several intimate alcoves had been created using artfully arranged silk curtains and living, potted plants, offering guests places for quiet conversation away from the press of the crowd.


    Musicians had been arranged on several elevated platforms throughout the hall, allowing the music to flow seamlessly as guests moved from one area to another. Some performers played music that was slow and even a touch somber at the edges of the hall while others were more boisterous or lively.


    It could easily have resulted in a cacophony of discordant sound, but instead, the careful use of dividing curtains muffled both music and conversation enough to allow each space to develop its own mood as guests found their way to places that suited them.


    Servants wove through the crowd carrying trays laden with delicacies: fresh fruits dipped in crystalized sugar until they resembled gleaming gemstones bursting with sweet flavor, tiny pastries dusted with gold, and glasses of wine that seemed to change color as they caught the light. At one end of the hall, a fountain flowed with a thick, sweet liquid that people dipped everything from fruits to pastries in, while elsewhere a similar fountain burbled forth with a rich creamy cheese, waiting to be scooped up by small pieces of bread or bits of meat on small wooden sticks.


    The guests themselves added to the spectacle. No one with the status to attend a masquerade at the High Lady Erna¡¯s palace lacked in status or wealth and their costumes and masks reflected the extravagance and varied artistic tastes that could be found across the High Fen.


    Members of the Scaled Clan seemed to flow like liquid metal in their silver or golden gowns, while the Clan of Painted Masks had outdone themselves with outfits that played tricks on the eye, in some cases making it impossible to tell where the mask ended and natural markings began. The Glass Eyed Clan moved with their characteristic grace, their long necks adorned with at least a dozen necklaces that caught and reflected light in mesmerizing patterns.


    Several smaller rooms opened off the main hall, each with its own theme and atmosphere. One mimicked a frozen garden complete with ice sculptures that never melted, while another recreated the warmth and spice of a desert oasis. The variety ensured that guests could find spaces that suited their nature and comfort, though most seemed drawn back to the main hall where the dancing would soon begin.


    When Ashlynn and Nyrielle entered, most people immediately made way for the alluring couple. With masks on, no one was gauche enough to greet them by name but several whispers could be heard at the edges of the hall about the arrival of the Blood Princess.


    "Every time I think that I¡¯ve adjusted my expectations," Ashlynn said softly as her eyes swept the grand event. "I see something like this and I feel like I¡¯ve only seen a tiny fragment of what the world has to offer. This is..."


    "This is something that you should enjoy to the fullest," Nyrielle said, reaching out to gracefully capture a pair of crystalline champagne flutes from a passing servant and offering one to Ashlynn. "Though, perhaps you should drink less than you did on our first night here," she teased.


    "Would you like to dance?" Ashlynn said, gesturing at the dancefloor where a few people had begun to pair up and take their places for the first dance of the evening.


    "Not yet," Nyrielle said with a playful light flickering in her midnight blue eyes. "There will be time for you and me when the masks come off. Until then, you should take this as an opportunity to enjoy yourself. Meet others, listen to the concerns of the people on this side of the mountains and their unfiltered thoughts." S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I see a few people I should greet," she said, gesturing with her champagne flute in the direction of several muscular gladiators. "But I¡¯m sure that there are different conversations that would interest you more. You might even find a historian or two among the guests, or at least people who have studied history on this side of the mountains more than I have. Seek out those opportunities," she encouraged.


    "In that case," Ashlynn said, stretching up on her tiptoes to give Nyrielle a brief peck on the cheek. "Then Heila and I will take a stroll around the perimeter and see if anything catches our attention."


    "If you want me," she added, whispering into the vampire¡¯s ear. "Find me anywhere. I¡¯ll be waiting for you to pull me onto the dancefloor."

 Chapter 181: Better Off Without Them

    Chapter 181: Better Off Without ThemFor the next hour, Ashlynn and Heila made their way slowly around the perimeter of the masquerade. Food, drink and conversation all flowed freely though some of the topics seemed surprisingly ill-informed to Ashlynn as she wandered by.


    "Do you think that the Blood Princess is back looking for fighters to join her war against the humans?" One person asked, his voice as light and airy as it might be if he¡¯d been asking ¡¯Do you think it will rain tomorrow.¡¯


    "I hope so," an elaborately dressed man in a mask shaped like the face of an angry bull said. "My luck at the arena has been poor lately. I¡¯ve already lost close to a thousand gold tails on unfortunate wagers this month alone. I could use a sure bet like the Blood Princess to make back a bit of those losses."


    "You must be joking," another man said. "No one bets on whether the Blood Princess wins or not. They only bet on whether or not the person she defeats accepts their loss and submits or refuses and dies on the sands."


    Elsewhere in, people had a different opinion on Nyrielle¡¯s visit to the High Fen.


    "I¡¯ve heard that Lady Nyrielle has finally given up on the Vale of Mists," a serpentine woman whispered to a bearish companion from the Clan of the Great Claw. "She¡¯s come to take a position under High Lady Erna¡¯s rule instead. Perhaps we¡¯ll see a proper Eldritch Lady ruling the Lower Falls by year¡¯s end."


    "It would be wise on her part," the woman¡¯s bearish companion agreed. "No one who fled across the mountains in my great-grandfather¡¯s era is interested in returning to their ancestral lands in the Vale of Mists. We all have lives here in the High Fen that we won¡¯t leave behind. Lady Nyrielle has done well for more than a century, let her hand responsibility for fighting the humans to Lord Ritchel and the Frost Walkers for a time."


    "You really think the Frost Walkers could hold back the human invaders?" a third person asked, wandering into the conversation. "I hear that there aren¡¯t many of them and they barely eke out a primitive life on their frozen mountains. Hardly the kind of warriors to fight off humans and their pretend god."


    "The Frost Walkers don¡¯t have to do anything to fight the humans," the bearish man laughed from behind his silver mask. "Just stand there and let their mountains kill the humans for them. That¡¯s why defending the Vale of Mists is pointless. The High Pass can easily be closed with an avalanche or two, there¡¯s no reason for more Eldritch lives to be spent in a pointless war fought for..."


    Suddenly the man seemed to catch sight of Ashlynn and changed his mind about whatever he¡¯d been about to say. Seeing the direction of his gaze, the others involved in the conversation quickly busied themselves in their goblets of wine or an hors d¡¯oeuvre snatched from a passing servant.


    Despite the nervous looks of the masked guests, Ashlynn had no desire to involve herself in discussions about the events occurring in the Vale of Mists. While this period of the ball was supposed to be casual with barriers to social station lowered, Ashlynn had no way of knowing who the people behind the masks were which made it impossible to know whether or not trying to change anyone¡¯s minds would bring any value.


    Part of her yearned for an opportunity to prove to Nyrielle that she could be useful at times like this. Convincing people who thought that the Vale of Mists was doomed to fall that it wasn¡¯t, or that the humans posed a threat to them as well was only worth doing if the people she convinced had the power or resources to do something with that changed opinion.


    Her father taught her that the common people could believe whatever they wanted and there was very little point in changing their minds so long as they had little ability to act on those beliefs. If the common people thought that too much of their taxes were given as tithes to the Church, what did it matter?


    They could grumble, certainly, but for every one or two person grumbling, another pious voice would shout them down, praising the work of the Church or claiming no price could be placed on a person¡¯s salvation.


    As long as the people weren¡¯t starving because of unbearable taxation, grumbling could always be tolerated because it rarely led to rebellion. If a lord involved themselves in the argument, it only created more attention on the negatives, no matter how well informed or soundly reasoned the lords¡¯ arguments were.


    To Ashlynn, it was clear that matters of the Vale of Mists weren¡¯t a great concern to anyone present. Nyrielle¡¯s status as the Blood Princess was far more interesting to most people and the ones who did have opinions about the war against humans were so poorly informed that Ashlynn felt it was unlikely that they held any power to do anything to help the Vale in their fight.


    "Does it bother you?" Ashlynn asked, turning to Heila as they moved away from the conversation. "Hearing from people who have given up on returning to their ancestral homes in the Vale?"


    Heila frowned, glancing back at the bearish man from the Clan of the Great Claw. From his elegantly tailored tunic and waist coat to his gilded mask and finely carved walking stick, he looked like a man who had never encountered hardship nor lost anything that mattered to him greatly. He seemed... soft, compared to people like Captain Lennart.


    "I think I feel sorry for him," Heila said as she and Ashlynn stopped to sample the fresh fruits offered by a passing servant. "I¡¯m sure he has never seen the Vale of Mists. He doesn¡¯t know what he lost or how hard others have fought to protect it so he and his descendants could return to it one day."


    "All he knows is this comfortable life," Heila said, gesturing at the luxurious ball. No one moving around the great hall looked like they had suffered hard or lean lives. Out of everyone present, perhaps only the gladiators who fought on the sands of the arena could understand the attitudes of people who lived under the constant threat of human invasion in the Vale of Mists.


    Even Heila, who had lived a relatively sheltered life in the ancient castle deep with the vale, knew more of battle, fear, and suffering than these people did. Glancing at the servants moving about the hall, passing out delicate morsels of sweet and savory delights or collecting empty wine glasses, she realized that she couldn¡¯t see herself as ¡¯one of them¡¯ anymore.


    Heila¡¯s perspective had changed after the events in the High Pass. She couldn¡¯t ignore the harsher world around her anymore. Seeing these people who lived so blissfully unaware of it, she couldn¡¯t help but pity them.


    "It doesn¡¯t bother me that they don¡¯t want to return," Heila finally said. "Instead, I think we¡¯re better off without them."


    "I¡¯m not entirely sure about that," Ashlynn said, looking back at the well-dressed people who had moved on from discussions about the Vale to a conversation about someone¡¯s new boat. "Some kinds of people can only exist when there is peace. If we didn¡¯t have to worry about the Lothians anymore, we might develop people like him within the Vale all by ourselves."


    "I guess," Heila said, her voice a touch sullen. "But if we do, it will be because we earned it. We still don¡¯t need people like him to return only when we¡¯ve already won. If it¡¯s right now, when we¡¯re getting ready to fight again, I still think we¡¯re better off without men like that."


    "On that, I don¡¯t disagree," Ashlynn said, turning away to search for other conversations. People might not think much of the Vale of Mists at the moment, but within the next few years, she was certain that would change. And when it did, she agreed with Heila - the people who fought for the Vale should be the ones to enjoy the peace they gained.


    Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 182: Conversation Partners

    Chapter 182: Conversation PartnersAfter fetching two mugs of chilled juice, Ashlynn and Heila continued their circuit around the perimeter of the masquerade ball. With her first night in the High Fen as a lesson, she was trying to be conscious about how quickly the alcohol that seemed to flow freely could get to her head and opted for less intoxicating drinks whenever the opportunity presented itself.


    As the ladies moved around the great hall, they avoided the pockets of conversation that seemed deeply rooted in local events or discussions about Nyrielle¡¯s visit to the vale. She couldn¡¯t participate much in the former and she¡¯d heard more than enough of the latter.


    Instead, she sought out lighter conversations. A group of ladies had gathered to admire and compliment each other¡¯s dresses and jewelry. While it was more the sort of conversation that Jocelynn would have delighted in, Ashlynn still found it interesting to hear how much planning had gone into some of these outfits or how far away some of their materials and jewels had come from.


    The picture that began to form in Ashlynn¡¯s mind of the lands beyond the mountains was one that was incredibly vast with rugged terrain, dark forests, more mountains even further west and at the farthest reaches of Eldritch lands, another sea.


    Trade networks seemed to stretch across the entire length of the continent, from places like the High Fen in the east to cities she found difficult to pronounce in the west. Some people even wore furs taken from beasts in the frozen northern sea or carried walking sticks crafted from exotic woods found only in the humid swamps to the south.


    "Honestly, I don¡¯t know how you manage it," a woman from the Clan of Painted Masks said, addressing the serpentine woman who seemed to be dominating the conversation "We¡¯re hundreds of leagues from any of the seas, and yet you show up with a necklace of shells and pearls, and rings to match. I could never..."


    "I tried once," a slender woman from the Glass Eyed clan wearing a mask painted in intricate gold and silver patterns said. "It took a year just to transport the shells all the way here and when they arrived, half of them were broken. Within a year of wearing them, all of them were chipped badly enough that I was too embarrassed to take them out of my collection and wear them in public."


    "The key," the woman said, fingering her exquisite necklace of miniature conch shells and pearls delicately. "Is that you can¡¯t just bring shells and pearls from the sea. I hired a skilled jeweler from the Dancing Water Clan to come all the way here, just to care for the treasures my husband brought back from his trip."


    "Pearls are challenging," Ashlynn added, sipping her chilled fruit juice. "I¡¯ve never seen them strung with more common shells like that. The pearls are so delicate that it¡¯s easy to mar their surface if they rub against anything with a sharp point like the tips of those shells. I coldn¡¯t bear the anxiety of wearing such a piece of jewelry."


    "You¡¯ve worn pearls before?" the serpentine woman said in surprise. "They¡¯re a very difficult treasure to obtain. Very few jewelers are even capable of working with them without cracking or shattering them. Who designed your jewelry for the evening," the woman asked, trying to find a way to reclaim some of her edge. "Perhaps I could loan them my jeweler to craft something with pearls for you."


    "Truthfully, I know very little about any of it," Ashlynn admitted a touch bashfully. She had been slowly noticing that the specific craftspeople involved in creating an item could matter as much as the item itself but this wasn¡¯t something she was really prepared to discuss.


    "I was fortunate enough to borrow the jewels from High Lady Erna¡¯s collection, and a woman named Aleydya helped me to select a dress for the event," she explained. "But we didn¡¯t spend much time discussing the makers of any of the items or the sources of any of the materials."


    All around her, the gossiping women stilled. The serpentine woman from the Scaled Clan felt utterly defeated. Events like this where she could truly flaunt her husband¡¯s success were rare and she¡¯d spent the entire day transforming herself into a semblance of a sea-serpent just to impress her peers at the gathering.


    She¡¯d thought that she held the high ground in this little conversation until Ashlynn inserted herself in the discussion. After all, who else among these women could obtain unbroken shells or rare pearls from the western sea?


    But to be allowed to borrow jewels from the High Lady Erna¡¯s collection... Instantly, everyone in the small gathering began to revise every opinion they held about the relationship between High Lady Erna and Lady Nyrielle from the Vale of Mists. Ashlynn¡¯s accessories for the evening were too stunning and receiving them, even if it was just a loan, marked her as a person of great importance to the most powerful person in the entire High Fen.


    Before the serpentine woman could react, however, a prickly swept across her scales, becoming more uncomfortable by the instant as someone with an incredibly powerful aura approached their gathering. Not only her, but all of the women and even Heila began to unconsciously withdraw as the feeling of being pricked by countless needles spread across their tender flesh.


    Only Ashlynn seemed unaffected by the approaching menace. In fact, rather than menace, she felt that the sharpness emitted by the approaching individual was almost... protective.


    When she turned to face the direction of the approaching aura, she first noticed a visible wave of people moving out of the way of the man walking toward her. It seemed that no one wanted to be within ten feet of the man and many seemed to only feel comfortable after he was at least twenty feet away from them.


    His frame was bulky, boxy, and incredibly powerful. At seven and a half feet in height, he was shorter than even Hauke, much less powerful Frost Walkers like Lord Ritchel, yet when Ashlynn compared the presence of Lord Ritchel to this man, she found the former to be sadly lacking.


    The long tail coat the man wore was a rich, mossy green, double breasted with rows of silver braided cord looping around the buttons in a way that seemed to strain to hold the garment closed across his powerful chest. The mask he wore seemed almost feminine, patterned after the petals of a rose and silver embroidery of leaves and thorn covered vines ran down his sleeves before stopping at turned back cuffs. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    From his gleaming golden eyes to the thickly scaled hands, everything about the man shouted ¡¯reptile¡¯ and the thick, heavy tail behind him seemed strong enough to crush skulls or anything else unfortunate enough to be battered by the powerful appendage.


    "Pardon the intrusion, my beautiful damsels," he said sweetly, flashing a row of wickedly sharp teeth as he smiled and bowed politely to the gathering of women. "Mademoiselle, I would count it as the highlight of my evening if you would join me for a turn on the dance floor," he said, extending a four fingered scaly hand to Ashlynn with an elegant flourish.


    "Of course, if you prefer to withdraw to somewhere more private," he added with a roguish look. "I¡¯d be happy to do that as well."

 Chapter 183: Jacques

    Chapter 183: Jacques"A turn on the dance floor sounds wonderful," Ashlynn said, extending a hand and allowing the reptilian man to lead her away. As they moved, the invisible bubble followed them with people moving quickly to get out of their way as they walked across the great hall toward the dance floor.


    "I can tell your aura is powerful," Ashlynn said, resting a hand lightly on the man¡¯s well muscled arm. "Do you have a fearsome reputation in the arena for people to avoid you like this? Or is it something else?"


    "Eh?" he said, raising a scaled brow ridge in surprise. "I thought you were jus¡¯ puttin¡¯ up wit¡¯ my thorny nature, yet here you stand like it¡¯s nothin¡¯ at all. How you find dat comfortable, cher?"


    "Putting up with it?" Ashlynn asked, genuinely confused by the notion. To her, she felt almost as safe and secure in the presence of the reptilian man as she did when she was with Thane or any of Nyrielle¡¯s other progeny.


    It wasn¡¯t just the aura of power and barely restrained violence that he radiated. People like Ritchel and to a lesser extent, Hauke, were capable of unleashing such a threatening presence that it was clear they had powers far beyond physical skill to wield against anyone who opposed them.


    Even Owain, for all of the brutal violence he directed against Ashlynn, couldn¡¯t compare to the Eldritch sorcerers she¡¯d encountered for presenting a feeling of imminent danger. Only a few highly placed members of the Church gave Ashlynn a feeling that came close to what she felt from men like the one escorting her to the dance floor.


    "I don¡¯t feel any discomfort from you," Ashlynn said honestly, following his lead and allowing him to place a scaly hand on her waist as he guided her onto the dance floor. "If anything, the feeling you give me is like I¡¯ve been surrounded by competent guards with their spears facing outward. Others might have something to fear if they approach too close, but..."


    "But you know I wouldn¡¯t harm you, cher," he said, flashing a genuine smile. Some might have seen the row of wickedly sharp teeth revealed in that grin as a threat, as if he could open his jaw wide at any moment to devour her, but to Ashlynn it somehow gave her the feeling of the grinning face of a loyal guard dog.


    "Is this a unique sorcery of your clan?" Ashlynn asked, tracing her hand down the embroidery on his chest as they danced. The feeling he gave her went far too deep for someone whose name she didn¡¯t even know, yet she couldn¡¯t resist the comforting pull of his presence. "Are you bewitching me?"


    "I¡¯s not doin¡¯ a thing," he said, stepping back to lead her in a twirl. The other dancers on the dance floor had moved to the edges of the dance floor or left it entirely, creating the illusion that the musicians played only for the pair of them and that no one else could intrude on this magical moment.


    Despite his size, the man¡¯s movements were smooth and elegant, his touch gentle and never once inappropriate. Ashlynn¡¯s gown for the evening revealed a deep valley of cleavage and with the advantage of his height, he could be forgiven for taking more than the occasional lingering glance. But his eyes, whenever he looked at her, never strayed from her own emerald gaze, meeting her eyes without the slightest hint of lust or desire.


    "Most folks, dey find me a bit too sharp for their taste," the man said with a rich, rolling chuckle. "But you, ma petite sapling, you might be one of the only people in ¡¯dis whole world who would find my presence e¡¯en a bit comforting. It¡¯s... a pleasant change, non? Just nice how different it is from how most folks react to me," he said, giving a strained look at the people moving cautiously at the edge of the dance floor.


    He hadn¡¯t been sure when he left home to come all the way to the High Fen just to meet this woman, but it turned out that Mother always did know best. The woman in his arms was shorter than him, weaker than him in almost every way, and yet she gave off a feeling of welcoming comfort that only his mother and siblings could rival.


    To Ashlynn, he felt like a sharp defensive barrier, wrapping around her to keep her safe from anything that could threaten her. To him, Ashlynn felt like a tender sapling that would one day stretch across the heavens, offering shelter to him and anyone else searching for a place beneath her mighty branches. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She felt solid, dependable, with roots that were deeper than they should be and the strength of an Ancient Oak to hold up the sky. As the two moved across the dance floor, he found it harder and harder to resist her pull and the desire to place himself completely under her command. A first meeting was precious and intense and he knew that these feelings wouldn¡¯t last, but while they danced he slowly surrendered himself to the feelings sparked by her magic as her expansive aura enveloped and strengthened his own.


    "You never answered my question," Ashlynn pointed out gently as she took another twirl. After the twirl, the man pulled her in even closer, until there was so little space between them that she could feel the body heat radiating from his powerful chest along with a rich scent that reminded her of mulled wine and pine sap. "Is this a unique sorcery of your clan? I¡¯ve never met anyone like you before."


    "Non, non, it ain¡¯t nothing to do with ma clan, ma petite sapling," he teased as they glided across the dance floor in time with the music. "If you really want to know," he whispered, leaning in close. "You¡¯ll have to wait till dese masks come off, cher."


    Elsewhere in the main hall, a flustered Heila approached Zedya having finally located both her and Nyrielle spectating on a wrestling match between a pair of gladiators. A small area had been roped off by brilliant crimson velvet ropes and the gladiators, while clearly exerting themselves, were attempting to subdue each other through a contest of strength and skill rather than attempting to batter their opponent into submission.


    Nyrielle seemed fully absorbed in the competition, but Zedya turned her attention to Heila as soon as the younger woman approached.


    "Where¡¯s Lady Ashlynn?" the amethyst eyed vampire asked, her eyes flickering briefly over the crowd in the area without finding a trace of the other woman. "You should remain by her side."


    "That¡¯s just it," Heila protested. "I can¡¯t. Someone came to take her to the dance floor and no one can get close to them. When I tried, I felt like my skin had been pricked by dozens of pins and when I pressed closer," she said, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a collection of tiny wounds, smaller than the head of a pin. "Just coming within ten feet of him pricked me enough to bleed."


    If Ashlynn had just stepped onto the dance floor with a gentleman or even another woman that she¡¯d met at the masquerade, Heila wouldn¡¯t have been so panicked. It was a masquerade ball. Dancing with new acquaintances was expected. It was the way the man seemed to use a form of sorcery to keep other people away from Ashlynn that Heila objected to.


    More than that, the way that Ashlynn looked at him, as if she was greeting a heroic knight out of one of the human stories, it seemed unnatural. The combination of that and the strange prickly aura made Heila suspicious that the man was doing something unscrupulous to influence her friend while keeping others from stopping him and that, more than anything else, sent her rushing to find Zedya.


    "I see," Zedya said with a heavy sigh. "Was it a tall man? A member of the Ancient Clan with a voice as smooth as silk and a tongue that drips compliments?"


    "I, yes, I suppose," Heila said, frowning at Zedya. "You recognize this man?"


    "I do," Zedya said, stepping forward and whispering softly to Nyrielle. "My Lady, it appears that Jacques has arrived...."


    "So I heard," Nyrielle said, a hint of darkness flowing around her as she turned away from the wrestling match. Some of these men had promise. If they could be convinced to leave behind the staged brutality of the arena for the far more dangerous combat of real war, they might be worth entertaining but it seemed like her attempt to recruit fresh talent for the Vale of Mists was about to be interrupted.


    "Someone should tell him that it¡¯s not polite to approach another person¡¯s lover without getting permission first," Nyrielle said as she swept toward the dance floor. "It seems like a lesson is in order."

 Chapter 184: A Prickly Moment

    Chapter 184: A Prickly MomentWhen Ashlynn and the strange reptilian man stepped off the dance floor, she felt refreshed and welcome at the masquerade in a way that she hadn¡¯t before. While Nyrielle gave her leave to mingle and encouraged her to take advantage of the masquerade to meet others, her obvious human ancestry made her feel like an outsider even at an event where everyone wore masks.


    This gentleman, however, felt like an old friend she was encountering after years apart. His touch was gentle and more respectful than any of the young or older lords she¡¯d ever danced with at her father¡¯s events and even when they had nothing to say to each other, the silence between them still felt comfortable.


    Before she could thank him, however, the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest grew still and Ashlynn turned in the direction she felt her lover approaching from, wondering what could have caused her such distress.


    There was already a visible bubble of people who wouldn¡¯t approach the masked man who currently stood with Ashlynn holding his toned forearm. When Nyrielle strode toward them, however, Ashlynn felt like her lover was parting a sea of people through presence alone.


    As soon as Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes met Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue gaze, a chill wind seemed to flow across the room, pressing back against the prickly aura that radiated from the reptilian man. To most attendees of the masquerade, the chill wind was a mixed blessing. When it met the spiky, prickly aura, the latter began to fade as if it were a rose left to wilt without water or daylight.


    The chill wind, however, carried a touch of the grave with it, a feeling of things long dead that should have been left properly buried. The closer Nyrielle came, the more oppressive her aura felt, leaving many to wonder who dared to provoke the Blood Princess and draw her displeasure.


    "My Love," Ashlynn said, letting go of the man¡¯s arms to glide across the floor to Nyrielle. "Is something the matter? You look..." her voice trailed off as she realized that rather than her, her lover¡¯s gaze was locked on the man she¡¯d been dancing with.


    "Are you well?" Zedya asked, stepping up to pull Ashlynn to the side. "Do you feel any sharp pains anywhere on your body?" As Zedya spoke, she carefully examined Ashlynn, amazed that she didn¡¯t notice a hint of the rich, woody, and coppery aroma unique to Ashlynn¡¯s blood.


    Zedya actually had to check, carefully inspecting Ashlynn¡¯s icy blue and white lace dress for any telltale dots of red before she would believe that Ashlynn had endured the man¡¯s fierce aura without suffering so much as a pinprick.


    "I¡¯m fine," Ashlynn asked, confused by what had caused the fuss. "Is there something wrong with that man? The look on Mistress¡¯s face..."


    "Ah, Blood Princess," he said, sweeping into an elaborate bow. "De night, she¡¯s still a bit young, non? I wasn¡¯t plannin¡¯ to pay my respects ¡¯til much later, ya know."


    "If you knew that you should have waited to speak with me," Nyrielle said coldly. "Then you should have waited until then to approach my love. If I didn¡¯t know better, I might suspect that you intended to whisk her away without me."


    "Now, now, ma belle fleur de minuit," he said, flashing a wide grin that displayed his rows of gleaming teeth. "Your petite treasure here, she was wastin¡¯ away wit¡¯ all dat idle chatter, so far beneath her station," he added, casting a disdainful glance at the women who¡¯d been hovering at the edge of the dance floor.


    Clearly, they¡¯d only belatedly realized her status and they had taken to hovering like mosquitos, waiting for a chance to latch on to Ashlynn for the remainder of the evening in the hopes of siphoning off some of the attention that would gather on her as the night went on. Every time he had spotted them as the dance continued, his prickly aura flared, pushing them back just a little bit further but they never seemed to take the hint.


    Persistent mosquitos, he thought. S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My darling has no regard for a person¡¯s station," Nyrielle said, holding her head up high and smiling in pride. "She discovers gems wherever she goes, plucking talents from castle kitchens and laundry rooms alike. Her ability to see a person¡¯s true worth may well be unrivaled, which only makes me wonder. What did you do, for her to see any worth in someone as forward as you?"


    "What if I tell you it ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ at all?" he said, spreading his arms wide in a helpless gesture. "I am what I am, cher, and she is what she is. Dere¡¯s a natural pull between us, but I give you my word, ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ improper about what we feel between us."


    Instantly, whispers exploded among the crowd as if a powder keg had been lit.


    "Who is this fellow? Is everyone from the Ancient Clan so arrogant that he thinks his charm as a man is irresistible to any woman he desires?"


    "It goes beyond that," another voice whispered. "Only the Ancient Clan would have the hubris to think that it¡¯s natural for their own charms to overwhelm someone¡¯s commitment to their partner. As if cuckolding others is only a natural consequence of women encountering him."


    "Is anyone taking bets yet? I have a few gold tails to place on the Blood Princess," another man said, eagerly looking around the crowd for someone to make a wager with. "By the end of the night, I¡¯m sure that all whatever is left of this man can be mopped into a small bucket."


    "Mind your words," Nyrielle said fiercely, moving to stand beside Ashlynn and wrapping a protective arm around the younger woman¡¯s waist. "People might misunderstand you if you don¡¯t name yourself quickly."


    "Looks like we come to dat moment," he said with a regretful shake of his head. "Ma petite, I was hopin¡¯ to make my proper introductions when de masks come off, but it seems like fate¡¯s got other plans tonight," he added, treating the disruption of his careful timing like some great tragedy of the theater.


    "Cher can just call me Jacques," he said, removing his rose petal mask and executing a deep, formal bow. "But most folk, dey know me as de Sandbox Witch," he continued, straightening up to flash Ashlynn a wide, toothy grin. "My maman, de Mother of Thorns herself, she sends her regards and hopes you¡¯ll have a safe journey wit me when you come to visit our home."


    "I mean your lover no harm, Lady Nyrielle," he said, returning his gaze to the imposing vampire. "I¡¯m not so foolish as that, you know."


    While his aura couldn¡¯t withstand the pressure she directed at him, his prickly nature diminished it to such an extent that it wasn¡¯t difficult to stand up to her, at least, not for a few minutes. If she remained this hostile toward him over the next several days, he was certain that he would crumble long before he returned to the safety of his mother¡¯s home.


    "I would have preferred that your mother send the Thistle Witch if she was going to send an escort at all," Nyrielle said cooly. "Since you do not seem to understand propriety, you should leave the masquerade for the evening. High Lady Erna has gone through a great deal of trouble to prepare such a luxurious welcoming event."


    "I would hate to ruin it with bloodshed," the vampire added darkly.

 Chapter 185: Respect For My Teacher

    Chapter 185: Respect For My TeacherBy this point, a small crowd of spectators had formed around the face-off between Lady Nyrielle, the Blood Princess, and Jacques, the Sandbox Witch. Bloodsport had been a part of the culture of High Fen city for too long and no one wanted to miss a good show if one was about to erupt.


    Elsewhere in the great hall, serpentine servants had quietly slipped away to find High Lady Erna. While there were ways to allow a bit of violence to erupt at the masquerade, should the situation call for it, a confrontation between a powerful witch and an even more powerful vampire was one that could harm even onlookers. Before that happened, they hoped that High Lady Erna could suppress the rowdy guests.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, tugging at her lover¡¯s dress and gazing pleadingly up at her. If she¡¯d realized that things would turn out like this, she would never have accepted Jacques¡¯ invitation to dance. She could have stopped this then and that made it her responsibility to stop it now. "May I say a few words?" S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You want to plead for him?" Nyrielle said, looking helplessly at the woman in her arms. Sandbox Witch or not, Jacques wasn¡¯t a match for Nyrielle and she deeply desired to put him in his place for making a move on her darling Ashlynn. Her lover, however, still had a soft heart that sought to resolve things with words when a sharp blow would have settled things much more cleanly.


    Taking a deep breath, Ashlynn discarded everything she had been prepared to say and attempted to start over from her lover¡¯s perspective. Clearly, the way her magic responded to Jacques was different from what anyone had expected. Even Zedya had been worried that Ashlynn would be injured by him.


    Looking from Zedya to Heila, Ashlynn¡¯s heightened senses caught something she¡¯d missed while she was dancing. There wasn¡¯t so much as a drop of blood on Ashlynn¡¯s dress but there were small drops on Heila¡¯s gown. Seeing her lady-in-waiting hovering in Zedya¡¯s shadow and clutching at her palm changed Ashlynn¡¯s perception of events significantly.


    "Heila," she said softly. "Are you hurt?"


    "These wounds aren¡¯t large my Lady," Heila said, clutching her hand anxiously. When she spoke to Zedya, it seemed like rushing to report things had been the right thing to do but now she wasn¡¯t as certain. If Ashlynn wasn¡¯t in any danger then she may have made things worse by rushing to get help too soon.


    "Jacques," Ashlynn said, turning her emerald gaze on the Sandbox Witch. "You hurt my friend?"


    "Ah," the witch said, understanding dawning in his golden eyes. "I didn¡¯t know she was your friend, cher," he said, spreading his hands wide and lowering his head. "Thought she was just another bloodsucking mosquito, trying to climb higher by clingin¡¯ to your skirts," he added, glaring at the other women who¡¯d been hovering nearby. "I was just tryin¡¯ to keep dem from spoilin¡¯ our dance."


    "I never asked you to do that," Ashlynn said with a frown. "You hurt my friend and offended my Mistress. Those wrongs need to be settled," she said firmly.


    Beside her, Nyrielle smiled. Ashlynn was starting to adjust to the Eldritch manner of seeing things. Actions their outcomes mattered more than intentions. If she¡¯d pleaded that he didn¡¯t mean to harm her or cause offense, it would have been a very human way of solving things. Now, it seemed like she understood why that would always be taken as a position of weakness and cowardice among the Eldritch.


    Whatever Jacques intended, he would have to suffer some consequences for his actions or Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t be satisfied. More importantly, seeing the way Ashlynn reacted to Heila¡¯s injuries, as minor as they were, it was clear that she wouldn¡¯t be satisfied either. Her darling was becoming more ruthless, Nyrielle thought.


    "I ain¡¯t so proud I can¡¯t admit when I done wrong," Jacques said with careful dignity. "But ma petite, you ain¡¯t de Mother of Trees yet to be standin¡¯ in judgment over me. Best remember you¡¯ll be learnin¡¯ from my maman soon enough, and we all her children till you have children of your own," he reminded her.


    Of course, the Mother of Thorns had warned him that Nyrielle¡¯s power wasn¡¯t to be underestimated just because she lacked the title of High Lady. Titles in Eldritch Lands needed to be claimed with strength but they weren¡¯t just a reflection of a person¡¯s strength.


    There were, for example, several people who fought in High Lady Erna¡¯s arena who could topple an Eldritch Lord like Ritchel if they wanted to, but in the domain of a High Lady, there was no title for them to claim unless they wanted to rule a subordinate domain in her name.


    At the edges of the gathering, Ashlynn spotted people making way for someone else and guessed that it would be High Lady Erna. Things really were getting out of control and she needed to bring them to a conclusion quickly while she still held the momentum. Of everyone involved, she was the weakest and the instant that the other people lost their willingness to go along with her suggestions, everything would fall apart.


    Stepping briefly into the crowd, Ashlynn retrieved a narrow champagne flute, quickly drinking the fizzy golden alcohol before approaching Jacques. The sparkling wine burned on her throat going down when she drank so quickly but at the moment, she didn¡¯t care.


    "I can respect the Mother of Thorns," Ashlynn said. "And I can respect you. When you danced with me, you were the most perfect gentleman I¡¯ve ever met. Not once did your hands wander somewhere inappropriate and even your eyes never strayed from my face. In every way I could ask for, toward me, you were a consummate gentleman."


    "Toward my friend and my mistress, however, you were somewhat lacking," Ashlynn said firmly. "You were the first to shed blood tonight," she added, pointing at the drops of blood on Heila¡¯s dress.


    "Whether you thought you were protecting me or not, I¡¯ll have a few drops of blood from you in apology for what you did to my friend. This much shouldn¡¯t be considered disrespectful to one of my teacher¡¯s children, should it?"

 Chapter 186: Spilling Blood

    Chapter 186: Spilling BloodFor a moment, Jacques aura flared becoming even more prickly than it had been when he danced with Ashlynn. As soon as that aura approached Ashlynn, however, it melted like snow in the summer sun, unable to harm her in the slightest.


    It wasn¡¯t that she was immune to his magic, if Jacques wanted to harm her, it was easily possible. It was just that his desire to protect her was far greater than his irritation at her demand and that desire to protect wouldn¡¯t lose out to a momentary fit of pique.


    "I hear what you sayin¡¯, ma petite," the reptilian witch said, his scaled brow furrowing as he looked at the glass in her hand. "But a witch¡¯s blood, dat¡¯s powerful stuff to be spilling in a place like these before people like your Mistress. I¡¯ll give three drops to de ground for hurtin¡¯ your friend. But dat glass you¡¯re holdin¡¯," he said, his voice dropping low and dark. "Dat¡¯s meant for wine, not what you¡¯re askin¡¯."


    "As you said," Ashlynn said, extending the glass toward Jacques. "A witch¡¯s blood is powerful. It shouldn¡¯t be wasted on the floor when it can serve a greater purpose. Do this for me," she said, stepping forward and placing a hand on his broad, muscular chest. "Put as much trust in me as I put in you on the dance floor."


    Around them, everyone stilled, watching to see what the famed Sandbox Witch would do when confronted so directly. Several thought that this Seneschal was leaning heavily on the power of the Blood Princess to force the witch into compliance while others wondered if she really was the future Mother of Trees. If that was the case.... Would any lesser witch dare to refuse her?


    At the side, High Lady Erna¡¯s unblinking eyes took it all in, briefly meeting Nyrielle¡¯s gaze to see what her own teacher thought of things. Seeing the small proud smile tugging at the corner of the vampire¡¯s lips, Erna sat back herself, waiting to see the show unfold.


    If there was no need for her to intervene then it was best that she not make a move. Besides, even she was interested in seeing if Ashlynn could make this proud, arrogant witch from the Ancient Clan back down.


    "You don¡¯t leave me much choice," Jacques said, his heavy tail twitching in agitation. "Maybe I was wrong to call you ma petite. You got somethin¡¯ of de acorn in you, Child of de Earth. So much promise wrapped up in such a hard shell, and just as bitter when you bite down."


    Smoothly taking the champagne flute from Ashlyn, he raised the palm of his left hand to his mouth and bit down decisively, piercing his thickly scaled skin before dripping three drops of blood into the glass.


    "Blood as sap. Strength of bark. Staunch and slow, heal and grow," Jacques muttered softly, making a fist with his bleeding hand as soon as he¡¯d finished dripping into the glass. Instantly, a dark, grayish-green light enveloped his hand as the blood seemed to melt back into his flesh and the wound closed up like it had never been there.


    "I¡¯m putting my trust in you, cher," he said, holding out the glass.


    "You won¡¯t regret placing your trust in me," Ashlynn said, deliberately speaking loud enough for the onlookers to hear. Since this had become a spectacle, she would use it in whatever way she could.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," she said, returning to her lover¡¯s side with the champagne flute of blood. "Jacques, the Sandbox Witch, offers his blood to you in apology for approaching your lover without your permission. He understands that I am yours and will always be yours, and no one is to covet what you possess," Ashlynn added with a smile.


    "But Mistress," Ashlynn added, making a display of pouting like a spoiled nobleman¡¯s daughter. She¡¯d never really used this kind of expression to get her way, but Jocelynn seemed to be a master of using it against her parents and so she adopted it now. Not because she thought it would sway Nyrielle¡¯s thinking, but because of how the onlookers would perceive it.


    "If you desire the blood of a witch," she said, turning her neck slightly. "Mine is yours, whenever you feel the slightest bit of thirst. So rather than drink this stranger¡¯s blood, feed on me if you have a thirst."


    "My darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, her face glowing with pride. Reaching out to take the glass from her Seneschal, she tipped it over and poured it on the floor directly. "With you to savor, how could I thirst for anyone else."


    "This should be enough to settle things, shouldn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn confirmed, sliding into Nyrielle¡¯s arms and turning to face Jacques. "Perhaps now we can retire somewhere private for a bit, until the masks come off?"


    "Well now," Jacques said with a deep, rolling laugh. "Looks like we really have found de next Mother of Trees. And ain¡¯t she somethin¡¯ fierce?"


    "I agree," High Lady Erna said, finally emerging from the crowd to address the situation. "I had my doubts when she first arrived in High Fen City. I thought she should at least fight a few dozen rounds in the arena to prove that she¡¯s worthy of standing so close to my heroic teacher," she said with a self deprecating chuckle.


    "She asked me how many dead gladiators she needed to pile at my feet before I would consider her worthy," Erna said, gazing out at the gathered crowd. "Everyone, this is Seneschal Ashlynn of the Vale of Mists," she said, gesturing for Ashlynn to remove her mask. "Remember her because she already possesses a strength of will and a refusal to submit that would rival any champion in the arena."


    "Within a year or two," Erna said, taking a glass from a nearby servant and raising it to offer a toast. "I imagine that the Vale of Mists will rise to heights it hasn¡¯t seen in generations. So, a toast. To the Blood Princess, Lady Nyrielle and her Seneschal, Ashlynn, the future Mother of Trees. Long may they live!"


    "Long may they conquer," the audience responded, raising their glasses in salute to the beautiful couple in icy blue and crimson red.


    Today, those who had speculated that Nyrielle would be giving up on the Vale of Mists quickly revised their opinions and the ones who dismissed her new human Seneschal as yet another eccentric follower like her current progeny quickly began thinking of what they could do to win over the favor of the next Mother of Trees.


    All around the banquet, people quickly realized that the conversations that took place after the masks came off would be much, much more consequential than they imagined when they accepted the palace¡¯s invitation to join in the masquerade. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 187: A Thorny Protector

    Chapter 187: A Thorny ProtectorFollowing the toast, High Lady Erna led the small group of people away, much to the disappointment of those who were eager to strike up a conversation with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal.


    Beside the dancefloor, the woman who had thought to pull Ashlynn into her private group of wealthy spouses could only sigh at the misstep. Wearing masks could lower barriers and allow those of lower stations to build friendships with people they normally couldn¡¯t access. The key to climbing, however, was to realize when you were the one who was lower and make appropriate moves. In that regard, she¡¯d failed miserably.


    "You have created quite the stir with your arrival, Jacques," Erna said once they entered a smaller room outside of the main hall. Luxurious sofas offered plentiful seating and the table at the center of the room held several decanters of wine, water, and chilled fruit juice for people who would be talking long into the night.


    "Don be putin¡¯ all the blame on me, cher," the Sandbox Witch said, taking an entire sofa to himself and sprawling in it. "I jus¡¯ came to dance a bit. Das hardly worth makin¡¯ such a fuss, non?"


    "I don¡¯t believe that for a second, Jacques," Zedya said, her amethyst eyes flashing as she stood protectively behind the sofa that Ashlynn and Nyrielle occupied. Having spent time studying with the Mother of Thorns, she and Jacques could be considered old friends and she didn¡¯t approve of his demeanor this evening.


    "If you just wanted to dance, you¡¯d have reigned in your aura much more than you did tonight," the amethyst-eyed vampire pointed out. "You¡¯re doing it now, you could have done it then. You chose to isolate Lady Ashlynn when you approached her and you clearly didn¡¯t intend to dance with anyone else."


    "Ah, ma belle cannot be deceived," Jacques said helplessly as he poured himself a large goblet of red wine with a heady fragrance. "Is true, I came for a reason after all. From now till we reach de Briar, I¡¯m to be her protector. Maman¡¯s instructions ain¡¯t something for me to find trouble with."


    "You think my Mistress isn¡¯t capable of protecting her Seneschal during the journey?" Zedya said, frowning deeply at the witch.


    "Don¡¯t make me say the quiet part out loud, cher," Jacques said pointedly. "At the very least, I¡¯m useful during the day, no? Jus think of me as something extra in the luggage, don¡¯t bother none ¡¯bout this little ting."


    "I¡¯ll have you say it," Nyrielle said, leaning forward to give the witch a pointed look. "Did the Mother of Thorns send you to protect my darling Ashlynn from me?"


    Ashlynn turned to look at Nyrielle in surprise before returning her gaze to the reptilian man. No one had said much to her about the Mother of Thorns other than that she was the best person to teach Ashlynn how to use her powers and that explanations should be made by the woman herself rather than giving Ashlynn second-hand information.


    Now it was the first time that anyone had suggested that the powerful witch would attempt to drive a wedge between her and Nyrielle. To say that he was protecting her from the woman to whom she had bound her life, who had rescued her from the brink of death more than once, it wasn¡¯t the sort of thing that could be tolerated by Ashlynn or any of her companions. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ah, if you know then you know. Maman is looking out for a sister," Jacques said simply. "Der¡¯s no denying da power of a witch¡¯s blood. I might be nottin¡¯ much to you, ma belle, and maman trusts Mademoiselle Zedya not to put her fangs where she shouldn¡¯t, but Ashlynn here, dat¡¯s somtin¡¯ different."


    "As arrogant as they say," Nyrielle said with a shake of her head. "My darling has nothing to fear from me, and even if she did, someone like you could never defeat me." Perhaps Jacques could overpower Zedya, after all, the amethyst-eyed vampire¡¯s gifts weren¡¯t suited to direct confrontation.


    In a stand-up fight, either Thane or Marcell would be the limit of the Sandbox Witch¡¯s strength. Against Nyrielle herself, he had no chance of victory and unless he was a fool, she was certain he recognized that.


    "Ah, don¡¯ be so fierce," Jacques said, his tail shaking as though to brush aside the idea. "Der¡¯s victory to be had outside of overcoming you, non? Victory in spilling enough blood or stalling for a bit of time. I can¡¯t defeat you, ma belle, but does that mean I can¡¯t protect Ashlynn from you?"


    "Enough," Erna said, raising a hand to stop the witch from saying more. "If you want to argue, do it when you¡¯ve left High Fen City, or if you must, then settle things on the sands of the arena," she said, giving a warm smile to Nyrielle. "My arena is yours, just say the words any time you need to teach someone the limits of their arrogance."


    "I¡¯ll take you up on that if I ever need to," Nyrielle said, giving her former pupil a grateful smile. The title of ¡¯Mother of Thorns¡¯ wasn¡¯t an empty one and none of the witches in her coven were easy to deal with. As much as she wanted to put Jacques in his place, doing so before Ashlynn had a chance to learn from his mother would only make things more difficult for Ashlynn in the long run.


    "I won¡¯t say anything else about the matter of you protecting my darling from me," Nyrielle said, retreating slightly in order to advance elsewhere. "But, from what you¡¯ve said, it¡¯s a certain thing? My love bears the mark of the Mother of Trees?"


    Ever since she encountered Ashlynn on that dark and rainy night, she¡¯d believed this to be the case. The mark was too distinctive to be anything else, and yet, the possibility was always there that someone else in Ashlynn¡¯s life was the Mother of Trees and that Ashlynn had been marked as a member of that witch¡¯s coven at a very young age.


    Until she had confirmation, she refused to speak too much to Ashlynn about what her mark truly represented. Besides, these few months of waiting until they could hear directly from the Mother of Thorns or her coven allowed Ashlynn to focus on mastering the powers she gained from Nyrielle. Anything more than Nyrielle had already shared with her about witchcraft would only have been a distraction.


    "It is as you believed," Jacques said simply. "If the mark on her hip is as you¡¯ve painted, den she¡¯s de next one to become de Mother of Trees."


    "I¡¯m not going to show you my mark," Ashlynn said sharply. "Things didn¡¯t end well for the last man who asked to see it. You strike me as much more of a gentleman than he did so..."


    "Peace, cher," Jacques said, holding up his hands as if to protect himself. "Maman will look herself. I ain¡¯t here to run my tongue or put ma hands where they ain¡¯t welcome. I¡¯m not even free to give you lessons on the road. Dis is why I jus¡¯ wanna dance a bit wit you," he said with a toothy grin. "We can just be friends, non? Ain¡¯t no need for trouble beyond dat till we get to de Briar."


    "You mentioned the Briar before," Ashlynn said. "Just what kind of place is it?"


    "It¡¯s the place where you and I will have to part ways, my love," Nyrielle said sadly, pulling Ashlynn closer to her. "An impassable swamp protected by a labyrinth of trees, vines, weeds and all manner of plants bearing the sharpest, most poisonous thorns in the world."


    "Without a guide like Jacques," Zedya added. "Anyone who wanders into the Briar will die within a day. The labyrinth shifts and changes on its own. Even armed with a map it¡¯s impossible to reach the center of it if the Mother of Thorns doesn¡¯t want to allow you in."


    "Impossible for most," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a reassuring squeeze. "If you are ever in danger, nothing can stop me from coming to you."


    On the opposite sofa, Jacques frowned at the True Vampire¡¯s words. She wasn¡¯t wrong, at least, not technically. She and others like her posed a greater threat to witches like the Mother of Thorns than any other member of the Eldritch people.


    If Nyrielle was truly determined to make trouble for the Mother of Thorns, no one weaker than the witch herself could pose a threat to the vampire. If Nyrielle had only taken Ashlynn in as a powerful tool or a political token, breaking the bond between them might have been possible and many tragedies could be prevented.


    But now, as Jacques gazed upon the apparent affection flowing between the two women, he realized that separating them would be all but impossible. In which case, everything that happened next would need to be handled very, very carefully.

 Chapter 188: Holy Flames

    Chapter 188: Holy FlamesWhile Ashlynn enjoyed the remainder of the masquerade ball with Nyrielle and her new thorny protector, a very different ceremony was taking place on the site of what had once been a village belonging to the Heartwood Clan.


    Thick woodsmoke filled the air along with the stench of burning flesh. Heaps of logs had been piled into grand funeral pyres that stood as tall as any of the men responsible for constructing them.


    It had taken days to retrieve all of the bodies of the fallen after the demons shattered their own dam and unleashed a flood of mud and water on Owain¡¯s hunting party. Some men had been buried so deep in the mud that they were only found with the use of hunting dogs.


    Left to his own devices, Owain wouldn¡¯t have spent the time to retrieve every lost member of their party but in the presence of Inquisitor Diarmuid and the other men from the Church, there was little he could do but spend the time to see that each and every person was found, no matter how far the flood carried them from the site of the ambush.


    While the hunt for the missing dragged on, Owain vented his rage by tracking and hunting as many fleeing demons as he could. When he reached the village after the flood it was immediately obvious that most of its occupants had fled at least one if not two days in advance.


    A few aged demons, likely too old and frail to make the trip to the Vale of Mists, had remained behind. Even the elderly flat tailed demons had proved themselves to be a dangerous threat. Some propped bows on stumps or branches in order to draw them like an improvised ballista. Others had rigged traps of their own, ready to drop sharpened stakes or heavy logs on anyone who came close enough to them to claim their lives.


    Every single demon who remained seemed to burn with a desire to take down at least one human with them when they died. The only real satisfaction Owain had found in exterminating them came when he barged into one of their underground burrows and found a heavily pregnant woman guarded by a young warrior that Owain assumed to be her husband.


    A man fighting to save his wife in child was a force to be reckoned with and Owain had taken great delight in dismembering the demon before his wife¡¯s horrified gaze. Owain ordered the pregnant demon to be hauled away in chains. If she survived to give birth, perhaps her children could be trained as infiltrators and spies or at least raised into vicious attack dogs.


    No one had ever succeeded in raising captive demons before. But, after the difficulty of digging just one village of flat-tailed demons out of the hillside, Owain was willing to consider more insidious methods even if it would take more than a decade to bear fruit. If he failed, it wouldn¡¯t be too late to slaughter them a few years from now and wash his hands of any problems they caused.


    "My Lord," Diarmuid said, stepping up next to the young lord as he watched the fires burn. "The last of the fires is awaiting your hand."


    "Mine? Not yours?" Owain said, moderately surprised that the Inquisitor would allow him this honor.


    "I have fought the occasional demon when they appear in the central lands," the hawk-faced older man said. "There are still places within a few days¡¯ ride of the Holy City where demons show up from time to time, attempting to reclaim some sacred spot or ancient burial site. I thought I knew what it meant to fight demons."


    "There are High Inquisitors who do not understand why the borders haven¡¯t moved much further west in the past several decades," Diarmuid said, shaking his head and heaving a heavy sigh. "I used to count myself among the people who had such thoughts. We believed that the Marches were making excuses for failing to advance without the support of a Crusade."


    "And now?" Owain asked, keeping his eyes on the fires burning around them. In order to light the way to the Heavenly Shores for everyone who had died on this hunt, Owain didn¡¯t stop at building giant pyres using the wood salvaged from the flat tailed demon¡¯s dam. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Each and every demon burrow had been doused in lamp oil and holes were dug into the roofs so that fresh air could fuel the flames as the intricately carved homes burned. The smoke from this fire was dark and heavy and it could be smelled from dozens of leagues away but Owain didn¡¯t care about the smoke as long as the fires burned bright enough and hot enough.


    "Now, I understand what it means to dig the demons out of their own homes when they¡¯ve had decades to prepare to resist," the Inquisitor answered. "Soon, I¡¯ll be returning to the Holy City. I intend to speak of this hunt when I arrive. I¡¯ll make it clear that when the Holy War begins, the banners of the Inquisition and the Templars must be present in great numbers."


    "Good that you understand," Owain said. His response was carefully neutral. As a proud son of the Lothian line, he wanted nothing more than to crush these demons without becoming dependent on the Church to do so. If they drew too much of their support from people like Diarmuid, it wouldn¡¯t become the Lothian Duchy, it would become the Holy Lothian Duchy, and any Lothian Duke would have to fight to become more than a puppet of the Church.


    At the same time, it was as obvious to Owain as it was to Diarmuid that this wasn¡¯t a war that could be won without the miracle workers of the Church. A complicated look flickered across Owain¡¯s face as he looked at Sir Tommin nearby. Fighting together with him again had almost been enough to forgive the man for his desertion. As a pair on the battlefield, they had never been defeated.


    Now that his former guard had become a Templar wielding a Holy Light Sword, it was impossible for the man to return to his side as things had once been. But... that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t fight together. He just had to find a way to pull the man back toward him before Tommin sank too deeply into his newly discovered piety.


    "Pass me a torch," Owain commanded, stepping away from Diarmuid and approaching the only fire that had yet to be lit.


    A giant heap of logs had been thrown around an intricately carved wooden statue of a beautiful woman with feathered wings. Outsiders might think that it was a depiction of an ascended saintess or some divine servant of the Holy Lord of Light. Those with access to the hidden records of the Lothian family¡¯s many wars against the Vale of Mists, however, would instantly recognize the statue for what it really was.


    "I¡¯m surprised you aren¡¯t taking this as a trophy," Inquisitor Diarmuid said quietly as he joined the young lord before the statue. "Given the relics in your father¡¯s office, I would have expected you to want to add this to the collection."


    "As long as the Demon Lady of the Vale lives, icons like this can only be destroyed," Owain said, flinging the torch onto the pile of oil soaked wood. "I have looked at the face of my enemy. I will recognize her if I see her on the field of battle. That¡¯s enough. The rest can burn."


    "Indeed," Diarmuid said in approving tones. He still didn¡¯t like everything he¡¯d seen from Owain since coming to Lothian March, but if this hunt had taught him anything about the young lord it was that his hatred of demons was deep and genuine. He may be prone to excess and womanizing, he may be a murderer who used an accusation of witchcraft to rid himself of a wife he suspected of infidelity, but there was one thing that Diarmuid firmly believed about Owain.


    Owain Lothian hated the demons enough to march into battle at the front of an army instead of cowardly commanding it from behind. More than that, he had the personal strength as a warrior to carve his way to the demon lords as long as the army supporting him was strong enough to keep him from being overwhelmed.


    He may be imperfect... but it would be difficult to say that the Church shouldn¡¯t support such a man in his ambition to launch a Holy War.


    As flames crawled their way over the surface of a statue that bore a striking resemblance to Nyrielle, blackening its surface before cracks began to tear it apart, Inquisitor Diarmuid began to speak to the survivors of the hunting party gathered around the giant pyres.


    "We are born in the light of the east," Diarmuid intoned formally. "From the very first day we draw breath, we greet the dawn and the arrival of the Holy Lord of Light."


    "We are born in the Light," the gathered templars and soldiers of the church intoned. "We live under the blessings of the Light."


    "All those who struggle under the Light do so in the hopes that one day, they will reach the Heavenly Shores in the west," Diarmuid said, his voice loud and echoing across the hills. "These brave men have died in the struggle to reach the west. They have died in the struggle to cleanse wickedness and darkness from the land."


    "All life is a struggle," the soldiers intoned. "The unworthy struggle that one day, they may be worthy of resting on the Heavenly Shores."


    "For these men, the struggle has ended," Diarmuid said loudly. "They have died as champions of the Holy Lord of Light. They have fought the darkness to their last breath. And so we burn the bodies, the homes and the icons of their enemies."


    "May the flames light their way," the soldiers chanted.


    "May the flames light their way to the Heavenly Shores," Diarmuid echoed loudly. "And may they burn the wickedness from these lands!"

 Chapter 189: Keeping Secrets

    Chapter 189: Keeping SecretsFor Ashlynn, the end of the masquerade couldn¡¯t come fast enough. At first, it had been interesting to see so many different people and hear their unfiltered thoughts as they spoke from behind their masks.


    When Jacques first made his appearance, Ashlynn allowed herself to be swept away by his combination of charming words and the feeling of resonance between her magic and his. It felt like she might have found a genuine friend in the midst of the masquerade.


    That feeling didn¡¯t last and even after reprimanding him for harming Heila, she didn¡¯t know how to feel about the strange witch that would be accompanying her on her journey to meet the Mother of Thorns. She deeply wanted to develop a friendship with the strange reptilian man from the Ancient Clan but the guarded and hostile way that both Zedya and Nyrielle responded to him made it difficult to do so.


    More than that, Jacques had all but said that he had come to protect her from Nyrielle, something that Ashlynn felt was utterly ridiculous and Nyrielle found to be deeply offensive. And yet... a lingering kernel of fear that she hadn¡¯t dispelled since the night after the opera left her wondering if there might be something she would need protection from.


    As the hours of the masquerade slipped by, both Nyrielle and Ashlynn made the rounds politely, greeting prominent gladiators, notable merchants, and other powerful or well-connected people in High Fen City who felt it might be worth exploring additional opportunities in the Vale of Mists.


    The work she and Nyrielle did was important, and Ashlynn did her best to say the right things at the right times but she knew that without Heila¡¯s help, she would have blundered through the evening. Her heart wasn¡¯t in it and if you asked her afterwards to name the people she¡¯d spoken with, she¡¯d have struggled to come up with more than one out of five names.


    Finally, after hours of mingling with the powerful and well-connected people of High Fen City, Ashlynn, and Nyrielle managed to retreat to Ashlynn¡¯s room for a few hours alone together before the sun would rise, tearing them apart again.


    The sounds of the masquerade still echoed faintly through the palace halls. Faint strains of music, bursts of distant laughter, and the soft shuffle of dancers¡¯ feet growing gradually quieter as more and more revelers made their way home through the cooling night air. In the distance, the sounds of numerous carriages clattering across the flagstone plaza could be heard as they whisked away tired and mostly content attendees.


    In Ashlynn¡¯s luxurious chambers, only the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the whisper of silk against silk broke the silence as she wrapped her arms around Nyrielle from behind.


    The heat from the fire couldn¡¯t quite chase away the predawn chill that crept through the stone walls. Ashlynn pressed closer to Nyrielle, savoring the coolness of her lover¡¯s skin through the layers of crimson silk and lace. She rested her head against Nyrielle¡¯s back, breathing in the familiar scent of night-blooming jasmine that always seemed to cling to the vampire¡¯s skin. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, softly, finally gathering the courage to bring up things she¡¯d wanted to ask since Jacque¡¯s appearance at the masquerade but hadn¡¯t been able to because of the press of people. "You haven¡¯t told me almost anything about the Mother of Thorns, and neither you nor Zedya ever mentioned this Jacques fellow. Now that he¡¯s here... is there something I should know?"


    It wasn¡¯t quite the question she wanted to ask, or at least, it wasn¡¯t the way she wanted to ask it. But, even though she knew that Nyrielle kept things from her, she¡¯d never felt that it was important to know those things. She still had so much to learn, Nyrielle couldn¡¯t possibly share everything with her. But now, for the first time, she felt like her lover might have held back something important.


    "There are things about witches and vampires that you should know," Nyrielle said, folding her arms over Ashlynn¡¯s arms and gently stroking her lover¡¯s hands as she spoke. "I haven¡¯t told you much because... because I don¡¯t want to taint you."


    "I don¡¯t understand," Ashlynn said, turning Nyrielle around in her arms so she could meet Nyrielle¡¯s gaze. It didn¡¯t help that the vampire¡¯s face had returned to the impassive mask that revealed so little of what she felt.


    From the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest, she felt a pensive sense of anxiety but everything beyond that was fuzzy and indistinct. It was as though her lover had placed her emotions behind a thick cloud of fog and Ashlynn could barely see anything through it.


    "At first, you were uncertain about me," Nyrielle said. "Remember our first dinner together? You were afraid that I was only using you."


    "I remember," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and thinking back to that night. She¡¯d been so off balance that her mind hadn¡¯t caught up to her circumstances at all. In the span of a day, she¡¯d gone from her fairytale wedding to Owain to a brutal assault and a shallow grave. Then, Nyrielle had snatched her back from the brink of death with a ceremony that was even more intimate than a wedding.


    By the time Ashlynn sat down to dinner with Nyrielle, she didn¡¯t know what she should think or feel about the woman who rescued her, but the closeness between them that flowed from the pact of blood they¡¯d formed was very real. It left Ashlynn wondering if she¡¯d discovered true love. Hearing that Nyrielle saw her as a way to break the stalemate in her long-running war with the Lothians... it spoiled a dream with a cold, hard reality.


    Looking back, she¡¯d been foolish to be hurt and Nyrielle had been nothing but honest with her. And yet, after Owain¡¯s assault and coming to understand that someone within her father¡¯s household had betrayed her... she¡¯d been very guarded against Nyrielle.


    "We¡¯re closer now," Ashlynn said, pulling Nyrielle close so she could rest her head on the other woman¡¯s chest and listen to her slow, steady heartbeat. "I like to think I understand you better. That you understand me better. So, if you couldn¡¯t tell me then, why not tell me now? Are you still worried about ¡¯tainting¡¯ me?"


    "I am still worried," Nyrielle said, lightly stroking Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "What I have to say, you may find it uncomfortable to hear. You may hear things differently from the Mother of Thorns. Originally," she said, pausing to tuck Ashlynn¡¯s head under her chin. "Originally, I intended to let you hear things from a fellow witch first. Someone you could trust not to have ulterior motives."


    "The person I trust the most in this world is you," Ashlynn whispered. Nothing between them was perfect, but when things weren¡¯t perfect, they were at least open with each other and discussed it. They fumbled, they frightened each other at times, but every time they came back stronger.


    If there was one thing in this world that Ashlynn was certain of, it was that Nyrielle would protect her, and that she had no desire to harm her. That didn¡¯t mean that Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t borrow Ashlynn¡¯s growing strength.


    They were, after all, not just lovers, but a True Vampire and her Seneschal. There was a portion of their relationship that would always have a sense of hierarchy and an imbalance of power. But, as she grew, that imbalance kept shrinking and every time it did, Ashlynn came to trust Nyrielle a little bit more.


    "Very well then," Nyrielle said, scooping Ashlynn up and carrying her over to the soft, feather bed. "I¡¯ll tell you what I¡¯ve been holding back. About me and what it means to be a True Vampire, and then about you and what the blood of a witch can mean to vampires."


    "If," Nyrielle started, hesitating slightly and biting her lower lip before she continued. "If, after hearing this from me, you would prefer to make the trip to the Briar without me, I¡¯m sure that Jacques can bring you there safely. Or, if you just need time, I can stay away from you while we travel to give you the time."


    "What you¡¯re about to tell me," Ashlynn said, reaching up to cup Nyrielle¡¯s face and looking deeply into her midnight blue eyes. "Does it contain the words ¡¯I don¡¯t love you, I never loved you, or I will never love you?"


    "No," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a weak smile. "I was once told that it is impossible for a True Vampire to love, but I loved my parents until the day they died, and I love them still even after they¡¯re gone."


    "After they died, I thought I¡¯d never love again, but," her voice trailed off and she let her eyes say the rest. It was still hard to speak the words, but if there was anyone in this world she could feel love for, then Ashlynn was that person.


    "In that case, there¡¯s nothing you can say that will make me want to run away from you," Ashlynn promised. "So tell me, what is it that you¡¯ve been afraid to say before? We still have an hour or two before the sun rises. If that¡¯s not enough time, we can pick up where we leave off tomorrow night."


    "Very well," Nyrielle said, her tone becoming somber. "First, we have to speak of death..."

 Chapter 190: A Reason for Vampires (Part One)

    Chapter 190: A Reason for Vampires (Part One)"I told you before that no one knows where the first vampire came from or how we came to be," Nyrielle said, holding Ashlynn gently while she spoke. "I think it must have been the same as it is for witches like you. Some of us were born like this because we¡¯re a necessary part of the world."


    "If anyone created vampires," Nyrielle continued. "Then they were powerful enough to create witches as well. I¡¯m sure the human Church would suggest that their deity has the power to create beings like us but..."


    "The Church teaches that witches have stolen the power of the Holy Lord of Light," Ashlynn said sadly. "The Church doesn¡¯t teach anything specific about vampires, at least, not that I know of. It teaches that vampires are ¡¯demons¡¯ like all other Eldritch people."


    "It¡¯s true that we live among the Eldritch," Nyrielle said, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "But we¡¯re not an Eldritch Clan any more than witches are an Eldritch Clan. We¡¯re something else. Something that the world needs to exist." Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What do you mean by that? Something that the world needs to exist?" Ashlynn asked, sitting upright to look at her lover¡¯s face. As she spoke, Nyrielle¡¯s tone had become distant, as if she was reluctant to put these thoughts into words.


    The sight of it made Ashlynn¡¯s heartache. She wanted to know. She wanted to understand and not just because Jacques had arrived to disrupt the delicate rhythm she and Nyrielle had formed. She wanted to understand because she cared about Nyrielle, but she didn¡¯t want to make the moment so heavy and uncomfortable.


    It was just... she didn¡¯t know how she could help lighten the weight that seemed to come with the topic. At the moment, she could only listen and let Nyrielle take it at her own pace.


    "This is something that I learned from my teacher," Nyrielle said, her eyes gazing at the distant past. "His name is Shubnalu, and he¡¯s a member of the Endless Echoes Clan. He says that his clan has nothing to do with his place as a True Vampire though and I¡¯m inclined to believe him."


    "Endless Echoes?" Ashlynn asked. There were hundreds of different Eldritch Clans and she was still working to learn about the most important ones.


    "They¡¯re a nocturnal clan with small eyes and very large ears on top of their heads," Nyrielle said. The firelight caught the mischievous glint in her midnight blue eyes as a sudden idea struck her.


    For a moment, her eyes darted around the room as if she needed to make sure that neither Zedya nor Heila had slipped in where they might see what she was about to do. Then, she lifted her pale hands to her head, cupping them like enormous ears while scrunching her face into an exaggerated squint. The shadows her hands cast on the wall mimicked the shape of giant, floppy ears, making the gesture even more comical.


    The sudden shift from Nyrielle¡¯s usual ethereal grace to such playful silliness caught Ashlynn completely off guard. Laughter bubbled up from her chest, bright and genuine, and she felt the tension in her shoulders dissolve as Nyrielle¡¯s own musical laughter joined hers.


    "You," Ashlynn managed between fits of giggles, watching the way her normally composed lover¡¯s face lit up with delight. "You did that on purpose. Are they really like that?"


    "They are," Nyrielle laughed. "But if you ever tell my teacher that I think members of his clan are adorably cute, then I¡¯ll abandon you and run away," she teased, glad that she had been able to break the tension. The cold, frequently expressionless Nyrielle of just a year ago would never have done such a silly thing, but ever since Ashlynn had swept into her life, she found herself breaking free of her cold shell in surprising ways.


    "Okay, that¡¯s it," Ashlynn said, pulling away from Nyrielle and scooting across the large, plush bed in order to retrieve a pair of pillows. Nyrielle¡¯s moment of silliness had given her a window of opportunity and she finally saw a way to remove some of the heaviness that clung to this conversation.


    "I never got to have a sleepover when I was younger," Ashlynn said. Her voice held a touch of bitterness and a trace of longing for a sister who felt farther away every day but she continued regardless. "Jocey did, just not at our manor, at least, not if I was also home. But whenever she went visiting other young ladies, they would stay up late and talk about all sorts of things, including gossip about men."


    "I have never heard you gossip about anyone," Ashlynn said, giving Nyrielle a flat look and tossing a pillow at her. "So now, I want to hear about this teacher of yours. He had small eyes and large floppy ears," she said, mimicking Nyrielle¡¯s movements and placing cupped hands on her head like giant ears. "And you found him adorable? Was he tall, or muscular? Tell me, I want to hear the details," she said, flopping back down on the bed next to Nyrielle.


    For a moment, Nyrielle sat and blinked at her lover but then laughter overtook her as she caught the pillow Ashlynn had flung at her. When had she ever had a sleepover with young ladies of similar station? Never once in her life. But if her darling wanted to gossip... it certainly wasn¡¯t a bad thing.


    "He wasn¡¯t very tall at all," Nyrielle said with a bright smile. "A little taller than you but only barely. But when he entered the room, everyone looked at him like he was a giant ten times his size. He isn¡¯t physically powerful or imposing, more... cute. At least to my eyes. But his aura is deep and bloody and his voice is rich and smooth like velvet."


    "Oh? So did you like him? You sound like you found him very charming," Ashlynn teased.


    "No, not in that way. Not ever," Nyrielle quickly insisted. A moment later, however, she seemed less certain. "Maybe early on. Right after I met him, I was still very young. He felt princely, for lack of a better word. Like someone from my father¡¯s stories about the noble lords of the land before the Church anointed the first King of Gaal."


    "Once he became my teacher, I stopped seeing him that way," Nyrielle added. "His methods aren¡¯t gentle. It was impossible to feel affectionate towards him after the first few months. I respect him, but I wouldn¡¯t say that I could ever feel attracted to him anymore."


    "I still think people from the Endless Echoes Clan are adorable," she said, holding up a finger as if to mark an exception. "Just not him. He¡¯s too harsh to be adorable."


    "What was it you were going to say about the Endless Echoes Clan not having anything to do with his powers?" Ashlynn prompted, taking Nyrielle¡¯s hands in her own and snuggling close while they spoke.


    As silly as treating this like a night of young women¡¯s gossip sounded, it seemed to be working. The echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest was steadier, lighter, and held much less strain than it had at the beginning of the conversation. At times, Ashlynn forgot that Nyrielle had missed out on just as much of a normal childhood as she had.


    At moments like this, if they could both recapture a bit of what they¡¯d missed, it was worth a little bit of exaggerated playfulness. And if it let them talk through the sensitive and painful parts of their mutual pasts, then that was all the more reason to give it a try.

 Chapter 191: A Reason for Vampires (Part Two)

    Chapter 191: A Reason for Vampires (Part Two)"The Endless Echoes Clan has a great deal in common with bats," Nyrielle explained. "My teacher also has a connection to bats that comes from his power as a vampire rather than his nature as a member of the Endless Echoes Clan. Let me back up a step and I can explain better," she said.


    "True Vampires are like witches in a way. I don¡¯t want you to think that it¡¯s entirely the same, but it helps to provide a way of looking at the world. You have a connection to trees and the forest. That¡¯s the part of nature that defines your witchcraft. Every person who is born a witch the way you were embodies some facet of nature."


    "Then, the Mother of Thorns embodies things that are... prickly?" Ashlynn asked.


    "I¡¯ll leave it to her to explain her own domain," Nyrielle said, not wanting to wander off track. "What I¡¯m trying to say is that, just as witches embody a facet of nature, True Vampires embody a facet of death."


    "My teacher is known as the Fangs of Death," Nyrielle said.


    "Did he give himself that title?" Ashlynn asked. "Or was it earned somehow, the way people call you the ¡¯Blood Princess of the Arena.¡¯" A title like ¡¯the Fangs of Death¡¯ sounded impressive, but if it was something that he¡¯d chosen to call himself, it was perhaps a bit much to Ashlynn¡¯s sensibilities. But perhaps it was different to the Eldritch.


    "It¡¯s the title that goes with his power and his position," Nyrielle said, poking Ashlynn when she saw her lover¡¯s teasing look. What would her lover think when she heard her own title? "He¡¯s the oldest of the True Vampires on this continent. As far as he and I are aware, there are four of us on the continent and six of us in total, though only my teacher has encountered one of the other two."


    "Are the other two from the old countries then?" Ashlynn asked. "I¡¯ve never heard of there being vampires in the old countries. I would have thought that the Church would have hunted them down long ago."


    With more than a thousand years of history in the old countries, it was hard to imagine that any Eldritch people who had lived there could have escaped hunts organized by the Templars and Inquisitors. The Church was ruthless enough to raise the banner of Crusade to ensure that all the lands that paid reverence to the Holy Lord of Light were free of ¡¯demons¡¯ and ¡¯evil witchcraft.¡¯


    "I can¡¯t say if there were any there or not," Nyrielle said, shaking her head. "The other two that we¡¯re aware of live in the sea. Supposedly, they¡¯re the oldest of all vampires, and the Eldritch Clans of the sea are the first clans. The point isn¡¯t to talk about ancient history," she added, trying to bring the conversation back on track.


    "What you¡¯re saying," Ashlynn said, refusing to allow the mood to grow too heavy. "Is that you¡¯ve never met the vampires of the sea and you don¡¯t know if they¡¯re charming or not."


    "You!" Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a playful shove with her pillow. "I just want you to understand that we¡¯re talking about some very old traditions that stretch back for thousands of years," the vampire added. "There are no statues surviving of the first True Vampires or any records of how many of us have held each title. We live for a long time but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t be killed, and some knowledge has been lost."


    "Much of what we ¡¯know¡¯ isn¡¯t something that can be considered a confirmed fact like you might read in a history book," she emphasized. "Rather, they are beliefs that have been held for so long that they can feel like facts."


    "Then, what is it that your ¡¯no-longer adorable¡¯ teacher believes?" Ashlynn asked playfully. "Why does he believe that vampires need to exist?"


    "We constrain life," Nyrielle said with a heavy sigh. As much as she wanted to play along with Ashlynn¡¯s desire to gossip, she just didn¡¯t know how to say this lightly.


    Pulling away from Ashlynn, she strode across the cool stone floor to throw another log on the dying fire. Embers might be enough to await the sun if they were sleeping beneath the heavy down blankets but the air in the High Fen was thin and the chill of the night would need hours yet before it gave way to the heat of the day when the open stonework that let breezes flow through would be more welcome.


    "We are the ultimate predators," Nyrielle said, staring into the flames of the hearth. Memories flickered in her eyes along with a reflection of the flames as she tried to organize what she needed to say. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We can sustain ourselves on the lifeblood of others for thousands of years. We can balance our progeny on the edge between life and death and allow them to exist longer than any mortal being should. My teacher believes that there is a purpose behind our existence."


    "Whenever a person or a group becomes too powerful," Nyrielle continued, taking on a tone as if she was quoting her teacher. "They can cause death on an unstoppable scale. Extinction. The complete eradication of a species, a clan, a way of life."


    "My teacher believes that we exist to constrain people and groups who become that powerful," she said, turning away from the fire at last to return to the bed with Ashlynn. "We¡¯re here to prevent unstoppable tides of death by precisely eliminating the ones who would tip the scales."


    "That..." Ashlynn didn¡¯t know what she should say to that. It sounded both very noble and very arrogant. To believe that a select few people were born to decide when someone had grown too powerful and to kill them before they caused great harm. What gave them the right?


    Part of what Ashlynn struggled with was how the idea of someone like Nyrielle¡¯s teacher conflicted with things she had believed all her life. She had come to accept that the Church was wrong about witches, the Eldritch, and many other things. But there were core teachings that had nothing to do with hatred that she had yet to examine and challenge.


    One of those teachings was that it was the right and nature of all living things to struggle to survive and thrive within the environment they were born to. All people were born to the struggle and how one met the challenges of their life determined how close they would come to the Heavenly Shores when they died.


    Those who met their struggle would reach the Heavenly Shores when they died and earn their much-deserved rest. Those who struggled but fell short would be born again, in a higher place, so that they could complete their struggle to reach the Heavenly Shores or at least come closer in the next life than they had before.


    What Nyrielle was describing, however, felt like someone had decided to place himself as a barrier at the end of the line. That, after countless lifetimes of struggle, if a person had come too far, and was too successful, he would cut them down before they could reach the Heavenly Shores.


    The Church taught that nobles and kings were among those who had struggled the most in their previous lives. That their struggles had become greater than those of the common man as they became responsible for the lives of countless others. With a duty to protect their people and to expand their domain to the west...


    "It¡¯s us, isn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn asked as understanding began to dawn on her. "It¡¯s the rise of groups like humans that seek to exterminate everyone else that your teacher is trying to stop."


    When she thought about it, about the coming Crusade and everything that humans would do if they won their wars... it was hard to argue that a force existing to oppose such a thing wasn¡¯t necessary. But was that really the reason for Vampires to exist?


    "It isn¡¯t just humans," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn back into her arms and gently stroking her hair. "No one has ever unified this continent. A few Eldritch Emperors have made the attempt, but it¡¯s impossible for every clan to accept a single ruler. Once an Emperor makes the decision to exterminate a clan that won¡¯t submit to their rule..."


    "Your teacher moves against that Emperor," Ashlynn said. "But, an Eldritch Emperor is supposed to be the strongest of all Eldritch rulers. If your teacher is strong enough to defeat an Eldritch Emperor, why doesn¡¯t he just become one himself?"


    "Because the rest of us would never stand for it," Nyrielle said firmly. "Remember, I said there were four of us on this continent. Let me tell you about the others."


    "And you¡¯ll tell me if any of the others are ¡¯adorable¡¯, right?" Ashlynn said, trying to recapture the fragile levity she¡¯d built. Even to her, it felt a bit forced at this point, but Nyrielle surprised her with a playful, teasing smile that revealed the barest hint of fang.


    "Of course," Nyrielle said. "But no matter how ¡¯striking¡¯ or ¡¯adorable¡¯ they are, none of them compare to you, my darling," she added, leaning in to give Ashlynn a brief kiss on the forehead before she started to speak of the other True Vampires.

 Chapter 192: The Power Behind Vampire Titles (Part One)

    Chapter 192: The Power Behind Vampire Titles (Part One)"My teacher is called the ¡¯Fangs of Death¡¯ because he represents death that comes suddenly and in unexpected ways when a person seems otherwise invulnerable," Nyrielle said. "You can think of him as nature¡¯s perfect assassin. He preys on the most powerful individuals who feel invulnerable."


    "Death comes for everyone," Ashlynn said, nodding in understanding. "A king might be defended by an army of guards, or attended to by dozens of doctors and physicians, but if your teacher decided to kill a king, could anyone really stop him?"


    "Perhaps," Nyrielle said, pausing to consider thoughtfully. "The Kingdom of Gaal is protected by the miracle workers of the Church. Their power can be very difficult to overcome, particularly if they have reason to believe someone is threatening the king or his ruling council. It¡¯s one of the reasons that humans have been so successful in conquering Eldritch lands."


    "You¡¯re being modest," Ashlynn teased, pinching Nyrielle¡¯s waist playfully as they sat on the soft feather bed. "I¡¯ve seen what you can do with your wings unfurled. I can¡¯t believe that your teacher is any weaker than you. Are you saying that the miracle workers of the Church are that much stronger than the abomination you fought in the ancestral cave?"


    "Some of them are," Nyrielle said without a moment of hesitation. She¡¯d seen firsthand what some of the Church¡¯s mightiest Templars and Inquisitors were capable of. Compared to the weakened and conflicted blood golem in the ancestral cave, the forces of the Church were a much greater threat.


    "You¡¯re right that my teacher is stronger than I am, at least in most of the ways that matter, but even he has limits," Nyrielle added. "Nature craves a balance in things and even we are part of that delicate balance. My teacher is a fearsome assassin but even he is afraid of Philosar, the Gnawing Death."


    "The Gnawing Death?" Ashlynn said, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn¡¯t sound as impressive as the ¡¯Fangs of Death.¡¯ What kind of man is Philosar to leave your adorable teacher frightened of him?"


    "My teacher is attuned with the bat," Nyrielle said with a laugh. "His wings are dark and leathery. He can go further, shapeshifting entirely into a small creature of the night. Philosar is attuned with the rat. His powers are similarly insidious. Shubnalu¡¯s powers target a person¡¯s blood and vitality. Philosar¡¯s powers target the mind."


    "And does Philosar resemble a rat?" Ashlynn asked playfully. "Does he have sharp teeth to gnaw away at his enemies, or is he cute like a small white mouse? Remember, you promised to gossip," she reminded her lover.


    "He¡¯s not ¡¯cute¡¯," Nyrielle said, shuddering at the thought of what would happen if someone ever suggested to Philosar that he was ¡¯cute.¡¯ "Better to call him ¡¯distinguished.¡¯ He¡¯s from the Clan of the Painted Masks and he¡¯s quite proud of the elaborate patterns in his fur. He¡¯s also much neater and better organized than Erkembalt."


    "Come to think of it, the two of you might get along if you can convince him to let you into his library," Nyrielle mused. "He¡¯s a collector of books and he¡¯s older than I am by hundreds of years. Just beware that he¡¯s very, very protective of his library, and be prepared to offer up a book or two of your own for the privilege of browsing his collection."


    "So, the impression he gives is more refined and scholarly?" Ashlynn said. Seeing Nyrielle¡¯s nod of agreement, she pressed on with more serious questions. "You said that each of you embodies a kind of death," Ashlynn said, her brows furrowing as she fit the pieces together. "So, if Shubnalu represents the loss of vitality then Philosar represents the slow decay of a person¡¯s mind as they age. Dementia, senility, those sorts of things?"


    "Exactly so," Nyrielle said, tapping Ashlynn on the nose and flashing her a soft smile. She¡¯d worried that the topic would be so heavy and grim that it would rekindle the fear that Ashlynn had felt after things became dangerous between them the last time Nyrielle fed on her.


    Thankfully it seemed like her lover¡¯s notion of treating things like ¡¯gossip¡¯ allowed her to keep some emotional distance from the heavy topics. After that, Ashlynn¡¯s intellectual curiosity was stronger than her fear of death, at least when the conversation remained distant and abstract.


    "If Shabnalu ever tried to seize the mantle of the Eldritch Emperor, he would become a different kind of threat," Nyrielle explained, returning to their earlier topic of why her teacher didn¡¯t just seize the title of Eldritch Emperor even if he had the strength to do so. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Philosar is insidious enough to gnaw away at him, weakening him enough for someone else to pull him off the throne," she said. "My teacher knows that even he isn¡¯t invulnerable. At his most insidious, Philosar brings madness that inspires fear in the people around his target. How would your former people respond to a mad king?"


    "He¡¯d be pulled down fairly quickly so long as there was a suitable heir to take his place," Ashlynn said as she thought back over the few hundred years of the Kingdom of Gaal¡¯s history.


    Nyrielle sat back and watched with a slight smile on her face as Ashlynn worked her way through the things she¡¯d read in books years ago along with the conversations she¡¯d had with her tutors about the things that couldn¡¯t be written down in the books used by most teachers. In the stillness of the pre-dawn morning, only the faint crackle of the hearth broke the silence as Ashlynn assembled the pieces of the puzzle.


    There were actually two occasions she could think of in the history of the Kingdom of Gaal where a king had gone mad and placed the kingdom in great peril because of it. Once when a king was poisoned with a toxic mushroom that caused him to hallucinate that demons were lurking in every corner of the castle, spying on him or preparing to invade. He¡¯d been caught by his personal priest when he attempted to burn down the royal keep in order to ¡¯save the kingdom from demon spies.¡¯


    The second time, it had been an aging king who had fallen into a spiral of paranoia and conspiracy theories about his dukes consorting with demons to steal the crown. Before his reign of madness ended, he only ate food he grew and slaughtered with his own hands and he only allowed his grandson and one retainer to step within a hundred paces of his throne when he gave his edicts.


    Trust in the court had been so badly damaged that each of the dukes had marshaled their personal armies to defend against a possible attack from their neighbors or the king himself. The entire kingdom had teetered on the brink of civil war.


    Ultimately, in both cases, the Church had stepped in to declare that the king had succumbed to his struggle and that it was time for another to take up the king¡¯s mantle in his place. Had it been one of the dukes doing so or even the entirety of the ruling council, the war might still have broken out, but when the Church took action there was little anyone else could say.


    "Wait," Ashlynn said, staring at Nyrielle in shock as pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. After all, the kings who had fallen to madness had once been hailed as great kings who would expand the kingdom and they were powerful supporters of the lords leading armies against the Eldritch. "Has Philosar been responsible for targeting human kings? Is that why we¡¯ve seen kings succumb to madness in the past?"

 Chapter 193: The Power Behind Vampire Titles (Part Two)

    Chapter 193: The Power Behind Vampire Titles (Part Two)"Just because a person in a position of power falls to madness or the frailty of the mind doesn¡¯t mean that the Gnawing Death has come for them," Nyrielle said with a light chuckle. "Philosar would like you to believe so," she added. "It enhances his mystique and aura of fear. My teacher often says that Philosar lies and boasts, taking credit even when he wasn¡¯t involved and denying blame when he was."


    "No wonder a person like him is attuned to the rat," Ashlynn whispered, shivering in dread at the thought of someone with the power to gnaw away at a person¡¯s mind. Growing up in her father¡¯s manor, she¡¯d spent most of her childhood immersed in books and studying with tutors. Her mind was the thing she prized the most. To know that someone could destroy it directly was one of the most terrifying things she¡¯d ever heard.


    For a few moments, she¡¯d considered Nyrielle¡¯s idea that she might like browsing Philosar¡¯s library. Now, however, she felt she was better off avoiding such an insidious person.


    "What about the other one?" Ashlynn asked, wanting to change the topic to something less likely to give her nightmares. "You once said that your grandsire Torbin was descended from the ¡¯Jaws of Death¡¯, didn¡¯t you? Who¡¯s he and what does he do?" S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "His name is Bardas," Nyrielle said with a twinkle in her midnight blue eyes. "He¡¯s very pretty in the same way that Thane is pretty. Strong, rugged and he lets his predatory nature shine. You haven¡¯t met anyone from the clan of the Golden Mane yet," she added, looking a touch wistful.


    "They all have a sort of feline grace when they move," Nyrielle said. "Bardas could model for one of Erna¡¯s sculptors and everyone would believe that the resulting statue was too ideal to be real. Long flowing hair, perfect proportions... he has no shortage of women who are eager to spend time with him."


    "Oh? Do I have competition I need to worry about?" Ashlynn asked, putting on an expression of mock jealousy. "Is there a history between you?"


    "All three of them have tried to court me at one time or another," Nyrielle said casually. "Bardas might have moved my heart if we¡¯d met under different circumstances. When I was a little girl, I thought he was very charming, but he treated me like a favored grandchild."


    "He praised Torbin for taking in my parents and he gave me a piggy back ride on his broad shoulders," Nyrielle said with a nostalgic look on her face. It had been one of the most normal and happiest memories of her childhood, being spoiled by the ancient ancestor who came to visit her grandsire. "By the time I grew up and he grew interested..."


    "He was already fixed in your mind as a doting grandparent," Ashlynn chuckled. "Then, if I ever meet him, I¡¯ll thank him for his error. You belong to me and no one else," she said, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s arm and holding her close between her breasts.


    "You should meet him some day," Nyrielle agreed. "He¡¯s easier to be around, in part because he¡¯s more straight forward. The ¡¯Jaws of Death¡¯ represent violent ends. He¡¯s attuned to the wolf, and while there is savagery and senselessness to what he does, there is less cunning and scheming to it."


    "I¡¯m not sure I believe that," Ashlynn said as she tried to reconcile the image of the handsome man who gave young girls piggy back rides with someone who engaged in ¡¯savage and senseless¡¯ slaughter. A man who could wear such different faces couldn¡¯t be a simple man.


    "Both Shabnalu and Philosar target different sorts of powerful individuals," Ashlynn said. "Are you telling me that Bardas doesn¡¯t? That he just slaughters randomly, bringing violent death wherever he feels like it?"


    "No," Nyrielle said, shaking her head. "He brings slaughter that targets groups rather than individuals. Sometimes, a powerful ruler is a threat. Eliminate the king or lord or whatever and their kingdom falls apart, or it at least becomes less threatening."


    "Other times, it¡¯s a whole group that threatens to tip the scales," Nyrielle said. "You¡¯ve seen the Tuscan hunters who prey on other Eldritch Clans for their magic. Imagine if there were armies of Tuscan hunters that were hundreds or thousands of men strong. Even if you pulled down their lord, another would only take his place and the problem would continue."


    "So the Jaws of Death are meant to ¡¯cull¡¯ strong groups," Ashlynn reasoned. "Bardas brings death on a larger scale because if he doesn¡¯t, the group he¡¯s targeted will cause extinction. It¡¯s not impossible to think of a world where too many Tuscan hunters overwhelm the Frost Walkers until there are none left to hunt."


    "And in that world, the Tuscan hunters would turn to the next target that struck their fancy," Nyrielle said. "Perhaps they would seek the hides of the Scaled Clan, or the teeth of the Heartwood Clan. If there are too many Tuscans hunting other clans, then those clans will eventually vanish from the earth."


    "I see," Ashlynn said. In a grim sort of way, it made sense. Bardas acted as a check on powerful groups, violently thinning their ranks until they posed less of a threat to others around them.


    The more she thought about it, the more it formed a strange sort of symmetry. Whether this was truly the reason that vampires existed or not, Shabnalu, Philosar and Bardas had found purpose in their existence. Their methods might be ruthless or cruel but from a certain perspective, they prevented more deaths than they caused. Each used their own unique nature to prevent greater tragedies from unfolding.


    "So, what about you, my love?" Ashlynn said gently. The fire had burned low again, casting long shadows across the room that danced across Nyrielle¡¯s delicate features, enhancing the hint of darkness that spilled from Nyrielle whenever her emotions ran strong enough to unconsciously touch her power.


    For a moment, she wondered if Nyrielle was even aware that she¡¯d pulled shadows to herself. Reaching out, she cupped her lover¡¯s face gently, letting her eyes say what words would have felt too impertinent to say out loud. It was fine. Whatever the answer was, Nyrielle didn¡¯t need to hide it from her.


    As much as Ashlynn wanted to keep things light and playful, they¡¯d finally reached the point where Nyrielle felt the most reluctant. Talking about Nyrielle¡¯s teacher or the other True Vampires was one thing, but none of them were anywhere nearby. None of it mattered at the moment. Now, when it came to Nyrielle herself, things were very different.


    Whether she believed the vampire¡¯s reasoning or not didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was that they believed, and that the person who mattered more to her than anyone else in the world likely believed as well.


    In a strange way, Ashlynn felt like she was finally coming to understand Nyrielle¡¯s faith. Only, in the faith of the vampires, Nyrielle wasn¡¯t just a believer, she was one of the pantheon¡¯s deities.


    "I am called the Harbinger of Death," Nyrielle said softly, her midnight blue eyes meeting Ashlynn¡¯s emerald gaze with great reluctance. "I bring about the death of the soul."

 Chapter 194: The Harbinger of Death

    Chapter 194: The Harbinger of Death"The death of the soul?" Ashlynn whispered. "What... does that..." her mind shook, struggling to process the concept. It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t understand. It was that it was too horrifying to accept.


    "If you can cause the death of the soul," Ashlynn said, her eyes trembling as she met Nyrielle¡¯s midnight gaze. "Then you can stop a person from ever reaching the Heavenly Shores. If they die, then they will never..."


    "That¡¯s a human belief," Nyrielle said, interrupting Ashlynn before her mind could go too far down that path.


    Nyrielle had seen too much of the human¡¯s ¡¯faith¡¯ in their ¡¯Holy Lord of Light.¡¯ To her, the scriptures that spoke of struggle and rebirth into a higher station were nothing more than methods to convince the masses to accept their painful lives while the lords above them carried a ¡¯divine mandate¡¯ because of supposed virtues in a previous life.


    She hoped that with time, Ashlynn¡¯s faith would fade. Years of experience and perspective would wear away at ideals her lover¡¯s beliefs like a millstone. It was pointless to argue matters of faith and asking Ashlynn to forsake her faith would only have created unnecessary conflict between them.


    The fact that the Church Ashlynn grew up in considered her to be a heretic who must be put to death was like a hand upon the wheel. The Church¡¯s lies about the Eldritch people were another one. Eventually, they would add up to something that eroded what faith Ashlynn still had in the Holy Lord of Light, freeing her from the human superstitions.


    Now, however, Nyrielle¡¯s nature presented an existential threat to Ashlynn¡¯s faith, one that could drive a wedge between them if she didn¡¯t address it.


    "I cannot say what happens to the soul after a person dies," Nyrielle said. "Not with any certainty. A vampire exists between life and death. I may be able to glimpse the other side but if I reach out too far toward death then I would succumb to it."


    "Can you feel it though?" Ashlynn asked. "Can you feel a soul¡¯s departure at the moment of death? Or see it?"


    "I can feel the moment that death overwhelms life," Nyrielle said. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh before giving Ashlynn the most earnest look she could. "You shouldn¡¯t think of my power as something that concerns itself with the afterlife."


    "If the death of the soul isn¡¯t about stopping someone from reaching the afterlife," Ashlynn said. "Then what is it about?"


    "You have studied history," Nyrielle said, brushing aside a lock of Ashlynn¡¯s hair and taking hold of both of her lover¡¯s hands. "Have you ever read of great men who lost their greatness? Men who were once fearless who became cowards, or people of great ambition who retired to a humble life?"


    "Of course," Ashlynn said, latching on to Nyrielle¡¯s words like a lifeline thrown to a woman drowning in the storm tossed sea. "The Church often speaks of such people as having given up the struggle but I think that¡¯s unkind. I think that those people have realized they were on the wrong path or that continuing as they had been would result in disaster."


    "That sort of thing is the lightest application of what my personal power is capable of," Nyrielle said. As she spoke, she held up a hand and filled it with a blossoming flower made of pure darkness.


    When Ashlynn looked at the dark flower, her heart froze in her chest. The flames in the hearth seemed to dim, as though the darkness emanating from Nyrielle¡¯s palm consumed even their light. The longer she stared at it, the less anything else seemed to matter. Her conflict with Owain felt small, petty and pointless. Reunion with her parents was unimportant. Learning witchcraft....


    With a flick of Nyrielle¡¯s hand, the darkness vanished. The room brightened and warmth rushed back into the room as though someone had thrown an additional log on the fire. Gently, Nyrielle placed her hand on Ashlynn¡¯s back, withdrawing any traces of her power that found their way to her lover.


    There wasn¡¯t much, the merest brush of darkness that clung to Ashlynn like a film of soap in a bath, but it was enough to cast the young woman¡¯s world in a bleak, desolate darkness until Nyrielle withdrew it.


    "You see?" Nyrielle said softly. "What I bring is the death of desire, the death of ambition, and even the death of the will to live. The death of hope and all things that make life worth living. When I say that I bring the death of the soul, that¡¯s what I mean." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But, I thought your greatest power was sorcery," Ashlynn said numbly. Nyrielle had withdrawn every trace of her power, but the memory of that sensation still left Ashlynn shaken. "You used blood curses against the abomination in the ancestral cave," she recalled. "And Thane always said that your unique gift among vampires was the strength of your sorcery."


    "The blood sorcery that I used is an imitation of my teacher¡¯s gift," Nyrielle said. "Compared to him, my skill is much lower. I could imitate the gifts of the others as well, just as they could imitate my gifts, but I would never dream of matching my blood sorcery against my teacher¡¯s. Likewise, if he fought me with darkness, he would have no chance of escaping the abyss that my power would drag him into."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, still struggling to come to terms with how Nyrielle had made her feel. She was grateful for the demonstration. It made it clear in a way that words couldn¡¯t that Nyrielle¡¯s power had nothing to do with preventing a person from finding their way to the Heavenly Shores in this life or the next.


    Though, if the Church was right, then Nyrielle could effectively end a person¡¯s struggle. If that happened, they might not only fail to reach the Heavenly Shores in this life, they might start again at the same point or an even lower one in the next life. It wasn¡¯t the same as destroying the soul outright but it was still deeply troubling.


    "This is why the Lothians have never conquered the Vale of Mists," Ashlynn realized. "This is why the wars always end as the price begins to mount. As long as you can reach the Marquis or his generals, they¡¯ll lose the will to keep fighting the war."


    "Reaching them is not as easy as you might think," Nyrielle pointed out. "The Lothian Marquis of every generation brings a High Priest to the battlefield with them. The risks of coming close enough to use my powers against a reigning Lothian are very high. The damage I can inflict from a safer distance is much less."


    "That¡¯s why Bors Lothian may have given up on attaining more personal glories," the vampire said. "But he¡¯s pushed all of his ambition onto his sons and he still works hard to pave the way for their conquest. I managed to force Bors to retire from the battlefield but I could never force a Lothian Marquis to give up on their fight against the Eldritch."


    "And even if you did, it would only result in someone else taking the throne earlier," Ashlynn realized. "If you¡¯d turned Bors Lothian into a hollowed out shell of a man with no ambition, the King would have appointed a regent or the march would have passed to the hands of Bors Lothian¡¯s surviving brother."


    "If you understand my limits," Nyrielle said softly. "Then you can understand the limits of the others. And your own limits as well. After all, witches and vampires are different parts of the same puzzle."


    "In what way?" Ashlynn asked. There was still a great deal for her to process about Nyrielle¡¯s revelations but she felt like, given a little time, the pieces would fit together for her. She couldn¡¯t say that it didn¡¯t change how she thought about Nyrielle, but it wasn¡¯t something that would destroy her faith in her partner or the trust that they¡¯d built.


    As much as Ashlynn hated to admit it, she was still very young and very new to this world of sorcery, witchcraft, vampires and everything Eldritch. If Nyrielle had told her that she could cause the death of souls two months ago, right after they¡¯d met, Ashlynn didn¡¯t know how she would have reacted but she felt that it would have been much harder to build the trust that currently existed between them.


    "Vampires are forces of death that serve life," Nyrielle said. "We destroy that which cannot be allowed to live so that others may not only live, but thrive."


    "That is a very elegant way of framing it," Ashlynn said. Given everything Nyrielle had said so far, as strange as it might sound for vampires to be ¡¯servants of life¡¯ who performed their service by sewing all forms of death, there was a cold, cruel sort of logic to it.


    "Your teacher may disagree with me," Nyrielle said. "But the common belief among vampires is that while we are forces of death who serve life, witches are forces of nature that serve the world."

 Chapter 195: The Hidden Power of a Witch’s Blood (Part One)

    Chapter 195: The Hidden Power of a Witch¡¯s Blood (Part One)"You already know that the place where you have the most power is deep in forests like the Vale of Mists," Nyrielle said. As she spoke, she pulled Ashlynn close and kept her voice low. "Looking back, I¡¯m grateful to Owain for ordering you to be taken outside of Lothian March to be buried. If they¡¯d dumped you in a shallow grave in Lothian City or outside some random farm, you might not have found enough power to sustain your life until I reached you."


    "That night," Ashlynn said quietly, thinking back on what she felt when she crawled out of the grave that Sir Tommin and Sir Broll had dumped her in. It felt like the trees themselves were responding to her. Like the forest wouldn¡¯t give up on her as long as she didn¡¯t give up on herself.


    "I felt like the trees pulled me along," she said. "Their roots helped me out of the ground but even after that, whenever I felt like I couldn¡¯t go any further, I¡¯d get a little push from the tree I was leaning about and I could stagger another hundred or two hundred paces further."


    "You used the power of nature in the High Pass," Nyrielle pointed out. "How did that feel?"


    "Cold," Ashlynn laughed. It might seem strange to people who hadn¡¯t experienced it, but her experience with ¡¯cold¡¯ that day had been just as intense as the fear and loss and everything else that she felt that day. Even now, her memory of that ¡¯cold¡¯ was strong and vivid.


    It wasn¡¯t just because it had been a bitterly cold day that included a plunge beneath the surface of the frozen lake but because when she had drawn on the energy of the frigid wind and the icy water beneath her feet it felt like she was filling herself up with ice water.


    "I was able to use the energy of the wind and ice," Ashlynn said, shivering as she recalled the feeling of the magic in the air that day. At the time, all she cared about was finding the strength to fight back against the Tuscans and to avenge Andrus¡¯ death, but looking back, it had been a very risky use of her power. "But it didn¡¯t feel comfortable at all. Like it was reluctant to help me and that it wasn¡¯t meant for me."


    "That¡¯s because you¡¯re the next Mother of Trees," Nyrielle explained, pulling one of the plush blankets closer and wrapping it around herself and Ashlynn. The fire in the hearth had almost burned down to nothing but the early morning air was still chill and the memories she had provoked clearly made it harder for Ashlynn to ignore the chill in the air.


    "I¡¯m not aware of all of the major witches," Nyrielle said. "You¡¯ll really need to ask your teacher about them. Besides you and the Mother of Thorns, I¡¯ve also encountered the Mother of Storms and the Father of Earth. I¡¯ve heard that there was once a Father of Cataclysms who held domain over the eruption of volcanos, earthquakes and the greatest forces of natural destruction, but if that¡¯s true, they haven¡¯t been seen on this continent for my entire life."


    "Just like vampires exist as predators who serve life by killing people and groups who would bring about extinction, witches serve the natural order of the world," the vampire said. "Because of that deep connection to nature, you are also deeply connected to life. A vampire can prevent the loss of life, but they cannot create it. Witches can."


    "You said that vampires have a reason to exist," Ashlynn said, pulling the blankets closer and snuggling against Nyrielle. "You stop people from abusing power to cause widespread loss of life. Then, what is the purpose of witches? How do we serve the ¡¯natural order¡¯ of things?" S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I don¡¯t know," Nyrielle whispered, her lips hovering just above Ashlynn¡¯s head. She had thoughts, things she believed, and things she¡¯d learned from her own teacher, but she didn¡¯t want Ashlynn to learn much about witches from her. Some things, it was better that she learn from the Mother of Thorns. Others, however, Nyrielle resolved herself to be the one to share.


    "What I do know is that your connection to life is much stronger than mine," Nyrielle said softly. "And, now that we are bound together, your connection to life is affecting me. Not in a bad way," she added quickly. "But I¡¯m changing, and the changes are more pronounced every time I feed on you."


    "What, what kind of changes?" Ashlynn asked. She twisted herself around in the blankets and Nyrielle¡¯s embrace until she could look her lover in the eyes. The expression she saw from Nyrielle was soft and tender, filled with affection as she gently stroked Ashlynn¡¯s hair.


    "I can feel," Nyrielle said. "Time is like a millstone on a vampire¡¯s emotions. Love, hate, joy, sadness... they all wear down until they are only echoes of what they should have been. I, I didn¡¯t think my heart was capable of love after my parents died. I promised you affection, but love is something beyond the actions of affection."


    "Then, do you love me?" Ashlynn asked. Her heart beat faster in her chest, keeping time with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat alongside it as both women fell into each other¡¯s watery eyes. For Ashlynn, the outside world completely fell away as she waited to hear Nyrielle¡¯s answer.


    "I do," Nyrielle whispered, bringing her lips close enough to Ashlynn¡¯s to bestow a light kiss on the surface of her lover¡¯s lips. The dying fire cast a soft golden glow across their faces as the last stars faded outside their window. "I¡¯ve been uncertain, but the closer we come, the more time we spend and... and the more I feed on you, the richer the world becomes."


    "I don¡¯t just love you," she added. "I am happy when I am with you in a way I couldn¡¯t be happy before. When I think of what Owain Lothian did to you, a hotter rage burns in my heart than any I¡¯ve felt since Cellach Lothian burned down everything and everyone that mattered to me. I feel, because of you."

 Chapter 196: The Hidden Power of a Witch’s Blood (Part Two)

    Chapter 196: The Hidden Power of a Witch¡¯s Blood (Part Two)"Then I¡¯m happy," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and resting her head against Nyrielle¡¯s chest. The sound of the vampire¡¯s heartbeat in time with the echo of that heartbeat in her own chest had become a powerful talisman of connection in Ashlynn¡¯s heart and she reveled in both the sound of her lover¡¯s heartbeat and the faint fragrance of lavender soap that clung to her even after such a long and eventful day.


    "You¡¯ve given me so much. Taught me so much, protected me from my enemies, and helped me to grow stronger. I felt like I hadn¡¯t given you anything to be worthy of all that you¡¯ve done for me."


    "With this," she said, opening her eyes and looking up at Nyrielle through eyelashes that held joyous tears. "I feel like I¡¯ve given you something as priceless as what you¡¯ve given me."


    "You know that I will treasure you for our entire lives," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a tender smile before she continued. She didn¡¯t want to say what came next but she wanted even less for Jacques to be the one to tell Ashlynn.


    "There is one more thing you should know about what you could mean to me," the vampire said with great reluctance. "It¡¯s why Jacques thinks he might need to protect you from me. A witch¡¯s blood is a powerful, potent thing. Look at how much you have changed me just by allowing me to feed once or twice a month."


    "You feed more than that," Ashlynn teased, stretching her face toward Nyrielle and kissing her lips firmly enough to bite gently on the vampire¡¯s lower lip. "You sample me regularly when we kiss."


    "I suppose that¡¯s part of why you¡¯ve transformed me so much, so quickly," Nyrielle said with a warm smile. "But there is a different value that a witch¡¯s blood can offer a vampire. I¡¯ve explained to you that a vampire is balanced on the edge between life and death."


    "There are many things that can pull even a True Vampire over the edge into the dark oblivion of death," she said. "We are timeless, ageless, and undying, but we are not truly immortal. We can still die and many of us have over the years. We can be killed. But there is also a path for us to live again."


    "A witch¡¯s blood," Ashlynn whispered, her face growing pale as she realized what Nyrielle was building toward. "But, you taught me in the very beginning with sorcery, energy has to come from somewhere. For a vampire to ¡¯live¡¯ again... the witch must die?"


    She said it as a question, but deep in her heart, Ashlynn already knew the answer. No wonder the Mother of Thorns had sent a witch like Jacques to protect Ashlynn, not just from Nyrielle but perhaps from the other vampires around her. Even if Ashlynn trusted Nyrielle with her life, the temptation that a witch¡¯s blood represented couldn¡¯t be underestimated.


    And... if Nyrielle ever lost control...


    "Is that what almost happened the night of the opera?" Ashlynn asked, her voice trembling as the thought occurred to her. "Did we come close to the point where I would have died so you could... live?"


    "Perhaps," Nyrielle said, closing her eyes and turning away from Ashlynn. As strong as her young lover was, she couldn¡¯t escape the fear that came from that moment, and seeing even a trace of it on her lover¡¯s face hurt more than any wound she¡¯d ever suffered in battle. "I don¡¯t know what happened then. It¡¯s never happened to me before. I think, I think it could only ever happen with you."


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, reaching up to turn her lover¡¯s face back toward her. "Kiss me," she commanded, meeting Nyrielle¡¯s startled gaze with determined emerald eyes. "Kiss me and bite me," she said, leaning forward to envelop Nyrielle¡¯s soft lips with her own. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Some things couldn¡¯t be expressed in words, they could only be expressed physically. Right now, fear boiled in Ashlynn¡¯s heart but only a small portion of it was fear that her lover would hurt her. Ashlynn couldn¡¯t conceive of Nyrielle betraying her in order to live as something other than a vampire. Not when she knew how much being together had come to mean to the other woman.


    Instead, the fear that seethed in her chest was the fear that the risks and the dangers would somehow pull them apart. That she would lose the woman who meant more to her than she¡¯d ever thought possible.


    So when Ashlynn reached out to take Nyrielle¡¯s lips in her own, she pressed forward with her whole body, wrapping her arms around the other woman and pressing her down into the soft feather bed as if to trap her there. What words couldn¡¯t say, she expressed with her body, her hands, her lips, and her tongue that desperately sought an answer from Nyrielle.


    Slowly, as if she were stunned by Ashlynn¡¯s ferocity, Nyrielle began to return the kiss and the passion Ashlynn claimed her with. Her fangs elongated and she bit down ever so gently on Ashlynn¡¯s lower lip, spilling a trace of blood that sealed their kiss.


    The energy that flowed between them in that moment was thin and minuscule next to what they felt when Nyrielle truly fed, and the pleasure that flowed from Nyrielle¡¯s bite lacked the overwhelming nature of the times that Nyrielle had pierced her neck or thigh, but that didn¡¯t matter to either of them.


    The kiss was a promise. There were dangers ahead, and some of that danger came from Nyrielle herself, but both of them were determined to face those dangers together. Now, Ashlynn finally understood the risk but she refused to run from the danger. And, as long as Ashlynn was willing, Nyrielle promised herself that she would never push Ashlynn away. They would face the future together.


    Their promise didn¡¯t need words, just the kiss was enough for each of them to understand the other woman¡¯s heart. For now, that was all they needed.

 Chapter 197: Heila vs. Jacques

    Chapter 197: Heila vs. JacquesHours later, well after the sun had risen and Nyrielle retreated to the chambers High Lady Erna had prepared for her beneath the ground, Heila sat outside Ashlynn¡¯s bed chamber waiting for her lady to wake.


    The late morning sun streamed through the lattice stonework of the tall windows, warming the stone floors and casting dappled shadows on the far wall. Elsewhere, the palace had begun to stir with the sounds of servants going about their daily tasks, but this wing remained peaceful, preserved for important guests like Lady Nyrielle who shouldn¡¯t be disturbed.


    In truth, High Lady Erna had made extra efforts years ago in remodeling this wing to add underground rooms in the hopes that Nyrielle would visit more often. Most Eldritch Lords who had reason to visit the High Fen would have resided in the chambers Ashlynn currently occupied.


    Only Nyrielle and others like her would give up the opulent chambers with their expansive views of the palace gardens and the city beyond to allow another member of their household to enjoy the luxurious treatment in the rooms above ground.


    While she waited outside Ashlynn¡¯s bed chamber, Heila held an embroidery hoop in her hands along with a brand new silk handkerchief. A rich, coppery thread ran through her fingers as she delicately worked away at the soft, chocolate-brown fabric. Two completed handkerchiefs sat neatly folded next to her, each bearing an elaborately stylized letter ¡¯H.¡¯


    Their stay in High Fen City would only last a few days and when Ashlynn included a new set of handkerchiefs in the wardrobe she purchased for Heila, her diminutive lady-in-waiting had insisted that she could monogram them herself.


    It was already an indulgence for her to receive so many fine dresses and expensive accessories. There was no reason to spend extra to make an embroiderer rush their work before they left the city for the final leg of Ashlynn¡¯s journey to the Mother of Thorns. Besides, embroidery was one of the parts of her job that she found genuine joy in.


    That joy, simple as it was, only lasted until the late morning, just an hour or so before midday, when a guest came calling, escorted by Captain Lennart and one of the serpentine palace guards assigned by High Lady Erna¡¯s majordomo to keep watch over Lady Nyrielle and her entourage.


    "Lady Heila," Lennart said, giving a crisp bow when he entered. After hearing what happened during the masquerade, he wasn¡¯t favorably inclined toward their guest but he didn¡¯t dare to refuse the man¡¯s request for an audience either. He could only ensure that Heila knew she wasn¡¯t facing the man alone and hope that things went smoothly.


    "Good morning, ma petite flower," Jacques said when he entered the sitting room. Now that the masquerade had passed, the reptilian witch had traded his elegantly embroidered tailcoat for a much simpler long coat worn over a simple tunic, waistcoat, and breeches, all of them in dull browns and yellows that felt comfortable and well-worn.


    The only part of his appearance that spoke to his station was the wide-brimmed pointed hat that he took in one hand to use in making a sweeping bow as he greeted the diminutive horned woman. Much like the rest of his ensemble, the hat was dull brown and looked well worn. What made it exceptional, however, were the collection of stoppered vials tucked into the leather hatband and the long, golden feathers that nestled beside them.


    Heila¡¯s knowledge of sorcery was very limited. She¡¯d begun to receive lessons from Zedya while they traveled but at best she could be considered a beginner who knew a few simple ways to use her very limited power. When she looked at Jacques hat, however, even her barely trained eyes realized that neither the vials in the hat band nor the feathers themselves were ordinary objects.


    "Why have you come here, Sir Jacques," she said politely, setting aside her embroidery and standing to greet the witch. After last night, her impression of the man was fairly poor but at least today he wasn¡¯t radiating a thorny aura that threatened to spill blood if someone approached him too closely.


    "Ah, it ain¡¯t quite time for de midday sun yet, non? But I done come here early to invite your lady for a bit of lunch," the Sandbox Witch said, flashing his toothy grin as he settled his wide-brimmed hat back on his head. "Before we start our travels together, I figured we should get to know each other better, cher."


    "Lady Ashlynn is resting," Heila said firmly. "She only went to sleep after the sun rose when Lady Nyrielle retired for the day. I¡¯m afraid that if you want to take a meal with Lady Ashlynn, you¡¯ve come several hours too early."


    "Ah, I see how it is," Jacques said, his tone both disappointed and unsurprised. "She¡¯s keepin¡¯ vampire hours den? Dat ain¡¯t no good for a witch like her. Trees need deir time in de sun, non?"


    "This is the best thing for her," Heila refuted. "The days have become very long and the nights are very short. My lady treasures every minute she is able to spend at Lady Nyrielle¡¯s side. There are plenty of hours of daylight for her before the sun sets."


    "Besides," she added, thinking about the mighty cedar trees that grew in the Vale of Mists where direct sun was less common. "Not all trees demand the light. Some thrive in the cool mist and the shade."


    "You ain¡¯t just some simple thing now, are you cher?" Jacques said, looking at the diminutive servant with fresh eyes. "Let me make tings right between us. Right now, you¡¯re as prickly as I am, and dat won¡¯t do once we¡¯re on de road together. I spilled my blood to make tings right wit your lady for hurtin¡¯ you, but I never said nothin¡¯ to you direct. Since your lady gonna sleep late anyway, let me treat you to a proper meal, non?"


    "You don¡¯t need to apologize to me," Heila said curtly. "My lady already secured your apology. You can return again when she wakes, my place is here until she tells me otherwise." S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ah, why you gotta be like dat, cher?" Jacques protested. "Mon capitaine," he said, turning to Lennart with a pleading look in his golden eyes and spreading his hands wide helplessly. "Is it really like dis? Dis petite dame, she¡¯s bound up in chains till her lady says she can eat? Surely a little ting like dis is permitted, non?"


    Being suddenly pulled into the conflict between the two, Lennart furrowed his brow slightly before he schooled his features into a professional mask. He might not appreciate the man, but nothing positive would ever come from offending a witch.


    "Lady Heila," Lennart offered. "I can take over the watch at Lady Ashlynn¡¯s door. If she requires anything, I¡¯m sure the staff at the palace can help me to fetch whatever is required. This," he said awkwardly. "This isn¡¯t an invitation you need to refuse," he said, hoping that Heila understood the message implied by his words.


    While Heila might have been a common servant in Lady Nyrielle¡¯s castle until recently, she wasn¡¯t oblivious to the subtle methods used to communicate around people with power. While Lennart said that this wasn¡¯t an invitation she ¡¯needed¡¯ to refuse, clearly it was also an invitation she shouldn¡¯t refuse.


    On top of that, he had gone out of his way to remove her excuse for why she couldn¡¯t accept the invitation. If she pushed back now, it would only make things more awkward.


    "Thank you, Captain," she said, gathering her courage to leave the palace in the company of this witch.


    "Can I trouble you to assign an escort for me?" Heila asked. It might be pointless. Besides Ashlynn, Madame Zedya and Lady Nyrielle herself, Heila doubted that anyone could resist violence from the Sandbox Witch if it came to that. Still, if she could have just one more person watching out for her, it would do a great deal to calm her nerves.


    "I¡¯ll let Virve know that you could use an escort," Lennart said. "I¡¯m sure she¡¯d be happy to keep an eye out for you," he added, giving a pointed look at the reptilian man.


    "Ah, everyone here be so proper, so careful," Jacques said, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. "You ain¡¯t gonna have no trouble from me, but you do what you need to do, cher. I¡¯ll just wait over der till you ready to go, Mademoiselle Heila," he said, offering an elegant bow before he made his way toward a nearby garden.


    "I¡¯m sorry, Lady Heila," Lennart said after the witch had left. "Some things are just too difficult to refuse. I didn¡¯t think he would invite you out or I would have stopped him at the gates myself. I thought he¡¯d have the sense to leave until Lady Ashlynn was ready to see guests."


    "It¡¯s fine, Lennart," Heila said, carefully packing away her embroidery. "You did well. I¡¯m the one who¡¯s struggling. Thank you," she added, offering a small bow. "For correcting me."


    "Of course," the bearish man said. "And, Lady Heila, if he does anything untoward, please, don¡¯t hesitate to rush back. Even if it feels like too much for you to bear, it¡¯s not too much for Lady Nyrielle to bear and you¡¯re under her protection."


    "I know," Heila said, though she was grateful for the reminder. "Now I just need to find out what he wants from me."

 Chapter 198: The House of Iron

    Chapter 198: The House of IronClearly, Jacques had no plans to fail in his desire to share a meal with Ashlynn or if not her, then her closest attendant. The carriage ride, once everyone was in place, lasted only a few minutes before they arrived at a large building that occupied almost an entire city block.


    Marble statues of heroic warriors adorned the exterior of the blocky four-story building and well-dressed men and women from a number of Eldritch clans queued up at the front entrance to the building. The sign emblazoned over the door read ¡¯House of Iron¡¯ in an elaborate script that looked like it had actually been formed of carefully shaped wrought iron.


    When the carriage bearing the glyph of the High Lady Erna¡¯s palace rolled up, however, people quickly got out of the way while several onlookers craned their necks for a better look at who was arriving from the palace.


    "Hop on down now, ma petite," Jacques said after stepping out of the carriage and placing his wide-brimmed hat on his head. He held out a four-fingered hand to Heila and bowed as deeply as any footman would despite his extraordinary status.


    When Heila moved to step out of the carriage, she hesitated for a moment, uncertain about accepting his hand. His prickly aura had been so completely withdrawn that she didn¡¯t sense the slightest threat from him and yet she couldn¡¯t shake off the memory of how painful it had been to approach him the night before when he took Ashlynn to the dance floor.


    In the end, the presence of so many watching eyes left Heila feeling like she couldn¡¯t be blatantly rude and reject his hand. At the same time, she barely put any weight on his hand as she hopped out of the carriage, giving him only the briefest touch to maintain appearances.


    "That, that¡¯s the Sandbox Witch! If he¡¯s helping someone out of a carriage, it must be Seneschal Ashlynn," someone in the crowd gasped. "The next Mother of Trees has come to the House of Iron!"


    "I thought the Seneschal of Lady Nyrielle was human?" another person countered, doubting the first man¡¯s claim. "This woman is from the Horned Clan."


    "You weren¡¯t there last night," an elegantly dressed serpentine woman said. She held a lace fan in one hand and hid her smile behind it as she watched Heila exit the carriage with none of the grace one would expect of a person of high status. In fact, given the scale of the carriage and her own diminutive stature, she seemed almost childish even though she was clearly a full-grown woman.


    "That woman is a close friend of the Seneschal," the woman explained. "Last night at the masquerade, the Sandbox Witch injured her and Seneschal Ashlynn demanded three drops of blood from him as an apology."


    "No, I don¡¯t believe it," a nearby man said. "If someone demanded blood from a witch at the masquerade, we¡¯d have heard about the destruction of the great hall by now."


    "Believe it or not," the serpentine woman said, her eyes twinkling as she watched the diminutive horned woman accompany the witch into the building. "But I¡¯m going to find my opportunity to speak with her today if I can. Today isn¡¯t a day to sit in the cheap seats."


    Once they climbed the marble steps and entered the building, Heila was greeted by the sight of a grand foyer with rich tapestries on the walls and a graceful fountain splashing in the center of the room. Within a few heartbeats of entering, a member of the staff wearing a steely gray livery rushed over and bowed deeply to Jacques.


    "The House of Iron is pleased to welcome a visit from the Sandbox Witch," the man said formally. "And your guest is?" he asked, clearly surprised at Heila¡¯s appearance. When Jacques visited earlier he had mentioned that he would be bringing a guest but the diminutive horned woman accompanying him didn¡¯t match with the woman he¡¯d been told to expect.


    "Ah, dis here is Mademoiselle Heila, she, eh, now what did you say your title was cher?" Jacques asked with a puzzled look. Every Eldritch Lord had their own customs in organizing their house and most notable servants but Lady Nyrielle borrowed from so many human traditions in organizing hers that it still felt very strange to the Eldritch witch.


    "I am Seneschal Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting," Heila explained to the man from the House of Iron, all but ignoring Jacques. "You can think of me as her personal assistant and confidant." sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Der, you see? Cher isn¡¯t so simple as she looks," Jacques said with a wide grin that revealed a long row of sharp teeth. "Seneschal Ashlynn is still keeping vampire time and couldn¡¯t attend today. My table should still work for the two of us, non?"


    "Of course," the man said, bowing deeply. "If you¡¯ll follow me," he said politely before leading the way up several flights of carpeted stairs until they arrived on the top floor of the building.


    When they stepped from the interior hallways onto the outdoor terrace level, Heila gasped in surprise at the sight that greeted her.


    Rather than a great hall or grand entertaining space, the House of Iron was built like a hollow cube. On the bottom level, a raised stone platform played host to a group of men dressed as gladiators, fighting for the entertainment of the people sitting around the platform.


    The first level seemed to be stadium-style seating, long benches had been raised one behind the other to let people have the best view possible while they ate their meals. The food on the lowest level seemed to be similar to what Heila had eaten in the park with Ashlynn on their first day in High Fen City, grilled meats in rich sauces heaped on flatbread that could easily be eaten by people watching the fights.


    The levels above that were increasingly luxurious. The second floor offered long tables that were shared by many where servants passed large platters of meat, vegetables, and flatbreads for people to help themselves. The food wasn¡¯t much different from the floor below but the experience and the view were certainly better.


    The third floor offered a truly private dining experience with individual tables for each group of patrons, decanters of wine and ale for each table and a servant who moved from one table to the next to ensure people¡¯s needs were met.


    The top level where Heila and Jacques had arrived, however, was the only one to provide an experience that could be called luxurious. Simple chairs and tables had been replaced with padded lounge chairs and comfortable sofas.


    Each small seating area hosted several servants to attend to their patron¡¯s every need, including charming women holding large fans whose only job appeared to be keeping patrons cool as the sun moved across the sky and the sun fell more directly on some patrons than others.


    The lowest level seemed to be the most raucous with people cheering and stomping to encourage fighters on the stage. As Heila¡¯s gaze ascended the levels of the House of Iron, she realized that the clientele of each level was not only wealthier and more refined but they seemed more reserved in their appreciation for the spectacle below.


    "De food here be somethin¡¯ special, cher," Jacques told Heila as they took their seats. "You like de spicy tings? Or is de Horned Clan more for eatin¡¯ grass? I see so few of your people down south, my mind fails a bit on de details," he said, smiling and tapping his temple with a clawed finger.


    "We eat meat," Heila said, shaking her head. She didn¡¯t believe that someone as important and well-connected as Jacques could actually be so ignorant of the customs of the Vale of Mists and the people that lived there, especially not when Zedya had lived in the Briar for a time as the Mother of Thorns¡¯ student. Which meant that Jacques¡¯s offhand forgetfulness was deliberate, but why? Just to provoke a reaction from her?


    "So, this is the legendary arena?" Heila asked, trying to shift the topic. "The place where Lady Nyrielle fought night after night to find champions to help her reclaim the Vale?"


    "Dis? Non, dis ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ like dat arena," Jacques said with a rich laugh. "Dat arena, she be much grander dan dis little stage. Non, cher, dis just be a place where folk come to eat and watch de fights."


    "Although," he added, gesturing toward a flight of stairs that wrapped around the interior of the House of Iron, leading all the way from the top level where they sat to the entrance to the fighting area on the ground floor. "Some folk like to show off a bit for deir friends too."


    As he spoke, a young serpentine man separated from his companions receiving several cheers and words of encouragement as he descended to the arena. When he reached the stage, an attendant guided him onto the platform where he selected a heavy curved sword and buckler for himself from an assortment of weapons.


    At the opposite side of the stage, a fighter from the Clan of Painted Masks stepped onto the platform, holding up his slender blade to scattered applause from the lowest levels of the venue.


    "Adonia," the young man who had descended from the third level shouted, looking up at a golden-scaled woman among his companions. "I dedicate my victory to you!"


    "Brat," the young man¡¯s opponent said, brandishing his slender blade in a blur of motion. "Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s bad luck to dedicate your victory to a lady before you¡¯ve claimed it? Now your love is doomed."


    "Doomed if I lose, and blessed if I win," the serpentine man said with a predatory grin. "But now that I¡¯ve said it, I can¡¯t lose!"

 Chapter 199: What Do You Know of Love?

    Chapter 199: What Do You Know of Love?"He¡¯s really doing this just to show off for a woman?" Heila said, looking at Jacques in surprise. "If he¡¯s badly injured, even if she loves him, she won¡¯t be happy."


    "Different people prove their love in different ways, cher," Jacques said after giving their order to one of the nearby servants. Since Heila didn¡¯t seem to be interested in the dishes he ordered an assortment of things for her. "Some fight wit¡¯ swords, some wit¡¯ words, but dey all tryin¡¯ to show what¡¯s in deir hearts, non?"


    Heila gave Jacques a puzzled look when she heard his answer. Not long ago, she¡¯d fancied another young servant who worked in the soldier¡¯s quarters but nothing had ever come of it, especially when she began to serve Lady Ashlynn and her station changed drastically within the hierarchy of servants in the castle.


    Later, she¡¯d felt a glimmer of attraction to Andrus while they had been fishing but... she drew a deep breath and chased away her thoughts about how things had ended there. Even if she tried to ignore it, the events on the lake still left a strong impression on her.


    Fighting should be a thing reserved for defending your life and the lives of your loved ones, shouldn¡¯t it? Fighting like this, to produce a spectacle in the arena as if it proved how much someone loved the person who had caught their heart, it just didn¡¯t sit well with her. If someone were going to fight for her, she didn¡¯t want to see them rushing to their deaths in pointless battles, they should only fight when it truly mattered. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Next to her, Jacques watched quietly as a range of emotions played across the young horned woman¡¯s face. It seemed like the young man on the stage had struck an unexpected chord with the young lady-in-waiting.


    "How much do you know of love, ma petite?" Jacques asked lightly. "You have someone special to you? Maybe someone back home in de Vale?"


    "No," Heila said, shaking her head vigorously enough to send her long brown curls flying around her face as she blushed furiously at how clearly the witch seemed to have seen through her thoughts. "Maybe I never will. I¡¯m dedicating my life to Lady Ashlynn. There may not be opportunities to find love."


    "Ah, der you go again, chained to your lady," Jacques said with an exaggerated sigh. "But I suppose she¡¯s the same as you, trapped in a life without love now dat she¡¯s done bound herself wit¡¯ Lady Nyrielle."


    "She¡¯s not trapped in a life without love," Heila said fiercely, restraining herself from saying more only because servants had begun to arrive with several platters of roasted meats and vegetables alongside a veritable rainbow of sweet, savory, and spicy-smelling sauces.


    "It¡¯s all right, cher," Jacques said, leaning back on his soft lounge chair and dropping a saucy piece of meat into his mouth as he watched the fight play out on the stage below.


    The young man with the sword and shield seemed to be struggling to fend off his opponents¡¯ rapid thrusts and he bled freely from several minor cuts to his forearms and the lower third of his tail but from the determined look in his eyes, he didn¡¯t consider himself to be anywhere near defeat.


    "I know how de vampires are," he continued. "I spent some time with Mademoiselle Zedya when she learned under maman¡¯s roof. Ain¡¯t no love in a heart dat¡¯s dead, cher. What de vampires do, dey¡¯s pretending like they feel but ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ of substance underneath the act."


    "You¡¯re wrong," Heila said, her small hands clenching into fists beneath the table. She ignored the food on the table to focus on the conversation instead. The meal didn¡¯t hold any real interest to her in the first place and the fight below held even less, but for Jacques to suggest that Lady Nyrielle didn¡¯t love Lady Ashlynn was an almost heretical statement in the young woman¡¯s eyes.


    "You may have spent some time with Madame Zedya," she said firmly. "But I lived my whole life with her, Sir Thane, Sir Marcell, Lady Nyrielle, and the others. Their hearts aren¡¯t dead, just cold. They still feel when something is important enough and nothing is more important to Lady Nyrielle than Lady Ashlynn."


    Heila had seen things that few people ever would. She¡¯d seen the bite marks on Ashlynn¡¯s skin before they healed, even when they appeared in the most intimate places on her body. She¡¯d seen the way Nyrielle became softer and vulnerable when Ashlynn was around and she¡¯d seen the fury in the vampire¡¯s eyes when something threatened to harm Ashlynn.


    If what Nyrielle and Ashlynn felt for each other wasn¡¯t love then Heila didn¡¯t think anyone knew what love was. The idea that someone could pretend like that was so ridiculous that she would have laughed in their face if it hadn¡¯t been a powerful witch who was making the suggestion.


    "So you say, cher, so you say," Jacques said. He wondered whether the young woman¡¯s words were really true or not. He¡¯d spent too little time with Ashlynn and Nyrielle during the Masquerade and what little he¡¯d seen made it hard to distinguish between genuine affection and performative possessiveness.


    Vampires were long-lived creatures with centuries of experience mimicking the emotions and actions of mortals. They could appear charming, lovestruck, bitter and vengeful, even pious and humble if it served their purposes. The only true face of a vampire, according to everything he¡¯d been taught, was the empty emotionless mask that revealed how dead their hearts truly were.


    If Ashlynn was being manipulated into believing that a vampire loved her, Jacques and the Mother of Thorns would need to do everything in their power to help her understand the truth before she became a victim of Nyrielle¡¯s schemes. But... if the love between them was as real as this young woman seemed to think, then that would change things substantially.


    "De food really is a treat," Jacques prompted when he realized that Heila seemed to have no intention in joining him in eating. "I ordered sometin¡¯ of everytin¡¯," he added. "Should be sometin¡¯ you like der, no?


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said, turning away from the witch to watch the fight on the stage below. "I wasn¡¯t expecting to take a meal until Lady Ashlynn woke up and broke her fast. You didn¡¯t need to get me anything," she said.


    He¡¯d ordered for her without asking what she wanted. Was she supposed to just play along and act like they were on a date? The idea struck her as far too strange. She¡¯d come along because she had to but she still didn¡¯t like the reptilian witch, especially when he suggested that Nyrielle was somehow incapable of loving Ashlynn. As far as Heila was concerned, the sooner she could return back to Ashlynn¡¯s side and get away from this man, the better.


    "Your loss, ma petite," Jacques said, helping himself to another portion of saucy meat. It was a shame that the young woman wasn¡¯t willing to lower her guard around him and just enjoy the meal but the meal wasn¡¯t really the purpose of bringing her here to begin with.


    The important part would come later. Until then, everything else was just a way to pass the time. If the time passed pleasantly then that was good. If it didn¡¯t, then that was regrettable but it wouldn¡¯t be the end of the world. As long as he accomplished his purpose in coming here then he was certain that everything else would work out in the end.

 Chapter 200: Making Friends

    Chapter 200: Making FriendsThe fight on the platform finally came to an end when the serpentine patron managed to catch his nimble opponent¡¯s ankle with his tail, pulling the other man¡¯s feet out from under him and claiming victory with the point of his sword pressed against the fallen man¡¯s neck.


    Cheers erupted from the group of people the young man had been eating with and the woman he had called out to raced down the steps, rushing to the fighting platform and nervously examining the man¡¯s wounds.


    "Jus¡¯ like dat, you see, cher?" Jacques said, pointing at the couple on the stage and grinning widely. "De gentleman done proved his love. Ain¡¯t dat a sweet ting?"


    "I don¡¯t think that fight proves anything," Heila said, shaking her head. "Real battles aren¡¯t like that," she added, frowning in thought. The duel might not have been scripted but there were clearly limits in place. Each man fought hard to subdue his opponent but they clearly weren¡¯t fighting to the death.


    "Virve," Heila said, turning to the woman who had stood silently at her shoulder since their arrival. "What do you make of the fight?"


    "As my Lady says," the bearish veteran soldier said. "Real battles are different from this. I¡¯ve watched fights in the main arena as well," she added. "Things are more serious there than what we¡¯ve seen here."


    "Oh? So dis, in your eyes, don¡¯t count for noting¡¯ much," Jacques said, giving both women an evaluating glance. While the guardswoman who accompanied Heila seemed both competent and experienced, Jacques wondered where the little maid servant formed her opinions about what real battles were like.


    He knew that Zedya, despite being a lady¡¯s servant, carried heavy blades that she could fight with in a pinch but this serving girl carried nothing more than a simple two inch blade at her waist. Useful as a tool and for cutting food but hardly the sort of thing that could turn her from a lady¡¯s maid into a hidden bodyguard.


    "Still, de gentleman at least done right by his lady, non?" the witch said, raising a scaly brow at Heila.


    "At the very least, he didn¡¯t fail her," Heila reluctantly agreed. If he¡¯d gotten himself severely wounded or even died in a match that served no purpose, Heila would have considered that a great tragedy and a betrayal of whatever feelings the woman might have for him. "But I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the same as doing right by her. If this is all there is to see here, I should return to Lady Ashlynn¡¯s side."


    "Why so hasty, ma petite? But since you¡¯re so reluctant, maybe I can find a way to hurry things along," he said, standing from his padded lounge chair and walking over to one of the nearby servants. After exchanging a few quiet words, the witch looked back at Heila with a charming grin.


    "Jus¡¯ sit here a spell, I¡¯ll check on tings¡¯ down below," he said, following a servant back into the interior of the building before Heila could make any comment about it.


    "Virve," Heila said once Jacques had left. "Should we just go? Would it cause more trouble?"


    "I understand wanting to leave, my Lady," the veteran guard said. "But, for the same reasons that Captain Lennart suggested you come, it would be bad to leave abruptly. Please endure a bit longer."


    "I wish Lady Ashlynn could have come," Heila said a touch petulantly. "She¡¯s better at dealing with people like him."


    "Excuse me," a light, feminine voice called as a richly dressed serpentine woman followed by a small group of other women approached Heila¡¯s table. "I couldn¡¯t help but notice that the Sandbox Witch left you all alone up here, would you like some company?"


    "I may not be Seneschal Ashlynn," the woman said, lowering herself in a show of modesty. "But I like to think that I can hold up my end of the conversation and we didn¡¯t get a chance to speak much at the masquerade."


    "Oh?" Heila asked, trying to place the woman before her. "You were at the masquerade?"


    "I was," the woman said, smoothly taking an open seat at the table and gesturing for the women following her to do the same. "My name is Nereida, these are my friends Eusebia and Delmatia. We spoke briefly at the masquerade about pearls," she added, hoping that Heila would remember.


    It had been a very brief conversation and one that she handled badly, but it was also the only connection she had to the future Mother of Trees. Encountering Heila at a place like this was a second chance to make a better impression and it wasn¡¯t one she intended to miss.


    "Oh, I remember," Heila said. She¡¯d been targeted along with these women when Jacques tried to keep people away from Ashlynn. "Please, join me, you¡¯re welcome to any of the food you¡¯d like," she said with a warm smile.


    Normally, she would have no interest in playing host to random strangers she¡¯d only met once, but since Jacques tried to keep them away from Ashlynn, in Heila¡¯s mind, that was already a reason to make friends with them.


    "Is the food not to your taste?" Nereida asked. "I¡¯m not familiar with the Vale of Mists but I¡¯ve been told that you take things more..." she paused, looking for the right word that wouldn¡¯t cause offense. "Rustic?"


    It sounded complimentary, or at least, Nereida hoped it did. In truth, what she¡¯d heard from her husband was that the Vale of Mists had fallen into poverty and lived like simple villagers. As someone who made their fortune trading in luxury goods, the Vale of Mists hadn¡¯t been a place worth visiting for a very long time. Were it not for Lady Nyrielle¡¯s legendary status in the arena, most people in High Fen City would likely have forgotten that the Vale exists.


    "I didn¡¯t order any of this," Heila said simply. "The Sandbox Witch ordered for me."


    "I... see," Nereida said carefully. After seeing what happened at the masquerade, she understood that things weren¡¯t entirely settled between Heila and the Sandbox Witch. That created an opportunity to become friends but also presented a risk as getting involved in any lingering dispute could draw the ire of a powerful witch. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If Madame Heila would prefer something else," one of the servants said, stepping forward politely. "We would be happy to oblige."


    Seeing that Heila was about to waive the servant off, Nereida steeled her resolve and decided that it was better to take a chance than to sit idly by. Besides, even though he was powerful, she felt that the chances of forming a connection with the Sandbox Witch were negligible after the way he¡¯d treated her and her friends at the Masquerade. With Heila and her Lady Ashlynn, however, the odds were much better.


    "If I can offer a suggestion," Nereida said. "Men like the Sandbox Witch know how to gorge themselves and fill their bellies with meats and savory things but they don¡¯t often have a palette for the finer things in life. The House of Iron understands that even delicate ladies will come out to enjoy the show from time to time and they have quite an assortment of cakes and confections. Would you like me to order one or two of my favorites for the table to share?"


    It was a hard offer to make. Not just because she was drawing a line between herself and the Sandbox witch but because Nereida usually wouldn¡¯t have come up to the top floor at all. Her purse wasn¡¯t so lacking that she would have trouble paying for a treat or two, even after paying the fees for a table on the top floor, but unless she could convince her husband that this had been a worthy expense, she wouldn¡¯t have any pocket money left for at least a month or two after being so extravagant.


    "That wouldn¡¯t be right," Heila said, a dark smile blossoming on her face. "You should each order your favorite," she told the group of women before looking at the servant. "Whatever each of them wants, please send five of that dish. Virve," she said, turning to her protector. "You¡¯re joining us as well, so if you want something, add it to the list."


    "This way, we can all sample everyone¡¯s favorites and no one has to be polite about not taking too much," Heila said. "Since the Sandbox Witch told me to order whatever I wanted, then he can treat me and my new friends to some dessert. I¡¯d like something sweet with berries, what about the rest of you?"

 Chapter 201: Sending A Message

    Chapter 201: Sending A MessageNereida nearly choked when she heard Heila¡¯s instructions to the servant. Five portions of five deserts for just the few women gathered here? Did the young horned woman have any idea what things on the top level of the House of Iron cost? With that many portions, most of it would likely be wasted after just a few bites. But then, seeing the look in Heila¡¯s eyes, she realized that this was the diminutive woman¡¯s way of striking back at the Sandbox Witch.


    It might be small and petty but when you were faced with an opponent with overwhelming physical and magical might, what else could you do? Heila might not be able to slap the thorny witch for offending her but she could take a bite out of his purse and clearly she intended to do just that as a way of making her displeasure known.


    "In that case," the serpentine woman said. "I¡¯ll have the mountain cherry tart. I think the cherries should be very fresh this time of year and everyone can enjoy their subtle brightness while we watch the fights below."


    When the desserts arrived, the table transformed from something that resembled a carnivore¡¯s feast in a brutal arena into a display of delicate and colorful culinary artistry that drew admiring glances from nearby patrons. Even those who treated themselves to a confection or two opened their eyes wide at the parade of servants carrying tray after tray filled with exquisite confections.


    Nereida¡¯s mountain cherry tarts arrived still warm, the bright yellow-red cherries nestled in delicate pastry shells and topped with crystallized honey that caught the light like amber. A light dusting of expensive cinnamon completed each tart, its spicy warmth perfectly complementing the bright tartness of the cherries.


    The spring berry trifle prepared when Heila requested ¡¯something sweet with berries¡¯ was a masterpiece of decadent layers. Fresh cream whipped until it formed soft peaks, dotted with tiny wild strawberries and blueberries that had been gathered from the mountain forests. Between the layers of cream, delicate sponge cake soaked in sweet wine provided a rich foundation, while crushed hazelnuts added texture throughout.


    The final dessert, surprisingly ordered by the veteran soldier Virve, was perhaps the most striking and delicate of them all. A rose petal and elderflower fool that combined the delicate sweetness of spring flowers with fresh cream. Each serving was decorated with candied rose petals arranged to look like an opening flower, with threads of spun sugar creating the illusion of morning dew on the petals.


    "Virve," Heila said smiling when she saw the look of delight on the bearish soldier¡¯s face after the first bite. "After the way you devoured spicy things on our first outing, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d have the ability to taste such a delicate treat anymore."


    "Just because I live in the barracks doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t enjoy a pretty thing every now and then," Virve protested, her face heating in embarrassment. "This looked like something I¡¯ve seen Georg make for Lady Nyrielle, though he always uses lavender for her. I thought... it always looked so pretty, it would be a shame to miss a chance to give it a try." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Once the desserts arrived and everyone began to sample the wide array of sweets, Heila found Nereida and her group of friends to be surprisingly easy to converse with. They didn¡¯t talk about anything serious. In fact, Heila mostly talked about Georg and the delightful things he prepared for Nyrielle and Ashlynn, but food made for a comfortable topic that let all of them get to know at least a little bit about each other.


    That casual conversation was interrupted when Jacques strode out onto the fighting platform below, his scaled hide catching the midday sun. While he still wore his wide-brimmed hat, he¡¯d shed his coat and shirt to reveal a body built much like his namesake Sandbox tree, thick with muscle and displaying rows of bony spikes that ran down the length of his back, parallel to his spine.


    Somehow, despite his solid build and thick, bark-like hide, he gave the impression of explosive movement waiting to be unleashed. The vials in his hat band glittered the light like deadly jewels, and the golden feathers in the hat seemed to drink in the light of the sun, as if they were soaking up the heat of the late spring day to further strengthen the already powerful witch.


    Opposite him, five gladiators entered all at once. As soon as she saw them, both Heila and Virve frowned at their appearances.


    "Is something the matter?" Nereida asked when she saw Heila¡¯s mood change.


    "When a patron comes to a place like this to fight," Heila said, clenching her tiny hands into fists beneath the table. "They have some ability to select the kind of fight they¡¯re going to have, right?"


    "Yes, they do," the serpentine woman said. "The House of Iron won¡¯t let someone request a fight with people they are clearly stronger than. Fighters should be roughly equal to each other in order to produce a good and entertaining fight, though patrons may enjoy some advantages."


    "That¡¯s what makes the House of Iron different from the arena," she explained. "In the arena, everyone is a professional fighter. At the House of Iron, while they employ many skilled fighters, the matches are fought between patrons and the staff of the House of Iron. It¡¯s a way for people who don¡¯t dedicate their lives to fighting in the arena to have a taste of what that life is like and to find a smaller portion of glory for their deeds on this stage."


    "Then, this selection is likely not random," Virve said, glaring at the witch on the fighting platform.


    Heila¡¯s new companions looked between the veteran soldier and the diminutive horned woman before nodding in agreement. Once they thought about it, the selection was clearly too precise to be a coincidence. Two bearish warriors from the Clan of the Great Claw and three fighters from the Horned Clan, a perfect mirror of the Vale of Mists¡¯ most prominent clans.


    The message couldn¡¯t have been clearer if Jacques had spelled it out in a hand-delivered letter. This demonstration was meant specifically for Heila, or, perhaps more accurately, meant for the woman Heila served.


    The two gladiators from the Clan of the Great Claw were heavily armed and armored, each wielding large, heavy swords and wearing full coats of mail over thick padded armor. It wasn¡¯t the style of a gladiatorial fight that they¡¯d been prepared for, rather, they were dressed in a very similar fashion to Virve herself, as though they were ready to march to war.


    In front of them stood three lightly armored fighters from the Horned Clan, each one armed with small spears and carrying small shields. Here again, they mirrored soldiers from the Vale of Mists where lightly armored fighters from the Horned Clan fought as fast and agile harassers more often than they fought as soldiers holding the defensive line.


    "Pay attention now, ma petite!" Jacques shouted up to where Heila sat. "I gonna show you what real strength looks like today. You make sure you see it all, de kind of strength your lady don¡¯t have at her side."

 Chapter 202: One Against Five

    Chapter 202: One Against FiveStanding on the stage, bare handed and apparently unarmed while facing five armed and armored fighters, Jacques cut a heroic and imposing looking figure in the eyes of many. The audience on the lower levels cheered enthusiastically with several rushing up against the railing to get a better look at the spectacle that was about to unfold.


    "Y¡¯all go on ahead and make de first move," Jacques said, taking a defensive stance against the five men. "Dese folks, dey came here for a show, non?"


    The group of fighters looked at each other for a moment, as if confirming that they¡¯d heard correctly. A moment later, the three spear wielding fighters from the Horned clan charged in a loose arrow formation, rushing toward the lone witch with their spears raised.


    "It¡¯s over," Virve said, shaking her head sadly. While these men had been dressed to resemble soldiers from the Vale of Mists, they clearly didn¡¯t fight like it.


    "Already?" Nereida said, pausing with a spoonful of berry trifle half way to her lips. "How do you know?"


    "Watch," Virve said, just a moment before the spearmen reached within a few feet of Jacques.


    "Thorn. Ring," Jacques said loudly, waving a hand in an arc in front of himself. Instantly, a glowing golden ring six feet in diameter formed in front of him, covered in wicked thorns the size of arrow heads.


    Two of the spearmen managed to dodge aside while the one in the center used his shield to smash through the glowing ring of thorns. Several small cuts appeared on his body and blood dripped to the stage as he charged forward, pressing his attack relentlessly.


    Jacques, however, seemed completely unconcerned, taking a powerful step forward and striking out with a meaty fist. The instant the witch¡¯s fist made contact with his opponent¡¯s shield, an explosive sound like a crack of thunder split the air and the shield shattered into countless fragments, sending the lightweight horned fighter tumbling across the stage.


    "Y¡¯all must be better den dat," Jacques boasted, thumping his muscular chest before turning on the remaining spearmen, waving his hands to taunt them forward.


    On the lowest level of the House of Iron, the opening exchange generated a wave of excited comments from the spectators, some of whom completely forgot their meals as they watched the fight in awe.


    "Did you see that, did you see that?" A young member of the Glass Eyed Clan shouted, pressing against the railing for a better view. "He shattered that shield like it was made of clay!"


    "The thorns! The thorns!" another spectator called out. "Just look at how deep they cut! And look, he¡¯s trying to get up! If it was me, I¡¯d lie there like I was dead after taking wounds like those."


    At this point, the two heavily armored warriors from the Clan of the Great Claw circled in, approaching steadily like the jaws of a vice closing on Jacques while the two remaining spearmen danced in and out, thrusting from the limits of their reach.


    "The spearmen aren¡¯t used to their weapons," Virve pointed out. "I¡¯d bet that they¡¯re knife fighters. They don¡¯t advance well behind the cover of their shields and they¡¯re too uncertain of their distance."


    "These men didn¡¯t learn to fight in the Vale of Mists," Heila agreed. She didn¡¯t know much about fighting but she had watched Commander Bassinger and Captain Lennart drill their men countless times while she was hanging linens or doing other chores outdoors that gave a good view of the training yards. These men didn¡¯t fight anything like the soldiers of the vale.


    "I¡¯ve heard that many people from the Vale of Mists left more than a century ago when the humans attacked," Nereida said lightly. "These men should be descendants of those people who settled here in the High Fen."


    "We encountered similar people at the Masquerade," Heila said, shaking her head when she saw Jacques ignore the swinging sword of one bearish fighter in order to deliver a blow to the other. What would have been a life threatening injury for most people did nothing at all to the thick hide with bony spikes that protected Jacques back.


    "Thorn. Explosion," the witch called out in response to taking the sword blow. In a flash, dozens of motes of light, shaped once again like the heads of arrows, streaked away from him, peppering the opposing fighters with dozens of small cuts and the occasional deep wound.


    "Such power," a grey furred man from the Clan of Painted Masks praised, his eyes tracking Jacques¡¯ every movement as well as the flow of magical energy around him. "To face five armed men with nothing but his fists and magic. The stories about the Sandbox Witch and the Mother of Thorns aren¡¯t exaggerated at all."


    When the fighters managed to regroup and go back on the attack despite bleeding from dozens of small and large cuts, even more excited chatter erupted from the crowd.


    "Now that¡¯s courage!" someone shouted. "Cut a hundred times and still standing! Someone give these men a bonus!" sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "None of these men are weak," the first man¡¯s companion agreed. "But to face someone like the Sandbox Witch, even five against one, you couldn¡¯t pay me enough money to take their place right now."


    High above on the top floor of the House of Iron, however, the opinions expressed at Heila¡¯s table were very different.


    "He¡¯s toying with them," Virve said, shaking her head at the fight on the stage. Following up on his explosion of thorns, Jacques shattered the shield of another fighter with a heavy blow from his tail and he tore the sword from the hands of another fighter, tossing it aside like discarded rubbish.


    "How would you fight him, Virve?" Heila asked, setting down the last bits of mountain cherry tart that she¡¯d turned to after finishing her berry trifle. Nereida was right, it was an excellent treat, one that she enjoyed even more than her own trifle. The combination of the two desserts, however, already pushed her stomach to its limits and she still had three other portions sitting in front of her.


    As much as Heila wanted to press on to at least sample the other treats, the fight unfolding below was giving her too much to think about. It felt clear that Jacques wanted her to have the impression that the soldiers of the Vale of Mists didn¡¯t amount to much in the face of his magic, but was that really true?


    As Heila asked the question, everyone else at the table turned their eyes to Virve as well. Just how could a common soldier defeat someone like Jacques? It was impossible, wasn¡¯t it?

 Chapter 203: Different Perspectives

    Chapter 203: Different Perspectives"Men like him, they can¡¯t be defeated by normal soldiers, can they?" Nereida said, staring in shock at the way nothing seemed capable of even scratching the powerful witch. Again and again, he deflected attacks with his thick forearms, snatched blades with his bare hands, or slammed into his opponents with enough force to send them flying across the platform, landing stunned or at the very least disoriented.


    "In the Vale, we train for this," Virve said flatly. She wasn¡¯t boasting, nor was she confident in victory against someone like the Sandbox Witch, but it would be foolish to think that she had no practice in fighting people like him. "Sir Thane has a method that he teaches for fighting people like Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny or the Templars of the human¡¯s church."


    "First, the swords are getting in the way," she said, pointing at the heavy weapons wielded by the bearish gladiators. "They should be closing to a distance where they can work with their own claws. Only with bare hands can you successfully entangle your foe. They need to use superior size and weight along with grasping attacks to pin him in place for the spearmen to exploit the opportunity." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Instead, they¡¯re doing things backward," the veteran soldier continued. "The spearmen are trying to act as distractions and harassers, setting up for a ¡¯killing blow¡¯ from the swordsmen. It won¡¯t work against someone like the Sandbox witch. He isn¡¯t threatened by those timid spear thrusts at all, he can ignore them entirely if he wants, which means the heavy swords have no chance of landing a blow that he hasn¡¯t seen coming."


    "Does Sir Thane¡¯s method work?" Nereida asked as she watched the fight unfold below. Already, Jacques had defeated all but one of the spearmen and one of the swordsmen and both of his remaining opponents bled from countless small wounds inflicted by the witch¡¯s magical thorns.


    "Sir Thane says that if we¡¯re lucky, the sacrifice of four or five men can create an opening to kill the enemy," Virve said flatly. "You have to remember, human knights like the Templars wear layer upon layer of armor. Plate over a gambeson with mail covering their heads, necks, and other vulnerable areas."


    "You have to pry that off them," she added, flexing her wickedly sharp claws in front of the serpentine woman¡¯s eyes. "The first soldier or two to grapple with a Templar might manage to pull them from their horse, or to tear at the buckles holding some of their armor in place. It takes a second and third person to cause enough damage to the armor that a spear thrust by a fast, mobile soldier from the Horned Clan has a chance of hitting a vital area."


    "That, that¡¯s horrible," Nereida gasped. "How many people have to die just to kill one of your enemies? If battles are like that, how could you ever win a war?"


    "Raaaaa!" Jacques shouted, shattering the shield of the last spearman with a heavy blow from his tail while he grappled with the swordsman in front of him, pummeling his helmet until the man sank to his knees.


    In the lower levels of the audience, people roared along with Jacques. Several shouts of "Knock him out!" could be heard and some people stomped their feet in time with every powerful blow that rained down on the last man¡¯s helmet.


    On the upper levels, a few women with more delicate sensibilities hid their eyes in the shoulders of their male companions and a few mothers reached out to cover the eyes of their children. Violent bloodsport was one thing, but this final display of strength and dominance felt too savage when they were certain that a single blow would have ended the fight.


    On the fighting platform, Jacques raised his arms in celebration of his victory, taking a moment to savor the cheers of the crowd before he turned to the highest level, looking to meet Heila¡¯s gaze and see her reaction to the battle.


    When he did, however, he was shocked to see a look of... pity. Her look seemed to say ¡¯only this much?¡¯ Or was it that she too disapproved of the way he¡¯d finished the match? With her earlier comments that seemed to be disdainful of combat on the stage, he felt she would appreciate a more ruthless finish to the fight... wouldn¡¯t she?


    At the table, Heila turned to her new friend, looking away from the confused Jacques to answer Nereida¡¯s question.


    "This is just a show," she said. "When it¡¯s real, even if someone will die, you don¡¯t have a choice to do otherwise. Isn¡¯t that right, Virve?"


    "It¡¯s true," the veteran soldier said, placing a large paw on Heila¡¯s shoulder and giving her a reassuring squeeze. "The ones who die so others may live are the real heroes. This... this isn¡¯t much different from the Opera that Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn attended on their first night in High Fen City."


    "No," Heila Heila. "That was a beautiful show that was enjoyed by everyone who came to see it. I enjoyed it. This... I don¡¯t know who was supposed to enjoy it, but it certainly wasn¡¯t us."


    "Nereida," Heila added. "You and your friends might want to depart before our host returns. There¡¯s no need for you to get tangled up in this."


    For a moment, Nereida considered staying. She¡¯d taken a risk to forge this friendship but once she¡¯d made that decision, she intended to see it through. What kind of friend would run away at the first hint of danger? While it was true that she was looking to forge a good relationship with the future Mother of Trees, that didn¡¯t mean she wanted her friendship with Heila to be fake. A real friend should stay, shouldn¡¯t they?


    "It would really be good if you left," Virve added, returning to her place standing guard behind Heila. It had been nice to be included as just ¡¯one of the girls¡¯ for a little bit, but once Jacques returned, she would have a job to do. "We¡¯re unlikely to stay for long after this... demonstration."


    "In that case," Nereida said, leaving her chair and giving a slight bow to Heila. "We¡¯ll take our leave. But, the next time you¡¯re able to, I hope you can come and visit us."


    "It would be my pleasure," Heila said. "I don¡¯t know when it will be, but I¡¯ll ask Lady Ashlynn when the opportunity next presents itself. Perhaps she can join us next time... without the presence of unwelcome guests," she added, looking down at the fighting platform.


    Down below, the weapons and broken shields had been cleared away. Jacques, however, refused to leave the stage, calling over each wounded man and using gentle healing magic to treat their wounds. Only when he¡¯d finished with the last man did he exit the stage to even greater applause than when he¡¯d ended the fight.


    The applause, however, meant nothing to him. This demonstration hadn¡¯t been for the crowd. There was no need to impress the common people or even the wealthy patrons on the third and fourth levels. The only person he needed to make an impression on, at the moment, was Heila.


    So just why did it look like she felt sorry for him after the end of the match? Just where had he gone wrong?

 Chapter 204: What Did It Mean?

    Chapter 204: What Did It Mean?When Jacques returned to the highest level of the House of Iron, he was surprised to find the table he shared with Heila was now covered with several portions of uneaten confections and the woman herself was poking at a custard-like dish that smelled heavily of vanilla, though she seemed to have only taken a small bite or two.


    "So dat¡¯s what de problem was," he said, putting on an affable smile. "You jus had a bit of a sweet tooth first ting. I shoulda ordered you someting a bit different den, cher."


    "It wasn¡¯t just the food," Heila said, shaking her head and giving the arena stage a pointed glance. "But if I¡¯ve seen what you wanted me to see, then I should return to the palace. Lady Ashlynn should be waking soon and I want to be there when she does."


    "So long as you¡¯ve seen," Jacques said politely. "You jus¡¯ need to tell your Lady. Dis whole journey to da briar, Jacques be right der by her side. No matter what, ain¡¯t nottin¡¯ going to stop dis witch gettin¡¯ to her. You understand?"


    Jacques didn¡¯t care for the crowd¡¯s approval today at all. All that mattered was that Ashlynn got the message - if she needed to escape because the vampires held her hostage, he had the strength to help her escape.


    Once they reached the Briar, there wouldn¡¯t be a chance to demonstrate what a witch could do against people like her current guards, or captors if that¡¯s what they were. She might feel that when Nyrielle returned to take her back to the Vale of Mists, she had no choice.


    He had to take this time to make sure that she understood - even if she hadn¡¯t gained the strength to stay free of their fangs yet, he and the Mother of Thorns could help her stay free.


    The carriage ride back to the palace felt strangely awkward, despite Jacques¡¯s attempts at small talk.


    "Dat was quite de assortment of sweets, ma petite," he said while the carriage trundled across the cobblestone streets, weaving its way through the crowds that packed the roads during daylight hours. "You had some friends join you?"


    "Some acquaintances from the masquerade," Heila said, her gaze firmly on the scenes outside the window as though she refused to meet the witch¡¯s eyes. "You referred to them in the past as ¡¯bloodsucking mosquitos.¡¯ I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t have wanted to meet with them so they left before you returned upstairs."


    "Ah," the reptilian witch said awkwardly. "So dat¡¯s how it is." When she put it like that, he was left at an utter loss for how to respond.


    He¡¯d already paid a price in blood for hurting Heila to keep social leaches away from Ashlynn. Now, was Heila trying to tell him that they preferred the company of such shallow people? Was he supposed to let anyone come close to the next Mother of Trees, just because they wanted to? Preposterous.


    Thankfully for both of them, the ride back to the palace was short, and Heila was able to excuse herself to return to Ashlynn¡¯s chambers without an escort from Jacques. As a gentleman, he¡¯d offered but with the palace guards hovering nearby, it was hard to insist that his presence was required to keep her safe.


    "She hasn¡¯t been up very long," Captain Lennart said when Heila returned with Virve in tow. "Her breakfast was just delivered. Is everything all right?"


    "It¡¯s complicated," Heila said with a frown. She didn¡¯t know if she¡¯d handled everything the right way but she wouldn¡¯t feel better about her encounter with Jacques until she had a chance to explain everything to Ashlynn. "We may want to consult with you soon," Heila said as she strode toward Ashlynn¡¯s bed chamber.


    "Heila," Ashlynn greeted warmly when her diminutive Lady-in-waiting entered. "I heard that you had to accompany the Sandbox Witch because I was sleeping. I¡¯m sorry. Tell me how it went. There¡¯s plenty to eat if you¡¯d like something," she said, gesturing at a seat across from her.


    A generous breakfast covered the small table in her room and even if she had two stomachs there was no way Ashlynn could consume so much food. She was afraid that she¡¯d given them the wrong impression the day after the opera when she had to recover from Nyrielle feeding on her. Ever since then, the palace staff seemed to feel like she needed three people¡¯s worth of food at every single meal!


    "I¡¯m not hungry," Heila said. "Maybe in a little bit. I ate too many sweets. But Ashlynn, about Jacques... He wanted to send a message but Virve and I aren¡¯t comfortable with what we saw today. I¡¯d like to bring her and Captain Lennart in to talk about it, is that okay?" S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If it¡¯s that serious," Ashlynn said, pausing to consider. "Help me get changed so I¡¯m presentable and then bring Captain Lennart and Virve in. I¡¯ll eat while you explain, but unless it¡¯s urgent, I¡¯d rather not receive company in my night dress."


    Half an hour later, when everyone had gathered in Ashlynn¡¯s room and listened to Heila and Virve¡¯s retelling of events, Ashlynn frowned deeply in thought.


    "Nothing¡¯s going to stop him from getting to me," Ashlynn repeated back. "He said those words?"


    "I think that was his meaning," Heila said, looking to Virve who nodded in agreement. "He seemed very clear about wanting you to understand that you didn¡¯t have anyone strong enough at your side to stop him."


    "That¡¯s only true during the day," Lennart pointed out quickly. "At night, Madame Zedya is likely enough to contain him to say nothing of Lady Nyrielle. The problem is that the nights are close to reaching their shortest. If he aims for Lady Ashlynn during the day, it¡¯s possible that he could snatch her away from us. I just don¡¯t understand why he¡¯d want to."


    "Virve," Ashlynn said as she thought through the problem. "You¡¯ve seen me fight against the Tuscans and you¡¯ve seen Jacques fight in the arena, even if it was a mockery of real combat. How well do you think I stand up against him?"


    "Physically?" Virve said, her brows lowering in an uncomfortable frown. "Maybe you could be his match. He¡¯s very strong and his hide is very tough, but you¡¯re very fast and your blade is very sharp."


    "I can hear the large ¡¯but¡¯ even if you don¡¯t say it, Virve," Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh. "You don¡¯t have to worry about offending me. His witchcraft is so many leagues ahead of me it¡¯s not even a contest is what you¡¯re saying, right?"


    "It¡¯s not just that, my lady," the bearish soldier said, lowering her head in embarrassment. "You might match him for strength or speed, but he¡¯s better at using his strength than you are. He¡¯s very controlled. I think... I think my lady has as much of a chance at defeating him as you do of defeating Sir Thane," she said.


    "Which is to say none at all," Ashlynn admitted. "Well, he¡¯s made his point. Without Mistress Nyrielle or Zedya to even the odds, there¡¯s nothing we can do to stop him if he makes a move against me."


    "I thought that we were coming together as allies," Captain Lennart said. "Why is he taking such an aggressive stance toward a fellow witch? I would have thought that a disciple of the Mother of Thorns would be more... well, maybe not," he said, interrupting himself.


    "I almost said ¡¯welcoming¡¯ but perhaps it¡¯s in their nature to be a bit ¡¯thorny.¡¯ Could this just be an expression of their magic? Perhaps he just wants to send a message that things won¡¯t go smoothly if you underestimate him."


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said. No matter which angle she examined Jacques¡¯s actions from, they didn¡¯t make sense. Why did he feel the need to make such direct threats? He¡¯d approached her with much greater courtesy during the masquerade.


    While her impression of him had soured when she discovered that he¡¯d injured Heila, she was willing to accept his apology and treat it as a misunderstanding. Now, however... he almost reminded her of Owain. Her ex-husband had behaved in similar ways when he visited Blackwell County, looking for contests of strength as if to prove that he was the most capable and therefore most worthy man to receive her hand in marriage.


    "It couldn¡¯t be," Ashlynn whispered, her hand rising to her mouth as her mind started making more and more comparisons between Owain¡¯s actions and Jacques¡¯s behaviors. Each parallel clicked into place like tumblers in a lock.


    Whether it was the over-the-top displays of strength, the forceful attempts to isolate her, or the need to prove himself superior to her other protectors, they were all things that she¡¯d seen from Owain in the years between their betrothal and marriage.


    "He isn¡¯t trying to court me, is he? Does he think he can woo me away from Mistress Nyrielle?!?"

 Chapter 205: Departing High Fen City (Part One)

    Chapter 205: Departing High Fen City (Part One)Whether Jacques intended to woo Ashlynn or had some other intention in mind, it was impossible for anyone to say. His behavior was odd, but even among the Eldritch, different clans and nations had their own ways and rituals. While some interpretations of his actions felt more likely than others, in the end, it was impossible to be certain.


    By the time night fell, the horses and carriages had been prepared, everyone had gathered in the courtyard, waiting only for Nyrielle and Zedya to emerge before the caravan of carts and carriages set off again.


    Lady Erna hadn¡¯t been stingy when directing her staff to help with the preparations. The carts had been filled almost to bursting with sacks of flour, barrels of pork, beef and even pickled fish when she found out that Ashlynn had a taste for the briney delicacy.


    Beyond that, she seemed to be concerned that her teacher wasn¡¯t traveling in sufficient comfort. Two additional wagons were joining them, and unlike the practical goods carried by the carts from the Vale of Mists, these had been loaded with a large, luxurious tent and enough silk carpets, goose down pillows and soft satin blankets to cover the interior of the tent.


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t have the heart to explain that they intended to move rapidly and likely wouldn¡¯t set up the tent more than once on the trip. A High Lady¡¯s good intentions weren¡¯t to be refused after all. Besides, when Ashlynn took a peak in the second wagon, she found that it held a wooden soaking tub along with an assortment of pleasantly scented soaps and lotions.


    Perhaps, she thought, she could convince Nyrielle to pause for a few hours on one or two nights. Surely her lover would appreciate the opportunity to snuggle when they had both had a chance to wash the dust and grime of travel from their bodies, wouldn¡¯t she?


    "Your visit was very brief," High Lady Erna said to Ashlynn as they awaited Nyrielle. "The next time you pass through, perhaps you can stay longer. Maybe even share a bit of my teacher¡¯s time with her poor neglected student?" she teased.


    "High Lady," Ashlynn said, bowing slightly. "It wasn¡¯t my intention to monopolize MIstress Nyrielle, but her intention to monopolize me. Your High Fen City has too many amazing sights to see in so little time. Perhaps, if you wish to spend more time with her, you could visit us in the Vale of Mists instead?"


    "Ha ha, no," Erna said bluntly after a short laugh. "If the Vale of Mists once again becomes the domain of a High Lady, it might be possible to visit without causing misunderstandings. As is, leaving this place, crossing the High Pass and entering the Vale, even if it was a harmless visit, would create too many misunderstandings."


    "I understand," Ashlynn said. Undoubtedly, there were people in the High Pass who would see High Lady Erna¡¯s visit to the Vale of Mists as a precursor to expansion. A close alliance between the High Fen and the Vale of Mists would put Lord Ritchel in an awkward position. Even if High Lady Erna expressed no such intentions, other people in the High Fen and the High Pass would believe more in what she did than in what she said.


    It was the same among humans. Rumors swirling among people who knew only a fraction of the truth could turn into a widespread belief that threatened relationships, industries and more. It was one of the reasons that her father had emphasized that appearances and the appearance of action could, at times, be as significant as actions themselves.


    "Whether I am an Eldritch Lady or a High Lady, the title counts for little," Nyrielle said as she glided across the courtyard with a gait that gave her the appearance of floating over the cobblestones with the hems of her skirts barely brushing the ground.


    "What¡¯s mine is mine," she said, looping an arm around Ashlynn and flashing a smile at the distant figure of Jacques. While the reptilian witch would be traveling with them, he was polite enough to keep his distance while Nyrielle and her party said their farewells.


    That distance was something that Ashlynn worked hard to maintain. Even now, when he was dozens of paces away, she could feel a trace of his prickly energy dancing across her skin. Just like the night they met, it wasn¡¯t hostile, rather, it felt comforting and protective. If it hadn¡¯t been for the events that occurred while she slept, she would have felt tempted to lean into it or to keep him close to her.


    Now, however, when she thought that he might be treating her as an object of affection, or rather, like a prize to be captured, she found that the comforting energy felt different... like a thorny seed that had become caught on her stockings. As long as she ignored it, it was fine, but brushing up against it, even if it didn¡¯t hurt, felt uncomfortable.


    "The Vale of Mists will always be mine," Nyrielle continued, returning her gaze to High Lady Erna."You¡¯re welcome to visit it any time you¡¯d like, Little Snake. Perhaps in the near future, you¡¯ll even have an opportunity to join me in real slaughter."


    "Perhaps," the High Lady said, being careful not to make commitments where others might overhear. Now that she had ascended to her father¡¯s throne, it wasn¡¯t impossible to send reinforcements to her former teacher.


    But, now that she had ascended that throne, she had to consider whether doing so was the best thing for the High Fen. Sending away a significant portion of her standing army to fight in distant lands might satisfy her own sense of honor, but if it left the High Fen vulnerable to their neighbors, then sending soldiers to Nyrielle could be the end of her reign in the High Fen.


    On this side of the mountains, the treat posed by humans was understood differently depending on which Eldritch Lord or Lady you asked. Some felt like the nations that had fallen to humans over the past three hundred years deserved to fall. The strong devour the week, it was a law as ancient as time itself. The Eldritch Lords of the lands east of the mountains had fallen, therefore they were too weak to hold their territory and deserved their fates.


    The people who held those beliefs struggled to believe that the Eldritch Nations who had fallen were just as powerful as they were. To admit that would mean admitting that they would fall to the humans as well if the humans ever came for them, and that was something their pride would never stand for.


    Other lords were more practical about it. They understood that the humans presented a looming threat and they were willing to make some preparations to face human invaders if the day should ever come. Most, however, would go no further than fortifying their own domains. Very few would send soldiers to fight a war to defend a neighbor¡¯s nation, even if doing so was arguably in their best interests.


    The problem for people like Lady Erna lay in convincing the advisors around her along with the military and financial leaders of the High Fen that lending aid to the Vale of Mists was a better strategy than simply working to fortify their own lands. If only it was as easy to do as it was to say... S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 206: Departing High Fen City (Part Two)

    Chapter 206: Departing High Fen City (Part Two)Both women understood the challenges in forming a closer alliance, and Nyrielle hadn¡¯t pressed too hard for support during her visit. She had, however, made it very clear that the next assault from the Humans would likely be larger than any seen in the past hundred years.


    Nyrielle had only the vaguest understanding of a human Crusade when she faced off against Cellach Lothian. By then, the Second Crusade had already officially ended. Cellach made use of remnant forces who had chosen to remain in the newly established Lothian March rather than returning to the old countries and that had made his attacks on the Vale of Mists particularly effective. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It wasn¡¯t until Nyrielle met Ashlynn that she learned the true size and scope of the human forces across the sea who would come to conquer in the name of the Holy Lord of Light. By now, Nyrielle had come to share Ashlynn¡¯s belief that the fall of the Vale of Mists and the elevation of the Lothian March to a proper Duchy would herald the coming of a Third Crusade.


    If that happened, the most that the High Fen could expect from the High Pass was that they could stall for time while the High Fen built their fortifications and readied their armies. The humans wouldn¡¯t stop at claiming barren territories in the mountains.


    Once they secured a pass, they would pour through it like water from a broken dam. If they wanted to prevent a Crusade, the only thing Nyrielle could do, at least for now, was to break the Lothian assault aimed at the Vale of Mists and Airgead mountain.


    Breaking that assault would be costly, both in terms of war materials and lives, and if the Vale of Mists or Airgead Mountain fell, the High Pass would become a fragile barrier between the High Fen and Human aggression. Whether Erna helped Nyrielle or not, the humans were coming and something had to be done.


    Erna happened to agree with Nyrielle¡¯s conclusions. She¡¯d never known her teacher to exaggerate. The problem was that their relationship as teacher and student was too well known. Others in the High Fen would question whether Erna was being objective enough in her handling of matters related to the Vale of Mists. It would take more than just Nyrielle¡¯s warning to convince the people who opposed her to fall in line with her desires.


    "I won¡¯t linger over farewells," Nyrielle said, gently taking her former student¡¯s hands in her own and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "The nights have become very short and I¡¯d like to reach the first ferry by dawn. Be well, Little Snake. We¡¯ll see each other again soon."


    "Give my regards to the Mother of Thorns, Seneschal Ashlynn," Erna said with a wide smile. "And Teacher, please give my regards to your great-grandsire when you greet him as well."


    "Give your regards to my great-grandsire in person," Nyrielle said lightly. "He hasn¡¯t visited Torbin¡¯s crypt in a century. A visit every century to his most distinguished progeny is the least he can do. We¡¯ll see each other again soon," she promised.


    "As little as three months or as much as five, but no more than that," the vampire said. "Come, my darling Ashlynn," she said, pulling her lover toward the carriage. "It¡¯s time to take our leave."


    During the long night in the carriage, Ashlynn explained her concerns with Jacques from his actions with Heila to the strange way his behaviors resembled Owain¡¯s, she left nothing out. She both wanted Nyrielle to have complete trust in her and she also wanted to make sure that she didn¡¯t skip over something that seemed unimportant when it could actually hold great significance. In the end, Nyrielle¡¯s verdict was rather mild.


    "He can¡¯t take you from me," Nyrielle said with a smile that flashed a hint of her fangs. "Especially not if his behavior reminds you of Owain. He can say or do as he wishes, as long as he doesn¡¯t touch you, then I won¡¯t make a fuss."


    "That¡¯s.... Generous of you," Ashlynn said, puzzled at her lover¡¯s response. For the possessive vampire to be so magnanimous about someone else trying to woo her Seneschal, it felt like something was wrong.


    "He doesn¡¯t have the strength to take you from me," Nyrielle said, her midnight blue eyes hardening as she spoke. Oddly, the firmness in Nyrielle¡¯s gaze and the promise of violence that lurked behind her midnight blue eyes was more reassuring to Ashlynn than anything else would have been.


    She¡¯d misread Nyrielle¡¯s relaxed and casual manner. It wasn¡¯t that she¡¯d withdrawn her protective and possessive edge, it was that the vampire had absolute confidence that if Jacques laid so much as a hand on Ashlynn, he would lose that hand.


    "He should know that if he challenges me and loses, not only will he face defeat, he¡¯ll face the very real risk that Zedya and I will feed on him," Nyrielle added. "He can¡¯t allow that to happen so he will not take the risk."


    "And after we arrive in the Briar? Will he cause problems then?" Ashlynn asked.


    "He may try, but again, you are mine," Nyrielle said, placing a long, slender finger directly under Ashlynn¡¯s chin and pulling her forward into a chaste kiss. "Nothing he can say or do will change that."


    "Speak with Zedya if you¡¯re concerned, she knows him rather well," Nyrielle added. "But it wouldn¡¯t be a bad thing for you to spend some time during daylight hours with Jacques. He may not be able to tutor you in witchcraft until you arrive in the Briar but he knows a great deal about other things that he can likely share with you."


    "I¡¯ll consider it," Ashlynn said. She was struggling to articulate the anxiety in her heart but it seemed like the things that Ashlynn feared weren¡¯t things that Nyrielle saw as likely.


    For Ashlynn, it hadn¡¯t been long since she was violently beaten near to death at the hands of her newlywed husband. The Ashlynn Blackwell of today had nothing to fear from Owain if she were to encounter him alone and unarmed, but that didn¡¯t mean she had nothing to fear from an equally unarmed Jacques.


    "You¡¯re still worried," Nyrielle said softly, wrapping her arms around Ashlynn and pulling her close. "Time will reveal all things, but if you can¡¯t put faith in one of the people who serves your soon to be teacher then place your faith in me."


    "I wouldn¡¯t have brought you out here if I didn¡¯t have a measure of trust and respect for the Mother of Thorns. Zedya benefited greatly from her time of study and you will benefit even more. Besides," she added with a confident smile. "If Jacques brings any harm to you, it¡¯s likely he¡¯ll suffer so much from the Mother of Thorns that I won¡¯t have to lift a finger to demand retribution."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, relaxing into Nyrielle¡¯s embrace. "Maybe, maybe I¡¯m just afraid because there¡¯s so much I still don¡¯t know," she admitted. "I know you want to leave things to the Mother of Thorns, but isn¡¯t there anything you can tell me? About the Briar and what kind of place it is, or anything else?"


    "Hmm, let me think, my darling," Nyrielle said, lightly toying with Ashlynn¡¯s blonde locks as she thought. "There are a few things I can share," she said after several minutes of thought. "The Briar isn¡¯t the same as the domain of an Eldritch Lord and in many ways, it¡¯s one of the most dangerous places you can go in Eldritch lands that falls under the control of a powerful ruler."


    "The Witch of Thorns keeps a number of dangerous things within the Briar that most Eldritch Lords would eradicate from their lands, but witches see the world differently," she continued, her voice growing more somber the more she said. "Danger and opportunity often go hand in hand, and the Mother of Thorns cultivates a good number of... opportunities."

 Chapter 207: The Dangers of the Briar

    Chapter 207: The Dangers of the Briar"You¡¯ve already seen the High Fen," Nyrielle began as the carriage rolled through the night. "It¡¯s a vast plateau that¡¯s covered with crisscrossing streams and rivers flowing from the mountains to the east. Those streams will converge into the White River. We¡¯ll be roughly following the course of the river for several days to reach the Briar."


    "Is the White River like the Luath that flows through Lothian City?" Ashlynn asked. "Will we be passing through several villages that are sustained by the river?"


    "No, the White River is very different from the Luath," Nyrielle said with a mischievous smile. "The Luath is a gentle river that flows along the surface of the land," she said, tracing a fingertip over the gentle curve of Ashlynn¡¯s collarbone before following the lacy neckline of her lover¡¯s dress.


    "The White River has cut deep canyons," the vampire teased, sliding her finger into the deep valley of Ashlynn¡¯s cleavage. "Only the daring would attempt to reach its waters or to plunge its turbulent depths," she said, leaning close enough to whisper into Ashlynn¡¯s ear.


    "And have you ever been so bold?" Ashlynn asked, her face heating as she leaned into Nyrielle¡¯s touch.


    "I¡¯ve had no interest in the mysteries of the White River," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a gentle kiss on the side of her neck before pulling back. "Once we¡¯ve gone far enough south, the river pours off a cliff hundreds of feet high. The waterfall creates a cold flowing mist that¡¯s similar to the environment in the Vale of Mists."


    "From the cliff top, it looks like the world below is divided in two," Nyrielle explained. "To the west, there¡¯s a large lake that glitters in the sun, giving birth to another river. It¡¯s surrounded by a lush forest and several small clans make their homes on the far shore of the lake. The western side of the falls, however, is much darker and more... twisted."


    "What do you mean, twisted?" Ashlynn asked, leaning forward with an expression of intense interest on her face.


    "The mists of the waterfall drift east, cloaking the area in an obscuring fog that makes it easy to lose your way once you descend from the cliffs above," Nyrielle explained. "You can still see some of the massive trees emerging from the mists from above. Almost every one of them is covered in so many thorny vines that you¡¯d think someone tried to restrain the mighty trees with living chains."


    "The Briar is a sodden, swampy place," Nyrielle explained. "The Mother of Thorns has surrounded her domain with a protective hedge filled with wicked thorns, anchored by sandbox and spiked olive trees. She nurtures the spread of thistle and sandburs, creating a labyrinthine barrier around the Briar."


    "That sounds unpleasant," Ashlynn said. "But is it effective at keeping people out of the Briar? Couldn¡¯t a determined person just hack their way through it?"


    "The barrier isn¡¯t for keeping people out, my darling," Nyrielle said with a light, musical laugh. "It¡¯s for keeping her pets in. Some of the most dangerous beasts on the continent have been carefully gathered and brought to the Briar. Giant Thornback Alligators, Spike Shelled Tortoises, Bone Piercing Moccasins, and more, she raises them all in the Briar." Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯ve never heard of any of those," Ashlynn said, furrowing her brow as she tried to imagine the creatures Nyrielle spoke of. "Just how dangerous are they?"


    "Dangerous enough that Zedya was cautious when she moved around the Briar while she visited the Mother of Thorns," Nyrielle said. "The creatures raised in the Briar aren¡¯t just dumb beasts. They¡¯ve been raised for decades or longer and they have a certain rudimentary command over witchcraft."


    "The Giant Thornback Alligator, for example," the Vampire continued. "It grows large enough to devour goats whole and its jaw is powerful enough to bite through the armor of one of the Lothian¡¯s fully armored knights. A strike from its tail can shatter the legs of a horse and in the water, it can move silently and almost invisibly toward its victim. It uses witchcraft to blend itself seamlessly into the environment, passing itself off as a patch of mud until its victims are too close to escape its bite."


    "That, that does sound terrifying," Ashlynn said. She wasn¡¯t a stranger to tales of terrifying beasts. Sailors often brought tall tales of whiles that could shatter a ship by ramming it or giant squid with tentacles large enough to wrap around a ship.


    The stories were almost always told by survivors of a supposed disaster after spending several days at sea in a small boat or clinging to driftwood. It happened often enough that the tall tales never died away but hundreds of ships crossed the sea every year without ever encountering one of these monsters of the deep which made it hard to put great faith in the stories.


    Hearing about these beasts from Nyrielle, however, was an entirely different thing. Survivors of shipwrecks were often half mad by the time they were rescued or washed ashore. Nyrielle, however, sounded like she¡¯d encountered these beasts herself leaving Ashlynn no choice but to accept that such monstrous creatures roamed the earth, at least in the Briar.


    "The beasts aren¡¯t the only thing you need to fear in the Briar," Nyrielle added. "While giant beasts can be terrifying, smaller insects can be even more so. Be particularly weary of the spiders that build webs in the Briar. They don¡¯t have to be large in order to have deadly venom."


    "Poisonous plants are another danger in the Briar," Nyrielle continued. "Unless you¡¯ve been told that it¡¯s safe, I wouldn¡¯t suggest eating anything that grows there. Some of the flowers produce scents that are dangerous to inhale, even the sap from some of the trees will cling to your skin and eat away at your flesh if it isn¡¯t removed quickly enough."


    "Why?" Ashlynn asked, her mind reeling as she thought about all of the dangers that Nyrielle mentioned. Thorn-covered plants, giant beasts, venomous spiders, poisonous plants... was anything in the Briar safe or normal?


    "Because she is the Mother of Thorns," Nyrielle said simply. "She embodies all of the dangers that nature produces. All of the ways that nature learns to protect itself. And because to a witch, all of the things that she¡¯s gathered are useful to her in the practice of witchcraft. The Briar isn¡¯t just her home or her garden. To her and the witches of her coven, it¡¯s no different than the armory of my castle."


    "I think I understand," Ashlynn said after several minutes of consideration. "You¡¯re not just sending me to the Mother of Thorns to learn witchcraft. Everything there is vicious and deadly. If I can learn to handle the threats of the Briar, then when the time comes to collect on the debt that Owain owes me..."


    "My darling, I treasure your gentle side," Nyrielle said, gently cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face with one hand. "But you still have much to learn when it comes to the use of violence. You¡¯ve made a good beginning in your lessons with Thane and you did very well when the Tuscans attacked," she praised.


    "But once Owain Lothian dies, you know the dangers we face will only grow," Nyrielle said softly. "I¡¯m hoping that spending time with the Mother of Thorns will help to strengthen you in ways that I can¡¯t."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on Nyrielle¡¯s as they held each other close. Ashlynn¡¯s stay in the Briar wouldn¡¯t be a matter of a few days but of several months. During that time, Nyrielle would continue to travel to other Eldritch Nations.


    When her lover first outlined her plan for how they would spend the summer and early autumn months, it sounded to Ashlynn like simple efficiency. While Ashlynn studied, Nyrielle would meet with other Eldritch Lords to gain the support that the Vale of Mists would need in the years to come.


    Now, however, Ashlynn felt like there was a second reason for Nyrielle¡¯s absence. The training she was about to receive sounded both dangerous and harsh. When Nyrielle said that she hoped the Mother of Thorns could strengthen her in ways that the vampire herself couldn¡¯t, Ashlynn felt like there was a second part of that statement.


    The Mother of Thorns could strengthen her in ways that Nyrielle couldn¡¯t bear to watch.

 Chapter 208: A Hero’s Homecoming

    Chapter 208: A Hero¡¯s HomecomingLess than a month ago, an impressive column of knights, Templars, soldiers, and the many servants who supported them, marched out of the Summer Villa in the name of justice. Their armor had been polished until it gleamed in the sun, their banners snapped crisply on the wind and they resembled a sacred host, blessed by the Holy Lord of Light himself, ready to slay the demons responsible for Sir Broll¡¯s violent murder and dismemberment.


    Now, the column that returned to the summer villa looked very little like the one that had left. The shining armor and bright tabards had been covered by a layer of grime that no amount of attentive cleaning in the field could remove. The banners hung limply, covered in even more dirt and grime.


    Most notably, however, the column that returned was little more than half the size of the one that had left. Almost every man remaining moved with some awkward stiffness as each one attempted to find ways to put less strain on the injuries that had yet to fully heal.


    At the head of the column, Owain held his head high, seemingly the only one returning with the bearing of a conquering hero. His armor was dull and dirty, his body smelled of blood, smoke, and ash, and other than his hands and face, he hadn¡¯t properly bathed but he refused to allow any of these things to diminish the aura of pride and victory he radiated.


    From his saddle hung several tails taken from flat tailed demons, proof of his prowess in combat against the demon enemies. Whatever tragic fate had befallen many of the soldiers under his command, it was clear that his personal abilities as a slayer of demons couldn¡¯t be doubted.


    In the courtyard of the Summer Villa, Jocelynn, Confessor Eleanor and a dark-haired knight stood awaiting Owain¡¯s return. Samira, in her guise as a fake Ashlynn, was conspicuously absent for the return of her husband.


    Eleanor had already circulated word that her condition was ¡¯delicate¡¯ and that she may face a ¡¯difficult birth¡¯ if she didn¡¯t have sufficient bed rest. The lie served two purposes. At the moment, it offered a convenient excuse for why the socially awkward servant would be absent from so many functions. Later on, once news of her difficult pregnancy spread, it would make her ¡¯death in childbirth¡¯ more believable to anyone hearing the news.


    Falsehoods like this never sat well with the confessor and she wore a bitter expression on her severe face as the gates opened to admit Owain Lothian and his column of soldiers. Falsehoods could be tolerated in the service of revealing greater truths, but as Eleanor looked at the triumphant young lord riding through the gate, she promised herself that she would find a way to cleanse the filth she¡¯d been forced to taint herself with.


    "Welcome home, Brother-in-law," Jocelynn said, striding forward to offer a deep curtsey in greeting. "I knew that the hero of Lothian March would return victorious," she added, standing up straight and flashing him a dazzling smile.


    "Jocelynn," Owain said, sliding smoothly out of his saddle and stepping forward to take her hands in his. "Seeing you looking so radiant makes me feel like I¡¯ve finally returned to the light after spending so long in the darkness. Have you been well here? How is my beloved?"


    "My sister is in a delicate state and she must spend much of her day resting in bed," Jocelynn said, her face heating in delight. She knew that Owain cared nothing for the servant masquerading as her sister. When he asked ¡¯how is my beloved¡¯, she believed that it wasn¡¯t ¡¯Ashlynn¡¯ that he referred to, but rather it was a subtle reminder that he accepted her feelings and returned them as well.


    "I¡¯ve also been quite well here," Jocelynn added. "The air is crisp and cool and everything feels fresh and green. I see why you would go to the effort to maintain this place, even when it¡¯s so close to the dreadful demons."


    "You have nothing to fear from demons so long as I¡¯m here," Owain promised as he became briefly lost in Jocelynn¡¯s seafoam green eyes. For a moment, he nearly reached up to caress her tender cheek, but the sounds of approaching boots on the courtyard¡¯s cobblestones pulled him back to reality before he could do anything that might be misinterpreted as being more familiar than a brother-in-law should be.


    "Well met, Lord Owain," the dark-haired knight said, offering a deep bow. "I see that I missed a glorious hunt. I¡¯ve never seen so many demon tails hanging from a single saddle."


    "Sir Liam Dunn," Owain said, turning to the handsome knight with a dark scowl. "I expected your arrival before we departed. If you had no intention to join our hunt, why bother to come at all?"


    "Now, now, my Lord," Liam said with a good-natured smile. "Please don¡¯t misunderstand. You should have received word from my father that I would be delayed by matters in the barony. Still, you asked for support from the Dunn family and we would never dream of withholding it," he said, stepping back to gesture at several soldiers standing in neat ranks wearing the brown and yellow colors of the Dunn family.


    "Since you¡¯ve gone to kick over the ant¡¯s nest, I felt it best to bring along some reinforcements for your Summer Villa," the young knight said affably. "After all, if the demons were to retaliate against the Villa before your forces returned, your lovely wife and unborn child might fall victim to an attack."


    "From the looks of it," he added, glancing at the worn and weary state of the column of soldiers behind Owain. "Reinforcements may be useful even now that your soldiers have returned."


    "I see that Baron Dunn is ¡¯thoughtful¡¯ as always," Owain said darkly, scowling at the young knight. An additional knight and fifteen additional soldiers might or might not have been enough to shift the outcomes of their battles.


    Owain had never seen Sir Liam fight personally, but as the son of one of the westernmost baronies, he must have spent several years fighting against the demons outside the Vale of Mists. The strength in his grip when the men shook hands and the confident way that he stood made it clear that even Owain¡¯s recent accomplishments didn¡¯t intimidate him and he had no intention of humbling himself before the future Lothian Marquis.


    "My father, of course, sends his regards to you and yours," Liam said with a wide smile. "But I¡¯m keeping you standing when you should be returning to rest. We¡¯ll have plenty of time to speak tomorrow when you can enjoy a proper victory feast. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re eager to see your lovely wife as well," he added with an oddly familiar wink.


    "You¡¯ve met my Ashlynn?" Owain asked, pausing to give the knight a hard stare. "She should be taking her rest."


    "Lord Owain doesn¡¯t need to worry," Liam chuckled. "I only met her briefly to pay my respects. You know, I didn¡¯t realize that we had such similar taste in fair maidens. My own Illa bears such a strong resemblance to your lovely wife that when I first saw her, I thought I¡¯d found my missing love."


    "Missing love?" Owain said, raising an eyebrow at the other man. "Don¡¯t tell me that your darling Illa has fled the barony to escape your affections. Or is it that Lady Illa¡¯s parents don¡¯t approve of your intentions?" S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Nothing like that," Liam said, shaking his head. "My Illa is a commoner but she pricked my heart nonetheless. She vanished around the same time that you and your Lady Ashlynn were married," he explained as the men walked into the villa itself with Jocelynn and Eleanor following at a respectful distance behind.


    "This is the nasty business that kept me from reaching you in time to join your hunt," the knight continued. "Her parents accused my father of having her killed. My father is the one who didn¡¯t approve, but, well, I¡¯m sure you understand well that the heart wants what the heart wants."


    "I understand how a woman who resembles my Ashlynn can stir a man¡¯s desires," Owain said, reluctantly agreeing with the young knight. As much as he disdained the man for missing the hunt and resented Baron Dunn for holding back his aid until it was too late, it was undeniable that he and Sir Liam had certain things in common.


    "Sir Liam," Owain said before the conversation could continue any further. "I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m too tired to entertain you tonight. Tomorrow, we can speak more of many things. Perhaps I can help you with your troubles with your father¡¯s requirements for your future wife."


    "For now," he said, turning to look back to Jocelynn and Eleanor. "I want to have a proper bath, and then to spend a quiet evening with my wife and my sister-in-law. We¡¯ll speak again tomorrow."


    "Of course, of course," the young knight said with an expression that said he knew exactly why Owain was in a hurry to reunite with his beautiful wife. "Tomorrow, we can speak of many things. For now, I leave you to the company of the Blackwell beauties."


    Owain watched the younger knight depart, his brows furrowing when he noticed how the soldiers in Dunn colors seemed to straighten as their lord¡¯s heir passed by. Despite Liam¡¯s casual manner, the respect the soldiers gave him spoke of just how much time the young knight had spent pushing into the demon-infested wilderness to expand his family¡¯s vast holdings even further... and how much success he¡¯d enjoyed in doing so.


    The Dunn family might technically be his subordinates, but their influence in the western reaches of Lothian March couldn¡¯t be ignored. For as long as Owain had been alive, there had been whispers about the Dunn barony rivaling the stature of a county, held back only by the failure of the Lothian March to become a true duchy.


    That power and influence had turned the Dunns into an increasingly difficult-to-handle thorn in the Lothian¡¯s side. If Liam truly saw a kindred spirit in him, even if it was built on something as flimsy as their preference for fair-haired buxom women... well, perhaps that was worth exploring. As long as he was able to ensure that the man¡¯s intentions toward his "wife" remained purely nostalgic, of course.

 Chapter 209: An Intimate Dinner

    Chapter 209: An Intimate DinnerThat evening, after scrubbing away weeks of wilderness grime in a steaming bath scented with fragrant oils, Owain settled into his private dining chamber. The comforting feel of fresh linen against his skin and the gentle warmth of the hearth fire helped wash away the lingering memories of sleeping in mud-splattered tents and enduring the foul odor carried from hastily dug latrines whenever the fickle wind shifted its direction.


    His muscles still ached from days spent hiking through the dense underbrush, constantly tense and on alert for another ambush by the devious demons, but cleaned and properly dressed once more, he felt himself transforming back into the noble lord he was meant to be.


    He¡¯d arranged to take his evening meal privately with Jocelynn. Part of him yearned to rush through the formalities and seek out ¡¯Ashlynn¡¯ in her chambers. Samira might be a simple, uneducated woman, but her body was ripe and luscious, and after so many nights spent listening to nothing but the whistle of wind through mountain passes and pitiful complaints of wounded men, he ached to drown himself in the pleasures of her flesh.


    Jocelynn, however, offered something even more satisfying when she arrived alongside platters of roasted fowl and spring vegetables, their rich aromas filling the chamber. The soft rustle of her silk skirts and the gentle click of her heels on stone spoke of refinement that Samira could never match.


    As a man who appreciated beautiful women, it was impossible to deny that Samira lived up to at least eight parts in ten of Ashlynn¡¯s alluring figure. What Samira lacked, however, Jocelynn had in abundance.


    "My hero has returned victorious," she said, raising a goblet of rich, fragrant wine and toasting his victory. "I knew that no demon alive could defeat my perfect champion. You didn¡¯t suffer, did you?" Jocelynn asked, her face full of concern. "Are there injuries you¡¯re suffering from?"


    Whether it was her graceful movement or her refined mannerisms, Jocelynn radiated the poise and elegance that only a true noblewoman could possess. More than that, conversation with Samira felt dull, lifeless, and quickly became little more than a pretext for enticing her out of her borrowed dresses. Conversation with Jocelynn, however, left him feeling refreshed, restored and somehow more sure of himself than he¡¯d been before she joined him.


    "I¡¯m not suffering anything worse than a few aches and pains," Owain said lightly, his heart swelling with pride. "Nothing that a hot bath and your charming presence can¡¯t ease. There were a few moments that were dangerous," he added. "It pains me to admit it, but without Sir Tommin and Inquisitor Diarmuid, I might have suffered grievous injuries."


    "Even alone," Jocelynn said sweetly, placing her hand lightly on Owain¡¯s muscular forearm. "Had you returned covered in wounds, you would have returned covered in glory. I saw how many soldiers failed to return this time," she said, her eyes falling low. "Was it, was it because the demons are really that strong? Or were the soldiers not strong enough for you to rely on?"


    "Ah, how is it that you know me so well?" Owain said, setting down his fork and knife to hold Jocelynn¡¯s hand. "Would you like me to tell you about it? About the devious traps and hidden archers? They tried to pull the mountain down atop our heads, you know. It took more than a day to find the bodies of all the men who were buried beneath the mudslide."


    "That, that¡¯s horrifying," Jocelynn said, her eyes shining in a way that didn¡¯t match her words. "Please, tell me everything, I only want to hear about your heroism from you, before the tales are mixed with the words of others at tomorrow¡¯s victory feast."


    "Oh?" Owain said, raising a brow. "You can¡¯t wait even a day?"


    "I could wait a day, a week or a month if I must," Jocelynn said, pulling her hand back and giving him a coy look. "It¡¯s just, tomorrow at the feast, you must share your glory with the others, even if their accomplishments are less than yours. You must appear humble before the other knights and most especially the church," she said. "I¡¯m sure that tomorrow you will raise up the deeds of others, even if they are less worthy, and you will diminish your own valor so that you don¡¯t outshine the Church."


    "But I know," she said, her eyes shining brightly. "I know that you are more brilliant than any of them. So tonight, tell me how you fought. Tell me how you conquered and claimed so many trophies. I want to hear it all."


    "Well, it started when my scouts discovered a trail," Owain began. As he spoke and ate, he drank deeply of both the fine wine served with dinner and the attentive worship of the younger Blackwell sister.


    Ashlynn was never like this with him. Both Blackwell sisters were intelligent and perceptive, but when Owain told his stories of fighting demons on the Southern Steppe to Ashlynn, she always asked questions. She probed at the sequence of events of the details of his retelling in ways that forced him to speak more of the accomplishments of others and the limits of his own abilities.


    Ashlynn used her intelligence and perception to transform Owain from a glorious hero into a capable soldier. She respected him, praised him where it was worthy and her assessments of him had been genuine and well worded. But she never showered him with devotion the way Jocelynn did.


    When Jocelynn asked questions, she already knew that Owain was the greatest warrior on the field of battle. She knew that he was a hero covered in glory. She only wanted to understand more about others in the battle so she could understand how far above ordinary men the man she adored stood.


    "It must have been frustrating," Jocelynn said at the end of Owain¡¯s boast-filled tale. "You fought so hard but you were held back because the people around you weren¡¯t as capable. Men died because only Sir Tommin was capable of fighting at your side and now that he¡¯s embraced his faith as his true calling, you can no longer rely on his sword."


    "It is the way of the world," Owain sighed, slumping in his chair. His belly was full of roasted duck and spring vegetables and his head swam slightly with the strong wine that Jocelynn poured for him whenever his cup ran low.


    At this moment, despite the aches and pains, despite the unwelcome appearance of Liam Dunn and the equally unwelcome presence of Inquisitor Diarmuid and all of his adherents, Owain felt more content than he had at any point he could recall in recent memory. Even his marriage to Ashlynn, in the hours before he learned of her true nature, couldn¡¯t compare to this moment. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And yet, despite all of that contentment, underneath it all was an aching void. He¡¯d returned from his hunt with half the men he¡¯d left with. He¡¯d gained glory for himself as the most valiant warrior on the battlefield and he¡¯d come home to the adoration of a beautiful woman, but was it enough?


    Could it ever be enough?

 Chapter 210: Drawing Closer

    Chapter 210: Drawing Closer"The strong and the capable are doomed to lead a lonely life," Owain said, as though he bore a great burden. "My father was a hero and his father before him, but we¡¯ve never had peers who could march to glory with us, only those who served below and failed us when we needed them the most."


    It seemed like a curse had befallen his family. Whether it was his father, his grandfather or any of their predecessors, at some point, their conquest fell to ruin. Every one of them could boast of some success, but whenever it felt like they would achieve real gains, a single defeat unraveled all of the momentum they¡¯d built.


    One or two key allies faltered, a brush with death came too close to taking the life of the current Marquis and it was over. Their path to additional conquest and greater glory was snuffed out like the flame of a candle.


    Without the ability to summon enough soldiers from their vassals and strong champions to counter the elite forces among the demons, no one man could put an end to the demon threat along their borders. It had happened to his father on Airgead Mountain and after the events of this hunting expedition, Owain was beginning to fear that it would happen to him as well. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This time it will be different," Jocelynn said, taking his hands in hers and meeting his eyes with a shining gaze. "You will be the first Duke Lothian, and I will be your Duchess," she said firmly, with the same faith that others used to say their prayers to the Holy Lord of Light. "You just need people around you who can help to keep your enemies from dragging you down."


    "Such people are difficult to find, and harder to recruit," Owain said bitterly. "Even the ones who come from across the sea will arrive with their pride and arrogance, having never faced a demon in battle. They will die in droves before the worthy ones rise like cream to the top and by then, they will be too covered in their own glory to bend the knee to me."


    "There are other capable men who could come under your banner, my Lord," Jocelynn said, her voice growing softer and more intimate as she leaned forward in her chair. The candlelight caught the golden highlights in her hair as she gazed at him intently. To Owain, her eyes seemed to grow larger in his vision, transforming into seafoam green pools that sought to draw him into their depths.


    "In Blackwell County, there are captains of ships who are very capable warriors," she explained. "Men who live their lives fighting in the most unforgiving conditions when pirates and monsters of the sea descend on their vessels."


    "These are captains of sailing ships," Owain said, finding himself distracted by the way her silk skirts rustled as she shifted closer to him. When had she come close enough to him to reach out and touch so easily? The wine must have affected him more than he¡¯d thought. Or perhaps it was the way her eyes seemed to shine with admiration whenever she looked his way that left him inching unconsciously toward her as well.


    "There are no seas for them to fight on here," he said, still puzzled by her idea. "The rivers aren¡¯t large enough to sail warships on. Why would we turn to ship captains for aid?"


    Jocelynn rose gracefully from her seat, flashing him a dazzling smile as she settled into the chair directly beside him. Suddenly, he found her close enough that he felt himself enveloped by the enchanting scent that always clung to her.


    Somehow, despite being so far from the seas of her home in Blackwell county, she always smelled like a crisp sea breeze, as though the ocean itself had followed her here just to tempt him. Ashlynn had always smelled of the earth and trees, as though she was trying to blend in to the Lothian environment, but Jocelynn maintained her uniquely enchanting scent, even here.


    For Jocelyn, now that she was this close to him, it was tempting, very tempting, to reach out and caress the firm, sculpted muscles of his arm beneath the sleeves of his tunic, or to reach up and caress his freshly shaved face, but she held herself back and focused on making her point.


    "A captain is the master of his vessel as long as he is at sea," she explained, her shoulder barely brushing against his arm as she leaned in to pour more of the strong wine into his goblet. "But no man wants to live forever on a tiny ship in the middle of the sea..."


    "As soon as a captain walks down the planks from his vessel, he descends from being a master of all that he can see to a tiny mortal man, bound to follow the whims of the merchants who own his vessel and the lords that rule the land," she said, painting a picture that felt all too familiar to Owain.


    He felt something similar every time he returned from leading his men against the demons of the Southern Steppe, covered in glory and victories, only to hear from his father about the places where he¡¯d fallen somehow short. It was a bitter, humiliating experience that he felt certain he would be forced to endure again when his father learned how extensive their losses had been.


    "Such men are strong, proud, capable leaders who are shackled by their station," Jocelynn said, pressing on when she saw understanding dawning in Owain¡¯s eyes. "But you, my lord, you can offer them a path to something more. Something that their merchant masters can never grant them."


    "Knighthood," Owain whispered as he realized the direction of Jocelynn¡¯s thinking. "You want me to offer these men knighthood if they will fight for me."


    "Soon, you¡¯ll leave for Blackwell County," Jocelynn whispered into his ear. "I know the merchants well. There was a time that my father considered having me marry into one of the great guilds you know."


    "You would have been wasted on a commoner," Owain said fiercely, wrapping an arm around Jocelynn¡¯s waist and pulling her close. "A Lady like you belongs with the greatest of lords. Any commoner who thinks they could sully you should be hung from the neck until dead and displayed to the rest of the toads lusting after you as a warning."


    "You understand," Jocelynn said with a smile as she pressed close against Owain¡¯s muscular body. This was what she¡¯d worked so hard to obtain, what she wanted so desperately to feel. Owain wasn¡¯t just the strongest or most handsome man she had ever seen, he was also a man who didn¡¯t hesitate to reveal his desires to the world.


    When Owain moved boldly to capture her sister¡¯s heart, Jocelynn had wondered how it must have felt, to have those powerful arms wrapped around her, claiming her for all the world to see. To be the woman that the greatest of men had to possess. Now, as he threatened to kill unworthy men for the crime of lusting after her, she felt like she was getting her first real taste of that feeling and it was even more intoxicating than the strong wine she¡¯d served him tonight.


    She¡¯d never dreamed that she could capture Owain¡¯s heart. She¡¯d thought that she could only settle for a lesser lord among her father¡¯s vassals. Even obtaining that kind of future for herself had taken her years of pleading along with her mother¡¯s inability to give birth to another child before her father had given up on the notion of marrying her into one of Blackwell City¡¯s powerful merchant guilds.


    No matter how wealthy, no commoner could measure up to the status of a lord in her eyes, and she hadn¡¯t met a man alive who could measure up to Owain.


    "When you leave, I¡¯ll give you a list of captains who may be up to your standards," she said. "I know the guilds quite well. Of course, I don¡¯t know the truth of their fighting abilities," she said, looking down before looking back up at him through fluttering eyelashes. "My lord will have to test them himself."


    "Of course," Owain said with a broad smile. "You shouldn¡¯t ever need to understand how to evaluate another man¡¯s strength," he added, gently caressing her soft, golden hair. "Just trust in me to know who is worthy and who isn¡¯t."


    "Of course, my Lord," she whispered. "I put my trust in you for everything..."

 Chapter 211: A Burning Question

    Chapter 211: A Burning Question"Of course, my Lord," Jocelynn said, snuggling close to Owain and pressing her head against his firm, muscular shoulder. "I put my trust in you for everything," she whispered.


    This close to him, her heart thundered in her chest and her face flushed bright red. The warmth from his body seemed to radiate through his fine linen tunic, and the rich scent of woodsmoke still clung to his freshly washed skin, mixed with the subtle hints of cedar and musk from the expensive soaps he¡¯d used.


    This moment felt like a gift from the Holy Lord of Light, offering her everything she had ever wanted from life. Owain desired her deeply, she could feel it from the strength in his arm as he held her close, tensed like he couldn¡¯t allow her to escape.


    Looking up at him from inches away, she fought down the desire to reach out to him with her soft, slightly parted lips. What would he taste like? What would the kiss be like? Gentle and tender like his eyes when he looked at her or fierce and possessive, asserting his claim to her the way his arm already had?


    But one question held her back. One answer she still didn¡¯t have.


    Confessor Eleanor had been circumspect with her questions during their journey from Blackwell County to the Summer Villa but it was impossible for someone as intelligent as Jocelynn to fail to notice a certain trend. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There were too many times when the Confessor asked questions about Ashlynn¡¯s habits, their time together, or her more unusual hobbies for Jocelynn to mistake the other woman¡¯s interest in her sister for idle curiosity. When she confronted the woman, she didn¡¯t even deny it.


    The stone walls of her chamber had felt cold and unyielding that morning as Eleanor¡¯s questions seemed to chip away all of the confidence and justifications Jocelynn had painstakingly constructed around her heart in the days since her sister¡¯s death.


    Even now, remembering the confessor¡¯s stern face and the firm grip of her bony hands whenever she offered a ¡¯comforting¡¯ touch made Jocelynn¡¯s shoulders tense. The woman¡¯s voice had been soft, almost gentle, but each question had cut like a knife.


    "There is no doubt that your sister possessed the mark of the witch," the Confessor said, accepting as fact something that very few people had witnessed. "Your decision to tell Lord Owain that his newlywed wife was a witch likely saved both his life and his soul. But if your sister was a witch, how did she use her powers? What evil might she have done? Who did she learn from?"


    Each question landed on Jocelynn like a stone dropped from the top of a tower because she had no answers for them. She and her sister were different in many ways, they had been raised too differently to have great similarities, but she¡¯d never seen her sister¡¯s actions as wicked or mysterious.


    When had Ashlynn transformed from a loving elder sister, trapped in her family¡¯s manor, into a scheming and deadly witch that had to die for her crimes? Jocelynn couldn¡¯t say and her inability to answer Confessor Eleanor¡¯s questions ate away at the carefully constructed certainty in her heart that there had been no other fate her sister could have had.


    "These are just a few of the many questions that I hope to discover answers to," Eleanor said, softening her tone when she realized that she¡¯d successfully rattled the younger woman out of her complacency. "Perhaps one of the most significant questions is whether or not your sister used her witchcraft on Lord Owain before he killed her."


    "You think my sister tried to bewitch Lord Owain?" Jocelynn asked. Her first thought was that if Owain had been affected by a witch¡¯s curse then she needed to plead with the Church to treat him but... that only made sense if the witch was someone other than Ashlynn. What reason would Ashlynn have had to curse her husband on the night of their wedding?


    "Lord Owain was decisive in killing your sister," Eleanor said. "But I¡¯ve spoken to Sir Tommin about the scene when he arrived. He saw no signs of a great battle. But if your sister didn¡¯t attempt to use her witchcraft on him, why did he need to end her life? Why not simply hand her over to the Church and let us handle witches the way we know best?"


    It was a question that Jocelynn herself had struggled to resolve. She told Owain about her sister because she couldn¡¯t bear the thought of the two coming together as one. She knew that her sister wasn¡¯t right for Owain and that she barely even had feelings for him.


    It was a marriage arranged between Rhys Blackwell and Bors Lothian for the future of both families and Ashlynn had gone along with it but she had never loved Owain Lothian. Not the way that Jocelynn herself did.


    She had believed then that as long as she could prevent the consummation of the marriage, there was a chance that things could still be made right. That she could step in and take her sister¡¯s place to secure the alliance and that her sister could go back to her private tower in the Blackwell manor, kept away from prying eyes who might discover her mark.


    Now that she found herself held lovingly in Owain¡¯s arms, that one question stopped her from crossing the final distance between them and offering herself up to him. She said that she trusted him and she wanted to mean it, but the only way she could really trust him with her everything would be to resolve this last, lingering doubt in her mind.


    "My lord," she said, unable to hold herself back from asking now that she was this close. "My sister didn¡¯t, she didn¡¯t do anything to you the night that," she began, her voice trembling as she tried to phrase the question in the most delicate way possible. "If she used witchcraft on you, if she hurt you in any way..."


    "As if I would give a witch the chance," Owain said fiercely. Then, as if realizing he¡¯d made a mistake, his tone softened and he placed a finger under Jocelynn¡¯s chin, pulling her seafoam-green gaze up to meet his.


    "Did she," Jocelynn started, her breath catching in her throat as she heard Owain¡¯s unhesitating answer. "Did she suffer?"


    For a moment, a startled look flashed over Owain¡¯s face at the question. His eyes turned dark as he recalled Ashlynn¡¯s final moments. His fists fell on her again and again. Blood splattered the ground and the sound of her anguished cries blended with the sound of meaty impacts and cracking bones.


    For what she¡¯d nearly done to him, forcing him to bear the stain of marrying a witch, of course, she had to suffer. She lied to him. Even if she never used witchcraft against him, no amount of suffering could wipe away the damage done by her betrayal. But he could never say that to Jocelynn.


    "Of course she didn¡¯t suffer," Owain lied, schooling his features into a gentle mask as he stroked Jocelynn¡¯s hair. "She may have been a witch, but for a few hours, she was my wife. I gave her a clean death. A single stroke of my sword. Swift, merciful. She was your sister after all," he said gently. "She deserved that much."

 Chapter 212: A Heavy Burden

    Chapter 212: A Heavy Burden"This must have been weighing heavily on you," Owain added. How could he have forgotten? Jocelynn was such a tender girl, barely an adult. Her cleverness made it too easy for him to forget that at her core, she was just a soft hearted maiden.


    The warm firelight cast flickering shadows across the delicate features of her face and highlighted the graceful curves of her body as she pressed against him. Her eyes were moist with tears she must have been forcing herself to hold in even as her voice trembled when she asked about her sister¡¯s death.


    She was perfect. Her features were achingly beautiful and her body tempted him even now to ravish her in the most sinful of ways. But the pain and uncertainty in her eyes evoked a much stronger, more primal urge to be a man who could protect her from the world¡¯s cruelty and hurts.


    "You are not your sister," he reassured the young woman quivering in his arms. "Her crimes, whatever they were, aren¡¯t yours to bear. You don¡¯t have to feel guilty because of what she might have intended to do."


    "Witches are evil existences that must be destroyed on sight," Owain insisted, his eyes growing flinty and hard. "But I¡¯ve said nothing of your sister¡¯s wicked nature because of your kindness and selflessness," he praised her, gently stroking her cheek.


    "Because of me?" Jocelynn asked, her voice quivering with uncertainty.


    "Slaying a witch is a feat that could earn a lifetime of glory," Owain said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, only the defeat of a demon lord could eclipse the slaying of a witch. "But if I told the world that your sister was a witch, what would have happened to my darling Jocelynn? Your love for me was obvious, even then, and it was as pure as your sister¡¯s heart was black."


    "All of this hiding away your sister¡¯s crimes, concealing her death, isn¡¯t it all so we can have a chance to be together?" Owain said. "All of this, I do for you. For us. For a future where we can be together. Why else would I destroy your sister so resolutely?"


    This poor young woman, Owain thought. She must have agonized for months with fear that he would hate her or suspect her of being a witch like her sister. No wonder she¡¯d worked so hard to find a way to strengthen his forces. She was clearly desperate to display her loyalty and to prove that she would be an asset to him after her sister had nearly trapped him in a marriage to a witch.


    "My dearest Jocelynn," he whispered. "As soon as you told me of your sister¡¯s mark, I confirmed it for myself. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t just accept your words, but once I saw the truth, I did not hesitate to destroy that evil woman," he said.


    "You don¡¯t need to fear that she placed a hex on me or anything else," he added. "I never gave her a chance to fight back or use her witchcraft. Since she couldn¡¯t harm me, even if she desired to, there¡¯s nothing for me to hold against you. You are my shining pearl from the sea, pure and bright, selfless enough to sacrifice even your own family in order to do what¡¯s right."


    "You don¡¯t have to work so hard to prove yourself to me," he said, tapping her gently on the forehead. "It must have been hard for you to put together a plan to recruit potential knights to my banner. I will meet with the men you wish me to meet, but don¡¯t feel like you need to do this again. It¡¯s better that you focus your thoughts on the family we will create together in the future, isn¡¯t it?"


    "Yes, my Lord," Jocelynn said, burying her face in his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him.


    Finally, she had an answer, but the answer twisted in her heart like a knife. Ashlynn hadn¡¯t done anything to hurt him. Owain didn¡¯t need to kill her to protect himself. Instead, he¡¯d killed Ashlynn to secure a future together with her. Reflexively, her hands clenched at Owain¡¯s tunic, clinging to him like a drowning woman clutching a rope as sobs threatened to break free from her chest.


    Perhaps, she thought, perhaps Owain was right. A witch couldn¡¯t be allowed a chance to work their witchcraft. From the moment he knew, there had been only one outcome, whether he had been the one to do it or the Church had carried out the execution. This way, at least they could be together.


    Inwardly, her heart twisted. If anyone was to blame for her Sister¡¯s death, her father had to bear the greatest share of blame. If he had come to Jocelynn instead of Ashlynn in the first place, all of this could have been prevented. So what if Jocelynn wasn¡¯t the eldest daughter, she was infinitely more suited to be Owain¡¯s wife than her bookish sister.


    Now, she had done the only thing she could to salvage the situation. Owain had been trapped by fate as well. What else could he do when confronted with a witch in his bed chambers on his wedding night?


    And now, as she relished in the embrace of the man she desired most, an aching emptiness gnawed at her. Just two doors down the hall, an imposter wore her sister¡¯s clothes and pretended to be the sibling she¡¯d shared countless days with.


    It only made everything harder. If she wanted to, she could drown herself in the illusion that Ashlynn was still alive. She could rush into Samira¡¯s chambers and tell her that Owain had held her close and confessed his love. She could pretend that she still had a sister to share this moment with.


    But she couldn¡¯t. Samira could never replace Ashlynn. Every time she saw the woman, she hated the sight of the hollow mockery of her sister¡¯s brilliance even more.


    Trembling and fighting to hold back tears, she sank into Owain¡¯s embrace. At least, after all of this, she had him. They had both done the only things they could. It wasn¡¯t their fault that they¡¯d been placed in such a cruel and impossible situation.


    But as long as she had Owain, then it was fine. The sacrifice, cruel as it had been, was worth it. Wasn¡¯t it?


    As Jocelynn shook in his embrace, Owain gently stroked her hair and quietly savored the feeling of her tearful surrender. No woman could be expected to endure what his Jocelynn had, but in the end, when she most needed strength, she¡¯d come to him.


    However they arrived here, this was where she belonged. He had stumbled with Ashlynn, but in the end, the person who came away with the greatest prize was still him. Jocelynn had been right about one thing at the very beginning of their evening together. He would become the first Duke Lothian.


    And as long as Jocelynn was like this, turning to him with that vulnerable look and recognizing when she needed his strength... then she would be the perfect Lothian Duchess. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 213: Holy Festival of Light

    Chapter 213: Holy Festival of LightThree days after Owain¡¯s hunting party returned to the Summer Villa, Diarmuid made his way through the bustling grounds of the fortress-like temple at the heart of Lothian City with a determined stride.


    All around him, everyone from common acolytes to particularly devout lay people worked energetically at a variety of tasks from the construction of stages to scrubbing the stonework of the fortress walls, everyone went about their work with a sense of joy and reverence.


    Soon, the Summer Solstice would arrive and with it, the Holy Festival of Lights would begin a week-long holiday filled with a combination of festive revels and pious observances. Many initiates who wished to enter the Church formally waited for this special holiday to take their oaths and begin their new life of service to the Holy Lord of Light.


    Loman Lothian was no different than his brothers and sisters of the cloth. As the man who championed doing more outreach from the Church to the common folks, he had been given responsibility for overseeing the wide array of events that would be open to the public.


    "Your festival is much livelier here than it is in the Holy City," Diarmuid commented when he finally found the younger Lothian lord. Surprisingly, when he found Loman, the young priest was kneeling in the grass with a group of children, explaining how to tell the difference between weeds that must be pulled from the gardens and young spring flowers that had yet to bloom.


    "Remember," Loman said patiently. "Weeds are like wicked thoughts that come from demons who would twist our hearts. They may resemble pretty flowers if allowed to bloom, but they will choke out the other flowers that have been planted to honor the Holy Lord of Light."


    "You must carefully pull out the weeds, just as you pull out angry or hateful thoughts from your heart," he explained. "When you¡¯re done, all that remains will be a healthy and beautiful garden. It¡¯s a small struggle, to clear the weeds from the garden and to pull the hurtful thoughts from your heart, but I know that each of you can meet your struggle, can¡¯t you?"


    "Yes, Brother Loman!" the children cried with eager smiles on their faces.


    "Good, now go pull out the weeds by their roots, don¡¯t leave any behind," Loman said, standing up and patting the dirt and grass off of his white and gold robes. "When you¡¯re done, if you¡¯ve done a good job, there will be cookies waiting for you. In life, a man who meets his struggles reaps many rewards and this is no different.


    "Now go," he said, gesturing to a long flower garden that lined one of the walkways leading to the temple itself. "The weeds won¡¯t pull themselves."


    "You have a way with children," Diarmuid said warmly as he approached the young priest. "And a way with the Word. Though, isn¡¯t it a bit too close to bribery to give them cookies for pulling weeds?"


    The men made their way into the temple proper, their footsteps muffled by the fading tapestries hanging on the sturdy stone walls. This portion of the temple was never open to the public and few people moved through the private corridors to overhear the two men¡¯s conversation.


    "Every man¡¯s struggle serves three masters," Loman said, falling in beside the Inquisitor as they walked through the temple. "A man who struggles to earn his wages and feed his family struggles for himself first, his master second, and the Holy Lord of Light last. His struggle is no less genuine because he thinks first of his wages and only later of the Holy Lord than if he toiled exclusively to reach the Light."


    "These little ones need to learn that meeting the struggle comes with rewards they can realize in this life," Loman explained. "The struggle to reach the Heavenly Shores is too abstract for children, but the struggle to earn a cookie and fill their belly is well within their grasp. If we build these habits now, they will work diligently all their lives."


    "Well said," Diarmuid said, smiling at the young man. After fighting against the demons deep in the forest and delving into the darkness surrounding the death of Ashlynn Blackwell, the Inquisitor found Loman¡¯s simply and purely expressed faith to be a balm for his soul.


    The Inquisition was tasked with carrying the Light into the darkest places and the longer a man spent there, the harder it could be to remember the purity of the light that shone on other members of their faith.


    Loman led them to a small sitting room tucked away in one of the temple¡¯s quieter corners. The bright afternoon filtered through a narrow stained glass window, casting the image of a golden sword wreathed in flame onto a simple wooden table that stood between two well-worn chairs. Against one wall, a narrow table held a decanter of water, a pair of wooden cups, and a neatly folded stole bearing the crimson and gold sun emblem of the Confessors.


    While Loman didn¡¯t feel the need to offer a confession, the serious look on the Inquisitor¡¯s face, when he arrived, left him feeling that the real topic of conversation, once they reached it, wasn¡¯t one that should be heard by outsiders. Within the entire temple, the young priest could think of few places better suited to such a conversation. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You know," Diarmuid said as the men entered the private room. "I had planned to leave almost immediately to accompany your brother to Blackwell County. After seeing what you¡¯re doing here though, I¡¯m strongly tempted to stay until the end of the Holy Festival of Lights."


    "I know it breaks with some of the traditions," Loman said, fetching the decanter of water and pouring a cup for himself and the Inquisitor. "But with the demons so close, I feel that the common folk need these moments to reaffirm their faith more than ever."


    "That¡¯s true," Diarmuid said, leaning back in his chair and savoring the pure, clean taste of the chilled water. "I have to admit, until now, I didn¡¯t fully appreciate the challenges involved in rooting the demons out of their nests in the hills and mountains. No matter how much the records speak of the challenges faced by our predecessors in bringing the Light to these dark lands, it¡¯s difficult to believe there weren¡¯t exaggerations until you see the reality for yourself."


    "And now that you¡¯ve seen it," Loman said as he took a chair opposite the Inquisitor. "What will you do? I can¡¯t believe that encountering a nest of demons, no matter how fierce, has shaken the foundations of your faith. Now you have experienced their threat, but does it really change anything for you?"


    Had any other priest said the words Loman just spoke, most Inquisitors would have struck him across the face for questioning their commitment to the faith. If they felt particularly offended, they might even question the faith of the priest himself.


    Loman was different. He was the son of the current Marquis and his perspective on the struggle against the demons outside Lothian March had been informed by both secular reality and the teachings of the faith. As such, Diarmuid could hardly fault him for being unperturbed by the Inquisitor¡¯s moment of revelation.


    "It does change things for me, and it may change things for you as well," Diarmuid said. "Your brother is a remarkable warrior you know. On the field of battle, only Sir Tommin was his equal and Sir Tommin held a Holy Light Sword. Your brother fought with an ordinary weapon and still dominated the field."


    "My brother has always been an exceptional warrior and a valiant knight," Loman agreed. "He may not be an able commander the way my father was, but his acts of personal valor are difficult to overstate."


    "That¡¯s what makes this so difficult," the Inquisitor said, staring at his reflection in the cup of water. Sometimes, faith made life simple. There was light and darkness and the choice between the two couldn¡¯t be more obvious. Other times, everything felt like it had been cast in shadow. The way toward the Light wasn¡¯t clear.


    To Diarmuid, this was the heart of an Inquisitor¡¯s struggle. Could he accept a lesser darkness if it conquered a greater one? How pure must their fight be in order to obtain victory over the demons in the end?


    "Brother Loman," Diarmuid said heavily. "We have made discoveries in our investigation, but, before I tell you what you have found, I have to ask you a question. If we were to find that your brother was guilty of simple murder and that he¡¯d dressed matters up in accusations of witchcraft to shield himself from the consequences..."


    "If that was the result of our discovery," Diarmuid said, looking directly into Loman¡¯s eyes. "Could you remain silent about it? If the truth would deprive us of a powerful champion against the demons, could you ignore it so that we could obtain a greater chance of victory against the Darkness?"

 Chapter 214: A Brother’s Dilemma

    Chapter 214: A Brother¡¯s DilemmaDiarmuid¡¯s words pressed down on Loman with the weight of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of lives behind them. Moments ago, he told smiling children to pull up the weeds in the garden like the weeds of darkness that tried to grow in their hearts. Now, he felt like Diarmuid had brought him something worse than weeds to wrap around and pierce his heart as they constricted.


    "I resolved myself to stand aside in my brother¡¯s matters," Loman said after several quiet moments. "The scales of justice tip too easily and my finger is too heavy. As his brother, pleading for mercy could be understood. As a priest, condemning his crimes could also be expected. Doing either feels like a betrayal," he said bitterly.


    "So you choose to retreat from the struggle rather than suffer the consequences of taking either side?" Diarmuid asked. His voice was unusually gentle for an Inquisitor but he could see the torment on the young priest¡¯s face.


    Loman wasn¡¯t a sinner who needed to admit his wrongs, he was a painfully young man who needed help in a moment of crisis. In Diarmuid¡¯s opinion, people who couldn¡¯t tell the difference had no business donning the crimson of the Inquisition.


    "Both answers feel wrong," Loman said. "I¡¯ve spoken with my father many times about my brother¡¯s deficiencies. He¡¯s valiant on the battlefield and unbeatable among knights his age. He¡¯s driven to help the family succeed where it has failed before and he¡¯s willing to bear the burdens and the risks that go with his ambitions."


    "That sounds like praise more than a deficiency," Diarmuid pointed out. Taking the decanter from the table he poured a fresh cup for Loman and slid it across the table to the young man. "What deficiencies are you concerned with?"


    "My brother¡¯s strengths end with what I¡¯ve already said," the young man said. "As a man, he¡¯s a champion of the Light. He might have made a good Templar. If he¡¯d been born the younger brother, I¡¯m sure that he would have done so. But as a Marquis, he¡¯s too lacking."


    "I saw a bit of that myself," Diarmuid admitted, thinking back on the days he spent in the wilderness with the young lord. "As a champion, he¡¯s perfect. As a commander, he¡¯s impatient and unsympathetic to the struggles of people who are less capable than he is."


    "It goes beyond that," Loman said. "That¡¯s why this matter of my sister-in-law¡¯s murder has weighed on me so heavily. My brother gives vent to his fury too easily. He becomes too lost in the pleasures of the earthly world and loses sight of his path to the Heavenly Shores. If he was just a man, that might be fine. If he couldn¡¯t reach the Heavenly Shores in this life, then his glorious deeds in battle against the demons would surely count for much in his next life."


    "But a lord, any lord, much less a Marquis, can¡¯t lose sight of their people¡¯s path to the Heavenly Shores," Loman said firmly. More than anything else, he feared where his brother would lead the people of Lothian March.


    That was why, ever since he donned the robes of a priest, Loman had worked hard to become a pillar of support for the spirits of the people. Owain might wage war and bring about ruin when he overestimated himself or his army, but Loman could prepare the people behind him to survive the tragedies his brother might provoke.


    That had been his answer when he plunged the depths of his faith to understand why he stood in the Church while his brother prepared to take a seat upon a throne. If things had been different, perhaps he could have been a good Marquis and Owan a famed Templar, but things hadn¡¯t worked out that way.


    "I can only meet the struggles before me," Loman said, looking up from his reflection in the cup of water to meet the Inquisitor¡¯s soft gaze. "I will struggle on behalf of the people. To the people, it may not matter why my brother killed his wife. Are the taxes he levies fair? Does he struggle to defend them from the darkness of the demons? These are the things that the common man will judge him by."


    "So you are resigned to your brother escaping punishment, even if he is guilty of a crime," Dairmuid prompted. It wasn¡¯t an inspired answer and it clearly didn¡¯t satisfy the young priest, but could he be blamed for it?


    "No, I¡¯m not resigned to it," Loman said, shaking his head as a dim flame began to burn in his eyes. "It¡¯s just... I don¡¯t know if the third path I see is an answer to my struggle or the worst perversion of meeting it."


    "Oh? You see a third path?" Diarmuid asked. "You don¡¯t seem to feel happy about it."


    "Because it feels too self-serving," Loman said. "And I lack the confidence in myself to feel that my motives are pure. But, if my brother is guilty of a crime, shouldn¡¯t he have the right to fight for his own salvation? Not as a Marquis, but as the soldier he seems to have been born to be. Let him find his salvation on the battlefield." S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And the March? You would take your father¡¯s throne in your brother¡¯s place?" Diarmuid asked, seeing where Loman was headed.


    "It satisfies the needs of the people to be ruled by a Marquis who considers their path to the Heavenly Shores as his greatest priority," Loman said slowly. "It satisfies the demand for justice by stripping my brother of his place as my father¡¯s heir. It gives him a path to redeem himself."


    "And it places you upon your father¡¯s throne," the Inquisitor said. "Do you feel that your struggle in this life is to supplant your brother? To take his place for the betterment of your people?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Loman said, shaking his head before drinking deeply of the crisp, clear water. The question that Diarmuid had asked poked at one of his longest-held doubts.


    The Church taught that such doubts need to be spoken of, to be brought into the light and examined openly before they became chains of darkness that could stop a man from ever reaching the Heavenly Shores.


    Knowing the teaching was one thing. Holding himself up to its expectations, however, was much, much harder.


    "My father has doubted my brother¡¯s capabilities for too long," Loman said after taking another cleansing gulp of water. "And those doubts have festered in my heart like weeds. Now that an opportunity to pull my brother down has presented itself, should I take it? If I do, is it because it is righteous and just to do so or is it because it serves my own ambitions?"


    "Until I can answer those things, it¡¯s impossible to know whether this is the path I should take or not," he said, giving the Inquisitor a sad smile. "Perhaps the decision won¡¯t be mine to make. The moment to decide isn¡¯t upon me yet," he said, though his voice said that he wished it were true rather than that it was.


    "For now, I will pray and I will watch. When the moment comes, I hope that I will have found my answer by then."


    "You¡¯re right to think that the decision might not be yours to make," Diarmuid said. Reaching across the table, he placed a reassuring hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder and met his gaze directly.


    "I still have answers to find. I need to see if there is anyone in Blackwell County that can bear witness to Ashlynn Blackwell using witchcraft," he explained. "Confessor Eleanor has found precious little evidence for it. It seems that even the private garden that Lady Ashlynn kept was only used to grow fruits and vegetables rather than any of the exotic herbs or poisonous plants used by witches in brewing their concoctions."


    "So all we have as evidence is a birthmark that is similar to but not exactly like the mark of the Forest Witch," Loman said. "And a string of coincidences that become innocent happenstance when examined closely."


    "There are still a few threads in this tapestry to tug on," Diarmuid said, squeezing Loman¡¯s shoulder before he stood to leave. "Once I¡¯ve finished my investigation in Blackwell County, I¡¯ll return to the Holy City to present my findings. At that point, the next decisions will be out of both of our hands."


    "But remember something, Lord Loman," Diarmuid said, deliberately addressing the young priest by his secular title. "The next decision may be out of our hands, but that doesn¡¯t mean that the final one is. At the end of the day, a man is responsible for the actions of his own hands and the words that flow from his own lips."


    "Let your faith guide you in your struggle," the Inquisitor said as he left the small room. "Do that, and at the very least, you can look into the Light and say that you have done your best."


    In the small room, the light on the table stretched until the flaming sword was little more than a dull glow cast by the setting sun. Diarmuid¡¯s parting words echoed through Loman¡¯s mind again and again as he considered the older man¡¯s advice.


    The bells for the evening meal pulled Loman from his thoughts. As he stood to leave, his gaze fell on the crimson and gold stole still folded on the narrow table. The stole was a symbol of a Confessor¡¯s authority to hear the darkest secrets of the faithful as well as a binding promise to help guide those who had become lost back toward the Light.


    Perhaps, he thought, it was time to hear what his brother had to say about that night. Not as a priest receiving confession, but as the man who might one day have to judge him. As a brother, he owed Owain at least that much.


    When he left the small room, he stood straighter than when he entered. The burdens weighing down on him felt no lighter, but if Diarmuid¡¯s words had done anything, they had given him a dose of courage to face his brother head-on. He¡¯d avoided conflict with Owain and his father long enough. Since they hadn¡¯t deigned to reach out to him, then he would make the next move himself.

 Chapter 215: Powerful Pull

    Chapter 215: Powerful PullAfter spending seven days and nights traveling across the High Fen, Ashlynn and her companions finally arrived at the edge of the cliff that marked the end of the White River and the entrance to the Briar. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In the starlit darkness, their small circle of wagons had been arranged to block the cool mountain winds that swept down from the east. The breeze carried traces of snow and ice even now that summer was almost upon them. In the distance, the frozen peaks loomed as darker shadows against the moonless sky.


    Lanterns hanging from the wagons cast pools of warm light that pushed back against the darkness, but even their glow seemed minuscule when Ashlynn looked out over the vast, mist-covered darkness below the towering cliff. Next to the dizzying height and the thunder of water pouring over the edge, everything felt smaller and less significant, as if it could be swept away at any minute.


    Nyrielle had told her what to expect, but words didn¡¯t do justice to the awe-inspiring force of a mighty river spilling off the edge of a cliff and tumbling hundreds of feet through the air into the lake below. The sound of churning water made conversation all but impossible within a hundred paces of the cliff¡¯s edge and a cold mist drifted through the night air like tiny raindrops attempting to return to the sky.


    "Sights like dis are someting special, ain¡¯t dey, cher?" Jacques said lightly as he came to stand next to Ashlynn looking over the edge of the cliff. "It¡¯s better in de morning, I promise you dat."


    Over the past several days of travel, Ashlynn had come to a tentative understanding with the reptilian witch. He didn¡¯t encroach on her personal space and he didn¡¯t seek her out on the occasions that the group had stopped to rest or while they took ferries along the few navigable stretches of the mighty river. Unless Ashlynn herself sought out his company, he left her alone.


    Still, completely ignoring him would have been both difficult and rude. Instead, on the occasions that they spoke, Ashlynn did her best to keep it to topics that felt neutral rather than personal. She asked about the plants growing in the area and the wildlife that she¡¯d never encountered before.


    Jacques¡¯ connection to plants was incredibly deep and he was happy to keep their discussions to lighter topics adjacent to witchcraft as long as they didn¡¯t delve into the mysteries of the craft itself.


    Jacques himself had been surprised how ¡¯hands-on¡¯ her knowledge of plants turned out to be. When he learned that she¡¯d been raised as a noblewoman among humans he had assumed she lived a pampered life similar to the children of powerful merchants. His opinion of her had dropped even further when she and the diminutive Heila seemed so insistent on building relationships with vapid social-climbing women in High Fen City.


    Learning that she¡¯d tended a personal garden in her youth and that she had made an extensive study of botany came as a pleasant surprise to the thorny witch. With that as a basis of comparison, their conversations became more of a lopsided exchange.


    Without samples of the plants she was familiar with, it was impossible for him to learn as much from her as she did from him, but they still both gained a better understanding of the ways life took shape on their respective sides of the mountains.


    "It¡¯s not the sight that drew me," Ashlynn said, shaking off the memories of their journey and shivering slightly as a sudden gust showered them with a burst of chill water droplets. "You feel it too don¡¯t you? There¡¯s so much energy flowing from the waterfall, I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest just being buffeted by the edges of it."


    "Ah, I know de problem, cher," Jacques said lightly. This waterfall was just the beginning of the power that flowed through the Briar and he¡¯d long become accustomed to its forceful presence but he wasn¡¯t so old that he couldn¡¯t remember what it was like to be a young witch overwhelmed by the force of nature before them.


    "Jus¡¯ come away from de edge," he suggested gently. "Best to be far enough away dat de spray don¡¯t reach you. Simple logic works de best, non? Don¡¯t make it so complicated like you have to learn to deal with all dis at once. Jus¡¯ back away from it."


    "That¡¯s... not so easy either," Ashlynn admitted, lowering her head in embarrassment. The power she felt flowing from the waterfall was bright, and vibrant, and it called out to her as if to encourage her to step into the White River and fling herself over the cliff along with the rushing water.


    For a moment, her head spun and she felt like, if she could just meld with the energy of the river, she wouldn¡¯t plummet to the turbulent waters below. With that much energy at her fingertips, surely she could take flight, soaring on the night wind like a bird or... or like Nyrielle when she unfurled her raven wings.


    "Ma Belle, Nyrielle," Jacques called back toward the cluster of wagons. "Ma petite Ashlynn could use a rescue from an enchanting beauty. Dese scaly hands of mine ain¡¯t for touching her," he said, positioning himself between Ashlynn and the edge of the cliff.


    If they¡¯d been alone, he would have carried her away himself, but over the past several days he¡¯d learned that Ashlynn¡¯s lover could be just as prickly as he was, if not more, when it came to people touching the young witch. Since he couldn¡¯t carry her away, the only thing he could do was act as a shield against the powerful pull of the waterfall and place himself in a position to catch her if she succumbed to its pull before Nyrielle arrived.


    "Ashlynn," Nyrielle whispered the moment she appeared next to her lover. Her voice was thick with barely restrained desire as she inhaled the scent of her lover mixed with the cool night air.


    "Come. We still have a little time left before the others will be ready to depart. Spend it with me before we have to say goodbye," she said. Sliding between Ashlynn and the powerful pull of the waterfall¡¯s energy, she wrapped her arms around Ashlynn¡¯s waist and gently lifted her off the ground, carrying her back to the circle of wagons that was preparing to depart.


    Tomorrow would be the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year and the shortest night. They had only a few precious hours to say their farewells tonight before the caravan rolled out again and neither woman wanted to waste them.

 Chapter 216: Parting Kiss

    Chapter 216: Parting Kiss"I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, once she was far enough away from the mighty waterfall that she no longer felt swept away by it. "Thank you," she added, standing on her tiptoes to give Nyrielle a gentle kiss.


    While Ashlynn had meant for it to be a simple, brief kiss, Nyrielle seized the opportunity, plundering from Ashlynn¡¯s lush lips like a woman dying of thirst. Her fangs briefly pricked Ashlynn¡¯s tongue, adding a now familiar coppery flavor to a sensual kiss that Ashlynn could feel all the way to her toes.


    Nyrielle¡¯s hands roamed along Ashlynn¡¯s supple curves as their tongues danced, paying no attention to the gazes of anyone in the small camp. At the moment, blood thundered in her ears, blending with the rushing sound of the waterfall and drowning out all considerations of the world beyond the woman in her arms.


    Ashlynn clung to her lover¡¯s slender shoulders as she felt her face flush and her knees go weak. They had only been together for a short few months, just a fraction of the time she¡¯d been betrothed to Owain, yet already her world had changed so much that she struggled to imagine life without Nyrielle by her side.


    Now, they would be apart for as long as they had been together, perhaps even longer. No distance, however, could stop her from feeling an echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her own chest. Their bond went beyond shared moments, stolen kisses, and the words they said beneath the Ancient Oak. It was a pact formed of blood that bound them together for the rest of Nyrielle¡¯s life.


    "Better now?" Nyrielle asked gently when she pulled back from the kiss. "I would hate to think that I would lose out to a waterfall, no matter how beautiful it is under the stars." sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The stars I see in your eyes will always be the most beautiful," Ashlynn said, her face heating in embarrassment at how entranced she¡¯d become by the flow of energy that swirled through the air around the waterfall. "Can we..." she started, glancing at Nyrielle¡¯s luxurious carriage and motioning with her head.


    "My darling is still so shy," Nyrielle said, taking Ashlynn¡¯s delicate hands in hers and guiding her into the softly lit interior of the carriage. In the light of the single lantern, deep, inky shadows danced across the vampire¡¯s features, reminding Ashlynn of the night they met when Thane helped her into this very carriage and her life changed forever.


    "I¡¯m going to miss you," Ashlynn whispered once the door to the carriage clicked closed behind her. Her hand reached out, tracing her fingers across Nyrielle¡¯s brow, brushing a strand of dark hair out of the way so she could gaze into the vampire¡¯s mesmerizing midnight blue eyes. "I¡¯ll work hard so we can reunite soon."


    "Don¡¯t push yourself to finish early, my darling," Nyrielle said softly. "You should understand by now that visiting the Mother of Thorns is no easy thing. Instead of reuniting early, I would prefer that you make the most of the time that you have."


    "I will," Ashlynn promised softly. Nyrielle had her own business to tend to before returning home and she would spend the next several months traveling across Eldritch lands. The two had promised to head to High Fen City when they were finished with the things they needed to do, but at the moment, neither woman could say for sure who would arrive first.


    For now, however, while they still had a little time, they set aside concerns of the future to savor the little time they had left. Nyrielle pulled Ashlynn forward, running her fingers through Ashlynn¡¯s long, pale blond locks as her lips sought Ashlynn¡¯s.


    Silk skirts rustled as they pressed close enough together for Nyrielle to feel Ashlynn¡¯s racing heartbeat through the fabric of their dresses as they surrendered to the desires that had become pent up within them after days of travel.


    Outside the carriage, Zedya knelt next to Heila as the horned woman worked on repacking both Ashlynn¡¯s belongings and her own into a pair of sturdy rucksacks. The last leg of the journey into the Briar would only take a day but it had to be made on foot.


    Given that, they could take only a few pieces of practical clothing with them along with the most important items to have on hand during their stay. The rest of their luggage would continue on with Nyrielle, out of reach until they reunited in the fall.


    "I¡¯m proud of you, little Heila," Zedya said suddenly, shocking the diminutive woman enough that she paused in her packing. "It hasn¡¯t been easy to reach the place where you are, but you¡¯ve come a great distance in a short time. I can¡¯t see much of the timid girl who entered the High Pass left in you anymore."


    "I still have a long way to go before I can call myself worthy of the treatment I¡¯ve received," Heila said, her hands mechanically resuming their tasks while she struggled to remain humble in the face of Zedya¡¯s praise.


    "Stay close to Ashlynn while you¡¯re in the Briar," Zedya said, her amethyst eyes twinkling mischievously as she moved to help the younger woman. "If I¡¯m not mistaken, you may find an opportunity there to progress even further. If you can seize the opportunities in the Briar well, then Lady Ashlynn is certain to come to rely on your power in the future."


    "An opportunity? What kind of opportunity?" Heila asked. "I¡¯ve heard that there are rare and potent herbs that can only be found in the Briar, is there something I should keep my eyes out for?"


    "It¡¯s not that kind of opportunity," Zedya said cryptically. "The witches don¡¯t like their secrets being spoken of too freely, but as long as you¡¯re at Ashlynn¡¯s side, the opportunity is almost certain to present itself. You just have to have the courage to grasp it when it comes."


    "Heila," Nyrielle called, interrupting the horned woman¡¯s conversation with Zedya as she and Ashlynn emerged from the carriage. Both women had flushed faces and their dresses were slightly askew but anyone who noticed either detail pointedly ignored them.


    "You take good care of my darling Ashlynn for me," she said. "You¡¯ve shown yourself to be worthy of the faith Ashlynn places in you and now I¡¯ll do the same."


    "Now wait jus¡¯ a spell," Jacques said, his thorny aura flaring when he heard Nyrielle¡¯s comment. "Maman will care for your Ashlynn plenty well. No one else was invited into da Briar wit her."


    All around the camp, preparations to depart stopped as everyone turned a hostile gaze on the Sandbox Witch. For seven days, he¡¯d said nothing about this and now he wanted to strip Ashlynn of the only companion who would remain at her side?


    For a moment, Virve stepped forward, her hands dropping to the darksteel gauntlets at her waist. It took Captain Lennart¡¯s hand on her shoulder to stop her in her tracks while her mind caught up with her body¡¯s instinctive actions.


    She¡¯d seen Jacque¡¯s ¡¯demonstration¡¯ of his ability to fight people from the Clan of the Great Claw who lived on this side of the mountains and even if she thought those gladiators had been a pale imitation of the soldiers of the Vale of Mists, she knew she couldn¡¯t defeat the Sandbox Witch.


    If she thought she could thump some sense into him, she might have pressed forward anyway but even that was beyond her when she considered the capabilities he¡¯d demonstrated at the House of Iron.


    "I¡¯m sorry, cher," Jacques said. "But if you want to study wit maman, you have to enter da Briar alone."

 Chapter 217: Coven (Part One)

    Chapter 217: Coven (Part One)"Heila is my lady-in-waiting," Ashlynn said firmly, her emerald eyes flashing as she locked gazes with Jacques. "Where I go, she goes. Always, unless she¡¯s been sent somewhere else on my behalf."


    "Cher, I don¡¯t want to make no trouble," Jacques protested, holding up his hands. "But da Briar is a place for witches. Not lords or ladies, not servants nor retainers. We tend to our own selves here," he said. "You enter da Briar as a Child of de Earth, not as a lady wit her servants in tow." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You don¡¯t understand," Ashlynn said, refusing to back down. She was already placing tremendous trust in a powerful witch that she¡¯d never met by staying here while Nyrielle traveled far away. She was even staying without a single member of Captain Lennart¡¯s escort force. Not even Virve would be accompanying her here. But to be completely alone among strangers... It was a step too far.


    "Heila stays with me, or I can turn around and leave," Ashlynn said defiantly. It was a difficult to believe declaration but she wanted to draw a very clear line in the sand. She would give up much in order to learn from the Mother of Thorns, but she would not enter the Briar alone. "I¡¯ve already made some progress in my studies. I can learn on my own if I need to."


    "You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying, cher," Jacques said helplessly. He¡¯d seen her progress first hand and while it was impressive for someone who was entirely self-taught, she could have come just as far in a day or two of proper instruction as she had in months of self-exploration.


    "Maman makes da rules," he added, hoping she wouldn¡¯t push back anymore once he made it clear that he was powerless to change this. "I can¡¯t argue them wit her, and neither can you. You understand dat, non? Don¡¯t force dis, I can¡¯t give in to you if you do. You¡¯ll jus¡¯ have wasted your whole trip."


    "People died so you could come here, ma petite," he said, not bothering to hold back now that they were at the edge of the Briar. "Don¡¯t go making dat a useless ting dey did for you."


    "Jacques," Zedya interrupted sharply before Ashlynn could collect herself to respond. "That¡¯s low, even for you. Don¡¯t drag Lady Ashlynn down to your level."


    "I jus speak de truth as it is, cher," Jacques protested, holding his arms out wide as though he was helpless. "Ashlynn is a Child of de Earth, she can enter. No one else can."


    "I think there¡¯s been a misunderstanding," Zedya said, her amethyst eyes flashing as she stepped forward gracefully over the rocky soil. "Lady Ashlynn uses human titles. You may not understand what she did when she made little Heila her lady-in-waiting. Lady Heila isn¡¯t just another servant," the vampire said smoothly as she strode forward with Heila at her side.


    "Lady Ashlynn intends for Lady Heila to be the first member of her coven," Zedya said, surprising both Ashlynn and Heila with her declaration. "As such, she¡¯ll soon be a witch herself, won¡¯t she?"


    "Dis... since when was dis de way tings were going to be?" Jacques asked, looking from Zedya¡¯s gleaming amethyst eyes to Ashlynn and back again. His eyes skipped directly over Heila, at the moment, the servant didn¡¯t present any kind of threat, but seeing the way Zedya looked at him with eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the moonless night, he suddenly wondered if she was trying to deceive him.


    Heila, on the other hand, stared at Zedya in wide-eyed amazement. Her? Become a witch? As far as she knew, it wasn¡¯t even possible. Lady Ashlynn was the one who was special, having been born with the mark of the witch. This was Ashlynn¡¯s destiny. What did powerful witchcraft have to do with someone as common and ordinary as her?


    As soon as she had that thought, however, she recalled Zedya¡¯s words only a few minutes ago. That there was an opportunity for her in the Briar as long as she stayed close to Lady Ashlynn. Is this what she meant? If it was, then that meant... that meant that she could one day stand as an equal to Madame Zedya, Sir Thane, and Nyrielle¡¯s other progeny. More importantly, she could gain the power to be truly useful to the woman who had already transformed her life beyond measure.


    "Everyone," Nyrielle said, her velvety voice rolling across the camp like a blanket of smooth velvet, suppressing both the growing feel of hypnotic power that gathered in Zedya¡¯s eyes and Jacques¡¯s prickly aura that grew sharper by the moment.


    "This is at least partially my fault," the vampire sighed. "But Jacques, you own your share of this too. We¡¯ve both held back from teaching Ashlynn about the traditions of witches until your mother could guide her, but you should have explained at least this much to her when you saw how closely Heila tends to Ashlynn."


    "I know when to step back and when to step forward, ma Belle," the Sandbox witch said, struggling against the chill, oppressive aura that radiated from Nyrielle. He had no desire to fight her, but when she suppressed him, he felt like the points of his thorns had been wrapped in soft cotton. It wasn¡¯t only oppressive, it was humiliating, as if he had to be wrapped up in a blanket like a child to stop him from hurting himself.


    "Maman is sure to teach Ashlynn how to form her coven," Jacques said. "She can¡¯t become de Mother of Trees wit¡¯ out one. But dis is a ting for de end of her trainin¡¯, not its beginning."


    "Excuse me," Ashlynn interrupted. "Please, I feel like I¡¯m the only one who doesn¡¯t understand," she said, her eyes flashing briefly as she glared at both Jacques and Zedya before turning her gaze to Nyrielle. "What exactly is a coven, and how could Heila become a witch? I thought a person had to be born with the mark of the witch in order to learn witchcraft."


    "Just like a True Vampire is born to be a vampire, a Child of the Earth is born to be a witch," Nyrielle said, wrapping an arm protectively around Ashlynn as she explained. "And, just like a vampire is able to create progeny, a witch is able to induct others into their coven, bestowing on them a mark of the witch of their own and granting them access to a portion of the Earth Mother¡¯s domain."


    "Der¡¯s more to it den dat," Jacques said somewhat reluctantly. There was something deeply offensive about having a vampire compare the way he had become a witch to the way vampires created their progeny. On the surface, they might be similar, but the rituals and processes were very different things.


    "Though dat¡¯s de essence of it, I suppose," he admitted reluctantly moments before his thorny aura flared, pressing back against the chill deathly aura emanated by the two vampires.


    "Mademoiselle Zedya," he said, his voice hardening. "You shouldn¡¯t be lyin¡¯ about tings like dis. It could get dis little one hurt, non?"

 Chapter 218: Coven (Part Two)

    Chapter 218: Coven (Part Two)"You shouldn¡¯t be lyin¡¯ about tings like dis. It could get dis little one hurt, non?"


    As soon as Jacques said the words, Captain Lennart and everyone under his command tensed. Heila had become something of an idol to the small troop of soldiers after stories of her jumping into the freezing lake to help rescue Lady Ashlynn spread and none of them would tolerate seeing their idol threatened so blatantly.


    "I¡¯m not lying," Zedya said, stepping forward before any of Lennart¡¯s men could take matters into their own hands. She was sure the gesture was appreciated, but with Mistress Nyrielle here, there was no reason to resort to force when words would suffice and she had long become a master in the use of words as weapons and tools.


    "Lady Ashlynn cares deeply for Lady Heila," Zedya said as she drew everyone¡¯s attention to her. "She¡¯s commissioned a blade for Heila made from the horn of a Frost Walker and I¡¯ve been tutoring her in sorcery ever since we left the High Pass."


    "Lady Ashlynn," Zedya said, turning to face Ashlynn and dropping into a deep curtsy. "If I¡¯m wrong in my assessment, you may punish me as you see fit. But, in my view, you have been preparing little Heila for this position for some time now. The only difference is, you didn¡¯t know that it existed to offer it to her. I also believe that you will take Ollie into your coven when you return to the Vale of Mists."


    "Or, am I mistaken?" the vampire servant asked, raising an eyebrow as she stood up from her curtsey.


    "I don¡¯t know anything about what it means to make someone a member of my coven," Ashlynn said, this time turning her gaze to Heila. "But if it¡¯s anything like becoming one of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, it¡¯s a life altering decision that I can¡¯t make for someone else."


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, kneeling down so she could meet the diminutive woman¡¯s gaze directly. "You don¡¯t have to do anything you don¡¯t want to. I don¡¯t understand this well enough to ask you to join my coven when I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s involved."


    "I do want you by my side," she said, her eyes growing misty at the thought of being forced to separate from both her lover and her closest friend. "But I won¡¯t force this on you when neither of us knows what¡¯s involved."


    With all the attention gathered on her, the moment should have felt heavy and oppressive, but to Heila, it was anything but. Lady Nyrielle had placed her faith in her to watch over Ashlynn and care for her in Nyrielle¡¯s absence. That alone left Heila feeling light headed and giddy.


    Jacques might have popped that bubble when he insisted she couldn¡¯t accompany Lady Ashlynn into the Briar, but it didn¡¯t change the fact that Lady Nyrielle had praised her, and as Ashlynn¡¯s insistence mounted with even Madame Zedya stepping in to speak in her favor... what could Heila feel at this moment other than more love and respect than she¡¯d received from anyone other than her own parents.


    "Ashlynn, no, Lady Ashlynn," Heila said formally. The moment felt too important to speak casually as a friend, even though she had been working hard to be more relaxed with Ashlynn. "I intend to serve you for the rest of my life. As your lady-in-waiting or anything else you need me to be. If you ask me to join your coven, I won¡¯t refuse."


    "I refuse," Jacques said, shattering the tender moment. His action earned an immediate glare from Zedya but he pressed on nonetheless. "You cannot make dis promise, ma petite," the witch insisted as he knelt down to be closer to eye level with the horned woman. He still loomed over her even then, but the simple act of lowering himself went a long way to easing the tensions around the camp. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It ain¡¯t a simple ting you¡¯re saying. But," he said, quickly holding up his hands. "I can see your intention clear as day. So, I know when to step back. I¡¯ll bring you into da Briar. You can speak to maman ¡¯bout dis. If she says you can stay and learn, den you can stay and learn."


    "But if maman says no," Jacques said, his thorny aura growing sharper. "Den you have to leave da Briar and wait for Ashlynn in one of de villages near da Briar. Dat¡¯s as close as you can be and you¡¯ll be all by your lonesome till Ashlynn can come fetch you back to her side. Or, you can go on wit ma Belle Nyrielle when she leaves and you won¡¯t be so lonely like you would if maman says no."


    "Then I¡¯ll go with Lady Ashlynn," Heila said resolutely. "If the Mother of Thorns sends me away, I can only submit, but... I won¡¯t go away without even trying."


    "So be it den," Jacques said, withdrawing his prickly aura entirely. At this point, he felt utterly helpless in front of these women.


    Briefly, he glared at Zedya for her part in this. The time she¡¯d spent among them, learning to enhance her sorcery with the power of thorns, she¡¯d learned several other things about witches and she knew more than most outsiders did. If she hadn¡¯t suggested that Heila would join Ashlynn¡¯s coven, he could have resolved this much more simply and in a way that didn¡¯t risk provoking his mother¡¯s wrath.


    Now that even Lady Nyrielle had aligned herself against him, there was nothing else he could do. The instant she brought her power to bear to suppress him, he lost his ability to insist that Ashlynn came alone. All he could do was try to find a middle ground and warn them that just because everyone here thought things should work a certain way didn¡¯t mean that the Mother of Thorns would agree.


    "It would be good if maman said yes," Jacques said after a long pause. His lips pulled back and he flashed a wide, toothy grin at the horned woman that he hoped felt more welcoming than threatening. He didn¡¯t oppose her because he wanted to or because he resented her being close to Ashlynn, he opposed her because those were maman¡¯s rules and he was bound to follow them. And if Heila entered the Briar, she would be bound to follow them too.


    "But you have to convince her of dat yourself," he said, washing his hands of responsibility for what happened next and leaving it to Ashlynn and Heila to convince the Mother of Thorns that Heila should be allowed to stay and learn alongside Ashlynn. Whether she would agree or not, even he didn¡¯t know.

 Chapter 219: Descent Into Darkness

    Chapter 219: Descent Into DarknessIn the morning, a few hours after Nyrielle and everyone accompanying her had departed, Ashlynn sat with Heila and Jacques as they waited for the sun to break above the eastern mountains. A soft, rosy glow lit the sky, and the sounds of bright morning birdsong filled the air.


    At this point, Ashlynn had long grown accustomed to being awake to watch the sun rise. Sometimes, Nyrielle would linger with her as the sky grew brighter, but she always vanished by the time the first sliver of golden light appeared above the horizon. This time, however, the vampire had warned her that it would be dangerous for her or Zedya to linger near this waterfall at dawn, particularly on the longest day of the year.


    Already, the air felt charged with an even greater energy than Ashlynn had felt the night before. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the sun to make its appearance. Finally, after sitting quietly facing the waterfall for close to half an hour, the first sliver of the sun¡¯s rays fell on the waterfall.


    Instantly, the waterfall seemed to transform before their eyes. No longer were they watching thousands of gallons of water pouring over the towering cliff every second, instead, the White River had turned into a flowing river of liquid gold that spilled into the dark and foggy abyss below.


    A moment later, a wave of energy rippled outward from the river of light. It felt warm, pure, like the sun had descended upon them to wrap them gently in a blanket of warmth that drove away the chill of the spray from the powerful waterfall. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "He shall touch all the lands with his Light," Ashlynn whispered. "Driving away the darkness, bearing warmth, comfort, and joy to all who bask in his glory."


    "What was dat, cher?" Jacques asked. The more time he spent with Ashlynn, the more her command of the Eldritch language had improved. The instances where she said things in the human tongue and he needed to wait for Heila to translate had been decreasing by the day. This time, however, the way she spoke felt almost... reverent, which took him by surprise.


    "It¡¯s nothing," Ashlynn said, collecting her rucksack and standing to leave. "I just said that the waterfall is beautiful.


    Beside her, Heila gave her lady a concerned look. Faith wasn¡¯t something they spoke of often, but she knew that Ashlynn had been struggling ever since coming to the Vale of Mists. Her own faith declared her a heretic that must be killed but despite that, a lifetime of belief wasn¡¯t something that could be snuffed out like a candle.


    When Ashlynn looked at the brilliant golden waterfall and felt the wave of energy it released, her first thought was that this was the most holy and wondrous light she¡¯d ever encountered. For a moment, she wished she could bring other humans here, to see this place and understand that the things that felt sacred to them also felt sacred to the Eldritch. If they could understand, if they could share a place that felt so holy, wouldn¡¯t that be a foundation for changing the way humans and the Eldritch interacted?


    The thought that followed made it hard to appreciate the beauty before her. As wondrous as the splendor of the glowing waterfall was, if she brought the Church here, they would immediately bring armies to keep the Eldritch away from the place. They would likely attempt to exterminate every Eldritch village within a hundred leagues of this place.


    In the end, bringing humans to a place that nature had made so beautiful would drench it in so much blood that the waterfalls would flow red for generations. Everything beautiful and sacred about the place would be destroyed, leaving something behind that was zealously guarded by the very people who spoiled it.


    It was a bitter thought to start the day with.


    "We should go," Ashlynn said, turning away from the light that shined too bright in her eyes. "You said it¡¯s a long hike, didn¡¯t you Jacques?"


    "Dis way, cher," he said, sensing the somber mood that had fallen over her and leading her toward the edge of the cliff.


    There, leading down from the edge of the cliff, a narrow trail had been cut into the face of the cliff by generations of Eldritch people. Some were travelers looking for the most direct way down, but most were people who felt some mystical connection to the waters above, even if they lived in the communities below.


    Stone posts lined the narrow trail with thick ropes running between them to provide hikers with a bit of additional security against the combination of wet, slick ground and frequent gusts that buffeted them as they made their descent.


    The further down they went, and the more often the ancient, well-worn trail doubled back on itself in a seemingly endless series of switchbacks, the darker and colder the air became. The sound of rushing water tumbling over the edge of the cliff was replaced by a growing thunder of all of that water crashing down onto the large lake below.


    As they walked, Ashlynn found herself grateful that she and Heila had abandoned their normal dresses for serviceable breeches with functional boots and heavy, long-sleeved tunics that helped keep the chill of the spray from the waterfall from soaking them to the skin. Descending from the top of the falls to the bottom took hours and by the time they arrived at the bottom, the roar of the water was so loud that they couldn¡¯t hear each other speak without shouting.


    "Dis way," Jacques shouted, pointing at the fork in the trail that lead around behind the massive waterfall, taking them on a meandering course to the eastern side of the lake where a combination of thick fog and shadows cast by the cliffs cloaked the area in a perpetual twilight.


    "Follow close now," Jacques said once they were far enough away from the roar of water to speak normally again. "Step where I step and don¡¯t wander away cher, no matter how much you feel a pull from the place."


    The lake didn¡¯t have a true eastern ¡¯shore.¡¯ Rather, it turned into a marshy area with standing water that could be anything from shallow enough to barely cover a person¡¯s boot tops to deep enough to swallow a man on horseback, with nothing visible on the surface to tell the difference. A small patch of higher ¡¯dry¡¯ ground stretched away from the trail they¡¯d been following, vanishing into the fog ahead.


    "I understand," Ashlynn said, drawing a deep breath of warm, humid air before reaching out to take Heila¡¯s hand in hers. Up ahead, she got her first look at the Briar, and ¡¯uninviting¡¯ could only be called an understatement.


    Massive bald cypress trees loomed overhead, their branches draped with thick curtains of a dull gray, stringing moss that seemed to drink in what little light filtered through the canopy. Their twisted roots erupted from the sodden earth like gnarled fingers, creating natural platforms that rose above the murky water.


    Between these ancient trunks, sandbox trees stretched their spike-covered trunks toward the hidden sky as though they intended to lay claim to what little available dry land could be found in the swampy Briar. Their bark bristled with conical thorns as long as a man¡¯s finger, while thick vines covered with inch-long hooked thorns wound between them like the strands of a child¡¯s game of cat¡¯s cradle.


    Even the ground itself seemed hostile. Dotted all across the sodden earth, Ashlynn saw countless soft lavender thistle flowers perched above leaves edged with needle-sharp spines. Even the pale purple blossoms that formed into clusters on the hooked vines seemed to serve only to trap the unwary into snagging themselves on thin stems that were covered by tiny barbs the size of a single hair.


    "The Mother of Thorns truly lives up to her name," Ashlynn said, looking from one deadly plant to the next.


    "It¡¯s jus¡¯ like dis on de outside," Jacques said, leading them further into the Briar. Their footfalls had become completely silent on the soft earth and their voices were muffled by the thick fog and dense, jungle-like canopy above.


    "Once we get a bit deeper," the witch said. "Den you¡¯ll see what da Briar is truly like."

 Chapter 220: The Thistle Witch

    Chapter 220: The Thistle WitchAfter an hour of navigating the treacherous footing and narrow paths through the fog and prickly vegetation, Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders burned and her feet felt like they¡¯d been cramping constantly from the tension of maintaining her footing.


    Heila had fared even worse and Ashlynn didn¡¯t hesitate to relieve her lady-in-waiting of the heavy rucksack she carried, shouldering both of her packs herself instead. While Ashlynn benefited from the vampire-like strength and endurance conferred by her bond with Nyrielle, Heila had no such power to rely on. It was already impressive that she¡¯d managed the hike down from the top of the cliff with so little complaint.


    Jacques seemed to move effortlessly through the Briar, his prickly aura blending in naturally with the plentiful sandbox trees that served as his namesake. Seeing them up close, Ashlynn finally understood why she felt such sturdiness from him underlying the prickly exterior. The thorns, some as large as her thumb, looked terrifyingly large up close but seen against the giant of the tree trunk itself, they seemed almost undersized.


    "Dey¡¯s poisonous too," Jacques warned when Ashlynn paused to take a look at the prickly spikes covering the thick bark of a tree. "As much as you¡¯re carrying, you shouldn¡¯t get so close you could tip over and hurt yourself, non?"


    "You could help," Ashlynn said, gesturing to the second rucksack on her back.


    "Nah, cher, you wanted to bring ma petite into da Briar as part of your coven," he said, shaking his head. "Don¡¯t go thinking dat¡¯s an easy ting."


    Behind Ashlynn, Heila looked down in embarrassment. In the mountains of the High Pass, her cloven feet had moved swiftly and surely over the rough, rocky terrain. Now, however, mud sucked at her feet and she had to work twice as hard to pick her way carefully from one exposed root to the next if she didn¡¯t want to risk becoming mired in the soft soil.


    Ashlynn never once chastised her though, she just silently took up Heila¡¯s burdens and helped her along when she needed an extra hand. Finally, at a point when Ashlynn was beginning to worry about her diminutive friend and if she should call for a rest, things changed.


    Up ahead, the fog began to clear, revealing the warm glow of a lantern hanging from a pole at one end of a wide, flat-bottomed boat. Sitting within the boat, Ashlynn got her first look at one of the other witches of the Briar, a woman with skin almost as fair as Nyrielle¡¯s and features so delicate they seemed almost fragile.


    Long, pointed ears swept back from her face, framing pale green hair that shimmered like long grass covered in dew. Her eyes seemed large for her face and her purple irises appeared multifaceted, catching the lantern light like polished jewels.


    When she smiled, her teeth were as sharp as Jacques¡¯ but far more delicate, like she could strip the flesh from the bones of anything she devoured rather than crunching through bone the way they¡¯d seen Jacques consume his meals during the journey.


    "Welcome home, little brother," the woman said in a voice that was bright and musical as she hopped smoothly from the boat to the sodden soil. Her dark green petal dress fluttered with her movement, revealing legs as slender as a dancer¡¯s.


    Behind her, two pairs of iridescent wings caught the lantern light, their iridescent surfaces webbed with delicate veins that shimmered under the soft lantern light. As she hovered, the wings moved so quickly they became nearly invisible, leaving only a soft humming sound and ripples in the mist around her. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Like Jacques, she wore a wide-brimmed conical hat, though in her case, the hat band seemed to have sprouted a collection of brilliant pink and pale lavender thistle blossoms. When she moved, her head would tilt at sharp, precise angles, tracking every movement with a predatory awareness of her surroundings.


    "It¡¯s good to be back, sista Tala," Jacques said, reaching out with his scaly hands to capture the slender woman and lift her high in the air, spinning around once before returning her to the ground. "Let me make da introductions," he said with a large, toothy grin.


    "Dis is my older sister, Talauia, called the Thistle Witch," he said proudly. "She¡¯s the oldest member of maman¡¯s coven. And dis," he said, turning in the direction of Ashlynn and Heila.


    "So this her, this is the next mother of trees," the Thistle Witch said, fluttering ahead to land in front of Heila. "You¡¯ve struggled to get here but it¡¯s okay now," she said with a wide smile that revealed teeth every bit as pointed as Jacques. "This big sister will take care of you from here, so you can send your vampire servant home now."


    "Um..." Heila said, not certain how to respond to the mistake.


    "Sista Tala," Jacques said, looking embarrassed. "Dat¡¯s Heila, she¡¯s Ashlynn¡¯s ¡¯patient lady,¡¯" he explained. "De one wit the rucksacks is Ashlynn, de future Mother of Trees."


    "Eh? How is that, how is that?" Talauia said, fluttering back on her gossamer wings and looking flustered. "Isn¡¯t that aura of death on her a little too strong? How can she be a witch? And why is she carrying everything if she¡¯s the one coming to see Mother? Little brother, are you being mean to her?" she asked, her tone rising in pitch and growing sharper.


    "Please, it¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said, setting down the rucksacks and offering a slight curtsy to the witch who hovered a foot above the ground. "I¡¯m a child of the earth, but I also have a blood pact with Lady Nyrielle as her Seneschal. That may be what you¡¯re noticing from me."


    "Then who is this, who is this?" Talauia said, fluttering back over to Heila. "What¡¯s a ¡¯patient lady¡¯ and why is she here struggling so hard? Little brother, did you take a fancy to her? But this isn¡¯t how you treat a lady you took a liking to."


    "I¡¯m here to learn," Heila said, forcing herself to stand up as straight as she could in the face of the winged witch. "If the Mother of Thorns will accept me, I¡¯m going to join Lady Ashlynn¡¯s coven."


    "Oh! So that¡¯s how it is, that¡¯s how it is," Talauia said excitedly. "Little brother, you didn¡¯t send word that she was coming," she scolded, rounding on the powerful reptilian witch. "I didn¡¯t even make a place for her to stay, it¡¯s embarrassing and it¡¯s your fault."


    "But sista," Jacques said, looking puzzled. "Maman said only Ashlynn was to come, dat she can¡¯t bring none of her friends or servants from da Vale of de Mists. Dis little one is her lady servant, so..."


    "But she¡¯s going to join Ashlynn¡¯s coven," Talauia interrupted. "This is good, this is good. This is not a bad thing. Look at them, looking so nervous. What did you tell them that you shouldn¡¯t? This won¡¯t do, it won¡¯t do at all. Help them with their things, let your older sister make it all right now."


    "Don¡¯t you mind him, now," the flighty witch said, turning back to a stunned-looking Ashlynn and Heila. The entire trip, they¡¯d seen Jacques as something of a prickly boulder, stubborn and difficult to budge, but as soon as this ¡¯older sister¡¯ of his showed up, he became as meek as a kitten.


    "I think there has been plenty of room for misunderstandings all around," Ashlynn said, extending a hand to Talauia. "I¡¯m glad to meet you, and so is Heila."


    "So, it really won¡¯t be a problem for me to be here?" Heila asked as they moved to enter the flat-bottomed boat.


    "Problem? Not a problem, not a problem at all," Talauia said with a wide smile. "This way, Ashlynn can awaken as the Mother of Trees even sooner. It¡¯s the opposite of a problem. Mother will be very excited to meet you both. And little brother," she said, rounding on the witch who had just finished loading the boat. "I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll find a way to make it up to you if he was mean on the way."


    "Sista," Jacques said helplessly, his shoulders slumping when his actions drew light laughter from all three women. Outside, he was the powerful and fearsome Sandbox Witch. Now that he was home again, it seemed like everyone would be stepping on his tail again.


    "It¡¯ll be fine, it¡¯ll be fine," Talauia promised, passing the pole to guide the boat over to the browbeaten-looking Jacques. "You brought them both here, all safe and sound. Mother will be very happy. She¡¯s been waiting for this one for a very long time," she said, flashing Ashlynn a smile that was so eager it bordered on... hungry.

 Chapter 221: Meeting the Mother of Thorns

    Chapter 221: Meeting the Mother of ThornsThe Briar changed around them as the boat took them deeper and deeper into its shadowed interior.


    At some point, the clumps of dull, lifeless moss hanging from trees began to emit a pale, almost sickly green light. Likewise, the petals of flowers turned luminescent, appearing in the fog as clusters of pale pink, lavender, and red light that Jacques assiduously avoided.


    The further they went, the darker the water beneath their flat-bottomed seemed to grow, changing from murky brown to an almost inky black that drank in the light from the glowing plants above and sound alike, turning even the sound of their passage into little more than a quiet ripple.


    Now and then, something large would move beneath the surface, creating ripples that spread out until they vanished into the fog. Once, Ashlynn caught a glimpse of pale, scaled flesh and what might have been an eye larger than her fist watching them from the depths.


    Each time such a creature approached, Jacques tapped his pole on the surface of the water, sending out a ripple of his thorny aura that drove the unseen beasts away. Even Talauia¡¯s excited chatter would pause briefly when these encounters occurred, her wings humming at a higher pitch and her eyes radiating a predatory menace until whatever beast approached them thought wiser of offering itself up as a meal and retreated.


    "You should know, you should know," Talauia said as Ashlynn leaned out from the boat to catch a better look at the glowing flowers as they floated by. "The brighter the glow, the more concentrated the essence of the plant is. See over there, over there," she said, pointing at a towering sandbox tree that seemed to pulse with a bloody light between its prickly spines.


    "That one¡¯s been feeding for years," the enthusiastic witch said. "Another decade or two and it will be ready for harvest."


    "Feeding?" Heila asked, shivering as she looked at the tree. The bloody aura seeping from the strange tree reminded her of Sir Thane and Nyrielle¡¯s other progeny on the rare occasions they¡¯d gone too long without feeding only this tree felt more... malevolent than any of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny ever had in her presence. "Trees don¡¯t ¡¯feed¡¯ do they?"


    "Maman," Jacques said as he pushed them along. "She knows the ways of things. To wake dem to deir true nature so dey can achieve deir true potential."


    For a moment, Talauia almost scolded Jacques again. These weren¡¯t outsiders, there was no need to be so cryptic and mysterious around them. But they would arrive soon enough and Mother would explain the things they needed to know. Since that was the case, she held herself back to pointing out the things that were actively dangerous as opposed to simply interesting.


    With a combination of Jacques and Talauia onboard, most creatures lurking beneath the cloudy surface of the water avoided them, instinctively moving out of their way as the pair of sharp and prickly auras approached. Only a rare few who were too large or too stupid to take the passive hint from the witches seriously needed specific targeting to discourage their presence.


    To Heila, it was an almost unbearably uncomfortable ride. It took Ashlynn placing herself between Heila and the witches for her to feel like she could breathe normally without risking pricking herself on something unseen every time she moved.


    "Almost there, almost there," Talauia soothed when she realized how uncomfortable Heila looked.


    Even Ashlynn found herself needing to rely on the durability she¡¯d gained from training with Thane to resist the aura of the Thistle Witch. Unlike Jacque¡¯s thorny aura that yielded and wrapped around her in a comforting way, every bit of energy flowing from Talauia was sharp, pointy, like countless needles facing outwards, leaving Ashlynn wondering how such a bright and bubbly personality managed to coexist with her own energy.


    Finally, after a boat ride that seemed to stretch for hours even though it had been less than twenty minutes, the fog began to recede, revealing a village of wooden huts with thatched roofs built on stilt-like pillars that sank deep into the water below. Elevated walkways wound their way between the huts, none of them coming within one or two feet of the surface of the water. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯ll take them to see Mother," Talauia said eagerly, her wings fluttering as she drifted onto one of the walkways before Jacques could even finish trying the boat in place next to the wooden ladder that extended down into the murky water.


    "Little brother, little brother, you should take their things to Ashlynn¡¯s hut, next to mine," she added, pointing at a small, comfortable-looking hut. "Little Heila, I didn¡¯t prepare a place for you, but Little Brother will get one ready double quick, won¡¯t you little brother?"


    "Sista, we should wait for maman to say dis little one can stay, no?" Jacques asked, clinging to the last of his pride over the issue of Heila¡¯s presence. If he¡¯d known that Tala would instantly accept the diminutive horned woman, he wouldn¡¯t have put up so much of a fuss with Lady Nyrielle and Zedya. Now, she could at least leave him some face by asking for permission before sending him to prepare a hut, couldn¡¯t she?


    "Oh, fine," Talauia huffed. "But at least carry their bags to Ashlynn¡¯s hut," she insisted once Ashlynn and Heila had arrived on the walkway. "Come with me, come with me," she said eagerly, beckoning for the two newcomers to join her as she fluttered next to the walkway.


    The hut she led them to was far larger and grander than any of the others. It had been built under the boughs of an ancient cypress tree and seemed large enough to accommodate family gatherings of dozens of people. Other than the size, however, there was nothing ¡¯luxurious¡¯ about the home of one of the most powerful witches on the continent.


    Rather, the room that Ashlynn was led into was large and open with bundles of herbs, flowers, and an assortment of other things hanging from the ceiling. Whether that was so they were easily accessible or because they were still drying, Ashlynn didn¡¯t know, but the humble abode felt warm and comforting with only the faintest hint of sharpness in the air.


    On one side of the room, a small brick hearth held a fire crackling under a stout iron cauldron, releasing an aroma that was rich, meaty and contained more individual scents mingling than Ashlynn could possibly identify. Elsewhere in the wide open area, several grass matts had been set into a comfortable arrangement around a low, wooden table set with a pitcher and several wooden cups.


    It was the woman sitting at the table, however, that claimed most of Ashlynn¡¯s attention. She hadn¡¯t quite known what to expect when she came here. People alternately referred to the Mother of Thorns as wise, powerful, deadly... the words had combined to give her an impression of an older woman, perhaps white haired and matronly with a fierce look.


    What greeted her instead was an enchanting beauty of a woman with long, silky black hair under her wide-brimmed hat. Her eyes were a touch large for her face, with deep red irises and what appeared to be two rows of four small pupils in each eye rather than a single larger pupil.


    Her face was mature, but still smooth and free of wrinkles, and her movements as she poured beverages for her guests were precise and meticulous.


    The dark, wide brimmed hat on her head matched with a figure hugging silk dress that stopped half way down her smooth, creamy thighs, and within the comfort of her own home, she seemed content to remain barefoot.


    The most striking thing of all, however, were the four additional spider-like appendages that protruded from the back of her dress, resting lightly on the ground on sharp pointed tips. The shiny black carapace, to Ashlynn¡¯s eyes, resembled perfectly articulated armor, giving each of the slender limbs a sense of deadly weight and purpose.


    "Welcome to the Briar and my humble abode, Miss Ashlynn," the dark-haired woman said, speaking in a tone that was rich with a welcoming, honeyed warmth. "Do come and set a spell with me, darlin¡¯, and your companion as well. Y¡¯all must be positively exhausted after comin¡¯ so far, and we have ever so much to discuss," she said with a sweet, inviting smile.

 Chapter 222: A Warm Welcome

    Chapter 222: A Warm Welcome"I do hope you don¡¯t mind somethin¡¯ simple to drink, darlin¡¯," the Mother of Thorns said, gesturing for Ashlynn and Heila to join her. "We don¡¯t keep much wine here in the Briar, though if you¡¯re ever in need, there are far more interestin¡¯ ways to cloud your mind, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re after, and I always have a few such things on hand. I had Tala fix up some fresh lemonade, but if you¡¯d prefer, there¡¯s sweet tea chillin¡¯ as well."


    For a moment, the relaxed, casual greeting from such a powerful host completely froze Ashlynn in her tracks. What was the etiquette for this? Bow? Introductions? Should she take her boots off like the woman before her? She didn¡¯t know. Her etiquette lessons at home covered meeting powerful figures in the Church but she didn¡¯t think that they applied to witches.


    "We¡¯ll be happy with anything you offer," Ashlynn said, giving a slight bow and taking a seat across the table from the woman in black. A moment later, Heila joined her though they were both puzzled by the pale yellow beverage in the cups before them.


    After spending time among the Frost Walkers and the multitude of clans in High Fen City, Ashlynn had adjusted her expectations about what sorts of things might be included as ¡¯food¡¯ but she couldn¡¯t for the life of her think of anything that was so... yellow.


    The aroma, however, was crisp and refreshing and when she finally took a sip she found it to be a surprisingly pleasant combination of sweet and tart that both satisfied her thirst and cooled her body.


    "Thank you," she said, only realizing when she spoke that she¡¯d consumed almost everything in her cup.


    "Y¡¯all just relax a bit, you must be hungry too after all that walkin¡¯. Tala, sugar, be a doll and fetch us a few bowls of gumbo from the pot. I started it at dawn, it should be plenty well done by now."


    "Yes, Mother," Talauia said, bounding to a nearby cupboard to retrieve several bowls and utensils. "I¡¯ll get it, I¡¯ll get it, and do you want some too?"


    "Serve enough for everyone, sugar," the Mother of Thorns said sweetly. "Your little brother should be joining us soon too, so don¡¯t leave him out. Now, Miss Ashlynn, who is this enchanting belle with you? I seem to recall telling your Lady Nyrielle that you were the only one permitted to enter this time, even Miss Zedya was to be excluded."


    "This is my lady-in-waiting, Heila," Ashlynn said. "If you¡¯ll permit it, I intend to take her into my coven and would like her to learn alongside me. Jacques warned us that you may not agree and I¡¯ll admit that I know nothing about what it means to take her into my coven. I hope you¡¯ll forgive the impertinence of bringing her in anyway," she said, bowing from her seat.


    "I know I¡¯m unworthy," Heila said, darting to her feet in order to give a proper bow. "My Lady has been very kind to me, giving me many opportunities..."


    "And you¡¯ve proven yourself, several times over," Ashlynn interrupted. "Not many people would jump in a freezing lake to save someone who wasn¡¯t their family or lover, yet you didn¡¯t hesitate to come to my rescue. I thought we were done with you saying that you were unworthy," she added, raising an eyebrow at her blushing friend.


    "Now, now, Miss Ashlynn, Miss Heila, let¡¯s not stand so much on ceremony," the older woman said, one of her black spider legs tapping on the wooden floor in gentle reproach. "Why, it may be true you didn¡¯t know better about bringing her here, but that don¡¯t make it wrong to bring her here to find out. It would¡¯ve been a far greater tragedy to leave the poor thing behind. Then poor Jacques would have been forced to hike all the way back to her, just to fetch her back here."


    "Maman," Jacques protested from the doorway. "I gone through all dat effort to explain your rules to dem, and now it don¡¯t matter none?"


    "The rules still matter, mind you," she said, pouring another round of drinks for her parched guests. "But mercy, I never dreamed she¡¯d have chosen someone for her coven when she only just embraced her destiny these few months past. She¡¯s movin¡¯ faster than anyone expected, so my instructions weren¡¯t quite what they should¡¯ve been. Don¡¯t you go blamin¡¯ yourself for that, sugar," she said, tapping the grass mat next to her on the floor and gesturing for him to take a seat.


    "Now, I trust y¡¯all won¡¯t hold Jacques¡¯ behavior against him," the woman added. "He can be mighty direct at times, but I do say, if you¡¯re looking to keep someone safe, there ain¡¯t nobody better."


    "If Mother wanted someone dead, she¡¯d have sent me," Talauia said, setting several bowls of a hearty stew on the table before taking a seat herself on the other side of the Mother of Thorns.


    "No boasting," the older woman admonished, lifting one of her spider-like legs to tap the Thistle Witch admonishingly on the head. "Don¡¯t be shy now, dig in. There¡¯s a bit of everything in the gumbo, boar sausage, catfish, kingsnake, carrots, onions, okra and the like. Just what the body needs after all that trudging to get here."


    "Hehe," Ashlynn laughed, hiding a smile behind her hand as she watched the witch gather her ¡¯children.¡¯ "I¡¯m sorry. I think I finally understand," she said, her shoulders finally losing their tension. "This whole time, when I heard people use the title ¡¯Mother¡¯ for you, I¡¯ve treated it the same way the human Church uses certain titles," she explained.


    "In the Church, a Mother Superior would be a noblewoman who gave up her worldly station in order to take over a convent, a place of worship for women," Ashlynn explained. "There are also priests who are addressed as ¡¯Father¡¯ because they represent the Holy Lord of Light, the Father of All Families. I¡¯ve thought that it was a term of high status and deep respect."


    "I didn¡¯t realize," she said with a smile. "That it can be all of those things, and still be a term of endearment for a group of people that act like a family with each other."


    "A coven is family, Miss Ashlynn," the dark-haired woman said warmly. "It¡¯s the kind of family you get to build for yourself. Well," she added after a moment, "you don¡¯t get to choose everyone in your family."


    "You, precious, weren¡¯t family I chose, but just like birth sisters, you were born to be my baby sister. So, seein¡¯ as we¡¯re family, if it¡¯s agreeable to you, I¡¯ll just call you Ashlynn, and you can call me Amahle. Or Big Sister Amahle if you prefer, since you¡¯re bein¡¯ ever so proper," she said with a pleasant and disarming smile.


    "I¡¯d like that," Ashlynn said with a smile of her own. "I¡¯d like that a lot."


    "Well now, that¡¯s all settled," Amahle said, taking a delicate sip of her lemonade and looking at Heila. "Auntie is just fine from you, you hear?"


    "A-auntie?" Heila said, struggling with the almost instant offer of such a casual form of address. It had been hard enough to address Lady Ashlynn by title and she would never in her wildest dreams imagine leaving a title off Lady Nyrielle¡¯s name, but this powerful witch wanted to be called ¡¯auntie¡¯?


    "Can I, can I call you Aunt Amahle instead?" Heila asked with a tremble in her voice. It was still very familial but at least it felt like it had an appropriate level of familial respect for someone of Amahle¡¯s status.


    "Aunt Amahle if you must," the witch said with a sigh. "But I would really prefer ¡¯auntie.¡¯ Out there in the world, everybody¡¯s fussin¡¯ and feudin¡¯ for power. They¡¯re all caught up in their orders and hierarchies, killin¡¯ each other to be king of some pile of dirt built on a mountain of bones."


    "But in here," the witch said, giving Ashlynn a pointed look, "we remember what¡¯s truly important. People come and go. Don¡¯t matter one bit who lives on what mound of earth or how they stack their stones to make their homes. They only matter to us when they get too big for their britches and need remindin¡¯ that we all have the same Mother and she sleeps beneath our feet."


    "I¡¯ve heard a little bit of that from Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said hesitantly. Nyrielle had warned her that witches had their own view of things but this much should be reasonable to share, right? "She said that Vampires exist to serve life by spreading death, but that witches exist to serve nature."


    "Now look at that," Amahle said with a shake of her head. "There they go, tryin¡¯ to put in some kind of hierarchy where there ain¡¯t need for one. As if ¡¯life¡¯ is some kind of master you can bow down to, shake hands with, and collect your wages from. It¡¯s no such thing. And nature sure ain¡¯t some master to crack a whip over your head or scold you when you¡¯ve gone astray." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Don¡¯t worry none darlin¡¯, it ain¡¯t your fault that you don¡¯t know better," she said gently, reaching across the table to set a hand gently on Ashlynn¡¯s. "But seein¡¯ as you don¡¯t know, why don¡¯t I start from the very beginnin¡¯ and we can make sure we start on the right foot together. We don¡¯t have but a few months to help you along, and my stars, you¡¯ve got ever so much to learn."

 Chapter 223: Uncaring Nature

    Chapter 223: Uncaring Nature"Now, let¡¯s start with something just a little simple," Amahle said. Reaching into a pouch at her waist, she produced a small, rough stone, no larger than a robin¡¯s egg, and placed it on the table. "What would you do to make the stone happy darlin¡¯?"


    "Make the stone happy?" Ashlynn said, puzzled. "Keep it close, I guess? Like the way you kept it in a pouch on your body? Maybe keep it warm?"


    "And what about you, sugar?" Amahle said, turning to face Heila. "How would you make the stone happy?"


    "Um, clean it? Maybe polish it?" Heila said though she lacked any confidence in her answer. "Can you really make a stone happy?"


    "Let¡¯s try a different one," Amahle said, putting the rock away. "You two were both in the High Pass recently. When you were there, all out in the open, what did the wind want?"


    "Nothing," Ashlynn said with much more confidence than she felt about the idea of making a stone happy. "The wind didn¡¯t want anything, it was just cold."


    "Exactly," the older woman said with a smile as she sipped her lemonade. "This is your first lesson in witchcraft. Earth has no joy, fire has no hate, water has no sorrow, air has no worry and wood has no desire. The five elements themselves do not care about anything, they simply are."


    "But we care, we can care," Talauia chimed in from the side as she scraped the bottom of her wooden bowl with a spoon for the last bits of the saucy gumbo. "We have hearts to care."


    "Yes darlin¡¯," Amahle said, reaching out gently to ruffle the younger witch¡¯s hair. "But don¡¯t get us ahead yet," she added, turning back to Ashlynn and Heila and giving them a serious look.


    "Your Mistress taught you that vampires ¡¯serve¡¯ life, as if life cared," Amahle said, shaking her head at the notion. "Maybe they have decided that it does. Perhaps they have a better feeling for life and death than we do. But the power of a witch comes from the five elements, and the elements themselves simply exist. The rock desires nothing and, hard as it may be to accept, neither does the tree. They simply are."


    "That doesn¡¯t sound right," Ashlynn said. "I, I was able to commune with an Ancient Oak in the Vale of Mists. It offered me a branch to craft into a wand and in exchange, it asked me to help spread its seeds."


    "Also," she added, thinking back on other instances where she¡¯d touched her magic. "The night I first touched my power, the night I nearly died. I felt like the earth and trees were helping me to stay alive. Like they didn¡¯t want to let me die."


    "No, darlin¡¯, that was your want, your desire to live," Amahle said gently. "Tala rushed ahead a bit, but that¡¯s the essence of witchcraft for you. Nature, it¡¯s there. The wind, the rain, the plants, the rocks, all of it is there but none of it desires anything. The rock will sit endlessly, unfeeling. If it is moved, then it is moved, and if it stays then it stays. It makes no difference to the rock."


    "But it makes a difference to you darlin¡¯," the witch said, standing from the table to walk over to a window, looking out into the fog. "All a witch ever does, is share their desires with nature, so nature can help realize their desires. That¡¯s it. It¡¯s that simple. And it¡¯s that hard."


    Ashlynn opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again as she sank deep into thought. The night Owain nearly murdered her, she thought that the forest wanted her to live and pulled her out of the earth, but could it have been the other way around? That made sense but...


    "What about the Ancient Oak?" Ashlynn asked. "Are you saying that I¡¯m the one who wanted to spread its seeds? That it gave me a branch and a task because I desired both?"


    "Things like Ancient Oaks are a bit different," Amahle said, turning back from the window. "Some plants become more like beasts, and beasts are filled with wants and desires. Beasts live in our domains, but our domain doesn¡¯t control beasts. Five elements are more than enough for us to concern ourselves with."


    "In time," she added. "We¡¯ll discuss things like the Ancient Oak, tools, all of the other things you need to know, but for now, it¡¯s enough to know that, whatever you have been told about grand purposes, we have no such things."


    As she spoke, she strode across the floor, her spider-like legs clicking on the ground behind her as she moved until she knelt beside Ashlynn and took the young woman¡¯s hand in both of hers.


    "That¡¯s why we form covens like families," Amahle said gently. "Because if we do not form a core of healthy desires to love each other, care for each other, and protect those we hold dear, then our desires will become warped and twisted. Once that happens, we will warp and twist the world around us," she said, her dark red eyes meeting Ashlynn¡¯s emerald gaze directly.


    "You are a person who has suffered," she said, tenderly stroking Ashlynn¡¯s cheek. "You have lost. You know bitterness and hatred. But, you also know love and loyalty," she added, glancing at Heila.


    "As a witch, all of these things will become greater," she explained. "Your ability to act on what you feel will grow beyond what you can imagine. You need to surround yourself with the kinds of people who will help you from becoming twisted by your darker desires, or from forgetting the pain of others when your heart is fulfilled."


    "I think I understand," Ashlynn said as pieces began to fit in place in her mind. "When I learned sorcery from Mistress Nyrielle, she said that a sorcerer imposes their will on the world, using their own energy. She said that witches used the energy of the world instead of their own energy and I thought that was the only difference."


    "But, the times I¡¯ve used witchcraft are the times when I had the deepest feelings of desire for something," she said. "The desire to survive. Or, when I was on the frozen lake, I borrowed the power of the ice and wind because my heart had filled with hatred for the people who killed a friend. I wanted vengeance and the world helped me obtain it."


    "Now you¡¯re starting to understand," Amahle said with a sad smile. Given how she¡¯d come into her power, perhaps it was unavoidable that Ashlynn¡¯s earliest uses of witchcraft had been for survival and vengeance but she wished it wasn¡¯t that way. There was so much wonder for her to find, but her journey had begun in pain and blood.


    "Now, that¡¯s enough of a lesson for today," she said, standing and helping Ashlynn to her feet. "Tala can show you where to stay. Wash up and take a short rest. This evening, we¡¯ll have dinner together as a family and you can tell me about all the things that never feel important. I want to know my new little sister as a person and not just a witch."


    "Tomorrow, we¡¯ll talk about Heila and forming your coven," she promised. "I should warn you, the process of bringing a person into your coven is dangerous and painful," she warned, her voice growing stern. "If you harbor any doubts in your heart, either of you could die. Even if you don¡¯t, there will be many days of agony before the ritual is complete."


    Looking at Ashlynn and Heila, she saw a trace of anxiety on the face of the former but only fierce determination from the latter. Knowledge could both soothe anxiety and erode determination.


    Right now, they barely knew enough to decide anything but it was better that way. Once they had details, it would be too easy to use details to hide fears behind. If they could make a decision on the cold truth, that it was painful and dangerous to both of them, then that was for the best.


    If they needed more knowledge to make the decision than that, then it might be months or years before Ashlynn would be ready to invite someone into her coven.


    "You have today to think about it," she said. "Tomorrow, I¡¯ll expect your answers." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 224: A Simple Life

    Chapter 224: A Simple LifeOnce they left Amahle¡¯s home, Ashlynn got a better look at what she had originally taken to be a village. Now that she looked around more, however, perhaps it would be better to call it an estate?


    Tala led her and Heila to a simple, small hut with a thatched roof. The entire estate was arranged in a rough circle that linked several of the taller trees to free-standing supports, keeping everything two to four feet above the water¡¯s surface.


    Nearby, there were a few areas of dry land where Ashlynn spotted meticulously tended gardens, some with fruit and vegetables, others that grew stranger plants and flowers that she¡¯d never seen before.


    "I¡¯m here, I¡¯m here, right next door to you," Talauia said brightly, pointing at the hut a few feet away from Ashlynn¡¯s. "Jacques is on the far side of the ring," she said, pointing across the way. "The two to the left of mine belong to Saini the Rose Witch and Mamao the Blackberry Witch, but both of them are away at the moment."


    "Heila, we still have a few others that are available to long-term guests, we¡¯ll have everything cleaned up for you by tomorrow, I promise," she said.


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said quickly. "I can stay with Ashlynn, you don¡¯t need to make anything special for me. Just a place to rest my head at night is good enough."


    "No, no, that won¡¯t do, won¡¯t do," the Thistle Witch insisted. "You two both need to study and practice. Why do you think we all have our own space that¡¯s at least a little bit apart from each other?" Talauia asked, pointing to the gap between the small huts.


    "It¡¯s too easy to disturb someone else when you¡¯re practicing and I just know that Heila is going to be an amazing witch," she said, her wings humming in excitement as she fluttered over to the horned woman. "You looked so brave when you stood up in there, I just know you¡¯ll make it through, no worries, no worries at all."


    "Is the ritual to join a coven really that dangerous?" Ashlynn asked. Nyrielle had told her that it wasn¡¯t a simple thing for a vampire to turn someone into one of their progeny. It required draining a person nearly to death before they were given a bit of blood from the vampire who made them. It was possible that a person could fail to hang on through the process and they would die in the attempt.


    "Um, a little bit, just a little bit," the witch said, unconsciously placing a hand on her chest. "But you won¡¯t fail, I know you won¡¯t. Here, come inside, let me show you your new home," she said, taking both Ashlynn and Heila¡¯s hands and pulling them forward before they could ask any more about the ritual to join a coven. Mother would tell them what they needed to know and she knew it wasn¡¯t her place to intrude.


    The hut itself was simple and divided by walls into three sections. First and largest was a sleeping area that also held a small hearth, several lanterns, and surprisingly, a large, wide hammock that stretched in front of a long window covered by a finely woven mesh net.


    "You can pull the curtains closed if you ever feel shy," Talauia said, though her tone seemed to imply that she didn¡¯t understand why anyone would ever need to. "As long as one of us is home, the mosquitos and gnats will leave you alone, but if we¡¯re away, the mesh should keep them out." S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Through another doorway, a screened balcony extended out over the murky water, offering an unobstructed view of the Briar. As threatening as the Briar had looked from the outside when they were making their way to Amahle¡¯s estate, now that they were here, Ashlynn had to admit that there was a quiet beauty to the stately trees stretching their boughs through the fog, reaching toward the witch¡¯s home and swaying in the gentle breeze as if waving hello.


    A smaller hammock had been strung up in one corner of the balcony, creating what looked like a perfect nook for reading or quiet contemplation. Looking out in the direction the hammock faced, the newcomers found that it overlooked one of the many small gardens planted around the estate, this one filled with flowers that glowed a faint lavender and pink in the thinning midday fog.


    "The view is beautiful," Heila said softly, her eyes drawn to the smaller hammock. "My Lady, if you¡¯d prefer me to stay close, that little hammock would be more than sufficient for me. I wouldn¡¯t take up much space at all."


    "Absolutely not, absolutely not," Talauia interrupted before Ashlynn could respond. Her wings hummed with agitation as she fluttered between them. "No, no, this is Ashlynn¡¯s space for when she needs to be alone with her thoughts or practicing her craft. Everyone needs that, especially when learning witchcraft. You¡¯ll have your own place to think and grow too, I promise."


    "You can stay here with me tonight while they prepare your space," Ashlynn said, reaching out to ruffle Heila¡¯s soft, curly hair. "It¡¯ll be good to have you close while we¡¯re settling in, but Talauia¡¯s right. You¡¯re going to be a witch soon," she said as she knelt down next to Heila.


    "I know," Heila said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "But, I¡¯ve never been alone like this. At home, no one has a room to themselves, we all have too many siblings for that. And in the castle, I slept with the other servants. Lately, I sleep near your chambers so I¡¯m always there if you need me. This," she said, tugging at the small hammock. "It¡¯s beautiful, but if I have to move into one of my own, it feels too lonely."


    "Oh, Heila," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around her diminutive friend and pulling her close. "I won¡¯t be far, I promise. And if you ever want to, you can come join me for a night. That shouldn¡¯t be a problem, should it?" she asked, turning to look at Talauia.


    "It¡¯s not a problem, not a problem," the witch said quickly. "But it won¡¯t be long until you¡¯ll likely want a bit of space from each other. It¡¯s summer now so it will keep getting hotter during the day. Too many bodies, too close together won¡¯t feel so nice. Was it hot where you grew up?"


    "Even when summer was at its hottest," Ashlynn laughed. "We always had a cold breeze off the sea. I¡¯ve heard that there are places where summer becomes as blistering as an oven and people are baked to brick if they stay outside too long. Is it like that here?"


    "Not quite, not quite," the witch said. "More like being inside of the stew pot. Everything is damp and hot. In a few days, I¡¯ll take you to one of the villages nearby so you can buy clothes that won¡¯t drive you mad. In those boots, your feet can¡¯t breathe and the wool is too heavy too."


    "I¡¯m sorry, my Lady," Heila said, looking embarrassed. "If I¡¯d spoken to Jacques before we left, I could have packed more appropriately."


    "Not your fault," Ashlynn reprimanded her lightly, setting her rucksack down next to a chest in the room. "The way he dresses, I don¡¯t think he even notices the heat here."


    "It¡¯s not fair, not fair at all," Talauia huffed in agreement. "Oh, come here, over here," she said, fluttering through one of the room¡¯s two doorways. "This is your space to work. I set it up myself!"


    Inside, Ashlynn felt like she¡¯d walked into a version of her greenhouse back in Blackwell County. There were over a dozen clay pots sitting next to a large wooden bucket of soil. Rows of neatly labeled seeds had been set out, waiting for someone to decide which things needed to be planted.


    Along the window, several long planter boxes had been mounted, each one filled with young herbs, giving the entire room a fresh scent that mixed rosemary, thyme, lemongrass and countless other scents.


    Along with the pots and gardening implements, an array of other tools had been carefully laid out on a workbench. Mortar and pestle, scales with precise weights for measuring, knives and chisels suitable for carving and sheers for pruning. Most importantly, however, she found a small collection of heavy, leather-bound books that looked freshly made.


    "Are these," Ashlynn asked, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the books.


    "I did it, I did it," the Thistle Witch said proudly. "I started copying them out for you when we received Lady Nyrielle¡¯s letter. Mother has a much larger collection, but these are the essentials she wanted to be prepared for you. You can take them with you when you go."


    "This is a bit too much," Ashlynn said, looking from the books to the bright-eyed witch. "All this, just because I¡¯m a child of the earth?"


    "Nope, nope, that¡¯s not it," Talauia said as she hovered over to Ashlynn, wrapping her arms around her and flashing a grin full of needle-sharp teeth. "All this, because you¡¯re going to be part of our family."


    "Mother will tell you, she¡¯ll tell you, but I¡¯ll say it now," the witch said, her tone becoming serious. "This is a home for you. It will always be a home for you. You can always come home here and we will always welcome you. The Briar is away from outsiders. If you need to run, if you need to hide, if you just need peace, if..." her voice trailed off and her eyes grew misty as ghosts and memories danced through her multifaceted eyes.


    "If one day, the whole world hates you... If you¡¯re ever being hunted or you feel like there¡¯s no place in the world for you... then you can always come here, and here will always be home for you."

 Chapter 225: Family Dinner

    Chapter 225: Family DinnerEventually, Ashlynn and Heila had settled in for much needed rest before freshening up and joining Amahle and her coven for dinner.


    "Dis is ma specialty," Jacques said proudly when Ashlynn and Heila entered. "Catfish courtbouillon over white rice. She is simple, rich, and done ready to melt on your tongue," he said as he brought a large iron pan from the hearth over to the table and began to serve the delicate, flaky fish in a deep, rich red sauce.


    "Try this, try this," Talauia added eagerly, dishing up portions of a bright green salad filled with wild lettuces, crisp, fresh cucumbers, finely diced peppers, and an odd creamy white dressing. "It¡¯s a soursop salad, sweet, sour, and a little spicy too."


    "You¡¯ll have to wait for mine till the end," Amahle said, taking her place at the table with a warm smile. "The first blackberries have just come in and I couldn¡¯t resist a cobbler."


    "Everyone cooks?" Ashlynn asked, mildly surprised as she looked around the table. The portions everyone dished up were generous and Talauia seemed exceptionally excited about Jacques¡¯s catfish dish, taking an extra fillet for herself before she¡¯d even begun to eat.


    "Dat¡¯s de way of it at home, cher," Jacques said with a wide, toothy smile. "Don¡¯t worry none, dis nephew can teach you a few tings right quick. Have you cooking up a storm in no time."


    "Hehe," Heila giggled while sorting through her salad, piling up the spicy peppers on one side of her plate. "My lady is a very good cook," she said proudly. "She used her blossoming period to train her senses in Georg¡¯s kitchens. She even pretended to be a kitchen girl just to spy on the Lothian¡¯s summer villa."


    "Mercy me," Amahle beamed. "You do have a number of surprises about you, don¡¯t you, darlin¡¯?"


    "Maybe a few," Ashlynn said, her face red with embarrassment. "Jacques, did you pick this dish because you heard I miss fish from the sea?"


    "Pure coincidence, cher," he said, acting like he was surprised by the news. "Dis truly is my best dish. I thought it would be best to welcome you home. And to make amends," he added, turning to face Heila. "I didn¡¯t mean to make tings so hard on you, ma petite."


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said after taking a large gulp of chilled, sweet tea. She¡¯d removed the peppers from the salad but she hadn¡¯t realized how spicy Jacques¡¯s red sauce would be. She thought it would be mild, maybe even herby like the red sauces she¡¯d seen from Georg¡¯s cooking, but this was something with a peppery kick that snuck up on her after the third bite. Was he trying to apologize or trying to set her tongue on fire!


    "We just have different ways of doing things," Heila said, trying to be magnanimous about it all. Now that the Mother of Thorns had accepted her presence here, there was much less to be anxious about and she wasn¡¯t inclined to hold a grudge against Jacques when she had so many other worries looming on the horizon.


    Dinner that evening was boisterous, with eagerly shared food, cool drinks that helped to hold off the late evening heat, and pleasant conversations about things that didn¡¯t matter much.


    Heila told stories about her siblings and Ashlynn answered a number of questions about her gardens in Blackwell County, Talauia produced one embarrassing anecdote after another about the fearsome Sandbox Witch who could only threaten to withhold additional portions of fish if she kept teasing him.


    And over all of it, Amahle smiled, nudging the conversation in one direction or another, like a puppeteer tugging on strings to ensure that the mood remained light. When Ashlynn and Heila arrived, they were both travel-worn and guarded. Both clung to familiar formalities, whether it was Heila¡¯s manners as a servant or Ashlynn¡¯s courtly etiquette, as shields to conceal or at least blunt how much of their genuine emotion they revealed.


    To Amahle, such surface-level subterfuge was pointless. No detail was too small for her crimson eyes with their rows of pupils to track and detect. Her coven had long since given up any attempts to hide what they felt, though in Jacques¡¯s case, he didn¡¯t express it very well either.


    Now, with food before them and comfortable conversations, the Mother of Thorns used every moment of their shared meal to build comfort. Thorns were for keeping outsiders away and to give a safe space for all of the people and creatures that hid behind the thorns. People like Talauia who had nowhere else to go after running across half the continent to escape the people who felt she¡¯d wronged them.


    When Amahle looked at Ashlynn, she saw some of the same ghosts in her eyes that she saw in Talauia¡¯s all those years ago. She knew, because Nyrielle had hidden nothing in her letters, that Ashlynn¡¯s awakening of power had been anything but gentle and that a thirst for vengeance simmered beneath the surface of her polite laughs and gentle manners.


    More than that, deep losses haunted her like gaping wounds that were still far too fresh. Every time the conversation turned to family, there would be a slight catch in Ashlynn¡¯s voice when she mentioned her parents or her sister. It was clear that she had been torn away from them and the closeness of Amahle¡¯s family couldn¡¯t help but remind her of the birth family she was separated from. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "All right, I see that hungry look in little Heila¡¯s eyes," the powerful witch said, using her spider-like legs to gracefully lift herself up to her feet before she strode across the room to fetch a hot bubbling blackberry cobbler from the hearth.


    The aroma of sweet, fresh-picked berries and buttery pastry filled the air as Amahle carried the cast iron dish to the table. Dark purple juice bubbled up through cracks in the rustic golden-brown crust, along with hints of warm spices grown in the witch¡¯s personal garden.


    "Poor thing," Amahle said as she dished out the sweet and tart dessert. "I¡¯ll make the main dish tomorrow. Something that¡¯s not so spicy. No one goes to bed hungry, you hear?"


    "It¡¯s all right," Heila said, fidgeting with her hands under the table. In her mind, she kept overlapping the Mother of Thorns with Lady Nyrielle, but when she tried to imagine Lady Nyrielle baking a cobbler and personally serving her an extra large portion or promising to cook something more suited to her tastes for dinner tomorrow.... It was just too difficult to reconcile with what she knew of the powerful witch¡¯s status.


    "I¡¯m small so I don¡¯t need much," Heila said, even as her mouth watered at the tantalizing scent of the piping hot dessert. "But why is it only me that can¡¯t eat spicy things? Lady Ashlynn, did you eat spicy food in Blackwell County?"


    "No, not at all," Ashlynn said. "At least, I didn¡¯t before Owain. He used to challenge the knights who traveled with him to see who could eat the spiciest dish or the most peppers or... whatever. It was stupid, men thumping each other on the back and shouting like eating a bigger pepper proved which one would be braver in battle."


    "I¡¯ve seen the type," Amahle laughed. "But how did a delicate rose like you wind up embroiled in such foolhardiness?"


    "The second time that Owain visited Blackwell County while he was courting me, I wanted to know what it was all about," Ashlynn said, shaking her head at her own foolishness. "He laughed, but he gave me a tiny pepper that I thought wouldn¡¯t be very bad... I only learned afterward that it was one of the hottest ones the traders brought to port!"


    "So, I promised myself I wouldn¡¯t be humiliated like that again," Ashlynn said. "I asked Jocey to talk to the wayfinders and the carters to get me as many different kinds of hot pepper as they had. I didn¡¯t realize there were so many different kinds and colors, but I spent months trying them all, and bit by bit, I got used to it. It was silly, but the next time it was my turn to visit Lothian March and I brought a whole bushel of different kinds of peppers with me as a gift for Owain¡¯s cook."


    "What happened, what happened?" Talauia asked excitedly, her wings quivering behind her.


    "It was horrible," Ashlynn said, shaking her head. "After I ate a half dish filled with roasted peppers, Owain gave me this look," she said, lowering her brows in mock concern as she imitated his reprimanding tone. "You know, these things are best used to put hair on a man¡¯s chest, and I adore yours too much to see it spoiled. You shouldn¡¯t eat these things," she quoted.


    "Dat beast! He says dis in public? Wit his knights and other folk present?" Jacques said, looking both aghast and like he wanted to find Owain to have a few impolite words with. Perhaps words that would be punctuated by a scaly fist.


    "He did," Ashlynn said. "I... I should have realized the kind of man he was long ago. It was just..."


    "Darlin¡¯, you¡¯ve got no need to justify what happened with him, then or any other time," Amahle said, placing a protective hand on her ¡¯little sister¡¯s¡¯ shoulder. "Some people will only respect power, and before you accepted using yours, you didn¡¯t have the power to stand up for yourself the way you could now, much less the way you¡¯ll be able to in the future."


    "Before you leave, no man will push you around the way that Owain did," the powerful witch said firmly. "You have my promise on that, darlin¡¯. Tonight, you just get some good rest. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll get to work so no one, not ex-husband, human lord, holy priest, or possessive vampire, can tell you what to do."

 Chapter 226: Heila’s Resolve

    Chapter 226: Heila¡¯s ResolveThe following morning, after a simple family-style breakfast of eggs and oat porridge, Jacques and Talauia retreated from Amahle¡¯s cottage to leave her alone with Ashlynn and Heila.


    "Now," the powerful witch said as she poured hot tea for her two young students, filling the room with a fragrance that was warm and slightly minty. "You¡¯ve had the night to think on it. I¡¯ve done told you that it¡¯s plenty dangerous. Success is not guaranteed. Little Heila," she said, turning her attention to the diminutive horned woman.


    "Jacques told me last night that the notion of you joining Ashlynn¡¯s coven only came up because he tried to make you stay behind when it came time to enter the Briar," she said, her dark, sculpted brows lowering as her gaze took in a hint of penetrating sharpness.


    "If all you want to do is stay close and serve Ashlynn, I will bend the rules for you and allow you to stay," she offered. "You do not need to join her coven just for this moment." While Amahle didn¡¯t think that the diminutive woman would take such an offer, it was still an offer that had to be made. After all, Heila wasn¡¯t the only one being tested.


    "Even if you let me stay as just her lady-in-waiting," Heila said hesitantly. Once she began, however, a fire ignited in her eyes, blazing with determination. "I¡¯d still choose to join her coven. Please, now that I have the chance, don¡¯t take it away from me," she said, offering a seated bow from her place at the table.


    "I¡¯d like to hear your reason why, sugar," Amahle said. Her expression was still somber even though her words were light and friendly. As she watched, the pupils of one eye focused entirely on Heila, ready to catch the slightest tremble in her voice or shift in her eyes that might betray falsehood. The other eye focused on Ashlynn with just as much detail, ready to see how the future Mother of Trees would respond to this young applicant to join her coven.


    "I can see the fire in your eyes," Amahle said flatly, withholding any praise that might normally accompany such words. "But fire isn¡¯t enough to survive what will come. Tell me why you¡¯ve made this decision despite the risks."


    "Because once the sun comes up, Ashlynn is all alone," Heila said, giving Ashlynn a complicated look. She wasn¡¯t sure that this was the sort of answer they wanted to here, but it felt true to her, she just hoped that would be enough for them.


    "I think, I may have misunderstood Jacques," she continued. "Now that we¡¯re here, he doesn¡¯t seem as mysterious and cryptic in what he does. More... He seems awkward and like he has difficulty speaking his thoughts well."


    "That¡¯s true," Amahle said with a light smile, her sharp aura relaxing slightly as she considered the youngest member of her coven. "Jacques tries his hardest but he isn¡¯t the most well-spoken of my coven and he struggles with some parts of his nature. That doesn¡¯t answer why you want to become a member of Ashlynn¡¯s coven."


    "I, I was getting there," Heila said, struggling to maintain her posture under the intense crimson gaze of the powerful witch. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a timid little voice cried out to her to run and hide before she was caught in the spider¡¯s web, but she firmly scolded that voice to be silent and pressed on with her answer. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "For a little while," she said. "We thought that Jacques might try to take Ashlynn away from us. We talked about it with the captain of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s personal guard. They thought that they could protect her from him, but if he was serious, then people would die."


    "During the night, no one can take her from Lady Nyrielle," Heila said, her voice growing firmer as she recovered her momentum. "But during the day, she doesn¡¯t have Lady Nyrielle, doesn¡¯t have Madame Zedya or Sir Thane or any of the others. But she always, always has me. It¡¯s just, I¡¯m too weak and useless to help her fight her enemies."


    "You¡¯re not useless," Ashlynn protested, reaching out to wrap Heila in a tight hug from behind. "You¡¯re brave and you¡¯ve done more than almost any lady-in-waiting could ever be asked to do."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s more than others though," Heila said, turning in Ashlynn¡¯s arms to look at her from just inches away. "It might be enough for a dozen other ladies, but that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s enough for you. You¡¯re different. You will always be different. What you need is different too. More than what anyone else would ever need."


    "So, I want to be there for you. I will always be at your side," Heila promised. "So, let me be the best lady-in-waiting that I can possibly be. You¡¯re going to go farther than almost any lady ever would. I need to go just as far or I can¡¯t stay by your side anymore," she finished, tears forming in her eyes.


    "Oh, my little Heila," Ashlynn whispered, hugging her friend close to her chest and gently stroking the horned woman¡¯s long, curly hair. "You can always stay. I will never send you away." For a moment, she almost said more. The words were right there at the tip of her tongue. That Heila was her first friend among the Eldritch and that she mattered too much to her to be placed in harm¡¯s way.


    And yet, she couldn¡¯t say it. If she did, it would mean rejecting everything that Heila had put into her earnest plea. It wasn¡¯t just the loyalty of a servant that gave birth to Heila¡¯s words, or even the loyalty of a friend. It was a genuine desire to be a greater partner in their relationship. Heila wanted to face danger together with her instead of being sheltered from it.


    She was willing to put her life in danger because, to Heila, Ashlynn¡¯s life had come to mean just as much to her as Heila¡¯s life had come to mean to Ashlynn. Those were feelings that would leave deep scars on both women if Ashlynn were to reject them now.


    "And, since this is what you want," Ashlynn said, summoning up her own resolve to say the words confidently so Heila could hear the acceptance in her voice. "Then I won¡¯t refuse you, even if I am worried for you. We¡¯ll face the dangers together."


    "Well done, sugar," Amahle said, this time with genuine warmth in her voice and a smile on her face. The first hurdles were often the hardest, but since these two had resolved themselves to walk this road together, she would give them all the support she could.


    "Now, go find Tala," she said. "She¡¯ll help you get settled into your own place. For the next few days, she¡¯ll be your tutor while I help my little sister prepare to welcome you into her coven."


    Even though Heila would be incapable of practicing real witchcraft at the moment, there were still several things that she needed to learn before the summer ended and winter¡¯s approach pulled them away. The more book-learning Heila could manage in the days while she awaited her transformation, the stronger her foundation would be once the powers of a witch took root within her.


    "I can stay to help her too," Heila said almost reflexively before she realized that in this case, there might not actually be anything she could do to help. "That is, I can still tend to anything you need, my Lady," she told Ashlynn.


    "I can take care of myself," Ashlynn said gently, ruffling the horned woman¡¯s hair. "Go. I imagine the things that big sister Amahle has to say to me are for me alone."


    "Thank you," Heila said, her eyes brimming with tears. The night before, she¡¯d barely slept, and it hadn¡¯t been the unfamiliar hammock that kept her awake until the sun had nearly risen. Her biggest fear had been that Ashlynn would refuse to let her take the risk.


    The explanation she¡¯d given hadn¡¯t been intended to convince Amahle at all, it had been intended to overcome any objection Ashlynn might raise in the name of keeping her safe. Thankfully, it seems her words had been successful in persuading both women. Whether it was the logic of having her available to protect Ashlynn during the day or her genuine feelings of wanting to help her friend didn¡¯t matter to Heila.


    So long as they accepted her, that was enough.

 Chapter 227: The Mark of A Witch

    Chapter 227: The Mark of A Witch"Now, Little Sister," Amahle said as she walked across the room to retrieve a large, well-worn, leather-bound book. "I¡¯ll explain to you what needs to happen in order to transform little Heila into a true witch."


    "Since it¡¯s the first time for you, I¡¯ll hold your hand the whole way through the process. If we waited for you to be able to do it all by yourself, there wouldn¡¯t be much time for Heila to learn before you need to leave, so please put your trust in me to see you through this one," she said, returning to the table and taking a seat next to Ashlynn.


    Ashlynn had never known what it was like to have an older sister. She¡¯d been the oldest of two and she¡¯d done her best to be a big sister to Jocelynn, but because she was confined to the Blackwell Manor most of the time, she knew she¡¯d fallen short of what a good ¡¯big sister¡¯ really was.


    Now, however, she felt like she was finally getting a good look at what it could be like to have someone who acted as a wise older sister to her. Ashlynn was too well trained to be oblivious to the things that Amahle was doing to foster the feelings growing in her.


    From sitting next to her as a peer instead of across the table from her as a teacher, Amahle was taking deliberate actions to lower herself from the mighty position of ¡¯Mother of Thorns¡¯ to instead become ¡¯big sister Amahle,¡¯ but just because the actions were deliberate, it didn¡¯t mean the desires behind them weren¡¯t genuine.


    "Thank you, big sister Amahle," Ashlynn said. Her shoulders visibly slumped in relief at the older woman¡¯s offer of support. Like a good sister, Amahle wasn¡¯t going to do anything for her, but she would help her along the way and that was exactly what Ashlynn needed at the moment.


    She could still feel the lingering warmth of Heila¡¯s tiny body in her arms, and the feeling of the diminutive woman trembling as she pleaded her case was one that Ashlynn didn¡¯t think she¡¯d ever be able to forget.


    At a certain point, it hadn¡¯t been the words that moved Ashlynn¡¯s heart, but the tone of Heila¡¯s voice, the frantic beat of her heart, and the quiet trembles as she spoke that broke down any resistance Ashlynn had to the idea of Heila taking on the risks to become part of her coven.


    "You heard how Heila feels," she said, giving Amahle a helpless look. "I need to do everything I can to be worthy of her feelings. I couldn¡¯t forgive myself if she suffered because my ignorance caused me to fall short."


    "You still need to prepare your heart for a hard decision, darlin¡¯," Amahle said gently. Her spider-like legs clicked on the wooden floor as she adjusted her position so she could wrap one arm around Ashlynn while the other opened the old leather-bound book.


    "You¡¯ve seen how the witches in my coven are named," she said, slowly turning the pages of the book as the scent of old paper and ink filled the air. "Sandbox, Thistle, Rose, Blackberry... Holly," she continued, her voice catching slightly on the last name before she forced herself to continue.


    "They¡¯re more than just names," she explained, turning away from the book to look at Ashlynn, watching the young woman soaking up every word she said like a sponge. "They represent a very real power that I¡¯ve helped to grow within them. You and I, we were born with our marks. In order for anyone else to become a witch, we have to give them one." S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "How much do you know about your own mark, Ashlynn? Has anyone explained your mark to you and the things that it represents?" Amahle asked. Given the amount of superstition and outright misinformation that seemed to circulate among humans, she was worried that she would have to correct several misconceptions before she could get to the truth.


    "I know next to nothing," Ashlynn admitted sadly. "My parents managed to locate enough records to confirm that it was likely a genuine mark of the witch, but information about witches is difficult to find unless someone holds an office of authority within the Church."


    "When I came to the Vale of Mists, Mistress Nyrielle told me a little bit more about the differences between sorcery and witchcraft," Ashlynn added. "But from the very beginning, she has been reluctant to tell me much about the traditions of witches. She said that I would learn those things from you and that she would teach me the other things I needed to know as her Seneschal. There was so much to learn, I never really gave it much thought until now."


    "I see," Amahle said, nodding in understanding and a small portion of reluctant gratitude for Nyrielle¡¯s restraint. The less Ashlynn had been told, the easier it would be to set her on the right path instead of correcting misunderstandings.


    In order to give Ashlynn an example, the powerful witch untucked the hem of her loose black blouse from her simple dark skirts and lifted it upward, revealing a coiled, vine-like mark that swirled around the smooth skin of her belly.


    "This is my mark," she said, using the tip of one of her spider-like legs to point carefully at the birthmark. "You see how it has taken the shape of a vine with five thorns. Each thorn matches one of the elements. The longer the thorn, the stronger my affinity for that element. For me, wood is the strongest, then water, earth, air, and this tiny thorn in the middle tells you how abysmal my talent at fire is."


    "The mark isn¡¯t a source of our power," Amahle explained. "But it is a manifestation of it. Eldritch witches have spent thousands of years learning what we can about the ways these marks manifest and you can understand a great deal about a witch if you can glimpse her mark."


    "Learning your affinities is just one of the things that examining a mark can tell you," the powerful witch added. "My mark curls inward on itself. This is something common among mothers of thorns who are strong in the ways of protection, sheltering others under the cover of our prickly exteriors. There are others who have been better at inflicting pain, misery, and suffering, or tearing down the homes and fortresses of their opponents."


    "Understanding the mark can help to unlock your understanding of your own talents, but it also exposes your weaknesses to anyone who can understand your mark. Knowing that, are you willing to let me examine your mark?"


    Ashlynn had always kept her mark to herself, not because it would expose her strengths and weaknesses to others, but because it would be deadly if it were ever discovered by the Church in the place where she grew up.


    Now, however, she was receiving a chance to better understand her own mark and in doing so, her own power. But the price meant that she¡¯d have to reveal her strengths and weaknesses to the Mother of Thorns. They¡¯d only just met the day before... could she really take that step so quickly?

 Chapter 228: Ashlynn’s Mark

    Chapter 228: Ashlynn¡¯s MarkAshlynn¡¯s hesitation lasted for only a few moments. Amahle had already revealed her own mark. Even if Ashlynn didn¡¯t understand how to interpret it now, she would eventually. The other woman had already taken the initiative to reveal her own weaknesses before asking to see Ashlynn¡¯s, exactly as a big sister should.


    "It¡¯s on my hip," Ashlynn said, looking slightly embarrassed. Her mark was something that had only been seen by a very few people and over time, it had come to take on the same sort of taboo to her that revealing her naked breast would have held. Even though she¡¯d made the decision to reveal it, when it came time to actually do so, her fingers hesitated at the hem of her dress.


    "Here," she said, standing up and pulling up her skirts above the waist before sliding her underwear out of the way to reveal the complete tree shaped mark. She stumbled slightly as she moved but she felt like this was a bandage that she needed to rip off before she could really make progress.


    "This, this is my mark of the witch," she said, catching her balance and posing awkwardly to show the mark to Amahle.


    "No wonder you were recognized almost instantly," Amahle said in impressed tones. "Pardon my touch, darlin¡¯," she added, reaching forward with two spider-like limbs to carefully and precisely measure Ashlynn¡¯s mark. From its overall length to the length of specific ¡¯roots¡¯ on the tree shaped birthmark, Amahle took in every detail.


    "Well?" Ashlynn asked, setting her clothing back into place and returning to her seat next to Amahle and the old book. "Where do my talents lie?"


    "First, the size of the mark itself is impressive," Amahle said. After examining Ashlynn, she pulled a small notebook out of one of her many pockets along with a charcoal stick for sketching and began to roughly sketch the outline of Ashlynn¡¯s mark.


    "Your mark is shaped like a tree, and its shape reminds me of an Ash or a Maple tree. The mark is long and slender, but there¡¯s still a good bit of width to it. This means that you¡¯ll be able to go far with your magic in the places where you are strong, but there are limits to how much you can extend beyond your core competencies."


    "If your mark were shaped more like an Oak, with greater breadth, you would be a better general witch, unable to reach as great of heights but you wouldn¡¯t be as deficient where you are weak," Amahle explained. "Likewise, if your mark were shaped more like a Spruce, very narrow and tall, you would have unparalleled ability in one or two things, but almost no ability outside of that."


    "So, my mark is a kind of middle ground," Ashlynn said, making sure she understood. "I can branch out a little but I shouldn¡¯t expect greatness outside of the things I¡¯m best at. I can go far, but there are others who are true experts that I will never match up to within their specialty."


    "Exactly so," Amahle said, giving Ashlynn a warm pat on her shoulders before she continued her explanation. "Now, the roots of your mark are a reflection of your talents. Like my thorns, each one corresponds to an element and tells us how great your aptitude is for each of them."


    "Just remember, this is only an expression of potential," she said, her voice growing firm. "Without hard work to realize it, all of the potential in the world won¡¯t save you from defeat at the hands of people with a fraction of your talent who honed their abilities," she cautioned.


    "I understand," Ashlynn said, nodding along with the explanation. "When I became Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, I had a ¡¯Blossoming Period¡¯ just like Vampire Progeny do. I trained hard during that time to make the most of my potential while I was growing rapidly."


    "It, it wasn¡¯t easy," she said, thinking back on the number of nights she¡¯d returned from training with Thane, her flesh bruised and her body aching. "But the results of the hard work were worth it in the end. Don¡¯t worry that your little sister will count on her talent to get her though," she promised.


    "It¡¯s good that you understand then," Amahle said with a complex expression on her face at the reminder of Ashlynn¡¯s vampiric abilities. She¡¯d never seen a witch form a blood pact with a vampire and she had no idea how it would impact Ashlynn¡¯s development, but what was done was done. There was nothing she could do about it now other than to press onward and hope that they could avoid any tragedies.


    "Your greatest talent is with wood, I imagine that doesn¡¯t surprise someone as clever as my darlin¡¯ little sister," Amahle said with a hint of pride in her voice. "After that, earth, then fire. Finally, water and air. Seeing your mark, I¡¯m amazed you were able to channel ice and frigid wind as well as you did in the High Pass. That must have been very difficult for you."


    "It was," Ashlynn said quietly. Looking down at the book, a complicated expression passed over her face. If she¡¯d known better than to try using ice and wind energy, could she have saved Andrus? As quickly as the thought came, she shook it off.


    Even if she had greater strengths with other elements, out in the middle of the frozen lake, there had been nothing to work with but water and air. Even if she¡¯d known, there wasn¡¯t anything else in that barren place she could have used.


    "How is the book going to help us?" Ashlynn asked, frowning as she looked at the table of contents in the book. From top to bottom, it contained a list of trees, though a few were repeated more than once. "Since you mentioned marks, does this describe marks that can be created for Heila?"


    "Something like that," the older witch said with a smile that seemed a touch sad. "In order to transform an ordinary person into a witch, you need to plant a seed within them. A seed that you will nurture next to your own heart before you remove it from your chest and place it within their chest where the seed and the power you¡¯ve selected for them can take root and grow."


    "This book," the witch said, running a finger down the first page of the table of contents. "It records what is known of the covens of previous Mothers of Trees. From their names to the powers they developed, it should be able to give you a sense of what is possible for a member of your coven." S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Oak, Ash, Elm, Aspen, Fir," Ashlynn recited as her fingers traced down the list. Each entry on the list suddenly felt far more substantial than any information about a simple tree ever could. While many of the trees on the list were familiar to her, others were completely foreign. What was a Banyan tree? Or a Sweetgum?


    "Does it also contain information about other people who have been the Mother of Trees?" Ashlynn asked suddenly, turning away from the book to look at Amahle with wide eyes. From how carefully the powerful witch had measured her mark, she was certain that there were more details that her ¡¯big sister¡¯ had been able to glean from inspecting it. If this book held that knowledge...


    "No," the Mother of Thorns said, dashing Ashlynn¡¯s hopes with a shake of her head. "I have other books for that and I¡¯ll share them with you later. For now, I want to look at these with you so you can select the type of seed you¡¯ll bestow on little Heila."


    "You cannot speak with her about this," Amahle said, tapping a spider-like leg for emphasis when she saw Ashlynn begin to draw a breath. Her little sister was a good woman who would wish to share the decision with little Heila but this was a decision that couldn¡¯t be shared.


    "You are to become the Mother of Trees," the powerful witch said. "A mother must make some decisions for her children and this is one of them. If you allow Heila to participate, I think you know well what kind of woman she is. Would she choose what is best for herself, or what she believes will serve you better?"


    "The latter," Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh. "I¡¯m trying to help her learn to speak up for herself more, and to prioritize her own wants and desires more, but she¡¯s dedicated her whole life to service. Breaking some habits is... difficult for her."


    "And that is why you must choose this for her," Amahle said gently. "Come, we can read together and then we can discuss it. Just because you¡¯re a mother doesn¡¯t mean you have to come up with the answers all by yourself. That¡¯s why you have a big sister after all," she said with a smile.


    "So, let¡¯s take a look together, and see what would be best for Heila."

 Chapter 229: Visiting Sister Holly

    Chapter 229: Visiting Sister Holly"So? They said yes, they said yes, right?" Talauia said as soon as Heila emerged from Amahle¡¯s home. The excited witch hovered just above the wooden walkway, her wings humming with excitement as she looked at Heila, eager to hear the news.


    "They said yes," Heila said weakly. Her body was still trembling and her hands tightly gripped the railing next to the walkway for support. It wasn¡¯t until now, when the decision had been made, that she realized how frightened she¡¯d been that Ashlynn would say no because it was too dangerous.


    Months ago, when Zedya had first selected her from among all of the servants to tend to Lady Ashlynn¡¯s needs, she¡¯d never dreamed of a moment like this coming to pass.


    At first, things had been awkward between them. Lady Ashlynn was accustomed to doing many things by herself which left Heila doubting whether or not her work could even be counted as fulfilling her duties. She didn¡¯t feel like Ashlynn was allowing her to be an attendant and that it wouldn¡¯t be long until she was sent back to work alongside everyone else, tending to the basic needs of the ancient fortress in the Vale of Mists.


    It was only later, when Ashlynn began to grow curious about Eldritch life, that Heila started to realize that she needed to provide a different kind of support to her new lady. Ashlynn didn¡¯t need someone to help her bathe or select a dress, she needed someone who could tell her about the traditions of the Horned Clan, the history of the common people in the Vale of Mists, and dozens of other things that Heila herself never thought much about because she grew up knowing them.


    Once she¡¯d realized that, things began to change between the two women as Heila slowly learned to be the kind of person that Ashlynn could rely on. More than that, even though clear boundaries imposed by status within Lady Nyrielle¡¯s household remained, they developed a sort of friendship.


    Given her humble origins, becoming Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting should have been enough of an elevation in status for her to be content for a lifetime. And yet, when Zedya mentioned a possibility for her to join Ashlynn¡¯s coven, to become a witch alongside her... Heila¡¯s heart had seized on the notion with a strength that surprised even her.


    If Ashlynn had said ¡¯no¡¯ at this moment, it would have crushed her. She would never have argued with the decision, but... somehow, an idle possibility had come to represent the brightest future she could have and she didn¡¯t want to lose that dream. Now, she wouldn¡¯t have to.


    "Aunt Amahle said that you would tutor me for the next few days?" Heila said, looking at the hovering witch. Now that she had this chance, she intended to make the most of it.


    "I will, I will," Talauia said. Slowly, she drifted over to the walkway and stepped onto the well-worn wooden planks. "But first, I should take you somewhere to meet someone. Come with me," she said, her tone growing somber.


    "Someone else in the Briar?" Heila asked. "I thought it was just Aunt Amahle and her coven that lived here."


    "It is, it is," Talauia replied as she guided Heila into a flat-bottomed boat and began to push it through the water with slow, steady movements. "I¡¯m going to introduce you to... to the Holly Witch," she said softly. A name almost spilled from her lips but she held it back, tucking it away in a corner of her heart where the sharp thorns wrapped around the name wouldn¡¯t hurt as much.


    Talauia didn¡¯t speak as she guided their boat through channels between the massive cypress trees. Their route was marked by patches of luminescent moss that cast a sickly green glow across the murky water along with the occasional glimpse of brighter red and deep purple flowers barely visible through the thick morning fog.


    At several points along the way, the Thistle Witch changed their course, pushing off the trunk of a tree here or a clump of dry ground there. Each time she did, her movements were smooth and almost absent-minded, as if she didn¡¯t even need to look at their surroundings in order to find their way.


    Partway through the trip, Heila gasped as something large, barely glimpsed out of the corner of her eye moved beneath the surface, creating ripples that gently rocked their flat-bottomed boat. Unlike during their journey in, however, Talauia didn¡¯t bother to warn it away, rather, she seemed too distracted by whatever thoughts she¡¯d been consumed by to bother with the creature of the swamp.


    After several nearly silent minutes spent navigating the murky waters of the Briar, the two women arrived at a small island that radiated such a fierce sharpness that Heila wouldn¡¯t have been able to approach it without Talauia¡¯s help to shield her from the intense, needle-like energy.


    In the center of the island, a single holly bush dominated most of the available land. It stood close to a dozen feet tall and was half again as wide as it was tall. Despite being months away from the time it should bear any fruit, countless crimson berries pulsed with a dull red glow, nestled among the prickly leaves of the bush.


    "Sister Holly, Sister Holly," Talauia said, pulling Heila by the hand as they left the boat to set foot on the small island. "I brought a friend. A cousin," she said. "This is Heila, and... and she¡¯s about to join the coven of the Mother of Trees."


    As the witch spoke, the bush seemed to tremble, its leaves shaking with a dry, almost rattle-like sound as a breeze unfelt by anything else shook the bush. The berries grew brighter and for a moment, the intense, needle sharp aura around the bush grew so intense that several drops of blood formed on the skin of both women as they were pricked by the bush.


    "Don¡¯t be like that, don¡¯t be like that, Sister Holly," Talauia admonished gently. Slowly, moving with practiced motions, she stepped forward to prick the tip of her on the bush, spilling three drops of blood that were quickly absorbed by the berries.


    "It¡¯s okay, Sister Holly. It¡¯s Thistle, you, you remember me," she said gently, holding her hand just inches from the bush the way a person might hold their hand out to a loyal hound to be sniffed and recognized. "Heila, come here, come here," the witch said softly, her usual enthusiasm entirely absent as she waved Heila over to join her.


    "Prick yourself and drip three drops onto the berries," she said, placing an arm gently around Heila¡¯s shoulders to help steady her against the needle-sharp aura and sense of threat radiating from the holly bush. "That way, Sister Holly will know you and know that you mean no harm." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "¡¯Sister, Sister Holly?¡¯ Heila asked, her eyes darting from the strange bush to the witch and back again. Growing up in a castle ruled by vampires, Heila was no stranger to blood magic, but something about this felt different from the casual way Lady Nyrielle or Madame Zedya used blood in their magic.


    The way Talauia spoke to the bush, as if it was truly a person sent shivers down her spine. It hadn¡¯t escaped her notice that Talauia referred to herself as ¡¯Thistle¡¯ when speaking to ¡¯Sister Holly.¡¯ Did that mean that this was blood magic intended to commune with the dead? It wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d ever heard of in her lessons from Zedya but that didn¡¯t make it impossible.


    Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pricked her finger and carefully counted out three drops of blood onto the nearest berry, just as she¡¯d been instructed. Once Heila made her offering of blood, the sharp feeling of needles pressing into her skin receded. It never went completely away, but it diminished to a level that stung her skin much less than the frigid winds of the High Pass.


    "In order to become a witch, Auntie Ashlynn will need to plant a seed of witchcraft in your body," Talauia explained in a quiet voice while reaching out to gently stroke the waxy leaves of the holly bush. "For me, it was a thistle seed. For Jacques, a seed from the sandbox tree."


    "You¡¯ll have to nurture the seed within your body in order to grow your connection to the energy of the world," Talauia explained. "But you have to keep it under control. To be a witch means to be in control of yourself and by controlling yourself, you control the energy of the world. If you lose control of yourself and your desires," she said, her voice becoming soft.


    "This is the fate that awaits you," the witch said, her wings drooping as she spoke. "Sister Holly was consumed by the seed of witchcraft that Mother planted in her. This," she said, gently stroking one of the sharp, needle points of a leaf. "This is all that¡¯s left of Sister Holly after she failed to control the power of the seed."


    "For the next few days," Talauia said, turning to face Heila. "I¡¯m going to teach you everything I can. It may not make sense, but please believe me, it¡¯s all very important. Otherwise..." she said, her voice trailing off as she glanced back at the bush.


    The message couldn¡¯t be more clear. If Heila failed in this process, there wouldn¡¯t be anything left of her but a sad lonely tree, trapped forever within the Briar.

 Chapter 230: Choosing A Seed

    Chapter 230: Choosing A SeedAshlynn and Amahle spent several hours with the old, worn book that described the covens of Ashlynn¡¯s predecessors. The more she read, the more certain trends began to emerge.


    "Oak seems like the most common choice," Ashlynn said as she leafed through her notes. Outside the window, insects droned with a high-pitched buzzing that made it hard to concentrate the way she was accustomed to in the quiet studies behind solid stone castle walls, but taking notes and keeping herself organized as they worked through the records helped her to stay on track even when the increasing heat and incessant droning conspired to sap her focus.


    "Virtually every Mother of Trees has given birth to an Oak Witch at some point," Ashlynn said, looking at the tick marks she¡¯d made on the page to note how often this particular tree had come up. "And it seems like those witches wield considerable strength."


    "The Oak brings elements of physical might, resilience, endurance, protection, and other elements that make it an excellent source of strength for witches who will face grave trials and battle strong enemies," Amahle agreed. It also helped that no matter where a person was, there were different types of oak trees that were native to the area, making it a familiar tree to witches the world over.


    "If I¡¯d been the Mother of Trees, I might have considered Oak for Jacques," she added. After all, she¡¯d chosen the Sandbox tree for Jacques because of his physical capabilities and intensity. The physical might and considerable toughness of the Oak tree would have suited him almost as well. In the end, however, she was the Mother of Thorns, not the Mother of Trees, and seeing how Jacques had grown along with the Sandbox Tree, she couldn¡¯t help but feel that this was the best choice for the prickly witch from the Ancient Clan, even if she had been the Mother of Trees.


    "But little sister," Amahle said, raising an eyebrow at Ashlynn as she sipped her tea. "While the Oak is strong and mighty, do you truly believe it¡¯s a tree that suits little Heila? She¡¯s not the sort who¡¯s lookin¡¯ for trouble to stand in the way of is she?"


    "No, not at all," Ashlynn said, shaking her head. "I know that Heila wants to become someone who can protect me, but as far as I¡¯m concerned, she doesn¡¯t need to transform herself into a warrior to accomplish that."


    "She¡¯s a gentle person," Ashlynn said, looking out the window at the soft light filtering through the thick canopy and dense fog of the Briar. For a place that was filled with so many thorns, it had its softness as well and it was that softness that Ashlynn thought suited Heila best.


    "She¡¯s filled with care and concern for others. She, she¡¯s been very good to me and I¡¯ve come to rely on her quite a bit," she said with a bit of embarrassment. Heila had given her so much, yet it felt like she hadn¡¯t done nearly enough to repay the horned woman¡¯s kindness and dedication.


    "You pulled aside the Black Locust," Amahle said, tapping a sheet of paper with one of her spider-like limbs, pulling Ashlynn¡¯s focus back before her mind wandered too far. Over the past few hours, the older witch had come to appreciate Ashlynn¡¯s methodical approach to things, as well as her persistence in working through the oppressive heat and humidity as the day dragged on.


    While Ashlynn had been reading, she immediately rejected several possibilities, but whenever she encountered something that held the slightest chance of being a good fit, she pulled it aside to discuss it with her big sister. The pen in her hand moved with smooth, even strokes trained from many years under the supervision of her family¡¯s tutors and her skills at organizing her thoughts and information showed as she prepared each idea to discuss with Amahle


    Not all of Ashlynn¡¯s ideas had been good ones, and Amahle found herself filling in gaps or contradicting assumptions as they went, but this was precisely why her little sister needed a teacher. Without guidance, there were too many places that she could wander astray.


    "The Black Locust is an even stronger protector than the Oak," Ashlynn said, flipping through the book to a page that described the last person to bear the title of ¡¯Black Locust Witch.¡¯ "I was drawn to this statement, that the Black Locust Witch not only warded their coven¡¯s home with powerful barriers, but warded the coven against internal strife, sewing peace, harmony and love within the coven."


    One of the things that Ashlynn was coming to realize is that whichever tree she bound a member of her coven to, the tree would influence far more than just their powers. Jacques was prickly not just because it was his nature, but because he was the Sandbox Witch and he¡¯d taken on the prickly, thorny exterior of his namesake tree.


    Some witches seemed to be able to create healthy and well-balanced covens, but others assembled collections of people who tended toward the most extreme expressions of their bonded plant. The notes about the Black Locust Witch seemed to indicate that they¡¯d been in such a coven, with forceful personalities who needed a moderating influence beyond what the Mother of Trees at the time was capable of.


    "I thought that Heila might find this suitable since she has a strong desire to protect me," Ashlynn said, dabbing at the sweat that had formed on her brow and draining the last of the cooling mint tea in her cup before she continued. "I think, over time, her desire to protect will grow to include the rest of the coven. She¡¯s kind and determined and this would give her a way to express her desires without placing a pressure on her to go to war."


    That was something that Ashlynn deeply wanted to avoid with Heila. There were other people who could take up the banner and march to war against the Lothians or any other enemies she had. She would likely seek out people to join her coven expressly because they were warriors who could become her champions in battle.


    "Now darlin¡¯," Amahle chided gently. "Remember what I said about catering to her desires as opposed to choosing what will be best for her. The way you describe it, this is something you think that Heila might choose for herself. It¡¯s not a bad thing to indulge her in what she desires, but you have to be her mother in this, not her friend. Sometimes, a mother has to make her children eat their vegetables, even when they don¡¯t want to."


    In truth, the Black Locust might not be a bad choice if Heila wanted to become the protector of her coven, but it was a hard and unyielding tree that would also demand a greater level of... stubbornness than what Amahle had seen from the diminutive young woman. Heila seemed very accommodating and the Black Locust wasn¡¯t.


    "Set aside Heila¡¯s desires for a moment and focus on what you think is best for her," the older witch advised. "What would be the best choice you could make for Heila, whether it¡¯s what she wants or not?"


    For a moment, Ashlynn¡¯s hand twitched, ready to grab a sheet of paper she¡¯d almost set aside several times because she considered it to be a poor fit for Heila¡¯s own desires. And yet, it offered something so compelling that she hadn¡¯t been able to make herself completely disregard it.


    "The Yew," Ashlynn finally said, pulling the sheet of paper in front of her. "The records say that the Yew Witch walks between the worlds of the living and the dead, though it doesn¡¯t sound like they¡¯re balanced in a place between the way vampires are," she said.


    "I don¡¯t think Heila has any deep interest in communing with the dead, and the passages about the occasions where the Yew Witch confronted vampires make it sound like their magic is particularly suited to warding against ¡¯forces of darkness,¡¯" Ashlynn said, reading over the notes in the book. "But..."


    "If you needed someone who could help keep you safe from the vampires in your life," Amahle said with a pleased smile. "Giving birth to a Yew Witch would be a good decision. And, even if you don¡¯t need protection from your Lady Nyrielle and her progeny, you can¡¯t deny that your life will be filled with encounters with other True Vampires and their progeny."


    "But that¡¯s not why you pulled the Yew tree aside, is it?" Amahle asked, turning her crimson eyes on Ashlynn with a gaze that seemed to bore directly into the younger witch¡¯s heart.


    Of course, there was another reason to select the Yew, and Amahle recognized it almost immediately, but would Ashlynn admit to it? Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 231: The Right Reasons

    Chapter 231: The Right Reasons"That¡¯s not why you pulled the Yew tree aside, is it?"


    Amahle¡¯s words hung in the hot humid air like a gentle admonition. Ashlynn¡¯s explanation hadn¡¯t been a lie but it hadn¡¯t been a complete truth either and her ¡¯older sister¡¯s words made it clear that her omission hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed.


    "No," Ashlynn admitted, sighing as she looked at the page. "There was another reason as well. The Yew Witch receives blessings of longevity. I, I¡¯m going to live for hundreds of years alongside Mistress Nyrielle," she said heavily. "If I grant Heila the power of the Yew tree, then she¡¯ll be able to accompany me for much, much longer."


    "It¡¯s good when you¡¯re honest with yourself," Amahle said, standing up from the table and moving across the room to retrieve a fresh pitcher of chilled mint tea and a tray of ginger and molasses cookies.


    "Have a cookie, hun, you¡¯ve been at this for longer than you think," she said gently. "The heat is taking a toll on you and it¡¯s starting to show. Slow down, refresh yourself and then we can keep going."


    "How long has it been?" Ashlynn asked, glancing out the large, mesh-screened window. Time seemed distant in the heart of the Briar. In the Vale of Mists, the fog might linger for much of the day and rain clouds frequently obscured the sky but there was a distinct sense of the day growing brighter and dimmer.


    In the Briar, the fog combined with the dense tree canopy to keep the place in a near eternal twilight during daylight hours. Lamps were lit even at mid-day and it was difficult to say how much time had passed since breakfast.


    Once she sank her teeth into the moist, sweet, spiced cookie, however, she realized how empty her stomach felt. Clearly, they¡¯d been at this longer than she realized. A second cookie quickly followed the first, along with more of the chilled mint tea before Ashlynn felt an ache she didn¡¯t realize had begun to form behind her temples began to recede and the fog that had seeped into her mind started to clear.


    "We¡¯ll keep at this for another hour or two," Amahle said, taking a long drink of the chilled tea and adjusting herself on the seat next to Ashlynn until she felt comfortable. Despite her youthful appearance, there were limits to how long even she could sit in place at the table, pouring over tomes like she had returned to her days as an apprentice. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    If they didn¡¯t come to a conclusion by the time they needed to prepare dinner, that would be fine. The work could continue tomorrow if it needed to. The important part was to give this decision the careful consideration it required.


    Watching Ashlynn sip her tea, Amahle¡¯s crimson eyes studied her little sister thoughtfully. There was something telling in the way Ashlynn kept returning to certain pages, in how her fingers lingered over specific passages that left her feeling like Ashlynn herself didn¡¯t fully understand the implications of meddling with longevity.


    Living with a vampire had thrust her into a world of people with immeasurable life spans but Ashlynn herself was still very young and clearly still grappling with the topic. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to plant a few seeds and address what was truly weighing on the younger witch¡¯s mind. It might be years or decades before she could empathize with the truly long lived people in the world but as a big sister, Amahle could at least help her see some of the pitfalls ahead.


    "Do you think Heila would be happy, living as long as you will?" Amahle asked, gazing at Ashlynn with her crimson eyes. "Will you take her as a concubine and turn your coven into your undying harem?"


    "What? No," Ashlynn said, nearly spitting out her tea at the question. "I, I don¡¯t think Heila even likes women that way. She¡¯s always been... oh, I see," Ashlynn said as she realized where Amahle was leading her.


    It wasn¡¯t something she talked about often, but she¡¯d spoken with both Nyrielle and Thane about what it was like to live for so long. Thane¡¯s entire family had died out, and none of the people who had known him before he became a vampire were still alive today.


    For Nyrielle, while her family circumstances were different, it was clear that she¡¯d lost friends to simple age time and time again. Just in this trip she¡¯d seen Nyrielle talking with Lord Ritchel about his father and grandfather, and she¡¯d praised the statue erected in the honor of High Lady Erna¡¯s father for capturing a side of the man that few living people remembered.


    If Ashlynn gave Heila the power of the Yew tree, she could stay at Ashlynn¡¯s side much longer. But, if Heila ever did find a man that she loved... if she ever started a family, then she would be doomed to watch those people grow old and die, long before she would.


    "Heila is still a very young maiden," Ashlynn said. The same could be said of her, though she didn¡¯t consider herself to be a maiden any longer. She was still fairly young, especially when compared to people like Nyrielle, but as the daughter of a count, Ashlynn had never been free to choose her life partner to begin with.


    Now that she was bound to Nyrielle, whether she was young or not, one of the greatest decisions and uncertainties in a young woman¡¯s life had already been resolved. They only had Thane, Zedya and the Ancient Oak for witnesses, and her parents hadn¡¯t even met her bride, but Ashlynn considered herself to be married nonetheless.


    "I¡¯ve seen Heila express interest in a few young men over the past few months," Ashlynn admitted. "I don¡¯t think she¡¯s found love, but I do think she¡¯s looking for it, even if she says she isn¡¯t. For Nyrielle and I, it¡¯s different. Our lives are linked. Neither of will have regular children either," she added, finally putting to words something she¡¯d slowly come to accept over the past few months.


    "She¡¯ll have her progeny and I¡¯ll have my coven, but we¡¯ll never have children the way a normal couple would," Ashlynn said. "I, I don¡¯t want to deprive Heila of the chance to know that joy if she finds it. And I don¡¯t want to subject her to the pain of losing everyone and lingering on."


    "A witch will naturally live longer than most of their kind," Amahle said, wrapping a comforting arm around Ashlynn. "Not as long as you perhaps, but the Horned Clan often live into their sixties and seventies. As a member of your coven, it wouldn¡¯t be strange for Heila to cross a century, but not much more than that. She¡¯ll have a long life, but not an endless one."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, sinking into her own thoughts. Until now, she hadn¡¯t realized how much the change in her own lifespan had come to weigh on her. Perhaps it was because she¡¯d been traveling with Nyrielle, listening to the number of people the vampire had outlived that it had come to occupy such a large space in her mind.


    When she¡¯d seen the records of the Yew Witch, her first thought had been that she might not have to say goodbye to Heila so soon. But... a century was still a very, very long time. She shouldn¡¯t be selfish and demand more, especially when that time could impose such a high price on a person she¡¯d quickly come to treasure almost as much as she treasured Jocelynn.


    "I guess it comes down to what kind of decision I need to make," Ashlynn said. "I don¡¯t want to make a selfish decision that¡¯s best for me, especially if that decision would be harmful to Heila," she said. "Thank you, big sister, for helping me realize just how harmful the Yew tree could have been for Heila."


    "But just like I¡¯m not choosing what¡¯s best for me, I¡¯m also not choosing what Heila wants the most," she continued. "You¡¯re right, sometimes people need to eat their vegetables. I can¡¯t pick something just because I think it¡¯s what she might want, I need to pick what¡¯s best for her," she said, leafing through the stack until she had two remaining sheets of paper."


    "That leaves me thinking about what would be best for the coven and the skills and talents that I want to nurture in my coven," Ashlynn said, mentally comparing the composition of her coven to the diverse skills Nyrielle had cultivated in her progeny. "Or, if I don¡¯t choose for the good of the coven, then I accept that I¡¯m placing what¡¯s best for Heila as the most important thing, in which case, I think my decision is clear."

 Chapter 232: Making the Decision

    Chapter 232: Making the DecisionAfter spending several hours reviewing possibilities and talking with Amahle, Ashlynn found herself at a crossroads of two very different choices, each one landing at the top of the pile for very different reasons.


    "I strongly considered the Red Cedar for her because both Cedar Witches in the records were able to develop shapeshifting powers," Ashlynn said. "I thought it might be useful to help Heila travel with me through human lands, but while it¡¯s useful, and it would help meet her desire to stay close to me wherever I go..."


    "Little Heila is poorly suited to the powers of a shapeshifter," Amahle agreed. "She is not a spy, nor is she a trickster or assassin. Shapeshifting is a solution to the problem of human hatred, but you won¡¯t live among humans as long as you¡¯re bound to a vampire."


    "If there was someone in my coven like Marcell, perhaps they¡¯ll be suited to become the next Cedar Witch," Ashlynn said, finally setting the page firmly aside. "The Cedar tree is so dominant in the Vale of Mists, I think I should look for someone who can bear its seed, but that person isn¡¯t Heila."


    "Oh?" Amahle asked, raising a sculpted brow at Ashlynn and looking carefully at her expression when she set the page with the Cedar tree on it aside. "You¡¯ve yet to welcome the first member of your coven and you¡¯re already starting to plan for the next ones?"


    "I am. I have to," Ashlynn said, turning to look at Amahle. "Tell me something, big sister. You¡¯re very close and familiar with Jacques and Talauia. Were they people who meant something to you before they joined your coven, or were they more distant at first?"


    "Ask what you¡¯re really asking," Amahle said, poking Ashlynn gently with the tip of a spider-like limb. "I know you consider this roundabout way of asking questions to be polite, darlin¡¯, but its just the two of us here, no one else to overhear your doubts and worries. Come out and ask what you mean directly."


    "In that case," Ashlynn said, taking a deep breath. "Is it wrong of me to think that, one day, maybe even one day soon, I¡¯ll need to recruit people into my coven for their skills rather than because of their relationship with me? Because, one way or another, I will claim Owain Lothian¡¯s life, and there will be a war between the Lothians and the Vale of Mists. Maybe even a larger war if the humans ever launch another Crusade." S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Mistress Nyrielle once took in forty-seven progeny in order to retake the Vale of Mists from the Lothians," Ashlynn said, her eyes looking pained as she thought of what Nyrielle had looked like when she talked about losing those progeny. "I don¡¯t intend to raise an army of witches, but I feel like I need to find at least a few people who can join me in the fight."


    "Remember what I told you yesterday," Amahle said, giving Ashlynn a reassuring squeeze. "Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Wood, none of these things have wants or desires. They do not judge things as right or wrong. You are the one who brings these concepts into your witchcraft and therefore, you are the one who decides what¡¯s right and wrong for your coven."


    "I rescued Talauia and Jacques from fates that would have been far too cruel for my heart to accept," the older witch said. "But not every witch in my coven started as part of a warm and loving family. We¡¯ve all changed over time. Members of your coven will change as well."


    "If you make the decision to bring someone into your coven and your family because you need them to fight for you," she said, holding up a finger to emphasize what she felt the most important point was. "Remember that they are more than just soldiers. They are a part of your family and you must be prepared to treat them as such, even if you adopt them so they can carry your banner in battle."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, feeling a tension melt from her shoulders. Just knowing that she could build her coven through both natural connections of love and family as well as acts of colder necessity lifted a weight she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d been carrying.


    Nyrielle had given her advice a number of times about making decisions for colder, more practical reasons and she was coming to accept their necessity but those decisions could wait - right now she had someone precious to care for.


    "That day isn¡¯t today," she continued with a heart that felt more at peace with her decision. "Today isn¡¯t about building an army or preparing for war. Today is about doing what¡¯s best for Heila," she said, sliding a carefully chosen sheet of paper across to Amahle. "And I think this is the right tree for it."


    "Good that you recognize the difference, and that you¡¯re not trying to accomplish both doing the right thing for Heila and preparing your coven for war at the same time," Amahle said warmly. "When you try to do that, the justifications and rationalizations pull you away from making the best choice for either goal and compromising on something that fails to achieve either."


    "But this other tree you¡¯ve selected," Amahle said, looking at the sheet of paper. "Do you think it suits her better than the others? Even better than the Black Locust?"


    "I do," Ashlynn said. "It¡¯s gentle and mild the way Heila is, but it has an undeniable strength that refuses to be defeated even when it must give way. It¡¯s well suited to nurturing others and matches well with Heila¡¯s nature. She¡¯s happy when she¡¯s able to help in ways that are visible and can be felt by the person she cares for. This will give her an opportunity to do that."


    "This won¡¯t be an easy seed for you to nurture," Amahle pointed out. "The Black Locust is rooted in Earth, but this tree is tied more closely with Water. You¡¯re not as well suited to Water magic as you are to Earth magic. This would be a stretch for you."


    "Why not consider the Magnolia instead?" the older witch suggested, flipping through the pages to point out another option that Ashlynn had discarded earlier on. "A Magnolia Witch would still be skilled in healing arts, but the seed would be easier for you to nurture."


    "I thought about it," Ashlynn admitted. "But the Magnolia Witch in the book used her talents to charm and sway others, manipulating people with supernatural beauty. If I grant Heila a Magnolia seed, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯d be thrusting her into the center of the stage where she could command the attention of the masses."


    "That¡¯s not Heila," Ashlynn said. "She doesn¡¯t want the adoration of many, she wants the genuine appreciation of the few people who matter to her. That¡¯s why, even though it will be harder for me, I think this is the right choice."


    "As long as you¡¯ve thought it through, darlin¡¯," the powerful witch said. Slowly, she began to gather up the book and the pages of notes. "Now that you¡¯ve decided, let the idea stew in your mind for a spell. Help me with dinner tonight and if you still feel the choice is right when you¡¯ve slept on it for an evening then I¡¯ll help you start nurturing the seed tomorrow."


    "All right," Ashlynn agreed, standing up to clear away their cookies and cups of tea. Now that she¡¯d made a decision, while there were still challenges ahead, her body felt lighter and the room didn¡¯t seem quite so dim. Challenges ahead could be faced, it was uncertainty that made the road seem dark.


    "Since we have several hours, I have an idea for my own dish tonight," Ashlynn said, turning her mind to the evening meal. "Before we start cooking, could you show me around your vegetable garden?"


    "Of course I can," the powerful witch said as she collected a hat that seemed to be covered with pouches and bits of netting where odds and ends could be affixed to the hat. "What are you planning to make?"


    "Fire roasted vegetables on puffed pastry," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. "But I need help with one other thing if I¡¯m going to make it. In the Vale of Mists, there are caves built deep underground that stay cold all year long. It¡¯s very easy to keep butter cold. But here..."


    "Ah, you want to learn the trick I¡¯ve been using to keep our tea cold in this miserable heat," Amahle said with a laugh. "Of course I¡¯ll share it with you, but if you¡¯re going to make a puffed pastry and you need my help then I want you to make a sweet one with fresh berries to go with your vegetable dish. Deal?"


    "Deal," Ashlynn said with a smile. Tonight, she wanted to make things she knew Heila would enjoy, and the rich, savory flavors of one of Georg¡¯s roasted vegetable tarts was something she hoped Heila would find a pleasant reminder of the tastes of home.


    Tomorrow, she would face the challenge of preparing Heila¡¯s seed, but tonight, they could enjoy something that was just a simple family dinner. After all, from what little Amahle had already told her about this process, it would be the last meal she and Heila would share for several days.


    She just hoped that it wasn¡¯t the last meal they would ever share. And if it was... then it had better be a good one.

 Chapter 233: A Knight’s Duty

    Chapter 233: A Knight¡¯s DutyIn the Vale of Mists, while Ashlynn and Heila were making their way toward the Briar and preparing for the multitude of changes their journey would bring, other adjustments were occurring at home.


    With the complete destruction of Old Nan¡¯s village and the brutal way that Owain¡¯s men hunted down anyone attempting to escape, a ripple had spread through the outlying villages. Arguments broke out among many village elders and even between members of the same family.


    The humans had sent raids into the hills outside the Vale of Mists before, but those raids rarely breached the defenses of a village. More often than not, after a skirmish or two in the wilderness, both sides retreated while licking their wounds, each one hunkering down and swearing that the other side would pay a greater price next time.


    This kind of wholesale slaughter and destruction happening so deep in the wilderness hadn¡¯t been seen since the days of Bors Lothian¡¯s father or even longer ago, during the era of Four Brothers when the church had dispatched dozens of Templars and Inquisitors to beat back the Eldritch people still clinging to their ancestral lands.


    Now, more and more people questioned the wisdom of holding onto the homes their mothers and grandmothers had raised them in. Hearth and home were sacred to many, but land, once lost, could be reclaimed. Lives, once lost, were gone forever.


    Days after Owain Lothian and his men returned to the Summer Villa, refugees continued to pour into the Vale of Mists. Ollie had run himself ragged, growing his humble field kitchen to four times the size and enlisting the help of fleeing villagers whenever there were people who seemed both capable and willing to do the work. Still, the solution was temporary at best and no one knew what the human¡¯s next move would be. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Two nights before the Summer Solstice, a weary Ollie climbed the stairs of one of the oldest towers in the ancient keep. Thane¡¯s summons had caught him by surprise as he was preparing to sleep. Ever since Owain¡¯s attack on the Heartwood Clan, Ollie had been far too busy to keep up with his training, though he had the distinct impression that Thane and Marcell were every bit as busy as he was, if not more.


    "Ollie, thank you for coming," Thane said when the young man entered his office. While there was a large wooden desk covered with seemingly endless reports, maps, and half-written instructions to respond to the dozens of issues occurring within the Vale of Mists, the vampire himself seemed to disdain the use of his desk unless necessary, preferring to lounge in a bench seat built into a windowsill where he could gaze out at the night sky.


    "Sir Thane," Ollie said formally, bowing as he entered. Despite the vampire¡¯s leisurely appearance, he¡¯d learned early on that the older man¡¯s amber eyes missed nothing, even when he didn¡¯t seem to be paying much attention.


    "You look tired," Thane said, turning away from his view of the vale to regard the former kitchen boy with greater scrutiny. "But by all accounts, you¡¯re making a very real difference," he said, vanishing from the windowsill and appearing behind his desk in a movement so quick that Ollie missed it when he blinked.


    "Do you have any idea how many of the refugees mentioned your pleas as the thing that convinced them to give up their homes?" Thane asked. "Some of those villages have been stubborn about maintaining their independence for years, but they listened to you, despite the fact that you¡¯re human."


    "I don¡¯t know what to say," Ollie said, shifting uncomfortably under the vampire¡¯s intense amber gaze. "It¡¯s just... No matter where you go, there are always some little people who don¡¯t have a say."


    "And, I feel like the little people, in the kitchens and the stables and everywhere else no one wants to work," Ollie continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "Those people don¡¯t have as much to cling to as the people in the big houses with all the fancy things have. I just thought, maybe the little people deserved a chance to run, even if their leaders didn¡¯t want to."


    "You know, it¡¯s not as bad among the Eldritch as it is in human households," Thane said. As he spoke, he turned from Ollie to look at an antique suit of armor standing in one corner of his office.


    The light from the candles and the hearth barely reached the dark corner, and yet the armor gleamed as though it had been recently polished. On the shield, the emblem of a sheaf of wheat crossed with a wood cutter¡¯s axe could still be seen, even though the colors were no longer as bright as they¡¯d once been.


    "Still, you¡¯re not wrong," Thane said with a sigh. "Without an Eldritch Lord to rule over them, each village has to make their own way and they tend to value age and wisdom over strength in their leaders. Sometimes a strong person rises who can take control of the village, but they keep control long after they should have handed it off to the next generation."


    "When an aging village head is sending young men off to fight, it¡¯s too easy to spend someone else¡¯s lives on a fight they know they themselves couldn¡¯t win," Thane said, shaking his head. "Cowardly old men and ambitious young men like Owain are the two plagues that afflict human communities. The Eldritch should be better than that, and yet somehow... here we are."


    "It¡¯s fine though, as long as someone can step in to do the right thing, isn¡¯t it?" Ollie said hesitantly. He might not be a kitchen boy any longer, but such lofty ideals were still far above his head.


    He knew all too well that the people in charge didn¡¯t always do the right thing, but from what he¡¯d seen, Thane, Marcell, and all the people of the Vale of Mists were working to do the right thing, even if the villagers from the outlying villages didn¡¯t ask for their help. As long as they kept stepping up to do right, whether or not the villagers accepted the help.


    "Yes, that¡¯s it exactly," Thane said, appearing beside Ollie in a blink and throwing an arm around his shoulder. "I¡¯m glad you understand. Since you know, I¡¯m sure I barely have to tell you anything and you¡¯ll step right up and do all of the right things," he said with a warm laugh, pulling Ollie over to the desk as he spoke.


    "You know, Ollie, when I was still alive, it was a tradition that a knight would be appointed as the local lord of a village," the vampire said, giving Ollie¡¯s shoulder a tight, almost painful squeeze. "Is that still the way of it in Lothian March? One knight per village, to oversee between twenty and a hundred farms, a thousand head of livestock, and all of the other ordinary business of a village?"


    "I, um, I guess so?" Ollie said, running a hand through his flame-red hair and scratching his head in confusion. "At least, at formal events and feasts, any knight who isn¡¯t the son of a lord is always announced with the name of his village, so I guess they all have one. I don¡¯t know anything about how many farms or heads of livestock they have though."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Thane said, brushing aside the details. "What matters is that it¡¯s a very normal thing for a knight to organize and administer a village. And so, Sir Ollie, I need you to build a village where the newcomers can settle and build real homes."


    "You won¡¯t be asked to swear a knight¡¯s oath until Lady Ashlynn returns," Thane added. "But as far as I and the rest of the vale is concerned, you¡¯ve proven that you have what it takes to be a leader in this place, and right now, we desperately need you to take up this burden."

 Chapter 234: A Promise Between Warriors

    Chapter 234: A Promise Between Warriors"What?!" Ollie said, turning to stare at Thane in surprise. He tried to pull back, to put a little space between himself and the older man, but the vampire¡¯s grip on his shoulder held firm. "I, I¡¯m not a knight," he protested. "I¡¯ve barely started to learn how to fight and I don¡¯t know the first thing about leading a village. Would the people even accept my leadership when I¡¯m not a real knight?" S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You will be soon enough," Thane said, his amber eyes losing a touch of their mirth. "Ollie, you said you wanted to step up and become one of Ashlynn¡¯s protectors. That means taking on more than putting on a suit of armor and learning how to fight. If you¡¯re going to stand at her side, you have to shoulder some of the responsibilities that come with the position of authority she intends to put you in."


    "I¡¯m sure she would have done this eventually," Thane said. After all, he¡¯d spoken with Ashlynn more than once about her notions of claiming her vengeance on the Lothians by installing herself as the Marchioness. She would need capable men at her side and since Ollie had volunteered, the things she needed to rely on him for would only grow over time.


    "But right now, she¡¯s not here, and neither is Mistress Nyrielle, so you¡¯ll have to make do with me instead," Thane said. "I know, living under my rule is a fate worse than death, but since I don¡¯t have permission to turn you into one of my progeny, you¡¯ll just have to accept the burdens of knighthood instead. Only the rain will ever know how many tears you shed for this honor," he teased, slapping the young man on the back.


    "Whether I¡¯m a knight or not," Ollie protested. "I still don¡¯t know anything about running a village. I¡¯ve been struggling just to manage the kitchens and keep everyone fed!" There had been so many crises that needed to be solved each day.


    Whether it was a shortage of meat or the sudden discovery that a group of children from the Clan of Painted Masks had made it a game to steal food as extra snacks and treats for their friends, he¡¯d found himself constantly working to solve one problem after another that had less and less to do with simple cooking each day.


    "You¡¯ll learn, and quickly," Thane said firmly. "I said this was a bad time and I meant it. Solstice is almost upon us. Marcell and I don¡¯t have very many hours of the night to work with between sunset and sunrise. This is why vampires like Mistress Nyrielle need a Seneschal to see to matters on their behalf during the day. I don¡¯t get a seneschal, but I do have you, and I intend to put you to work."


    "I know I¡¯m asking a great deal of you, Sir Ollie," Thane said, holding out a hand toward the young man and addressing him like the knight he was certain to become. "But will you take up this burden? If not for Mistress Nyrielle and I, then for Ashlynn?"


    Standing in the flickering candlelight of his personal office, Thane suppressed a momentary twinge of guilt as he held his hand out to Ollie. The problem of how to handle the influx of refugees was one that he¡¯d wrestled with for an entire evening, debating with Jakob, the Marshal of the Vale, and Commander Bassinger until close to sunrise.


    Owain¡¯s savagery had been greater than anyone anticipated and the frightened response of the outlying villages, while understandable, produced a crisis of a much larger scale than they anticipated. Moreover, according to the Marshal, after passing through the Vale¡¯s many layers of defensive fortifications, very few of the refugees were talking about returning to their villages after the crisis passed.


    In the end, it had been the Old Goat who suggested involving Ollie. The young man¡¯s earnest pleas and complete lack of guile in persuading villagers to find shelter in the Vale before Owain¡¯s hunt reached their village left a strong impression on many. When they arrived to find him tirelessly working to feed and care for everyone who arrived, the red-haired human quickly became the most well-known member of Nyrielle¡¯s household among the refugees.


    Now, as Thane addressed him as ¡¯Sir Ollie¡¯, he knew that he was preying on a lifetime of boyhood dreams and idle fantasies to pressure him into accepting this difficult task. And yet, if he didn¡¯t, then it would fall to Marshal Jakob and Commander Bassinger to relocate the refugees and find a way to permanently settle them.


    While both men were capable of the task, in Thane¡¯s opinion, the results would be much poorer. They were each grounded in the traditions of the Clan of the Great Claw and the Horned Clan, but what did they know of the needs of the Heartwood Clan or the Night Weaver Clan? How often would they attempt to do things as they had been done in the Vale for more than a hundred years, forcing those ways on people who had resisted rejoining the Vale for just as long?


    Ollie had both the respect of the refugees and a complete lack of preconceived notions in how to resolve problems. What he had demonstrated with his growing kitchen, however, was a talent for seeking out practical solutions to immediate problems and getting people to help him make those things happen. It wasn¡¯t enough to succeed, but with the right help, Thane was certain that Ollie could do a good job of it, at least for the next few months until Thane himself had more time to step in and help.


    Ollie was completely oblivious to the thoughts running through Thane¡¯s mind as he stared at the vampire¡¯s outstretched hand. Perhaps, to a former knight like Thane, taking up responsibility for a single village really wasn¡¯t a great challenge. After all, the former knight was close to a century old if the gossip in the ancient castle were to be believed, and he served as Nyrielle¡¯s second in command until Ashlynn became her Seneschal. To him, maybe one village was really a simple thing.


    To Ollie, Thane¡¯s outstretched hand felt almost like a viper, ready to sink its fangs into his tender flesh. Part of him yearned to say yes. He wanted to say that he would do anything for Ashlynn. He owed her so much for the life she¡¯d given him after escaping the Summer Villa together and he still felt like he¡¯d done nothing to pay that back. His few words to the villagers and a handful of days cooking for refugees couldn¡¯t compare to the rapid elevation in status and quality of life she¡¯d given him.


    But, just as heavily as her favors weighed on him, the notion of failing her expectations was even more dreadful. So far, he¡¯d only volunteered to do things he was confident he could do. At the very least, he wouldn¡¯t make anything worse. But if you asked him to assume responsibility for so many people¡¯s lives... that was something else entirely.


    "What, what if I¡¯m not up to the task?" Ollie asked, his eyes still fixed on Thane¡¯s outstretched hand.


    "Then we learn where you¡¯ve fallen short, and we provide help," Thane answered. "No one expects you to do this alone. Jakob will help, and Bassinger will loan you a few men as well. You can still come to me and the others for advice."


    "I won¡¯t say that you can¡¯t cause trouble with a great blunder," Thane said. "We¡¯re talking about hundreds of people now. Their lives will become your responsibility. If they turn into an angry mob within our walls because you have made their lives a hellish nightmare, we¡¯ll struggle to defend our own people from so many enraged newcomers."


    "I would never do that!" Ollie said instantly, horrified at the notion. Even if he had to crawl on his knees to beg, he would surrender his notion of becoming a knight along with any responsibility he¡¯d gained long before such a tragedy could come to pass. "I just..."


    "You¡¯re just worried because you¡¯ve never faced this kind of challenge before," Thane said, placing both of his hands on Ollie¡¯s shoulders and giving the younger man a very direct look. "I don¡¯t believe that you won¡¯t make mistakes," The vampire said.


    "But I don¡¯t believe that you¡¯ll make a mistake so bad that we can¡¯t remedy it before it becomes a catastrophe. By the time the frost comes, Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn will have returned," Thane reminded the young man. "If being the knight of a village feels too overwhelming, then consider yourself the chief foreman in charge of constructing the village and organizing the refugees to help build it. Everything after that is a problem we can resolve later, all right?"


    "When you put it that way," Ollie said after several moments of thought. "I promise to do my best," he said, extending his hand toward Thane. "I owe Lady Ashlynn at least that much, if not more. The rest... we can talk about it when she comes home."


    "Good man," Thane said, clasping Ollie¡¯s forearm to seal an agreement between warriors.


    It took Ollie a moment to respond in kind, Thane¡¯s gesture had faded from common use decades ago, replaced by a simpler handshake, but after a moment, Ollie realized that this was Thane¡¯s way of treating him like a peer. Even if Thane occupied a position high above him, right at this moment, they were both knights, and they had a job to do and people to protect.


    "Now," Thane said, guiding Ollie back over to his desk and unrolling one of the maps on it. "I have a few thoughts for you..."

 Chapter 235: External Pressures

    Chapter 235: External PressuresNot long after first light, Ollie made his way from the castle to the sprawling collection of tents where the refugees had settled. His conversation with Thane the night before hadn¡¯t lasted more than an hour before the former knight sent him to bed for some much needed rest.


    As much as he needed sleep, however, thoughts about his new responsibilities had plagued him, leaving the young man to restlessly stew in his worries until late into the night. Once the sun broke above the hills to the east, he¡¯d wasted little time in preparing for the day. The sooner he could take action, the better he would feel.


    Trailing a few feet behind him, the horned soldier Harrod followed like a dutiful shadow. While the future knight wasn¡¯t sure when it had happened, it was clear that someone, either Thane or perhaps Commander Bassinger, felt that it was best for Ollie to have a capable warrior at his side when he moved about the Vale of Mists.


    At first, he¡¯d thought the notion was silly. Here, behind the vale¡¯s many layers of defensive walls, what could he possibly need to fear? Some of the refugees, however, hadn¡¯t reacted well to finding a human waiting for them when they arrived at the place that was supposed to be a safe haven.


    The refugees could accept vampires like Thane and Marcell. Vampires were no longer human, even if they retained a human appearance. Ollie, however, had too much in common with the very people who had come to destroy their homes. So far, the hostility directed at the young man had never risen above muttered words and dark looks, but if it ever did, he was glad to have Harrod along with him.


    The camp where the refugees had settled sprawled over a hillside not far from where Ollie had set up his field kitchen. At first, the kitchen had been kept separate from the camp for logistical reasons. Within a few days, however, it had become necessary to station a few of Commander Bassinger¡¯s soldiers near the kitchens to keep things orderly and prevent occasional attempts at theft.


    "Sir Thane was right," Ollie said to Harrod as they entered the sprawling camp. "This can¡¯t go on, and there are still people arriving every day. I never realized how many outlying villages there were."


    Since arriving in the Vale of Mists, Ollie had become accustomed to the appearances of the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw. They no longer felt strange or threatening to him. Since contacting the outlying villages, however, he¡¯d come face to face with even more Eldritch clans, some of whom had been the subject of his nightmares as a much younger boy.


    ¡¯Spider demons¡¯ and ¡¯snatching demons¡¯ who lurked so deep in the wilderness that most humans who dared to hunt them simply never returned. The legends claimed that a spider demon could envelop a grown man in a cocoon of spider silk and would slowly devour them alive, starting from the feet and using dark sorcery to keep their prey alive until they reached the heart. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Snatching demons were said to be just as fearsome, capable of taking a man¡¯s weapons and armor away from him, even while he was still wearing it. The mask-like markings across their face were said to be a brand bestowed by the Holy Lord of Light so that the entire world would recognize them as thieves and criminals on sight.


    Now that he¡¯d met with the Night Weaver Clan and the Clan of Painted Masks, he¡¯d begun to shed his preconceived notions of what these Eldritch clans were truly like, but the first time he¡¯d seen a man with four additional spider-like limbs and strange eyes that held multiple pupils, it had given him quite a fright.


    Now, as he moved through the camp, he raised his hand in greeting to a few of those people he¡¯d first considered frightening. Some of them, he¡¯d come to know well enough to place a name to a face, even if he wouldn¡¯t call them friends, they were at least no longer strangers.


    Others still glared as he walked by. It was hard to blame them, especially when he had been one of the people who convinced their elders to abandon their homes, but just because he didn¡¯t blame them for their resentment didn¡¯t mean that it was easy to endure. An itch formed between his shoulder blades, as if someone was staring at his back with a murderous intensity, but when he turned to look, he couldn¡¯t see anyone specifically looking his way.


    The sheer variety of people in the camp still took him by surprise. While he¡¯d heard of most of the clans he encountered, some, like the group of slender people with long, flexible necks, belonged to clans he¡¯d never heard of in any human folk tales.


    On top of their unusual appearances, they all had their own unique traditions and customs, leaving him wondering sometimes if he was really a target of animosity or if he was just misunderstanding the way some clans conducted themselves.


    "Just how many different clans are out there in the outlying villages?" Ollie asked as he looked around the camp, still unable to identify the source of the feeling that he was being watched. "Are there still others who haven¡¯t come yet?"


    "Before humans came, the Vale of Mists was home to hundreds of thousands of people," Harrod said, looking around the camp with alert eyes. Just because no one had made trouble for Ollie yet, didn¡¯t mean that no one would, and if someone did, it would likely be here, where the crowds were largest and the number of people grappling with their change in circumstances was the greatest.


    "Lady Nyrielle once said that more than half the people from the Vale of Mists who survived the Lothian attacks fled across the mountains," Harrod continued. "But many of the rest found places in the hills outside the Vale where they could escape the conflict between the Lothians and the Vale. Those are the people who are coming here now."


    "Do you think they¡¯ll keep coming?" Ollie asked, trying to imagine how he could build a home for so many people before the weather turned foul at the end of summer. The task felt almost overwhelming, just with the people who had already gathered here.


    "Commander Bassinger thinks they¡¯ll taper off for a little while when no one attacks for a week or two," the horned soldier replied. "But he¡¯s worried about things after the Solstice. Once the human¡¯s holy festival ends, things may get worse."


    "Why would they get worse?" Ollie asked as they navigated their way through the sprawling camp. The tent he was looking for was one of the first pitched in the camp, when only the nearest villages had begun to arrive, along with the survivors of Owain¡¯s attack.


    "The Dunn family," Harrod said. "Baron Dunn and his son Liam are both very aggressive about expanding their territory. Every year, they¡¯re probing the edges of the wilderness, looking for weaknesses to exploit and forcing the outlying villages to pull back a little deeper into the hills."


    "But this year, many of those villagers have come here," Ollie realized. "Anyone who stayed won¡¯t have as many neighbors to defend them, and in some places, the Dunn¡¯s can advance unopposed."


    "That¡¯s what the commander is afraid of," Harrod said with a nod. "And if the Dunns advance further into the wilderness this year, then they¡¯ll be closer to the Vale next year."


    "Is he going to do anything about it?" Ollie asked, pausing for a moment to look at Harrod with a deeply concerned look on his face. "Is Sir Thane?"


    "I don¡¯t know," the shorter man said, hanging his head low. "I just know that Commander Bassinger told all of us that we should expect this to be a difficult summer. That¡¯s also why he thinks this village you¡¯re going to organize is so important."


    "Right," Ollie said, his expression growing grim. "If we have troubles within the vale and attackers outside it...." He couldn¡¯t make himself complete the sentence. Both men understood. With a single terrifying attack, Owain had disrupted a balance that was far more fragile than anyone realized.


    If the humans learned how truly fragile things were in the Vale as a result of just one masacre, the consequences could become truly dire.


    "Well, whatever happens outside the walls, it doesn¡¯t change what we have to do inside of them," Ollie said, firmly pushing worries about Liam Dunn and his family¡¯s ambitions to the back of his mind.


    "Come on, Harrod," Ollie said, having finally spotted the tent he was looking for and a somewhat familiar figure standing outside of it. "Let¡¯s see if she¡¯ll listen to us..."

 Chapter 236: Orphans

    Chapter 236: OrphansStanding outside a simple tent, Milo put on a feeble smile when he saw the flame haired human approaching the tent he shared with his wife Juni, his mother, and a younger woman named Cetna who would have been his sister-in-law if not for...


    "Good morning, young Ollie," Milo said, trying to keep his tail from drooping as he waved to the young man. "I didn¡¯t expect you to come visit us, especially so early."


    "How is she?" Ollie asked, with an expression on his face that Milo had come to interpret as concern. It was hard to tell with humans, especially young ones like Ollie who lacked even the shortest of whiskers on their faces, but the eyes seemed to say much for humans of all ages and Ollie¡¯s looked... clouded.


    "She drinks the broth you made for her," Milo said. "I don¡¯t think she even tastes it. I just put it in her cup and she drinks it instead of water. It, it¡¯s not enough," he said, his whiskers twitching in frustration. "It¡¯s not your fault, I just don¡¯t know what else to do after..." After his brother died.


    Even now, several days later, he still found it hard to say the words. At least, once he¡¯d arrived in the Vale of Mists, Juni had been here waiting for him, grateful beyond words that he¡¯d survived. His mother, on the other hand, had cursed and spat at him when she woke in the healer¡¯s tent.


    "You should have let me burn with our home," she¡¯d spat with eyes that burned with resentment. "I had memories there. I could still feel my father¡¯s touch in the wood of our walls and mother¡¯s claw marks on every piece of furniture. Now I have nothing to touch to feel them. I didn¡¯t want to be an orphan!"


    "And I didn¡¯t want to raise a child without a grandmother!" Milo shouted back at her. "Your claws are still sharp, mother. Your bite is still fierce! You can leave more marks behind in the years to come, so why can¡¯t you stay with us? Or do you want to make me an orphan with no home and no past?"


    Things had only gotten worse after that. She hurled insults at him but Milo pressed his tail to the ground hard enough that his body shook and refused to hear the hateful words she said. She didn¡¯t mean them, not really, and without trees to remember her words, he wasn¡¯t about to recall them either.


    But now that several days had passed, he was at a loss for how to help the woman who had once been the pillar at the center of their village. Her roots had been eaten away and she¡¯d come toppling down but he didn¡¯t know how to stand her up again.


    "I came to talk to her," the flame haired human said, pulling Milo¡¯s mind back to the present. "Do you think she would listen to me?"


    "I don¡¯t know if now is a good time," Milo started to say, only to cut himself short. His whiskers drooped and his tail hung low. Would there ever be a good time? "Juni and Cetna have gone to fetch breakfast. The lines are getting longer in the morning every day. Maybe now would be a good time for you to speak to her."


    When Milo pulled back the door to the tent, Ollie did his best not to look startled at the sight of Old Nan. Her once lustrous dark brown and silver fur had lost its shine and now looked rough and unkempt. She sat on a simple stool, hunched over in a way that a person could mistake for being asleep if not for the slow, steady movements of her hands and the fixed gaze of her eyes.


    In her hands, she clutched a small cedar log. A pile of cedar shavings littered the ground beneath her, filling the air of the tent with the smell of fresh cut wood that almost masked the underlying scent of damp canvas and unwashed bodies that permeated the air everywhere in the refugee camp.


    As Ollie watched, her claws moved with delicate precision, shaving away one thin shaving of wood after another, as though she were slowly revealing the figure of a cloaked archer trapped within the wood. Other than the sound of her claws scraping over the wood, not a sound disturbed the early morning stillness in the tent.


    "Old Nan," Ollie said, breaking the silence as he slowly entered the tent and knelt on the ground in front of the old woman. "It¡¯s Ollie. Do you remember me? We met a few nights ago..."


    For nearly a minute, the old woman said nothing, still fixed on the task in her hands. Perhaps, Ollie thought, it wasn¡¯t good to interrupt. When she paused to adjust the carving, moving on to a different area entirely, he tried speaking up again.


    "Old Nan," he said, a bit louder and more firmly than the first time. "Can you talk to me? Just for a few minutes."


    "Please don¡¯t be offended, young Ollie," Milo said when several minutes passed without a response from his mother. "She doesn¡¯t even speak to me. It isn¡¯t personal. Maybe you should come back another time."


    "Is that Lako you¡¯re carving?" Ollie asked gently, ignoring Milo as he focused on the old woman in front of him. "Milo said that he was very brave."


    "Too brave," Old Nan said in a voice that was horse and rough from days of drinking little more than a few cups of broth. "Braver than me. He can watch over his brother and his nieces and nephews when I¡¯m gone," she said, her voice gaining a bit of strength and determination.


    "This way, Milo can¡¯t complain that I¡¯ve left him an orphan, and I can finally go," she said, never once looking up from her carving as she spoke.


    "Orphan?" Ollie asked, confused by what she meant.


    "Even if you ask two of us to carve the same thing," Milo explained. "No two carvings are alike. Everything we carve holds a trace of who we are at the time we carve it. Our skills, our feelings about the carving, or just the things we¡¯re feeling at the moment. They¡¯re all left behind in the wood, long after we¡¯re gone. When we lose the carvings of our parents and our grandparents, then we have become orphans, with no way left for us to touch their hearts."


    "I always thought your homes were beautiful," Ollie said, his eyes going moist as he listened to Milo¡¯s explanation. "I didn¡¯t realize that they also meant so much. No wonder you didn¡¯t want to leave," he said, shaking his head as he stood. "I¡¯m sorry that I didn¡¯t understand."


    "You listen though," Milo said, placing a hand gently on the taller man¡¯s shoulder. "That counts for something. At least it does to me."


    "It¡¯s not enough though," Ollie said, turning to look at the worn and haggard looking archer. Every day when Milo came to the kitchens, Ollie had watched the strain mount on the other man¡¯s shoulders. He¡¯d made it back from fighting against Lord Owain, but his brother hadn¡¯t. Worse, Old Nan resented him from tearing her away from the home where she had intended to die.


    Ollie had no idea what it must feel like to stand in Milo¡¯s shoes. The former kitchen boy had lost his home, and more importantly, lost contact with his parents, but as far as he knew, they were still alive and well in Lothian Manor, continuing to serve in the house of Marquis Lothian. One day, he was sure he would see them again.


    Now, however, he felt like he came a little bit closer to understanding the sort of trauma that the people from the Heartwood clan were enduring after Owain burned their homes to the ground. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Harrod," Ollie said, turning to leave the tent. "We should go. Milo, can I have a word with you outside?"


    "Of course," the archer said, stepping out of the tent along with Ollie and the horned soldier Harrod. "I¡¯m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way here so early in the morning," Milo said. "Maybe in a few days, she¡¯ll be better."


    "She won¡¯t be," Ollie said, shaking his head. "Actually, I¡¯m a little afraid that the longer we wait, the worse she¡¯ll be. But this wasn¡¯t a wasted trip, not at all."


    "What do you mean?" Milo asked, his flat tail bouncing slightly with curiosity.


    "I have something to do, something important," Ollie said. "But talking to you and seeing Old Nan made me realize I was going about it the wrong way. So, I¡¯d like to ask for your help. Can you guide me back to your village? There shouldn¡¯t be any danger in returning so many days after Lord Owain and his men left."


    "I can," Milo said, his whiskers twitching in confusion. "But why? The Lothians and the human priests put everything to the torch. There¡¯s nothing left."


    "Never say that until you¡¯ve had a look," Ollie said, placing a firm hand on the shorter man¡¯s shoulder. "I¡¯ve scrubbed out too many hearths over the years to think that one good fire destroyed everything. There¡¯s always a lump of wood somewhere that was covered by ash, or starved of air and didn¡¯t burn the way it should."


    "There might not be much left to find," he said. "But maybe... maybe we can stop a few people from becoming orphans. If we can, isn¡¯t that worth a trip?"

 Chapter 237: Why Us?

    Chapter 237: Why Us?It was one thing to propose a trip to the destroyed village, but actually making the trip took a little bit more planning than Ollie realized. Nothing was difficult, and Commander Bassinger even agreed to send him two soldiers from the Clan of the Great Claw to help carry back anything they managed to salvage.


    Still, by the time he¡¯d given his instructions to the cooks running the kitchen for refugees, gathered supplies for his own trip, and taken care of all of the other little details, it was nearly mid-day when they left the Vale of Mists to return to Old Nan¡¯s village.


    At this point, it would be impossible to reach the village, search for surviving carvings, and return in a single day. Given that, Ollie decided that they could risk a single night in the wilderness, camping near the ruins of the village. They would begin their search the following morning and return to the Vale of Mists before night fell the next day. He wanted to promise Milo that they would stay as long as it took to recover as much as possible, but Commander Bassinger had put his foot down.


    "I understand that you feel this is important," the bearish commander had told Ollie. "That¡¯s why I¡¯m willing to spare a few men for you. But whether Owain is still out there or not, he isn¡¯t the only threat you need to be on guard against in the wilderness. Besides, even if this is important, there are hundreds of refugees waiting for you to organize this village. Don¡¯t spend so much time on the first step that you fail in your larger mission."


    The older man¡¯s tone was firm, but there was a touch of friendly warmth to it that made it easier for Ollie to accept his advice. Bassinger was right, after all. There was too much to do, and he couldn¡¯t spend days on this at the expense of other important tasks.


    "Thank you," he told the bearish commander. "It¡¯s already more help than I had any right to expect. We¡¯ll be back by nightfall tomorrow, no matter what happens." Privately, he also promised himself that, if they discovered more things that could be salvaged than they could carry back, he would organize another trip in the future. Just because he couldn¡¯t do something right now didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t be done at all.


    And so, with each man in their party carrying a personal pack for spending a night in the wilderness, they set out in the direction of what had once been a vibrant village. Ollie had no way of knowing how extensive the damage was, it was impossible to know before they arrived, but he hoped there was something to salvage, even if they were only small things, each carving they recovered could have great significance to the family it belonged to.


    "Why are you doing this?" Milo asked as they made their way along narrow trails through the cedar forest that covered the hills outside the vale. He carried his bow at the ready and his eyes were alert, constantly scanning the wilderness for any sign of a threat. "Why risk anything to try to recover a few of our carvings from the ruins?"


    "Because I need your help," Ollie said frankly. He never intended to hide things. It wasn¡¯t his way to make the other party feel indebted before revealing what he needed from them. As far as Ollie was concerned, if he wanted to ask for help, he needed to show the other party that he would help them too.


    "Sir Thane has asked me to gather everyone together and build a village," Ollie explained as he ducked under a low-hanging branch. "When I thought of all the villages we visited with our warning, I kept thinking of your village."


    "I don¡¯t know anything about running a village," the young man said bluntly. "But I thought that Old Nan had so much experience and, if we had to build a whole new village, I thought it would be good to have her help. All of your help really," he admitted. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Why us?" Milo asked, his whiskers twitching in confusion as he looked at the flame-haired human. "There are plenty of village elders from other villages who are sheltering in the Vale right now. Why come to us?"


    "Sir Thane suggested it," Ollie said. "I think he¡¯s right, but I didn¡¯t like his reason so I thought about my own. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s any better than his," he said, pausing to give the shorter man a defeated look. "But it¡¯s the best answer I have."


    "What did Sir Thane say?" Milo asked. He¡¯d figured out by now that Ollie was an important human in the Vale of Mists, but he didn¡¯t seem to occupy the same level of authority as Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, nor any of the other leaders in the Vale like Marshal Jakob or Commander Bassinger.


    That made it hard for Milo to put much weight behind Ollie¡¯s words. The young man was working hard to be helpful, but could that help be relied on if he was just doing what Thane or one of the other vampires ordered? Since Ollie had mentioned that Thane had his own thoughts, Milo was more interested in hearing about what the Vale¡¯s leadership thought of them than the young man who happened to be helping at the moment.


    "Sir Thane said that the other villages are still standing, at least for now," Ollie said as they walked through the forest. Now that they had left the vale, the mists had faded to be replaced with dappled summer sunlight filtering through the branches above. It should have been a beautiful day but knowing where they were headed, it was hard to enjoy the scenery.


    "Sir Thane thinks that, if there are no other attacks in the coming weeks, many people will choose to return to their villages outside of the Vale. But you and Old Nan," Ollie said, his voice trailing off as he reached the unpleasant part.


    "We have nowhere to return to," Milo said bitterly. "I suppose I should expect cold reasoning from a vampire. He¡¯s not wrong," the archer said, his tail drooping almost enough to drag on the ground as they walked. "So, you said your reason was different. Why did you come to us if not because we have few other choices?"


    "Because I remembered your beautiful homes," Ollie said just a moment before he lurched to a stop. Harrod grabbed the young man¡¯s shirt, forcefully pulling him backward and stopping him from leaping over a fallen log that blocked the trail.


    "Sorry Ollie," the horned soldier said, looking a touch embarrassed by the rough way he¡¯d treated the young man. No one had given Ollie an official position yet, but it was clear to Harrod and everyone else that he was being groomed to join the leaders of the Vale of Mists. Treating him the way he¡¯d have treated a new recruit on their first march wasn¡¯t really appropriate, but...


    "On top, then over," the horned soldier said, demonstrating with his own actions as he hopped onto the log before looking at the ground on the other side. It didn¡¯t take more than a breath or two of time before he hopped down on the opposite side and turned back to Ollie with an explanation.


    "Redhead snakes like using fallen logs that lay across game trails as places to lurk for prey. It couldn¡¯t eat you, but its venom is potent."


    "Right," Ollie said as he followed the horned soldier¡¯s example, looking around the trail for any signs of snakes. "Sorry, I didn¡¯t even think about snakes..."


    "The venom of a redhead snake is less dangerous the larger you are," Milo added. "I imagine they¡¯re the most deadly to Harrod and his kind out of all of us. But Ollie," he said, refusing to let a moment of distraction derail them from their conversation. "You still need to tell me about your reason for turning to Old Nan for help."


    "I did though, didn¡¯t I?" Ollie said, looking puzzled. "It was because your homes were so beautiful. I thought, if we just built quick houses, whether they were Horned Clan style round huts or the long log houses that the Clan of the Great Claw prefers, they would just be houses."


    "You might laugh at me," Ollie said as they resumed their march. "But I thought, if Old Nan and others from the Heartseaker clan could add a few carings or some artistry to the houses we¡¯re going to build, then they¡¯ll transform from houses into homes."


    "A barren house isn¡¯t much better than the tents people are in now," Ollie said. "No one wants to stay in a barren tent for very long, and an empty house won¡¯t feel welcoming either. So I thought, maybe the Heartwood clan could help us create a place that was more than just a collection of brand new empty houses."


    "But you can¡¯t," he added. "Not if you feel like orphans when you move into them. That¡¯s why, before I talk about making new carvings for a new village, I thought I should come here with you. To see if we can find anything from your old village to help make the new one something more than just a house."


    "I see," Milo said. "Here, we¡¯re getting close, let me show you a better way to approach the village now that the old trail is washed away," he added, moving to the front of the group to lead them toward a side trail.


    Or at least, that was the reason the archer gave them. In reality, he didn¡¯t want Ollie and the soldiers from the Vale of Mists to notice the mist that had collected in his eyes. He only hoped that his tail didn¡¯t give away how much his heart trembled when he heard Ollie¡¯s reason why.


    Maybe... maybe the Vale of Mists really could become a true home for them after all.

 Chapter 238: Preparing for War

    Chapter 238: Preparing for WarThat night, Thane summoned a small group of people to a late dinner in Nyrielle¡¯s formal dining room. It was a meeting he could just as easily have held in his office in the tower, but at the moment, part of him craved the steadying reminders of Nyrielle¡¯s presence that this room offered.


    Whether it was the soft lavender wall hangings in her mother¡¯s favorite shade or the exquisitely detailed landscape paintings created by Nyrielle¡¯s own hand, it was impossible to sit in the formal dining room deep underground without feeling like you were in the presence of the Eldritch Lady of the Vale, even if she wasn¡¯t here.


    The high-backed seat at the head of the table stood empty, which was normal for an occasion where Nyrielle wasn¡¯t present. What had changed, however, was that Thane no longer occupied the seat reserved for Nyrielle¡¯s second. That seat now belonged to Ashlynn, and even in her absence, Thane refused to intrude.


    "Thank you, Georg," the former knight said with a warm smile as the portly chef entered with a tray of crisp, fresh salads that combined summer greens with winter nuts and fresh, crumbly cheese. "I know you¡¯re staying up late to cook for us tonight."


    "If I wasn¡¯t cooking for you, Sir Thane, who would I be cooking for?" Georg said with a smile as he set a small portion in front of the acting ruler of the Vale of Mists. Another small portion was quickly set before Marcell who sprawled comfortably in a seat across from Thane.


    Neither vampire relished in food the way Nyrielle did and if Thane was honest, he struggled to keep up the habit of eating when there weren¡¯t others around. Marcell was decades younger and still retained more of his humanity, especially since his work kept him in contact with humans as he gathered information from across Lothian March. Thane, on the other hand, felt time like a millstone, slowly wearing away at the things that had defined his life when he still lived.


    "You can come cook for me any time," Marshal Jakob said, his usually gruff voice rippling with mirth. "Elise would welcome a night off."


    "Lies," Commander Bassinger said, happily accepting the large bowl of salad that Georg placed in front of him. "Your wife gave up on you being home in time for dinner years ago. Last I heard, she was still rotating between your children¡¯s homes so she could help feed your flock of grandchildren."


    "Grandchildren, is it?" Thane said, raising a brow as he nibbled on the crisp, slightly bitter greens. "I thought your youngest was still at home. Has she moved out already?"


    "Last fall," the Marshal said, tugging on his scraggly gray beard as he remembered his wife pleading with his latest son-in-law to move in with them instead of finding their own place in the castle town.


    Now, the once boisterous house had become truly empty and quiet, not that he had much time to spend there. With life as it was, he could hardly blame Elise for spending so much time visiting their children and grandchildren.


    "I see," Thane said, giving the old goat a regretful look. "I¡¯m sorry to be keeping you away from them tonight, but some things can¡¯t wait."


    "I know, I know," Jakob said. "A few more years and I¡¯ll retire to keep my Elise company, but the Lothians don¡¯t seem to want me to end my tenure with a war. What do you need from me, Sir Thane? It can¡¯t be good if you couldn¡¯t wait for Lady Nyrielle to return."


    "Marcell?" Thane said, turning to face the youngest of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. "What¡¯s the news?"


    "It¡¯s nothing we didn¡¯t expect," the dark-haired vampire said, setting aside the empty bowl that had once contained a salad. Georg¡¯s food was always a treat after spending any amount of time in human settlements and for a moment, he considered asking for more, but knowing Georg, the main course would be even more delightful and so he made himself hold back.


    "The biggest complication is that Owain is using the Holy Festival of Light to show off the trophies he collected in his massacre," the spymaster explained. "By itself, that wouldn¡¯t be a problem, but something odd is happening between Owain Lothian and Liam Dunn."


    "I thought they all but hated each other," Commander Bassinger said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Weren¡¯t the Dunn¡¯s chafing at the bit to become lords in their own right? Their territory is on the farthest edge of Lothian lands. With a bit more strength, couldn¡¯t they form their own domain?"


    "Humans don¡¯t work that way," Thane said with a shake of his head. "If the Lothians were High Lords in the Eldritch way, then sure, Baron Dunn could break away to become an Eldritch Lord with a smaller territory. They have the strength to rule it, or close enough to it." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "In human lands, that would be considered a rebellion," Marcell explained. "The Dunns can advance, effectively becoming High Lords once the Lothians are promoted to Great Lords," he said, using Eldritch terms as an example even though the parallels between ranks weren¡¯t quite the same. "But you¡¯re not wrong, the tension between the families has been significant for years."


    "Owain and Liam, however, seem like they¡¯ve become recent friends," Marcell continued. "Evidently, Liam was supposed to join Owain for his bloody rampage, but he was delayed over some other business at home. Now, they¡¯re using Owain¡¯s recent ¡¯victory¡¯ to drum up support for a campaign led by Liam this summer."


    "So much for a quiet summer spent on training and preparations," Bassinger said with a disgusted snort. "How many men do you think this Liam will raise against us?"


    "More importantly," Thane interjected. "Where does the Church stand on this hunt? Owain was terrifying this time because he brought an Inquisitor and Templars. Will Liam have the same report?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Marcell said with a defeated sigh. "This time of year, I can¡¯t risk visiting Lothian City. If I get caught, there¡¯s not enough time between sunset and sunrise to flee. I¡¯m relying on the few spies I¡¯ve placed in Lothian City and elsewhere to pass along information and I¡¯ve never gained a permanent spy in the Church."


    "I don¡¯t think Liam Dunn will be able to raise enough men to assault the Vale though," Marcell added. "I think it¡¯s the outlying villages that he¡¯s going to go after. Even if he could raise enough men to make trouble for us, he¡¯s moving in concert with Owain and we know that Owain is planning his Holy War for next year. Do any of you think that Owain Lothian would tolerate Liam Dunn kicking off the war early after everything Lady Ashlynn has told us about him?"


    "Owain is a rabid beast, but a cunning one," Jakob said, offering his opinion. "He beat his own wife half to death for threatening his ambitions. I can¡¯t imagine he¡¯d be kinder to a rival lord. Your men may still get the year to spend training yet, Bassinger."


    "Yes and no," Thane said, retrieving a map of the Vale of Mists and pinning the corners in place with salt and pepper shakers. "Marshal, I have two problems I¡¯d like to have you help solve for me. First, it¡¯s been too long since we clearcut the forest near the walls. Some of the trees growing there are within fifty feet of the walls and they¡¯re almost twenty years old, dating to Bors Lothian¡¯s last campaign."


    "I see where you¡¯re going," the Marshal said, nodding at the map. "You need clear lines of sight for archers on the walls, and we need lumber to build a village for the refugees, right? Will you let me press able-bodied refugees in the camp into work teams to do the logging?"


    "You can¡¯t press them," Thane said, tapping his finger on the wooden table as he thought through the Marshal¡¯s suggestion. "But if Ollie can build some enthusiasm for this village, I¡¯m certain you won¡¯t lack for volunteers. Use your own men for brush clearing and the refugees for logging. If they feel like the work they¡¯re doing supports their new village, you¡¯ll have fewer complaints than if you tell them we need them to strengthen the walls."


    "You think they¡¯ll flee if they¡¯re asked to help with our defenses?" Bassinger said in a dark, disapproving tone. "Are we about to see another wave of cowards flee through the High Pass?"


    "I didn¡¯t say that," Thane said smoothly. "But that¡¯s why I need your help with something else. Too many of your men have never fought against humans. They¡¯re well trained and have served for years, but they¡¯ve served in peacetime."


    "I want you to form a few small teams to visit the villages closest to the Dunn Barony," Thane said, a predatory smile forming on his lips that revealed a hint of fangs. "Some have been abandoned, others have sent only their elderly and their children. Aim for the ones that haven¡¯t been abandoned entirely."


    "Sir Thane," Bassinger said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I want to make sure I understand our mission. Do you want us to defend these villages?"


    "If they can be defended, then that¡¯s good," Thane said, his amber gaze growing sharp. "The important thing is to bring back word of a victory to reassure the refugees that the forces of the Vale of Mists can keep them safe. The second thing is to give our soldiers some real experience fighting humans. Saving villages comes a distant third. If the villagers need to flee, so be it. We¡¯ll take them in."


    "But Commander Bassinger," Thane said. "Come next year, we¡¯ll need as many soldiers as possible, and the more of them who can be considered veterans, the better. Right now, that¡¯s your first priority. As much as it may hurt to abandon a village, I¡¯d rather see another dozen villages burn than lose a dozen men fighting to save them."


    "I understand," the bearish man said, giving a formal salute from his chair. It didn¡¯t sit well with him to do a half-hearted job of defending the outlying villages. If they were going to protect people, they should protect them to the end. But... Sir Thane was looking to the future, and the commander could hardly fault him for that.


    If the Vale of Mists fell because Bassinger squandered his men defending villages that hadn¡¯t even placed themselves under the rule of Lady Nyrielle... it was as good as signing his own death warrant.

 Chapter 239: The Importance of Rituals

    Chapter 239: The Importance of RitualsIn the Briar, after sharing a sumptuous dinner with Heila, Talauia, and Jacques the night before, Ashlynn and Amahle left early in the morning following an abbreviated breakfast of oats left to simmer overnight and a cold, smoked sausage.


    When they entered the wide, flat-bottomed boat, the fog of the Briar had only begun to lighten for the day. Despite that, the witch who had made the Briar her home navigated smoothly through the mist shrouded waterways toward their destination, providing a lesson as they went.


    "The practice of sorcery rarely requires elaborate rituals or the use of external focuses," Amahle explained. "The amount of power a sorcerer can use is limited to the energy of their own body. You can think of it like serving tea to a small group of friends. The pot of tea represents your own body and the tea itself is the energy within you. How difficult is it to pour tea?"


    "Not very," Ashlynn said, looking out into the mist as she listened to Amahle¡¯s lesson. "A bit of practice to make sure you don¡¯t accidentally drip while pouring, maybe more practice to make sure everyone¡¯s cup is filled exactly the same amount, but it isn¡¯t difficult."


    "Now, if you were to serve tea at a fancy ball, like the one where you met little Jacques," Amahle continued. "And everyone at the ball needed to have their tea at the same time, and it needed to be just as hot and perfectly steeped as the tea you served for just a few friends, how difficult would that be?"


    "Much more difficult," Ashlynn admitted. "I¡¯d need to have the help of several servants just to pass out the tea if everyone had to have their tea at the same time. Just keeping track of all the pots of tea and making sure everyone had a cup ready for the tea would take more work."


    "It¡¯s more than that, darlin¡¯," the older witch said. "You¡¯d need a large cauldron to boil the water before you pour it into all of the tea pots. If you don¡¯t steep your tea in the cauldron, but steep it in the tea pots, then you need scales to weigh your tea, just to make sure every tea pot gets the right amount..."


    "So, witchcraft requires more elaborate rituals or tools like wands because we work with the energy of the world?" Ashlynn asked, turning to look at Amahle to make sure she understood correctly.


    "My little sister is a clever one," Amahle said with a smile. "A wand is a focus for gathering the energy of the world. It makes it easier to summon power. A ritual is a method of guiding that power. The tea analogy isn¡¯t as good for understanding how ritual works, but it gets us close enough," the witch said, pausing to maneuver the boat into a narrower channel before continuing her lesson.


    "If your small tea party is sorcery, then you can easily think through the steps as you go, there¡¯s no need to write down instructions because you can see everything that needs to be done all at once," Amahle said. "The more tea you need to serve, the more steps you need to follow, the more important it is to write everything down and follow the instructions so nothing goes wrong."


    "So it¡¯s not just about needing the instructions to get everyone their tea on time," Ashlynn said, continuing the analogy. "With sorcery, with a small tea party, if I spill the tea, then it¡¯s easy to clean up and it won¡¯t do much damage."


    "You still have to be careful with sorcery," Amahle said, nodding in agreement with Ashlynn¡¯s statement. "But if it goes tragically wrong and you pour scalding tea on yourself or one of your friends, there¡¯s only one person getting hurt. With witchcraft, because the energy you¡¯re working with comes from all around you, it¡¯s possible to cause incredible devastation when you lose control," she said, her eyes growing distant.


    "A mistake in a ritual could cause every plant or creature living in the Briar to die, all at once," the powerful witch said flatly as ghosts danced behind her crimson eyes. "A witch who loses control is akin to a natural disaster."


    "One of your predecessors in the heartlands to the west absorbed the energy of an entire forest, pouring it into a single seed. Now, you can ride for an entire day and still not cross the field of death she created. If you ride to the center of it though, you¡¯ll find a single Spruce tree, more than five hundred feet tall with a trunk more than thirty feet across."


    For several minutes, Ashlynn sat silently in the boat, processing what Amahle had just said. By now, she knew the older woman well enough to know that her choice of example wasn¡¯t random. It was more likely than not that the predecessor that Amahle was mentioning had been using this very ritual when she lost control of her witchcraft.


    "You said that the mark of the witch shaped like a spruce tree allowed one to be very powerful in a single aspect of their witchcraft," Ashlynn said, assembling the different pieces of information she had into a disturbing idea. "Was the, the previous Mother of Thorns trying to create an extra powerful Spruce Witch?"


    "She was trying to create a seed of witchcraft for her husband," Amahle said, dragging her pole along the sandy bottom of the swamp, slowing the boat as they approached their destination. Around them, reeds grew thicker and long legged birds stalked through the murky water and the dense reeds in search of their morning meals. "She wanted to rule as witch and Eldritch Great Lord, giving her husband the strength to conquer their neighbors."


    Amahle left many things unsaid, but the parallels between Ashlynn¡¯s circumstances and this unnamed predecessor were uncomfortably clear. At the same time, the missing details left Ashlynn wondering what could have driven the previous Mother of Trees to attempt something of such a grand scale. Her love for her husband was clear, but why go so far in attempting to create such a powerful witch? Were they threatened? Or was it ambition?


    For several minutes as Amahle navigated the narrow waterways of the Briar, Ashlynn sank into deep contemplation. She had a hard time relating to the idea of engaging in such grand and ambitious magic purely for the sake of ambition. Perhaps people like Owain would use her power for those ends, but to Ashlynn, the idea of trying to become some kind of Eldritch Witch Lady for personal ambition just felt strange. The gains could never be worth the risks.


    But then, when she thought about how far she would go to defend the Vale of Mists that had become her new home... or, more than that, how far she would go to defend Nyrielle, the answer suddenly changed. If she had to wager her life in order to defend the people who depended on her and the people she loved, she wouldn¡¯t hesitate.


    That, she realized, was the real danger. Not that she would lose herself in the pursuit of power for its own sake, or naked ambition, but that something would threaten her bottom line and she would go to far and risk too much in order to protect what she held most dear. Perhaps the previous Mother of Thorns had felt the same way when she attempted to create a supremely powerful Spruce Witch. Maybe she thought that, if she didn¡¯t, her losses would be even greater.


    In the end, at least for this lesson, she supposed it didn¡¯t matter what the reason had been. Whether it was a noble attempt that ended in failure or an instance of succumbing to the thirst for power beyond one¡¯s means, her intention had been to bestow great power on her husband and not only had she died in the process, but she¡¯d destroyed an entire forest.


    While Ashlynn sat deep in contemplation, Amahle guided their boat toward a small island that seemed to rise slightly higher above the water than the others they¡¯d passed. Unlike the cypress-dominated islands they¡¯d seen so far, this one was ringed with tall grass and swaying cat-tails that created a natural wall between the water and whatever lay at its center.


    The morning mist seemed to curl and drift differently here, staying low and carrying a refreshing coolness that was absent from the warm, muggy fog that blanketed the rest of the Briar. The water under the boat had changed as well, losing its dark, murky tones of gray and brown and becoming crystal clear, pure enough for Ashlynn to see small silvery fish darting through the water and deep, reddish brown crawfish crawling along the sandy bottom.


    Moments after passing through a curtain of cool mist that seemed to mark a sort of barrier between the murky, muggy briar and the shelter of this specific island, the boat lurched to a gentle stop as Amahle carefully ran it aground on the sandy shore.


    "I¡¯ll be careful," Ashlynn said firmly when the sudden stop of the boat jolted her free of her thoughts. "I want to do everything I can for Heila. I want to give her the best start that I possibly can. But I don¡¯t think that means transforming her into the most powerful witch possible," she said.


    "I know that we¡¯re starting at the wrong point," Ashlynn said as she stood to leave the boat. "I know I should learn many other things before attempting to create this seed and that by rushing, Heila may not become as great a witch in the end as she could if I waited until next year or the year after that to form her seed."


    "For me, success isn¡¯t about making her as powerful as possible," Ashlynn promised. "As long as I can give her the greatest possible chance of success, then I¡¯m content." sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That¡¯s the right mindset," Amahle said as she joined Ashlynn on the small island. "Come. There aren¡¯t many of these trees in the Briar, but there are a few and this is the oldest of them. Binding yourself to this tree will help you to create her seed in the fastest way possible. It may not be as wise as the Ancient Oak you¡¯ve met in the Vale of Mists, but if you treat it the same way, you may even gain the support of a willing partner for your ritual."

 Chapter 240: The Ancient Willow

    Chapter 240: The Ancient WillowAshlynn¡¯s boots sank slightly into the soft sand as she stepped from the boat onto the island¡¯s shore. Unlike the other islands they¡¯d passed, where even a few steps would have left her feet coated in dark, clinging mud, the sand here was clean and pale, and the tall grass growing on the island felt softer to the touch than the sharp-edged blades of grass elsewhere in the Briar.


    The island itself wasn¡¯t very large, no more than a hundred paces across, but even if the island were twice as large, it would have felt too small to play host to the majestic tree that awaited them.


    Rising from the center of the island, dominating the space with a sense of quiet, reserved majesty, stood an ancient willow tree. A gentle breeze stirred its silvery-green leaves, which hung like a curtain from long, thin branches, creating a sound like a sigh from a breath long held.


    The prickly, dangerous aura that permeated the Briar faded away entirely, replaced by a cool welcoming presence that wrapped around Ashlynn like a soft, gossamer shawl, draping her in a protective barrier against the oppressive environment of the Briar.


    "Hello," Ashlynn said, gently parting the drooping branches of the Ancient Willow like a curtain so she could approach its trunk. As soon as Ashlynn passed through, however, the branches fell back into place, seeming to form a barrier preventing anyone from following her.


    "You¡¯ll welcome my big sister too, won¡¯t you? We¡¯ve come to seek your help," Ashlynn said, looking from the tree to Amahle and back again.


    "Don¡¯t get your branches twisted," Amahle told the tree as she stood on the opposite side of the drooping branches. "I¡¯m not here for your bark and I¡¯ve left you alone for quite some time since the last time I needed anything from you. This time, I¡¯ve brought my little sister to you, so let the old hurts go."


    "Old hurts?" Ashlynn said, turning to face the older witch. "What happened?"


    "Talauia was half dead when she arrived here," Amahle said as she pointed at several deep scars in the tree¡¯s trunk with the tips of her spider-like limbs. From the depth of the wounds on the tree, the powerful witch had taken far more than a piece of bark when she¡¯d last visited the tree.


    "You don¡¯t understand how much people hate her kind," Amahle said softly. "They¡¯re a clan with no nation that welcomes them. To save her required sacrifices from more than just this Ancient Willow." As she spoke, her eyes grew distant, recalling the terrifying sight of the young girl who had arrived in the Briar in the hopes of escaping her pursuers.


    Talauia¡¯s wounds weren¡¯t just extensive, they were cruel. Her fingers and feet had been broken, leaving her with nothing but her needle-sharp teeth to tear at anything she could hunt in order to survive. If not for the fact that her captors desired her wings as trophies, she¡¯d never have managed to flee once she escaped her confinement.


    Nursing her back to health had taken all of the skill that Amahle possessed and without both the bark and the pulp of the Ancient Willow¡¯s heartwood, Talauia would have succumbed to pain and infection long before Amahle could stitch her wounds closed and begin to mend her shattered bones. In her haste to save the dying girl, she hadn¡¯t been kind to the Ancient Willow, cruelly taking what she needed from it and leaving the tree¡¯s survival to fate.


    "So that¡¯s how it is," Ashlynn said. Taking a few steps forward, Ashlynn knelt at the base of the tree, drawing a small knife from its sheath on her belt and slicing into the palm of her hand to spill several drops of blood on the tree¡¯s roots.


    "Please take this as payment for my big sister¡¯s debts," Ashlynn said. The action looked simple on the surface, but she went beyond an offering of blood alone. The magic she used was borrowed from Nyrielle and relied on the same technique the vampire used to infuse her blood with her own life energy.


    Nryielle had used it to make an offering to the Ancient Oak on the night that Ashlynn became her Seneschal and Ashlynn used the same technique now to give her blood power beyond what it already carried. The magic allowed her to give of herself in the hopes of at least easing the Ancient Willow¡¯s suffering.


    A complicated expression flickered across Amahle¡¯s face, seeing her little sister using vampire blood magic instead of her own power as the Mother of Trees in order to soothe the Ancient Willow. There were better ways to accomplish what Ashlynn was trying to do, but the young witch could hardly be blamed for reaching for the only tools she¡¯d learned how to use. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When the tree drank deeply of Ashlynn¡¯s offering, absorbing the potent blood directly into its roots, Amahle redoubled her resolve to teach Ashlynn the proper way to use a witch¡¯s power. The sooner she could break her little sister free of such sacrificial vampiric methods, the better.


    Despite Amahle¡¯s distaste for the method, however, it was effective. A shimmery silver curtain of light spread from the silver-green leaves of the Ancient Willow before the branches blocking the older witch¡¯s way parted, allowing her to approach the scarred trunk of the tree.


    "I think it would help if you apologized," Ashlynn said, tracing her fingers along the rough bark of the tree. "I wouldn¡¯t want there to be any lingering animosity between you."


    "I won¡¯t apologize for what I took," Amahle said, reaching up with her spider-like limbs to gently touch the Ancient Willow in the places where it still bore the scars of her rough treatment. "Nor will I apologize for how roughly I treated you," she told the tree.


    "But I will thank you for helping me to save a life," she continued. "And I apologize for not making amends earlier. Trees like you are outside my purview. Properly, my darlin¡¯ little sister should be the one to tend to your needs, but I could have done more to help you heal after taking from you so roughly, and I didn¡¯t. For that, I¡¯m very sorry."


    As she spoke, Amahle¡¯s spider-like limbs began to move in a complicated pattern over the surface of the tree, leaving behind delicate threads of spider silk that formed into a sharp, angular glyph on the surface of the tree.


    "If anything tries to harm you, this glyph will protect you," the powerful witch promised. "If you wish it, it will even protect you from my coven, though I¡¯m incapable of giving you protection that would work against me. Please, accept this gift as proof of my good intentions in bringing my little sister here for help," she said, bowing her head toward the tree.


    A cooling breeze blew through the leaves of the Ancient Willow, filling the air with a musical sound of leaves rustling and branches swaying. In the perpetual twilight of the Briar, the sound felt bright and cheerful.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said with a smile. She didn¡¯t think the tree needed Amahle¡¯s offer of protection, but the lingering pain she felt from the Ancient Willow dissipated like the seeds of a dandelion in the wind, leaving the air of the small island clear and welcoming.


    "You should ask it for a seed," Amahle said as she turned to face Ashlynn. "I brought an older seed, but a fresh seed, freely given, would be better."


    "You heard my big sister," Ashlynn said, caressing one of the tree¡¯s delicate, spindly branches. "I need your help to bring a very dear friend into my coven. She¡¯s a gentle woman who has done much to care for me. I think you¡¯d like her very much."


    While she spoke to the tree, Ashlynn closed her eyes and sank into her memories of Heila, summoning a trace of her emerald green magical energy and allowing her memories to flow along with it to her fingers that twined around the willow branch.


    Whether it was the simple kindness Heila had shown her when she first woke to the foreign environment of the Vale of Mists or the selfless dedication Heila had shown when she plunged into the icy waters of the frozen lake to help rescue Ashlynn, she shared it all with the tree in the hopes that it would approve of the woman who would bear its seed.


    The process was neither slow nor quick, but after several minutes, Ashlynn opened her eyes to find a light, fluffy seed pod growing between her fingers.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn told the tree. "Once we¡¯re done, I¡¯ll be sure to bring her here to say her thanks as well."


    "Now that we have the seed," she said, turning to face Amahle. "What do we do next?"

 Chapter 241: Beginning the Ritual

    Chapter 241: Beginning the Ritual"The first step to forming a seed of witchcraft is to place it within your body," Amahle said. "I¡¯ll place the seed in your chest, close to your heart. There, it will sprout roots that will surround your heart, drawing on your energy to empower the seed." Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn¡¯s hand unconsciously moved to her chest, fingers pressing against the spot where her heart beat steadily beneath. Within her chest, she could feel her own heartbeat, steady and strong, along with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat, slower, fainter, but no less present than it had been on the first day she woke after forming her blood pact with the vampire.


    This was the farthest apart they¡¯d been since that night, and Ashlynn could feel the echo growing fainter still, but when she focused on it, her bond with her lover felt just as strong as it ever had. Quiet and faint didn¡¯t mean weak.


    Now, she was confronted with even more magic that would wrap around her heart. The idea of roots growing around her heart should have been terrifying, and yet, when Amahle explained it, it sounded only right and natural. Her heart was the center of life within her body. The only other place she could nurture a seed would be within her womb, yet somehow, perhaps because of what she had been through with Nyrielle, her heart and the blood pumping through it felt like the most fertile ground in which to plant a seed of witchcraft.


    "Will it hurt?" she asked, watching as Amahle began to make her preparations. Not that the answer would change her mind. She was prepared to endure whatever was required to complete this ritual. Part of that came from a desire to do the very best she could for Heila. Her friend deserved this opportunity and Ashlynn would do everything she could to deliver it to her.


    Another part of her refused to back down because this was a necessary step on the road to claiming her vengeance against Owain Lothian and his family for all that they had done. If she couldn¡¯t form a coven, she would have no power of her own to call on in her war against the people who betrayed her, she would have to depend completely on Nyrielle to obtain her vengeance. The idea of being so helpless against the people who wronged her was so appalling that it formed another pillar of her resolve to face this moment head on, no matter how much pain it would bring.


    "There will be some pain, yes, but I doubt the pain will be the hardest part of what¡¯s to come," the older witch replied. As Amahle spoke, she began removing several implements from a simple canvas sack, placing them on the ground next to the roots of the Ancient Willow tree.


    A slender knife with a blade polished to a mirror finish was the first thing that caught Ashlynn¡¯s eyes, along with a small bottle of clear liquid that Ashlynn was certain wasn¡¯t water. The other implements, however, included long, hooked needles and several other items that she wasn¡¯t certain what purpose they would serve.


    "Once the seed has been planted in your body," Amahle continued. "I will bind you physically to the Ancient Willow. Your hands and feet will be bound, along with your body. This part will be very hard to endure," she said, her crimson eyes flashing Ashlynn a sympathetic look.


    "I¡¯ll pierce your skin and the bark of the tree to allow its sap and energy to enter your body," the powerful witch explained. "This is the fastest way for you to form a seed of witchcraft for Heila. Some of the energy will come from you, but much of it will come from the Ancient Willow tree. This way, you¡¯ll be able to nurture a seed in mere days instead of weeks or months."


    "I see," Ashlynn said. She¡¯d been on the verge of asking if there was a better way but hearing her big sister¡¯s words, she understood that the harshness of the method was the price to be paid for going so quickly. "How long will it take?"


    "That depends on you," Amahle said, standing up from her preparations and standing in front of Ashlynn with a gleaming silver blade in her hands. "Each seed is unique and this is your first one. I¡¯ve only used this method once, when my first attempt to create a seed for Jacques failed abysmally."


    As she spoke, Amahle pulled the bodice of her loose, bell sleeved top aside to reveal an ugly, twisted scar in the center of her chest, directly between her breasts.


    "The seeds of the Sandbox tree are explosive," she explained. "By nurturing one in my body for months, I accidentally gave the seed the energy it needed to erupt. If little Saini, the Rose Witch, hadn¡¯t been at my side with healing magic then I likely would have lost my life in the attempt."


    "That¡¯s why, when I tried again, I relied on one of the strongest Sandbox trees in the Briar to help me form his seed of witchcraft. It took five days, and the results were more than satisfactory," the powerful witch said, her fingers absently tracing the twisted scar on her chest before she let her clothing fall back into place.


    For a moment, Ashlynn stared at the spot where the scar had disappeared beneath Amahle¡¯s clothing. The older witch spoke of her near-death experience so casually, yet the size and shape of the scar made it clear how horribly wrong things had gone. To Ashlynn, it looked like someone had attempted to forcefully tear the witch¡¯s heart from her chest and it was only through a miracle of magical healing that she had survived.


    Once again, she was struck by the lengths to which her ¡¯big sister¡¯ went for the members of her coven. As cruel as she¡¯d been to the Ancient Aspen to save Talauia, she¡¯d been even more cruel to herself in order to create Jacques seed of witchcraft. Faced with such an example, Ashlynn only hoped she could grow into a witch with a fraction of the strength of will and love for her close ones that Amahle kept beneath her thorny exterior.


    "So I should expect to be here for a while," Ashlynn said. "Will you, will you stay here with me? Just in case something goes wrong?" she asked hesitantly.


    "No, I won¡¯t stay," Amahle said firmly. "I think the Ancient Willow has made it clear that I¡¯m not welcome here. I won¡¯t leave you alone though. Witches have covens for more than one reason. I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re safe and I feel like the Ancient Willow will defend you as well."


    "Now, ready yourself, little sister," the older witch said as she guided Ashlynn to stand at the base of the Ancient Willow. From this point forward, Amahle would take direct control of the process, or, at least as much of the process as any witch could control.


    She would see to a flawless beginning. After that, no amount of preparation, no special elixir or additional ritual could do anything to improve Ashlynn¡¯s chances of survival. Whether she succeeded or failed in the end would be up to her strength alone.

 Chapter 242: Planting the Seed

    Chapter 242: Planting the SeedStanding before Ashlynn, Amahle swept her crimson eyes across the entire island, taking in every detail and ensuring that there was nothing present that could interrupt their ritual. Now would be the worst time for a disturbance, but when she looked, her eyes found that the Ancient Willow hadn¡¯t taken even the smallest of mice as residents of its island.


    The willow stood alone, perhaps because it had been hurt so badly in the past. Even a tree as placid as the willow could grow unwelcoming if it was abused. Whatever the reason, it meant that there was nothing present that cold disrupt her ritual once she began.


    "Cross your hands in front of your body and touch your hips," she said. "This is the gentlest way I know to bind you for a long period of time," she explained as her spider-like limbs moved rapidly around Ashlynn securing her arms and legs in place, affixing her to the trunk of the Ancient Willow tree.


    For a moment, accounts of the burning of vampires and witches flashed through Ashlynn¡¯s mind. The Church was no stranger to lashing those it deemed heretics to a post when it purified them with fire, but in every image she¡¯d seen of those grizzly executions, the prisoner¡¯s hands had been bound above their heads in a manner that looked like their arms would be torn from their sockets if they were stretched any further.


    Amahle¡¯s bindings were much gentler and Ashlynn felt more like she had been secured in place than restrained. The ritual would require her to stay in close contact with the Ancient Willow for days but as Amahle carefully checked each loop of spidersilk to ensure that it produced no discomfort, Ashlynn felt confident in following the older witch¡¯s instructions.


    "This part will hurt," Amahle cautioned. She drew the polished knife and place the tip directly above Ashlynn¡¯s breast bone, holding it in place while she looked deeply into Ashlynn¡¯s eyes. "It¡¯s okay if you cry out. Pain is part of this process. Anything I do to dull the pain would also dull your mind and increase the risk of losing control of the energy. Please endure," she said.


    Without waiting for ascent or even acknowledgement, the powerful witch made a deep cut in Ashlynn¡¯s chest, directly over the breast bone.


    Of all the injuries Ashlynn had endured since suffering a brutal beating from Owain on their wedding night, this was one of the most severe, but also one of the least painful. The knife was incredibly sharp and Ashlynn only became aware that Amahle had made the cut when the tip of the knife scraped against her breast bone and a rivulet of bright red blood began to spill down her chest, staining the bodice of her dress before dripping to the ground.


    Before she could comment on the lack of pain, however, two of Amahle¡¯s spider-like limbs moved with gentle precision, holding her skin in place above the cut while tugging beneath the cut like she was holding open a pocket.


    Burning pain flashed through Ashlynn¡¯s mind and for a moment, she struggled against the silk threads holding her in place, but Amahle¡¯s bindings gave her no room to move or interrupt the delicate process as it unfolded.


    "I am Amahle, Mother of Thorns," the witch intoned, her eyes glowing a deep crimson as she began her right. "In the name of my younger sister, Ashlynn, the Mother of Trees, I plant this seed within her so that she may grow her first seed of witchcraft." As she spoke, she held the small, fluffy willow seed up high.


    The Ancient Willow, as if in response to Amahle¡¯s actions, began to radiate a pale, silvery green aura. The gentle breeze blowing through the leaves grew stronger and the leaves themselves changed in tone, no longer rustling, they tinkled like metallic chimes in the wind, each shimmering with a silvery-green light as it danced on the breeze.


    "With her body as the soil, and her blood as the water, she will nurture the Seed of the Willow Witch," Amahle intoned, her voice growing rich with power as her sharp, crimson energy began to swirl around the seed. Rather than flowing into the seed, however, the deep red glow grew thorns that caught at the silvery-green light of the Ancient Willow, tugging the energy toward the seed taken from the tree only moments ago.


    "May her life shine like the sun, giving warmth and light to the seed so that it may grow," the witch continued as the seed began to glow brighter and brighter with a silvery-green glow of its own.


    Ashlynn struggled to keep her eyes open, watching as Amahle slowly brought the seed down, tucking it underneath her skin before her spider-like limbs shifted, pressing the edges of the wound against each other as Amahle moved on to the next portion of the ritual.


    "In the name of my sister, I beseech the Ancient Willow to lend your strength to nurture this seed and strengthen the future Willow Witch," the powerful witch said as one of her spider-limbs retrieved a sharp looking spindle of wood that curved in opposing directions like two hooked thorns joined at the center. Working quickly, she pierced one end of the wooden spindle into the soft bark of the Ancient Willow, and the other end into Ashlynn¡¯s left shoulder.


    This time, while Ashlynn expected even more pain, what she felt instead was a cooling energy, flowing along the wooden spindle, easing the pain of not just the wound to her shoulder, but the one in her chest as well.


    "My part in this is done," Amahle said, her crimson aura fading as she released her power. Her spider-limbs moved again, passing her the long, hooked needle Ashlynn had seen earlier. "Now that you have been bound to the Ancient Willow, you must guide its energy toward the seed. You will feel a growing tightness in your chest as the seed gains strength," she explained, her hands moving with expert precision to stitch the wound in Ashlynn¡¯s chest closed.


    "When you feel like a hand has seized upon your heart tightly enough that you can barely draw breath, it will be time to remove the seed from your chest and bestow it on little Heila," the witch said. "Because you are receiving the aid of the Ancient Willow, it may test you. Be strong, I do not believe someone who has survived all that you have would succumb easily."


    "What, what kind of test?" Ashlynn said weakly. Now that Amahle was no longer tugging on the wound, the pain had faded and she could feel the strength of the Ancient Willow flowing toward the injury, helping her to heal even now, and yet, when she tried to banish the haze that filled her mind in the midst of that pain, she found that she couldn¡¯t.


    "That¡¯s up to the Ancient Willow," Amahle said gently, her voice sounding distant and far away in Ashlynn¡¯s ears. "But I have faith you will pass," she said, placing a hand gently on the younger woman¡¯s cheek as she slipped from consciousness.


    "This will be good for you," she added, turning away from Ashlynn to collect her tools before stepping into the boat. "One way or another, so long as you come through this, it will be a good thing. And if you don¡¯t," she said before heaving a heavy sigh.


    "A True Vampire with a Mother of Trees for a Seneschal," she said, shaking her head. "I¡¯m still not certain such a thing should be allowed to exist. If you fail here because of your bond to the Harbinger of Death, I can only see it as a judgment of the trees that they will not allow such a thing to befall their Mother of Trees."


    "Either way, it isn¡¯t my place to decide," she said as she pushed the boat away from the island. "Little Ashlynn, your fate is in your own hands now." S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 243: Looking Back

    Chapter 243: Looking BackFor Ashlynn, the world around her faded away, leaving her mind adrift in a sea of darkness. Within the dark, she could feel her own heartbeat along with the distant echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat. When she focused on the heartbeats, trying to count beats and gain a sense of time in this dark space, she found it impossible to keep track. Numbers slipped away from her along with any other sense of time.


    She wasn¡¯t asleep but she wasn¡¯t awake either. Instead, she drifted in a world that was empty of everything but her.


    Eventually, light began to filter into the dark space, revealing a familiar room that she hadn¡¯t seen in several months.


    Her father¡¯s study in Blackwell Manor was part of the oldest section of the manor. The windows were small, and narrow, and let in very little natural light. They were a reflection of an era long passed when Blackwell manor had been a frontier fortress and every window was a potential firing position for a skilled archer. Now, the only thing that ever passed through the window was a cool, salty sea breeze, carrying with it the sounds of ship¡¯s bells ringing in the harbor in the distance.


    Above them, a large chandelier hung high overhead, filling the room with a soft, golden light while the fire crackling in the hearth filled the room with warmth. The scent of dozens of books blended with woodsmoke and the salty sea air to produce a scent that felt more strongly of ¡¯home¡¯ than anything else Ashlynn could imagine.


    The room was dominated by an antique wooden desk, fashioned from hard, sturdy blackwood. The desk was older than Blackwell County, constructed in the old countries and brought across the sea as an heirloom by Yoam Blackwell, the first of his line on this continent. Now, Ashlynn¡¯s father, Rhys Blackwell, sat behind the desk, looking between her and her mother with a complicated expression.


    "It¡¯s a difficult offer to refuse," Rhys said, dropping several neatly folded sheets of paper onto his desk. "It seems like Bors Lothian understands our circumstances exceedingly well."


    It wasn¡¯t until he spoke that Ashlynn realized that this wasn¡¯t just a dream of her parents, but a memory... or had she drifted through time itself? But as soon as the thought came to her, it left again, replaced by a strange fog that made it difficult to recall what she¡¯d been doing before she arrived here. It had been something very dangerous and very important... hadn¡¯t it?


    "Rhys," Ashlynn¡¯s mother said from a seat next to the hearth. "You know that Ashlynn isn¡¯t suited for marriage. If Bors Lothian is looking for a wife for his son, we should recommend Jocelynn instead. If need be, we can tell him some tale, claim that doctors have examined our beloved Ashlynn and pronounced her to be barren. We can¡¯t risk sending her away."


    Her mother was right, and Ashlynn knew deep within her that it was true, but she couldn¡¯t express why. She just had a vague feeling that things wouldn¡¯t turn out well if she married Owain Lothian.


    "Impossible," Rhys said, shaking his head. "Maela, I know how you feel about both our girls but Ashlynn would already be marrying up into the Lothian family. That he would consider the daughter of a count instead of turning to one of the other Marquis or even the daughter of a duke for his son is a sign of how much he values our connections to the merchant guilds."


    "Marquis Lothian is doing us a considerable favor by extending this opportunity," Rhys said. "If we respond to his offer by suggesting that his first-born heir marries our second-born daughter, the insult..."


    "Husband, I know," Ashlynn¡¯s mother, Maela, said. Her shoulders slumped and her brows drooped as she looked at her husband with pleading eyes. "But if Owain believes that her mark is the mark of a witch, things won¡¯t end well for her or for us. It¡¯s too risky. What could possibly be worth sending our darling Ashlynn to the Lothians when so much could go wrong?"


    "Bors Lothian has made a promise, and he¡¯ll put it in writing as part of the wedding agreement between our families," Rhys said. As he spoke, he stood from behind the desk, walking over to the hearth and kneeling at Maela¡¯s side.


    "For generations, the Lothians have had a tradition of sending every second-born male child to the Church, to take up the office of a priest within the great temple in Lothian City," Rhys said. His tone was mild and gentle and he took Maela¡¯s hands in his own as he spoke to her. "In this case, Bors Lothian has promised that after Ashlynn bears an heir that can inherit Lothian March, her second-born son can return to Blackwell County to become the next Count Blackwell."


    "This is my fault," Rhys said, giving Maela a deeply sincere look. "I¡¯ve failed to sire an heir and now..."


    "No, it¡¯s not your fault," Maela insisted. "I was the stubborn one. I refused to let you take a concubine, I promised you that we could keep trying, I..."


    "I¡¯ll do it," Ashlynn said from the side, interrupting her parents. "Father, mother, please," she said, dashing across the room to hold them both. "Please. You¡¯ve both sacrificed so much for me. You¡¯ve given me everything I could ever want," she said, tears beginning to stream from her eyes. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Seeing her parents like this, each one trying to shoulder the blame, was too much for the young Ashlynn to bear. Her mother hadn¡¯t just promised to keep trying, she had been pregnant twice more since giving birth to Jocelynn.


    Once, Ashlynn had nearly welcomed a little brother into the family. Only, something went wrong and her mother went into labor weeks before she should have. The child, her darling baby brother, was stillborn. Her parents named him Maelon and her mother visited his grave to this day.


    After that, the Blackwell family was forced to endure yet again as joy turned into a bitter tragedy, this time just months after Maela realized she was with child. If it weren¡¯t for the intervention and healing magic of a distant cousin who had entered the Church as a Confessor, Maela herself might have died in addition to losing the child. After that, however, it became clear that Maela would never again bear a child for the Blackwell family, and Rhys Blackwell would be left without an heir.

 Chapter 244: For the Family

    Chapter 244: For the Family"If I can help by marrying Owain Lothian, then I¡¯ll do it," Ashlynn promised, desperate to stop her parents from digging back through all the old hurts to find a solution to the problem that had long haunted them.


    "I, I¡¯m told that he¡¯s very handsome and strong. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll make me very happy, and I¡¯ll be raising our children in no time. Father," she pleaded, looking into her father¡¯s stormy eyes and hoping that she could ease at least a fraction of the worries that plagued him. "Let me do this."


    "Ashlynn, my sweet child," Maela said, placing a hand gently on Ashlynn¡¯s face and turning her head so she could look into her child¡¯s eyes as she spoke. "You don¡¯t understand matters between a man and a woman. You won¡¯t be able to hide your mark from him, at least, not for very long. If he sees it, he may turn you over to the Church."


    "He wouldn¡¯t do that to his own wife though, would he?" Ashlynn said. "The bond between a husband and wife is sacred, blessed by the Holy Lord of Light, and unbreakable until death. He wouldn¡¯t hand me over to the church after we¡¯ve sworn to live together for the rest of our lives, would he?"


    "A man would do many things for a woman who captured his heart," Rhys said, reaching up to gently caress Maela¡¯s face. "I would fight a hundred duels to protect your mother, and raise an army if I had to just to keep her safe."


    "But we¡¯re not talking about a union of love," Maela pointed out. "This is a union of politics. Do you really think that Owain will treat her as well as you treat me when this marriage is something arranged by his father?"


    "Then, give me time," Ashlynn suggested, her mind working furiously to find a solution. "At least a year, maybe two. We can write back welcoming an engagement but ask for time so that Owain can court me. If there¡¯s no love between us, then we can withdraw. But, if he comes to love me, if he¡¯s serious, and if he can treat me the way that Father treats you, Mother," she said, meeting her mother¡¯s concerned gaze directly.


    "Then, I¡¯ll agree to it," Ashlynn promised. "I¡¯ll find a way to make it work. But Father," she added, turning to face the Count of Blackwell County. "If I do this for the family, then you have to be better to Jocey. I know you¡¯ve had in mind to betroth her to the son of one of the Guild Masters," she said pointedly.


    "That¡¯s not the kind of partner that Jocey wants," Ashlynn said. "So, if I marry Owain Lothian, and I promise that I¡¯ll bear enough children to send back an heir for Blackwell County, then you have to give Jocey more freedom to choose her husband. Let her be courted by the young lords of the county to see if anyone can capture her heart and allow her to wed that man, even if he isn¡¯t outstanding."


    "My little Ashlynn, look at you," Rhys said. A wide smile formed on his lips and pride twinkled in his eyes as he looked at his eldest daughter. In that moment, with her cheeks flushed from emotion and her pale blonde hair falling in loose waves around her face, she looked so much like her mother that it made his heart ache.


    In the days since Ashlynn¡¯s coming-of-age celebration, she had grown into an almost perfect reflection of how Maela had looked when she first captured his heart. Sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of her strolling through one of the flower gardens or gazing out at the harbor from one of the manor¡¯s towers, he felt like he was looking back in time at the radiant beauty who had captivated not only the hearts of every young lord in Blackwell County, but the whole of Rowlands Duchy.


    Standing side by side, Rhys felt like the Holy Lord of Light had blessed his family with incredible beauty. Though Maela¡¯s delicate features had softened slightly with age and faint crow¡¯s feet had begun to appear at the corners of her eyes, if he were to present her as Ashlynn¡¯s older sister, few would argue against it.


    The sight was enough to give his heart some comfort, despite the dangers that lay ahead. Maela had captured his heart through a combination of a keen mind and extraordinary beauty. Now that Owain would be facing that same intoxicating pairing, he had no doubt that Ashlynn would succeed in conquering the young lord¡¯s heart.


    Jocelynn, on the other hand, had inherited his height and leaner build. At sixteen, she was already almost a handbreadth taller than Ashlynn, and the way young lords¡¯ eyes followed her when she moved through his court with unconscious grace reminded him uncomfortably of his own youth.


    Most importantly, Ashlynn and Maela possessed the same gentle, yielding demeanor that drove men to fight for them and to protect them fiercely. Jocelynn, he thought, took after him a bit too much. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Not only was she intelligent, she was also driven in ways that Ashlynn wasn¡¯t, and he¡¯d hoped to set her the challenge of taming the increasingly powerful merchants where her ambitions could reign unchecked. It seemed, however, that his eldest daughter had different things in mind to secure her sister¡¯s happiness.


    "When did you become so outstanding?" Rhys asked his eldest daughter. "Look at you, seeking compromise and advancing demands of your own. Where did you learn such habits?"


    "Watching you, Father," Ashlynn said with a light-hearted giggle that helped to dispel the somber atmosphere. "Don¡¯t tell Jocey I asked for this for her though," Ashlynn added. "I know she¡¯s been dropping hints for a while now. She wouldn¡¯t be happy if she thought it came from me, so the next time she brings it up, you can just give in to her, all right?"


    "She really is learning from you," Maela said, reaching out to ruffle her daughter¡¯s pale blonde hair. "Since she¡¯s willing, I¡¯ll accept an engagement and a period of courtship. But Ashlynn, if Owain isn¡¯t good to you, you have to speak up and tell me. I won¡¯t have you suffering in silence for the family. This is only one solution to the lack of an heir to your father¡¯s title. If it doesn¡¯t work out, we can find another."


    "I know, Mother," Ashlynn said dutifully. "But I¡¯ll find a way to make this work. I promise."

 Chapter 245: I’ll Find A Way To Make This Work…

    Chapter 245: I¡¯ll Find A Way To Make This Work...Before Ashlynn could relish in the moment of reunion with her parents, however strange the vision felt, she was grabbed forcefully and wrenched violently into a far crueler scene.


    "So it¡¯s true," Owain spat, staring at the mark revealed when he tore her dress from her body. "You¡¯re a witch."


    "No, no not this," Ashlynn whispered as her body began to tremble. "Anything but this."


    Owain¡¯s face contorted into a mask of rage as blow after blow began to rain down on her body. This time, Ashlynn tried to fight back, but her body was weak, without any of the strength she¡¯d gained as Nyrielle¡¯s seneschal.


    Bones cracked under the force of Owain¡¯s fists and none of the lessons she¡¯d taken from Thane helped her when she didn¡¯t possess a fraction of Owain¡¯s strength, much less the power she¡¯d become accustomed to. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lay on the floor, broken and bleeding, her world fading to one of darkness and pain.


    "Father, Mother, please. Please, you¡¯ve sacrificed so much for me," she heard her own voice say, echoing in the darkness. "You¡¯ve given me everything I could ever want."


    "I¡¯ll find a way to make this work," her voice said, as if mocking her from the darkness. "I promise."


    "I tried," Ashlynn sobbed. Her body twitched and spasmed in pain and her face was a mass of cuts and bruises, but in her emerald eyes, a spark of defiance burned. "I tried," she repeated, pushing herself up off the ground until she stood, swaying on her feet in the darkness.


    With no walls or anything to cling to, her act of defiance didn¡¯t last long. Her muscles trembled and her legs shook, losing the strength to support her body and sending her tumbling back down to the cold, hard ground. Still, she refused to lie down. If she couldn¡¯t stand, she would at least hold her head up high.


    "For two years, I tried," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "He courted me and I courted him. I thought he loved me. I thought... I thought I loved him," she finished in a smaller, quieter voice.


    "We were married," she insisted. "He was my husband, and then..."


    Before she could continue, the pain receded and she found herself standing beneath the Ancient Oak tree, dressed in a borrowed emerald green dress while she faced Nyrielle, holding a silver goblet filled with a mixture of both of their blood.


    "As your Seneschal, I promise to dedicate my life to your service," she found herself saying. They were strong, powerful words that bound her forever to Nyrielle¡¯s side, not as a wife, but as a servant.


    "That¡¯s right," Ashlynn said. That night felt mystical and magical. Romantic, like a wedding, but Nyrielle hadn¡¯t offered her love. The powerful vampire asked for her service, and offered her a chance to claim her revenge in return.


    After reliving the brutal beating at Owain¡¯s hands, her desire for revenge burned hotter in her chest than ever before but that didn¡¯t mean she had forgotten what she said after swearing to serve Nyrielle.


    "The whole of my heart belongs to you, from now until the end of our lives," Ashlynn repeated. No matter how badly injured she had been at the time or how clouded her mind had been, she would never forget the oath she swore. "I am yours and you are the only one I will give my heart to."


    Maybe it was wrong of her to think of herself as married to Nyrielle after this ceremony. Their vows had been mismatched and neither of them knew the other well enough to speak of love. She¡¯d given herself to Nyrielle because, at that moment, it felt natural. In the months since then, while there had been bumps along the way, they¡¯d only drawn closer to each other.


    "I love her," Ashlynn said. "And I know that she loves me. That¡¯s enough."


    As soon as she spoke the words, the scene shifted again. This time, she found herself in Nyrielle¡¯s formal dining room, in the dark, underground levels of the ancient fortress where no light could find them.


    "Your revenge on Owain is an opportunity for me," Nyrielle said as they dined on one of Georg¡¯s elegantly plated dishes. You, my darling, are the advantage I need to break the stalemate I¡¯ve been trapped in for all these years."


    "That was then," Ashlynn insisted, refusing to engage with the Nyrielle in this vision that had been formed from her memories. "I was wrong to push her away then. We barely knew each other, and she was honest with me. I didn¡¯t understand her then, not the way I do now..."


    "I¡¯ll find a way to make this work," her voice repeated from the darkness as the vision faded away. "I promise."


    "Nyrielle is different," Ashlynn insisted. "Everything about her is different from Owain. I¡¯m not in any danger with..." Suddenly, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to exclaim that Nyrielle would never hurt her, that she had nothing to fear from her vampire lover, but she didn¡¯t need a vision to remind her that she and Nyrielle were playing with fire every time she let the other woman feed on her.


    "Even if it was dangerous," she said, clutching her hands into fists so tight that her fingernails bit into her palms. "She wasn¡¯t trying to hurt me. We were both scared afterward. Because she cares. Because she didn¡¯t want to hurt me."


    "Ashlynn, my darling," Nyrielle¡¯s voice whispered from behind her.


    When Ashlynn turned, she found herself somewhere that she didn¡¯t immediately recognize. She was standing atop a long, stone wall in the midst of an ancient cedar forest. Mist hung thickly in the air, mixed with an overwhelming scent of campfires numbering in the hundreds as a great army sprawled across the land.


    In the darkness, it was difficult to make out all of the banners, but the flaming sword of the famed order of Templars was impossible to miss, as was the giant banner at the center of camp displaying Lothian colors. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Is this... something that hasn¡¯t happened yet?" Ashlynn wondered. But, was it something that would happen or something that might happen?


    "It¡¯s time, my darling," Nyrielle said, placing a pale, slender finger underneath Ashlynn¡¯s chin and lifting upward. "If I¡¯m going to have a victory today, then I need your strength."


    "Of course," Ashlynn said instantly. "I¡¯ll always help you."


    "I know," Nyrielle said, a predatory smile forming on her lips as her eyes became deep pools of midnight. "You never refuse me," she said, opening her mouth wide to reveal her fangs before she struck like a snake, sinking her fangs into Ashlynn¡¯s neck and drinking deeply.


    For a moment, Ashlynn went limp in Nyrielle¡¯s arms as pleasure overwhelmed her mind. Even here, on the eve of battle, some sensations were too intense to ignore. But the moment of pleasurable surrender was far briefer than normal before a pain even greater than she had felt at Owain¡¯s hands wracked her body. Her veins felt like they were on fire and her head felt like a clawed hand was crushing her skull.


    "Stop," Ashlynn said, raising a hand to tap weakly on Nyrielle¡¯s shoulder. She knew that the moment things became painful, she was supposed to speak up, to ensure that Nyrielle didn¡¯t drink too deeply. It was something she¡¯d witnessed herself when a young villager nearly died for failing to cry out. "My love, you need to stop or I¡¯ll die," Ashlynn cried out.


    Still, the feeding didn¡¯t stop. Nyrielle¡¯s wings unfurled behind her and shadows gathered around her like a cloak, twisting and writhing as the vampire¡¯s power surged.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn said weakly, her vision growing darker at the edges. "Please, you have to stop."


    Moments later, her vision spun as the dark-winged vampire dropped her unceremoniously onto the cold stones of the ancient wall.


    "Now," Nyrielle said with a dark smile. Shadows twisted in her hands, forming an oversized headsman¡¯s ax that glowed with a deep crimson light. "Now I have the power to slay my enemies."


    "Now, you have to hang on, my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, her voice colder and more impassive than Ashlynn had ever heard it before. "I have a promise to fulfill. You will see Owain¡¯s head severed from his shoulders before you die, and it will be your power that made it possible. Only then are you allowed to let go," she said before turning away from Ashlynn and leaping into the night.


    "I¡¯ll find a way to make this work," her voice said, mocking her from the darkness once again. "I promise."

 Chapter 246: Feeding the Soul

    Chapter 246: Feeding the Soul"No! Nyrielle!" Ashlynn screamed, her eyes finally opening as she tore her way free of the darkness of the vision. In her mind¡¯s eye, however, she was watching Nyrielle turn her back on her, flying away into battle and leaving her to die on the wall. In the vision, Nyrielle¡¯s face had once again become an impassive mask and though she called Ashlynn her darling, there was no warmth in her voice when she did.


    Ashlynn¡¯s scream echoed across the small island, startling a flock of birds from their roosts in the Ancient Willow¡¯s branches. Her emerald eyes flew open but it took several moments before she could focus on the world around her. Her mind was caught somewhere between the cold stone battlements of her vision and the humid reality of the Briar, and for a few terrifying moments, she wasn¡¯t sure which was reality and which was a dream.


    "Easy, cher," Jacques¡¯ deep, rumbling voice said, pulling her more firmly into the present where she started to notice the world around her. "Breathe deep, dere¡¯s nottin¡¯ here to harm you now."


    Jacques¡¯ calm collected voice helped her to calm her racing heart while the visions faded from her minds like dreams in the early hours after dawn. She didn¡¯t know how long she had been trapped in the visions, but it had at least been long enough for the early morning sunlight to be replaced with a foggy evening gloom. Crickets chirped in the distance, and a crackling campfire cast a soft, golden glow over the small island.


    It wasn¡¯t until Jacques spoke that Ashlynn realized she¡¯d been struggling against the spider-silk restraints that held her lashed to the tree. The double ended thorn in her shoulder, while it didn¡¯t hurt, had moved enough with her struggles to reopen the wound and spill fresh blood down her back.


    "Here," Jacques said, standing up from the campfire and closing the distance between them to hold up a water flask. "It¡¯s sweet tea, not water," he said, giving her a warning and waiting for a nod from Ashlynn before placing the spout of the waterskin in her mouth and giving it a gentle squeeze.


    The tea was cool but not cold, but even then it felt heavenly as the smooth liquid poured down Ashlynn¡¯s parched throat like honey, soothing an ache she didn¡¯t realize she had. She originally intended to stop at a few sips but she quickly found herself taking gulp after gulp of the sweet tea until she¡¯d drained nearly a quarter of the waterskin.


    "Thank you," she said in a voice that had regained a bit of its usual strength. "I needed that."


    "Ain¡¯t notin¡¯ to pay any mind to," Jacques said, turning away from her and returning to the campfire. "Maman, she said dat de Ancient Willow will sustain you, but dat you might still want a meal. Do you?"


    "If you have a bit of bread, or sausage or something I can eat easily," Ashlynn said, gesturing helplessly with her bound hands. "I can¡¯t manage much."


    "No, dat won¡¯t do," Jacques said. Rooting around in his large leather pack, he first placed a giant looking pot on the campfire before scooping a thick, white paste out of a large jar and emptying it into the pot.


    "You just rest a spell, cher" the reptilian witch said lightly. "I¡¯ll make up someting¡¯ special for you."


    From her position tied to the Ancient Willow, it was hard to see everything Jacques was doing, though she heard him splash into the water more than once, along with the sound of a knife biting deeply into a wooden chopping board. Just how many cooking tools had the Sandbox Witch brought with him to this island?


    "You don¡¯t have to talk none if you¡¯d rather be silent, cher," Jacques said as he rummaged through his pack for a few small wooden bowls and ingredients to fill them with. He¡¯d left the eggs in the boat, too afraid they¡¯d be crushed in his pack to risk them, but everything else seemed to have made the short trip to this island in the Briar just fine. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "When Maman gave me my seed, taken from de Bloody Sandbox Tree, de one we saw on de way in," he continued. "De visions were sometin¡¯ cruel and fierce. Dis Willow, she look sweet and gentle, but de tings you seein¡¯, dey can¡¯t be easy. So, if it helps, Jacques here has an ear for you."


    "You saw visions too?" Ashlynn said, blinking at the reptilian witch in surprise. "What, what was it like for you? I, I want to understand what it will be like for Heila when it¡¯s her turn."


    "You don¡¯t have to act brave for me, cher," Jacques said as he worked in his makeshift camp kitchen. The lard in the pot had melted and was giving off a rich savory aroma that said it was ready to use just about the time he¡¯d finished the rest of his preparations.


    "You behave now," he commanded the pot before dropping in several morsels of carefully prepared food. "I won¡¯t have no brush fires tonight," he told the pot before turning his attention back to Ashlynn.


    "De visions, dey reminded me of my worst days and my weakest moments," he said, listening to the sound of crackling and popping from the pot. "I had to face dem over and over again. De day my village burned. De time I ran in fear and left my sista behind... dey reminded me of everyting¡¯ I wanted to forget."


    "Amahle said the Ancient Willow would test me," Ashlynn said. "How do I pass this kind of test?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Jacques said. Carefully, he reached into the pot of splattering lard, retrieving the hot, crisp morsels with his bare hands and sharp claws, as though he wasn¡¯t bothered by the boiling hot oil at all. Perhaps, with his thick, scaly skin, he wasn¡¯t.


    "Dese tests, dey come straight from de heart. De Earth, she shares her power wit¡¯ us, but she judges us extra harsh when a new witch is born," he said, dropping the hot, steaming food into a bowl and walking over to Ashlynn.


    "What is that?" Ashlynn asked, looking at the misshapen golden-brown lumps in the bowl. They smelled heavenly and her mouth watered with eagerness but she struggled to place the aroma beyond the lard that had been used to cook it.


    "Little Heila, she said dat you missed de sea and all de fish in it," Jacques said, holding up one of the deep fried morsels to cool in the night air before offering it to Ashlynn to take a bite. "Dis is food to comfort de soul," he said.


    "It¡¯s no ocean fish but it¡¯s delicate and flakey. A fish stew is too hard to eat when you¡¯re all tied up like dat, so I thought, cher might like a bit of fried fish. Crispy outside, flaky inside, and maybe jus¡¯ de flavor you¡¯ve been missing all de way out here, so far from de sea."


    "Jacques..." Ashlynn said, suddenly at a loss for words.


    "I can¡¯t help you wit¡¯ de visions," Jacques said, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "But I can keep you company when you come up for a bit of a breather. And maybe, jus¡¯ dis will help give you a bit of strength for de fight."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, leaning forward to take a bite of the fried fish. When she did, she found it exactly as he¡¯d described. Hot and crispy on the outside with a breading that had a firm texture like rustic bread before it melted away to reveal the tender, juicy white fish within.


    Juices dribbled down her chin as she ate, but at the moment, Ashlynn didn¡¯t care. Each bite was a little treasure. It might not have been as artfully prepared or presented as any of Georg¡¯s refined dishes, but as she ate one piece after another, directly out of Jacque¡¯s outstretched hands, she felt every bit as much care and affection in the dish as anything the bearish chef in the Vale of Mists had ever given her.


    "You look tired, cher," Jacques said, noticing Ashlynn¡¯s head hanging low and her eyes beginning to droop after she finished the last of her meal. "De visions, dey sure to come back. You go on and face dem now," he said. "When you need me, I be right here waitin¡¯ so don¡¯t worry none and focus on doin¡¯ what you need to do. For Heila."


    "Mmm," Ashlynn said, as she felt the Ancient Willow pulling her back into the inky darkness. "For Heila," she repeated. Heila was counting on her to do this right. Now that she understood at least a little better what the test would be like, she was ready to face whatever the tree had in store for her.

 Chapter 247: A Willow’s Lesson

    Chapter 247: A Willow¡¯s LessonThis time, when Ashlynn¡¯s mind slipped into the darkness, she expected more familiar visions, of painful memories or dark possibilities. The Ancient Willow, however, seemed to have other things in mind for her. Once the darkness swept over her, it faded away almost immediately, leaving her standing underneath the boughs of the Ancient Willow tree, bathed in the dim silvery glow of its silver-green leaves. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There was no sign of Jacques on the island. The campfire and boat were missing as though he had never been there. Further, Ashlynn herself was no longer bound to the tree. Her body bore no wounds from the double ended thorn and she felt comfortable and free of pain.


    "You should give up now," a frail, elderly woman¡¯s voice said. The voice came not from the tree itself, but an aged reptilian woman from the Ancient Clan. Her features were hidden beneath the wide brim of her conical hat, and the moss colored dress she wore was worn and faded with age.


    "Y¡¯r too young," the woman drawled, in an accent even thicker and more pronounced than Jacques. "Cher, you know too li¡¯l to pass dis trial. Stop now, pull dat seed from y¡¯r heart an¡¯ come back when you got some sense in y¡¯r head, yeah."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter if I¡¯m too young or not," Ashlynn said, refusing to give up now that she¡¯d come this far. "I came here for good reasons. I need to face this trial."


    "Good reasons?" the old woman scoffed, her voice gravelly and sharp. "What good? What good reasons, I ask you? All I see from you is dat rush-rush an¡¯ dat foolish belief dat ¡¯you gonna find a way.¡¯ You t¡¯ink dis gonna go well jus¡¯ ¡¯cause you want it? Mais non! Dat¡¯s pure nonsense," she finished with a derisive snort.


    "Are you... are you the Ancient Willow then? Are you the spirit of the tree?" Ashlynn asked. Whoever this woman was, she clearly knew about the visions the tree had given her so far. If the tree could speak and reason, she was certain that she could find a way forward. As long as the tree had an open mind...


    "Ancient Willow," the woman said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I done planted dat tree myself," she said, poking the trunk with a gnarled finger. "Name¡¯s Cecile, de previous Willow Witch, I suppose, if you manage to pass this trial, dat is."


    "Next to de Mother of Trees who gave me a seed of witchcraft and marked me a witch, y¡¯r just a wee little babe," she drawled, her voice sharp with dismissal. "I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll make it. Better to give it up now, yeah."


    "Cecile," Ashlynn said, frowning at the scaled woman. Jacques might be prickly but this woman felt uncomfortably stubborn. "Are you the one testing me, or is it the Ancient Willow?"


    "You can¡¯t pass dis trail as you are, girl," the woman said, standing up and brushing off her faded dress. "I¡¯m jus¡¯ a shadow of de woman who planted dat tree, and I¡¯m giving you a chance. Not dat I think you should take it. Dis trail, it ain¡¯t for them soft-hearted types who go putting all their trust in others to fix things. If I help you out, it¡¯ll only make de path harder, yeah."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Ashlynn said firmly. "There are too many reasons that I need to do this now. Heila is counting on me for this. There are others who depend on me more. You might be right that I can¡¯t pass the trail as I am, but if that¡¯s the case, then tell me what I need to do to pass it. I won¡¯t just walk away to come back later."


    "Fine, fine," Cecile said, grabbing Ashlynn¡¯s upper arm with a scaly hand and pulling her along. "Don¡¯t go sayin¡¯ dat I didn¡¯t warn you though. Once you start, you have to see it through, yeah?"


    Before Ashlynn could respond, the world shifted around them. The Ancient Willow had vanished along with the island they stood on. Now, Ashlynn found herself in a large but simple rush hut. From the look of the furnishings scattered around, this had been a space for gatherings and meals, perhaps for a large family of more than a dozen people. At the moment, however, it was serving a far more important purpose.


    Cooking implements and storage baskets had been pushed against the walls to make room for several wounded people laying on rush mats that now covered most of the packed earth floor. The ceiling was shorter than she was accustomed to but not low enough to force her to duck, though it made every injured person feel much closer to her than they actually were.


    The air was thick with the scents of blood and sweat, mingling with the earthy smell of crushed herbs from quickly applied poultices. A fire pit at the center of the hut burned with a soft, crackling sound, its flickering flames casting jumping shadows across the walls and making every pained expression or bloody wound look more severe.


    Those people all seemed to be members of the Ancient Clan and the closer Ashlynn looked at them, the worse their wounds appeared. In total, there were half a dozen grown men, two smaller women and a single young child. Despite the thick, scaly hide of the Ancient Clan, each of them bore deep gouges as if they had been savaged by something with large, sharp claws.


    The men wore stoic faces, groaning only occasionally when the pain of their injuries became too great to bear. Neither woman made a sound, suffering in both silence and stillness, while the young child whimpered constantly, his voice high pitched and pleading for help.


    "De Willow is a healer¡¯s tree, yeah?" Cecile said, pulling Ashlynn along with her before stopping at the bedside of the first man. From his strong, muscular build and the collection of scars on his body, Ashlynn assumed that he was a warrior of some kind.


    Now, however, instead of standing tall and proud as a warrior should, he curled around a grievous wound on his stomach. His reptilian face contorted in pain and his hands clutched at a deep gash that threatened to spill his entrails from his body.


    Moving slowly to kneel at the man¡¯s side, Cecile whispered softly into the man¡¯s ear. It took her some time to convince him, but after a few minutes of reassurances, she was able to convince the man to move his hands aside, revealing the horrifying wound. As soon as he allowed her, Cecile wasted no time in placing her hands directly on his bloody, torn flesh as she began to speak.


    "Sweet willow¡¯s mercy, runnin¡¯ deep,


    Take dis pain and let him sleep.


    As your branches bend and sway,


    Wash de wounds of flesh away.


    Let healing rain, like drops from leaves,


    As I will, so must it be."


    Within the hut, Ashlynn felt a warm, gentle breeze, softly caressing her skin even though it never touched the fabric of her dress or the fire in the pit. When the breeze reached Cecile, it gained strength, and began to glow a soft, silvery-green.


    Above the kneeling witch, the ghostly form of a willow tree took shape, its long, drooping branches hanging over the wounded man. Then, as Cecile finished her recitation, drops of shimmering light began to rain down from the leaves of the ghostly tree, splashing on the wounded man¡¯s flesh before sinking into him like water poured on dry soil.


    Ashlynn¡¯s eyes opened wide in shock as a wound that should clearly be fatal began to close on its own. Flesh moved beneath Cecile¡¯s scaly hands, knitting back together and leaving behind only the blood that had already spilled from his body and soft, tender flesh where there had once been a hideous gash.


    "He, he looks like he¡¯s at peace," Ashlynn said, marveling at the way the wounded man seemed to have drifted effortlessly off to sleep. The strain of resisting the pain that had contorted his face just moments ago had vanished, replaced by the calm, serene expression of peaceful sleep.


    "Dat¡¯s de least of what you must do to pass de trail," Cecile said, standing up from the man¡¯s bedside. "Watch me once more and learn, de next one after, you¡¯ll take care of him, yeah?"

 Chapter 248: To Be A Healer

    Chapter 248: To Be A HealerFor Ashlynn, the lesson Cecile gave her was different than anything she¡¯d experienced from Nyrielle in admittedly sparse lessons on sorcery. Where Nyrielle¡¯s methods relied on simple will and a few words to shape the energy she needed, Cecile¡¯s lessons were much more precise with detailed instructions and specific words that needed to be used for each purpose.


    The complexity of it was much greater, but one look at the men Cecile had healed to demonstrate the technique was all Ashlynn needed to understand the power of her methods.


    "Cher," Cecile said, her voice commanding attention as she guided Ashlynn through her first healing attempt, "you gotta stretch yourself out like a tender vine. Think of your spirit like roots, diving deep into de earth. Pull up the life-energy, not from the hard ground, non, but from the living things dat grow. Dat¡¯s de true magic of healing."


    "So I need wood energy," Ashlynn said, nodding in understanding. As the Mother of Trees, her greatest strength was supposed to lie in using the power of Wood, and she already had some experience reaching out to trees for help when she escaped from the shallow grave that Owain¡¯s knights buried her in. "Then, I should imagine the wounds healing in the same way grass grows after its cut or new branches grow after they¡¯re cracked."


    "Watch yourself now, girl," the old woman cautioned, her tone sharp but not entirely unkind. "A broken branch, she don¡¯t repair herself. The tree, she makes a new branch, yeah? Better to think like the grass, we may walk on him but he¡¯s resilient and quick to recover."


    "But listen close here. Your words, dey got power. Dey give de energy shape and purpose. We might not know how a wound knits together, but we know what helps; keeping clean, bandaging right, giving the body what she needs to mend."


    As the old woman spoke, a clearer image formed in Ashlynn¡¯s mind of what she needed to do. Already, if she closed her eyes, she could feel the dense, lush vegetation outside the hut. Trees and vines, bushes and grasses, in this place, life was abundant.


    "You stretch your senses out," Cecile explained, speaking softly as she felt Ashlynn¡¯s reach expand. "Like roots seeking water. Find de energy you need, tap into it, pull it close. Shape it with your will, with de words you speak. Do dat, cher, and remember what you seen me do," Cecile said. "Help dis poor man sleep, ease his pain, and heal his wound."


    Feeling the energy around her, there was one source of energy that seemed both stronger and easier to grasp than any of the others. Focusing on that, Ashlynn repeated the words she¡¯d learned from Cecile.


    Energy poured into her like a flood, slamming into her body with incredible force as if she¡¯d yanked a heavy iron kettle out of the hearth only to drop it on her own foot. Once she had the energy, she had to give it somewhere to go or it would crush her!


    Focusing again, she imagined the form of a great willow tree, its silver-green leaves glistening with dew, dripping down onto the injured man like a healing rain. Each phrase in the incantation became harder to speak than the one before it as the pressure of the energy flowing through her seemed to press down on her body, forcing her to bear the weight of the magic she was using.


    The moment she completed the incantation, it felt like a dam burst within her. Energy poured through her, raining down on the injured warrior. Unlike the first man that Cecile tended, this one suffered numerous smaller injuries, dozens of cuts and cracked ribs.


    No sooner had Ashlynn begun to relax in relief than her magic connected with the injured man¡¯s wounds than she realized that the burden of healing hadn¡¯t ended. As each drop of energy fell on the injured man, for the briefest of moments, she felt the pain he felt. From torn flesh to bruised and broken bones, she had to experience each of them before she could blot the pain away.


    By the time she finished treating the injured warrior, her dress was drenched with sweat and her body still shook with the memories of pain, even though she hadn¡¯t been injured at all.


    "This," Ashlynn said with a shaky voice as she shot the other woman a glare. As supportive as she¡¯d been, it seemed like Cecile still wanted her to give up, she was just being more subtle in her methods. "Is it always like this? Or does it get easier? Is there a way to handle the pain?"


    "You can¡¯t take away a hurt wit¡¯ out knowing de hurt, cher," the Willow Witch said. "Dis was jus a little taste. You need to learn de rest too," she added. "Some of dem have been poisoned. Some infected. Some feverish. De words for all dat, you¡¯ll learn dem too, yeah?"


    "Yes," Ashlynn said, standing up from the place she¡¯d knelt on the floor. For a moment, her legs were wobbly and she had to steady herself on the wall of the hut, but she refused to be defeated by her first attempt.


    One look at the man on the rush mat, sleeping peacefully with a calm, relaxed expression was all it took for her to push herself forward. The energy she¡¯d used, unlike the power of sorcery, hadn¡¯t come from her. She¡¯d drawn on the strength of nature. As long as she could bear up to the strain of using it, she could keep going without worrying about running out of energy.


    It was the biggest reason why witches were so feared, and therefore respected among the Eldritch world. It was one thing to fight a skilled sorcerer, but to fight a witch was to fight the world itself, and there were very few people who possessed the strength to fight the world and win.


    Finishing the healing took hours. Despite her earlier bravado, she quickly realized that after three people, she struggled to reach out for more energy and even when she succeeded, the pressure that built on her shattered her concentration, leaving her unable to give the energy shape or form.


    Resting for an hour allowed her to recover enough to heal the ailing child, but after doing so, she felt even more drained than she¡¯d been before taking the brief rest. It took over an hour of resting, eating a small meal of bread and water, before she could complete the healing of the people in the hut.


    Wounds, like the ones suffered by the warriors, she found to be painful but also very direct and straightforward to heal. Even if they were extensive, the pain she felt crashed into her body all at once. Cleansing toxins from the body, however, was a much more delicate process and the words Cecile gave her made it clear just how slow and arduous the healing would be.


    "Wise willow of the water¡¯s edge,


    Pull this poison thread by thread.


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    Purge all that which does not belong.


    Through bark and branch let toxins fade,


    Till only wholesome flesh remains."


    The young woman suffering from a snake bite had spent so long waiting for her turn to be healed that the venom had spread throughout her body, seeping deep into her veins and viscera.


    When Ashlynn removed the venom from her ¡¯thread by thread¡¯ she felt as though she was drawing a thorn covered vine through the veins of her hand where she touched the bite, not once but several times over the course of a quarter of an hour until a healthy parlor returned to the young woman¡¯s scaly hide.


    When she finished, however, Cecile wasn¡¯t done with her lesson.


    "Come outside with me, cher," the old woman said, grabbing Ashlynn¡¯s arm with her scaly hand once again and giving the young woman no choice. "Now dat you¡¯ve done it, now dat you¡¯ve made your will felt, you need to see what dis cost," she said.


    "Den, you can decide how you feel about payin¡¯ it," she said, roughly pulling Ashlynn through the door.


    Outside, Ashlynn could dimly feel something looming. Something that hadn¡¯t been there when she started. Whatever it was, it felt cold and dead... and somehow, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was here because of her.

 Chapter 249: Paying the Cost

    Chapter 249: Paying the CostOutside, Ashlynn found herself in a sprawling village with dozens of rush huts like the one she¡¯d emerged from. In the distance, she could hear children laughing and chasing after each other along with the wounds of people splashing into shallow water and rustling through the tall reeds.


    It was the sight behind the hut, however, that drove every other thought from Ashlynn¡¯s mind. Her senses had told her that life was plentiful here and when she looked at the wilderness beyond the village, that seemed true.


    Tall cypress trees rose in the distance and several bushes and vines grew nearby as well. The grass was tall and lush, swaying gently in the warm summer breeze and small birds could be seen wading through the ponds in search of small fish swimming in the murky water.


    But in the center of all that life, one mighty cypress tree hung limp. Its needles had turned brown and fallen in great numbers, leaving it looking stark and naked among its greener peers. Branches hung low and many of them looked brittle, ready to snap in a stiff wind. Roots, protruding above the soil, looked dried and withered, as if they¡¯d been afflicted by a terrible blight.


    "You must have been taught, cher," the Willow Witch said from behind her. "Energy comes from somewhere. Dis tree was mighty and close and you done used her all up. You see, now, yeah? You ain¡¯t ready for dis trial. I give you one more chance. Do de right thing, cher."


    For several moments, Ashlynn stood silent. She was horrified at what she had done to the mighty tree. No wonder it had been easier to find and to draw from than anything else. But once she had, she hadn¡¯t thought about where the power was coming from and just kept reaching for what worked.


    And yet... even if she had killed this tree, she wasn¡¯t certain whether or not she would feel remorse over it. She¡¯d saved the lives of seven people in exchange for this. If she had to do it again, if there was only one great tree and she had no choice but to destroy it to save the lives of her loved ones, she wouldn¡¯t hesitate to make that trade.


    But this time, there had been an alternative. She could have reached farther to the other cypress trees. She could have taken a bit from the grasses and the bushes and the other growing things. A little bit from all around and everyone would have been able to recover. What she had done... it wasn¡¯t the right way.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, walking forward to the stricken cypress tree. Kneeling at its roots, she placed a hand on its dry and cracking bark, feeling deep within the tree to see if there was the faintest trace of life.


    Much of the tree felt brittle, or hollow, as if it was a towel that had been thoroughly wrung out before being left to bake in the sun until it became stiff. Deep within the core of the tree, however, slumbering within the heartwood of the mighty cypress tree, she found something that still felt fresh, tender, and alive, like the outer layers of the tree had protected its most vital essence. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank goodness," she whispered. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she found that the tree hadn¡¯t completely died. Without help, it would likely fall over in a strong wind, or crack and die under its own weight. But at the moment, she felt like there was still time to correct the wrong she¡¯d done.


    "I cannot give back everything I have taken," she told the tree gently. She¡¯d only just learned to heal people and she had no idea if she would be successful in recovering the tree or not. She only knew that she had to make the attempt. "But even if I can¡¯t give back everything, I know that I¡¯ve wronged you, and I will do what I can to help you survive," she promised.


    Mirroring Nyrielle¡¯s actions with the Ancient Oak, Ashlynn once again took a small knife and spilled a bit of her blood, dripping it onto the roots along with an offering of her energy. Unlike Nyrielle, Ashlynn went further, drawing on what she had just learned to give the ailing tree the best chance she could.


    "Everyone," she said, addressing the other trees and plants. "I¡¯ve wronged your brother. Help me to heal the hurts I¡¯ve caused. With my blood as my promise and my energy as an offering, please join me. Offer what you may so that your brother may thrive."


    Three red drops splashed on the dry and cracked root before a wave of green energy flowed outward from Ashlynn. The energy quickly changed shape, turning into thick green roots that plunged into the soft, moist soil, searching out the roots of the other mighty trees, the small grasses, and anything else that would help.


    Once again, an answering surge of energy slammed into her body, but Ashlynn stubbornly bit down on her lip, using the pain to strengthen her will to stand up against the surging tide of energy, to give it direction and shape, funneling it into the tree that she¡¯d wronged in her ignorance.


    When Ashlynn¡¯s magic touched the tree, rather than feeling the tree¡¯s pain, she was assaulted by a bone-deep fatigue. For a moment, she felt as though her bones had become brittle and weak, her joints stiff with age and just holding her head up and keeping her eyes open felt like an incredible effort.


    Then, bit by bit, like a wilting flower perking up when watered, the mighty cypress tree began to display signs of vitality. Brown needles dropped from the tree in droves as they were pushed aside by new growth. Branches grew, sending out new shoots or becoming thicker and sturdier. The tree itself seemed to stretch toward the sky, growing taller by as much as a man¡¯s height under the influx of energy freely given to it by its peers.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn whispered, kneeling on the ground and bowing deeply to the other trees. The results had been better than she dared to hope. Her body still shook with the after-effects of using such strong magic and her legs were too weak to stand even if she wanted to stop kneeling, but at the moment, she didn¡¯t mind.


    According to her father, when lords made mistakes, they rarely bore the consequences of their actions. It was the people within a lord¡¯s domain that would suffer for their lord¡¯s mistakes long before the lord themselves personally felt the pain caused by their actions. The truth of it was something she accepted long ago, even if it never sat well with her.


    Know, as she knelt in pained exhaustion, she felt that this way was better. The mistake had been hers and she should be the one to pay the price for it.


    "So dis is your decision," Cecile said, shaking her head as she watched the strange witch blend a vampire ritual with her own witchcraft. Her intentions might be good and her willingness to take responsibility spoke well of her but her methods...


    "Dis will not have a good end, cher. But I will not stand in your way. Now, de real trial begins."


    No sooner had Cecile spoken than Ashlynn found the world shifting around her. Once again, she¡¯d returned to the Vale of Mists. This time, however, she stood on a familiar hilltop, beneath the branches of the Ancient Oak tree where she¡¯d sworn her oath and formed a pact of blood with Nyrielle.


    This time, Nyrielle was nowhere to be found and the early morning light of dawn spilled across the fortifications of the Vale of Mists. Behind the wall, hundreds of soldiers of the vale stood ready, organized neatly beneath banners bearing sharp Eldritch glyphs. A few familiar figures were visible at this distance. Ollie, with his flame-red hair, was nearly impossible to miss, as was the imposing figure of Commander Barringer, shouting his orders from atop the ramparts.


    On the opposite side of the wall, the tents of the combined army of the Lothians, their vassals, and the Church of the Holy Lord of Light disgorged a seemingly endless wave of soldiers preparing for battle.


    The smoke from countless campfires drifted lazily on the still morning air while the sounds of armor clanking and shouted orders carried even to this distant hilltop. At the moment, both armies possessed a clean, orderly demeanor but Ashlynn could feel a burning, blinding hatred and barely contained fury radiating from several knights wearing tabards belonging to the Church. Perhaps if the Lothians practiced any kind of sorcery, she would be able to feel them at this distance as well.


    "Everything is ready, my Lady," Heila¡¯s voice said from behind her, pulling her attention away from the impending battle. "Tents for the wounded, herbs, bandages... We¡¯ve prepared everything we can. Do you think," she added, her voice quivering with uncertainty. "Do you think it will be enough?"


    "I don¡¯t know, Heila," Ashlynn said as she turned away from the battlefield to face her closest friend since coming to the vale. "I don¡¯t know..."

 Chapter 250: The Real Test Begins

    Chapter 250: The Real Test BeginsThe battle began with the blaring of horns and balls of flaming sorcery hurled by the Inquisitors of the Church. Torrents of arrows were unleashed from both sides and the invaders charged forward with ladders to scale the walls and a giant covered battering ram to assault the gates.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Ashlynn and Heila lost track of the battle. The first wounded to arrive had been badly burned by the flames of the Church and only a witch¡¯s purifying magic could extinguish the flames. The smell of singed hair and burned flesh filled the healer¡¯s tent as the two witches began their gruesome work.


    "I can¡¯t purge the flames without the help of the Ancient Oak," Heila said after her second failed attempt. "Drawing on the cedar trees, it¡¯s not enough to push back against this sorcery."


    "The Ancient Oak will understand," Ashlynn said, finding herself in the same position. Perhaps, if she was more skilled, she could find a better way but her abilities were limited by what she¡¯d been able to learn from Cecile. "But as mighty as the Ancient Oak is, its strength isn¡¯t limitless. Only call on it for aid to resist the Church¡¯s sorcery."


    Both women worked as quickly as they could, sending soldiers back to the battlefield as soon as they had recovered enough to fight. Doing so took a greater toll on the witches, but what choice did they have?


    As the day wore on, the variety of injuries they encountered grew greater. Arrows that pierced through gaps in armor, helms caved in leaving even the mighty members of the Clan of the Great Claw staggering and confused until their head wounds could be treated. The tide of suffering seemed never-ending.


    By midday, Heila had collapsed and needed to rest. An hour later and Ashlynn herself succumbed to the toll of feeling the horrific injuries inflicted on the brave warriors who clung to life long enough to reach the healer¡¯s tent. Not everyone fighting held on long enough for Ashlynn or Heila to reach them.


    The two women moved to working in shifts, one healing, the other resting, until a familiar flame-haired figure found his way into the tent.


    "Ollie!" Ashlynn cried, jumping to her feat despite the fact that she¡¯d only just begun to rest. "Ollie, you..."


    Ashlynn trembled at the sight of him, momentarily too stunned to reach out and touch the young man who said he wanted to become her protector. His coat of mail was ragged and torn and the gambeson beneath it was stained with a mixture of his blood and the blood of his enemies.


    All of these things were to be expected and she¡¯d seen many soldiers in a similar state. What she hadn¡¯t seen from anyone brought before her was an arm that had been sheared clean off. The links of Ollie¡¯s armor looked like they were nothing more than threads cut by a knife. The edges of the cut were impossibly smooth, and the damage to his arm was equally precise, as if a great butcher¡¯s cleaver had cleanly hewn his arm from his body halfway between the elbow and shoulder.


    "Ollie, what happened," Ashlynn said to the pale-faced young man. Only a miracle of quick thinking on the part of the soldiers who brought him here had saved his life, lashing a belt around the stump of his arm, but if she didn¡¯t act quickly, he wasn¡¯t likely to survive much longer."


    "I, I found him," Ollie said weakly. "Sir Tommin. And. His Holy Light Sword," he said, closing his eyes against the pain. "I, I failed to even. To even..."


    "Hush now," Ashlynn said, her emerald eyes growing cold and hard. She still needed to collect a debt from Sir Tommin for helping to bury her in a shallow grave. Now, it seemed he owed her even more. Retribution, however, would have to wait.


    "Help me, Heila," Ashlynn said, summoning the other woman to work with her. "The Sovereign¡¯s Restoration," she said, ensuring that the other woman understood what she intended to attempt.


    "But, my lady, that..." Heila started to say, only to cut herself off. If Ashlynn intended to go so far for Ollie, then she could only accompany her.


    "O Ancient One of branch and bole,


    Whose power makes the broken whole..."


    Both women chanted in unison, their voices blending together as they reached out for the power stored deep within the Ancient Oak.


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    Now place that power at my command."


    Energy surged between the two women as a deep, rich emerald light enveloped Ollie. The invocation did nothing for his pain, and the instant their magic touched his severed arm, both Ashlynn and Heila staggered as a white-hot, pulsing, throbbing pain filled their arms. Their right arms went limp, dangling uselessly at their sides while pain clawed at their minds yet still they pressed on.


    "Through channels carved in earth and bone,


    Let flesh and sinew now be grown."


    Tendrils of emerald light snaked their way along Ollie¡¯s body, flowing like roots that twisted around the stump of his arm before extending further, slowly taking the form of his severed limb. Outside, the sound of branches shaking filled the air and the fluttering of leaves drowned out the distant sounds of battle.


    "Your might that splits the mountain stone,


    Now shape anew this flesh and bone!"


    With a final cry, the powerful presence of the Ancient Oak descended into the healer¡¯s tent, its roots pulling new flesh and bone from the stump of Ollie¡¯s arm like a branch regrowing from the point where it had been cut.


    Ollie screamed in pain, his mind no longer able to endure the agony of powerful magic rippling through his body to restore his missing limb. That same pain drove Ashlynn and Heila to their knees before Heila fainted dead away, collapsing to the ground in a heap and drawing only ragged, shallow breaths.


    Ollie didn¡¯t fare much better, succumbing to the pain of the healing, but when Ashlynn pulled herself over to the stretcher he lay on, she found his arm, complete and whole. A line could be seen where his flesh was tender and new like a newborn babe¡¯s, never touched by the sparks of the hearth or the light of the sun. But he was whole and complete.


    Outside the tent, a loud crack echoed like the sound of a lightning strike, followed by a deep groan and then a loud crash.


    "What, what was that?" Ashlynn asked one of the servants assisting with the wounded.


    "My, my Lady Ashlynn," a horned soldier said, stepping into the tent. "The Ancient Oak, it, it..."


    "Take me to it," Ashlynn said. She was too drained to stand, but the sound already filled her with dread. Restoring a lost limb went far beyond any normal healing. It was a true miracle of witchcraft that could be accomplished by nothing else.


    Even among the famed Holy Healers of the Church, only the most legendary figures were rumored to have possessed such an ability and it had been so long since it had been seen that it was regarded as a myth by many spiritual scholars.


    When Ashlynn exited the tent, the sight of the Ancient Oak that greeted her stole most of the remaining strength from her body. The massive trunk of the ancient tree looked like it had been cleaved in two, with a third of the tree snapping off and tumbling to the ground. Dead leaves littered the ground and the sacred aura of the tree felt distant and withdrawn, as though it refused to offer up any more than it already had.


    When Ashlynn chose to risk such a powerful invocation, she did it in the belief that she could restore the Ancient Oak in the same way that she¡¯d restored the cypress tree. Now, however, it appeared that in order to heal an injury that was impossible to heal, she would have to inflict an even more impossible-to-heal injury on the Ancient Oak who made it possible.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, falling to her knees in exhaustion. "If we survive this, I¡¯ll make it up to you, somehow."


    "I¡¯ll find a way to make this work," she heard, her own youthful voice echoing in her ears. "I promise."

 Chapter 251: Failure

    Chapter 251: FailureAshlynn¡¯s world went black after she witnessed the damage to the Ancient Oak. As the world around her faded, she wondered if this counted as passing or failing the trial and if she would be taken to another vision after this. Instead of being greeted with a new vision, however, it seemed like this one wasn¡¯t done with her yet.


    "Ashlynn," a pained and grief-stricken voice said, piercing the darkness that enveloped her. "Lady Ashlynn, please wake up!"


    "Thane?" Ashlynn asked, her voice weak and weary. "Thane, what¡¯s..."


    Before she could speak further, her eyes opened and she flinched back in horror from the man standing before her. Thane¡¯s elegant and refined features had become hideous, twisted by ghastly burns that blackened his flesh and raised fluid-filled blisters across much of his flesh. His once soft, elegant flowing locks had been reduced to strands of charred and crumbling hair, clinging to his tortured scalp and one of his brilliant, amber eyes seemed to have ruptured as the fluid within the eyeball boiled.


    "Thane!" Ashlynn gasped, her eyes instantly filling with tears. "Come here, let me help you," she said, forcing down the revulsion that twisted her stomach. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she reached out toward the scarred and ravaged former knight, her fingertips coming to a stop just inches from his tortured flesh.


    "The living can¡¯t heal the dead, Ashlynn," he said. Very little touched the vampire¡¯s heart these days, but seeing the young woman he thought of as a little sister with such a pained expression on her face and knowing that it was the sight of his injuries that pained her gave him a moment of warmth unlike any he had felt in years. Enough that he could relax and say what must be said.


    "Mistress needs you," Thane said, his voice harsh and strained. "Zedya has her, she... she will not survive without you."


    "Nyrielle!" Thane¡¯s tortured appearance had distracted her from something that should have been much more apparent. The echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest had grown irregular and weak. Lurching to her feet, Ashlynn searched about the tent full of wounded and dying soldiers until she found Zedya¡¯s equally burned and scarred form cradling a wounded Nyrielle.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn repeated, staggering across the tent and dropping to her knees beside her wounded lover. Nyrielle¡¯s wings had been all but consumed by flames, the once pristine, inky black feathers reduced to husks of crumbling ash. Her pale, alabaster flesh was slick with dark crimson blood that flowed from countless cuts and more than a dozen arrows were embedded in her flesh. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This time," Nyrielle said softly, opening her midnight blue eyes to gaze at Ashlynn. "It¡¯s the end. I¡¯m afraid, my darling Ashlynn, that there is no coming back from this."


    "No, no, that¡¯s not right," Ashlynn wailed. Nyrielle could heal from almost any injury if she could feed but... the sorcery of the Inquisitors and the Templars had burned deep into her body. Feeding on her soldiers would do little against such overwhelming injuries. "Drink, my love," Ashlynn said, pulling back the collar of her dress and bearing her neck to the vampire.


    "Drink, and claim our vengeance for this," Ashlynn whispered, closing her eyes and allowing the tears to spill from her eyes.


    "If I do this, darling, you will die," Nyrielle said. A look of pain flashed across her face but the vampire pressed on, raising her hand to gently wipe away Ashlynn¡¯s tears. "Everything has a price. Some prices shouldn¡¯t be paid."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Ashlynn said bitterly, opening her eyes to meet Nyrielle¡¯s midnight gaze. "I swore didn¡¯t I? I am yours, for as long as you live. If you die, I¡¯ll follow after. I won¡¯t survive your death," she whispered, placing her hand on the vampire¡¯s chest. "But you will survive mine. So drink, and claim vengeance for us both," she said, turning her head to the side once again to offer up her neck.


    This time, Nyrielle didn¡¯t protest. Instead, she fell on Ashlynn like a starving beast, sinking her fangs deep into her lover¡¯s neck and gulping down Ashlynn¡¯s blood as though she was dying of thirst.


    Unlike when Nyrielle usually fed on her, there was no moment of pleasure, only the most agonizing pain she¡¯d ever felt. Still, Ashlynn put up no resistance. What she¡¯d said was true. Ever since becoming Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, her life has been tied to the powerful vampire. Ashlynn could die and Nyrielle would survive, but the reverse wasn¡¯t true.


    It was a price she never objected to. Without their pact, Ashlynn would have died the night of her wedding. Her life was sustained by the pact and without Nyrielle, the grace she¡¯d been extended to defy death would be withdrawn.


    So now, at this moment when Nyrielle was about to tumble into the abyss of death, she did the only thing she could. She accepted her death, in the hopes that it would at least preserve the life of her lover and that one day, Nyrielle would have the strength she needed to avenge her.


    Once again, darkness came for her, but this time, the last thing she saw were Nyrielle¡¯s dark wings, rising again, restored to their former glory before the vampire gently wrapped her wings around Ashlynn, blotting out the light and carrying her away into whatever lay beyond.


    "I¡¯ll find a way to make this work," her own youthful voice echoed, mocking her from the darkness. "I promise."


    The next moment, the world shifted around her once again, returning her to the hilltop early in the morning. The Ancient Oak stood before her, whole and unbroken by her desire to restore Ollie¡¯s lost limb. The army below had yet to suffer any casualties, no one had died for her failures to heal them...


    Each time the Ancient Willow had presented her with a different vision before, it had been an entirely new scene. Whether it was returning to an earlier time in her life when she agreed to Bors Lothian¡¯s proposed marriage alliance or when Cecile brought her to the village of the Ancient Clan, each one had been unique and distinct. This time, however, the Ancient Willow seemed to be giving her another chance.


    "Everything is ready, my Lady," Heila¡¯s voice said from behind her, pulling her attention away from her thoughts about how she should correct her mistakes given a second chance at the trial. "Tents for the wounded, herbs, bandages... We¡¯ve prepared everything we can. Do you think," she added, her voice quivering with uncertainty. "Do you think it will be enough?"


    "It won¡¯t be," Ashlynn said definitively. The first time she stood here, she¡¯d said ¡¯I don¡¯t know¡¯, but now she had seen the horror that was about to befall them. This time, they would have to respond differently.


    "Keep your use of witchcraft to a minimum," Ashlynn said as she led Heila into the tent. "Anything that can be treated with bandages, herbs, stitches, we should leave to the physicians to handle. Our magic is only to be used for the wounds that cannot be healed any other way."


    "But, without our witchcraft," Heila said uncertainly. "Injured soldiers won¡¯t be able to return to the battlefield. If we lose the battle because we can¡¯t heal enough men..."


    "It won¡¯t matter," Ashlynn said. The real battle, the important part of the battle that would determine the life or death of the Vale of Mists, that part of the battle wouldn¡¯t be fought until nightfall. Everything before that was a prelude where the Templars and Inquisitors could dominate the battlefield with little opposition.


    She hadn¡¯t realized it before, but right now, the army¡¯s job was to buy time for the Vale of Mists and to exhaust the enemy¡¯s miracle workers enough to give Nyrielle and her progeny a chance to turn the tide once night fell.


    The same was true of the Lothian forces. They needed to exhaust the defenders, including Ashlynn and Heila. If the witches were able to heal the Vale¡¯s most potent fighters, the battle could drag on for days. Only by inflicting massive casualties could the Lothians drag the witches down and render them useless when night came.


    "We aren¡¯t strong enough to heal everyone, Heila," Ashlynn said, cursing her lack of experience as a healer. If she knew more, if she was better able to use the resources around her, if she could work more efficiently, then this Trial wouldn¡¯t be so difficult.


    Cecile hadn¡¯t been wrong when she said Ashlynn wasn¡¯t ready. This test was cruel and unfair and would require Ashlynn to watch people suffer when she could ease their suffering. She would have to choose to withhold her power when it wasn¡¯t needed if she wanted to have any hope of having enough power to save Nyrielle after night fell.


    It felt cold and calculated, but at the moment, she couldn¡¯t see any other way. In order to protect the person who was the most important to her, she would have to sacrifice others. She hated the idea of standing idle when she could help, but at the moment, she couldn¡¯t see any other way.


    Glancing outside the tent at the Ancient Oak, an idea began to form in her mind. Sacrificing the support of the Ancient Oak to restore Ollie¡¯s arm felt like a worthy trade when she made it, but looking back, it hadn¡¯t been necessary. She could have saved his life without restoring the limb. As much as she hated it, her selfish desire to do everything she could for her friend as soon as possible had cost her one of her most powerful allies in the fight to heal the wounded.


    Beyond that, the invocation she and Heila used took so much out of both of them that they were useless for the rest of the battle. In the end, Heila had still been unconscious from participating in the ritual by the time Thane and Zedya brought a wounded Nyrielle into the tent.


    Ollie might never forgive her for holding back when she could have helped him, but she hoped that he would understand one day. Some sacrifices would have to be made if she was going to save Nyrielle, and only Nyrielle could save the Vale of Mists.


    As much as she hated herself for it, if she had to choose between Ollie and Nyrielle... she wouldn¡¯t hesitate at all.

 Chapter 252: More Than A Healer

    Chapter 252: More Than A HealerThis time, Ashlynn knew what to expect when the first injured soldiers began to pour into the tent. As much as it pained her to ignore the suffering of several men who were injured with wounds that were serious but not life threatening, she held to the instructions she¡¯d given Heila. Their healing was reserved for people injured by the Templars and Inquisitors or with injuries so severe that they would perish without the aid of a witch.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said after several hours. "Stop and rest, I¡¯ll take care of things by myself for a while," she said, glancing outside of the tent and trying to gauge the time of day. When had Ollie come into the tent? Was it afternoon? She couldn¡¯t remember.


    "I can keep going," Heila said. Her eyes darted around the tent, taking in the dozens of wounded before rolling up the sleeves of her dress and preparing to treat another wounded soldier.


    "No, you need to rest," Ashlynn insisted. "We haven¡¯t seen the worst of it yet. If you exhaust yourself now, it will be harder later. Eat something and sit with the Ancient Oak. In an hour or so, you can come and relieve me."


    "Yes, my Lady," Heila said, clearly unhappy but submitting to Ashlynn¡¯s instructions nonetheless.


    The day wore on, much like before, but this time, Ashlynn and Heila paced themselves much more conservatively. In addition, Ashlynn used one of her breaks to repeat her actions with the cypress tree, making a blood offering to the Ancient Oak and drawing on the surrounding trees to strengthen it after a morning of relying on the sturdy tree to help cleanse the injuries inflicted by the Templars and Inquisitors.


    "I have to find a better way to fight this magic," Ashlynn muttered as she tended to yet another soldier suffering from gruesome burns. "I can¡¯t keep relying on the Ancient Oak like this."


    The longer she worked in the tent, the more impatience began to build within her heart. Already, the trial had revealed several weaknesses to her but there was nothing she could do at the moment to address her lack of knowledge. More than anything, she wanted to turn to Amahle or even Nyrielle¡¯s library to find other ways to solve these problems.


    Unfortunately, trapped within the visions that left her questioning reality at times, there was nothing she could do to extend her knowledge. Once again, Cecile¡¯s words echoed through her mind, that she was too young and wasn¡¯t ready, but those words only offered doubts. There were no solutions in them so she pushed them to the back of her mind and focused on the person in front of her, healing as best she could, one person at a time.


    This time, when Ollie arrived before her, missing most of a limb and fading in and out of consciousness from the pain, she hardened her heart and summoned Heila to help her. Nyrielle had often told her that she needed to be more ruthless and at the moment, Ashlynn wished she could summon a fraction of her lover¡¯s calm detachment in the face of a crisis.


    "We¡¯ll need the help of the Ancient Oak to preserve his life," Ashlynn said. "Perhaps one day we can find a way to help him regain his arm, but right now, his life comes first."


    "Are you sure?" Heila asked hesitantly. "We could..."


    "I¡¯m sure," Ashlynn said firmly. "The price for doing anything else is too high."


    This time, Ashlynn worked with Heila to use a simpler healing spell, covering the end of Ollie¡¯s severed limb with tender flesh that saved him from danger but did nothing to restore the missing limb.


    "Thank you," the former kitchen boy said, his watery eyes filled with gratitude to the women who had saved his life. Those eyes, however, pierced Ashlynn¡¯s heart like icy knives, colder than any Frost Walker sorcery.


    Saving Ollie still drained a significant amount of strength from her and Heila, forcing both of them to rest beneath the Ancient Oak as the daylight began to fade and night approached.


    The entire time they rested, Ashlynn¡¯s eyes never left the battlefield. The gates smoked and smoldered but they still held firm, at least for now. Bodies littered the ground both atop the walls and beneath them, but the Lothians had failed to breach the Vale¡¯s defenses, at least so far.


    In the rear of the invading army¡¯s camp, Ashlynn could feel brilliant energy gathering at the command of the Church¡¯s miracle workers. Clearly, she and Heila weren¡¯t the only healers using magic to keep people in the fight.


    From what little Ashlynn could see of the battlefield, the Templars and Inquisitors had suffered few deaths. Their heavy armor made it difficult to kill them before they could retreat to the protection of the rear where the miracle workers of the Church would save their lives, returning the most powerful combatants of the invading army to the battlefield, refreshed and free of injuries.


    "This is wrong," Ashlynn muttered, looking out at the fierce battle. "Where are our allies? Where are the Frost Walkers to counter the flame wielding inquisitors? Where is Jacques to knock down those Templars? Surely he would come if I asked. He must understand how important this is..."


    The more Ashlynn looked at the battle, the more she found holes in the scenario playing out in front of her. This wasn¡¯t the real world, it was a vision and a test. A test that wanted to put her under pressure as a healer.


    Perhaps it was trying to teach her that even with the power of the willow, she couldn¡¯t save everyone. It was a bitter lesson, but one she admitted that she needed to learn. But was there more to the test than this?


    "Heila," Ashlynn finally said, standing up from the grass at the base of the Ancient Oak. "Send for my sword and armor. When night falls, I¡¯ll join Mistress Nyrielle, Thane and the others on the field of battle."


    "My Lady?" Heila asked in stunned surprise. "But, the wounded..."


    "You¡¯ll do for them as much as you can, and no more," Ashlynn commanded firmly. "But too many people are suffering grevious wounds because we don¡¯t have anyone on the field that can suppress the Templars and Inquisitors."


    "You¡¯re the Willow Witch," Ashlynn said, turning to smile at Heila. "Even if it isn¡¯t really you," she added quietly. "You¡¯ve shown me the kind of witch that Heila can become. If she can do all this then it¡¯s all I could ever ask for from her and more. If this is Heila¡¯s future then I have no regrets about giving her a seed of witchcraft."


    "But I¡¯m not the Willow Witch," Ashlynn said firmly, looking to the Ancient Oak and then to the forest of cedar trees beyond. "I¡¯m the Mother of Trees. If I limit myself to this, then I can only weep over the wounds inflicted on my loved ones." S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Bring me my sword and armor," she repeated firmly. "The best way to treat a wound is to stop it from being inflicted. This time, I will fight at Nyrielle¡¯s side."


    "Is that your answer?" Heila asked, her voice strangely echoing in the vision. The moment she spoke, the battle paused, time coming to a stop while the two of them spoke. "You refuse to complete the trial of a Willow Witch to earn the seed of witchcraft for your friend?"


    "I never said that I refused to complete the trial," Ashlynn said firmly. "I said that I would fight in a different way. I will guide Heila as best I can and I will make sure she learns the lessons I¡¯ve learned in this trial. But I¡¯m not the Willow Witch and I will not confine myself to that place when there is more I can do to help my loved ones," she said, her emerald eyes glinting with determination.


    "So dis is de heart of de Mother of Trees," a second voice said as Cecile rejoined them. A wave of fog washed over them, whisking away the battlefield, the Ancient Oak, and Heila before returning them to the small island of the Ancient Willow.


    "De lesson you was meant to learn is dat a willow, she may bend but she may never break, yeah?" Cecile said. "Bend too far, yield to everyting¡¯ dat comes to you for more, you going to run yourself dry too quick. After you snap, who can mend de Mother of Trees back together?"


    "Nyrielle will be there for me," Ashlynn said without a moment of hesitation. "And Heila, and the others who will form my coven. I won¡¯t be alone."


    "Vampires deliver only death, cher," Cecile said with a frown. "You can¡¯t be going to de likes of de Harbinger of Death for hope and life."


    "She rescued me from the brink of death once already," Ashlynn countered. "Whatever you think of her, I know her heart. You don¡¯t. Maybe she¡¯s different from other vampires. Maybe were¡¯re the ones that are different together. It doesn¡¯t matter. I can trust her with my life."


    "You ain¡¯t jus¡¯ sayin¡¯ dat on account of your blood pact with her, yeah?" Cecile said, her thick tail swishing through the fog in agitation. "You done said it y¡¯r self. If she dies, she takes you wit¡¯ her, yeah? Dat seed in y¡¯r chest, it can be used for someting¡¯ else. An Ancient Willow can pull de pact into de seed, stripping it from you and transferring it onto the tree dat grows from de seed when you plant it."


    "Don¡¯t you dare," Ashlynn said, her hand dropping reflexively to her hip as if to draw a sword that wasn¡¯t there. "Nyrielle and I, we made our oaths and I stand by mine. My heart belongs to her for as long as she lives and I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. I love her and she loves me. Our pact helps strengthen that love. Why would I want anyone to strip me of something so wondrous?"


    "I still tink y¡¯r being young and foolish, cher," the old woman said. "But I won¡¯t speak of it no more. Since dis is y¡¯r will, de Ancient Willow and I won¡¯t deny it. Y¡¯r little Heila will face her own trail when she takes de seed, but you, maman... you truly are de Mother of Trees."


    "Now go on, cher," the old woman said, fading into mist. "Y¡¯r coven is waiting for you."

 Chapter 253: Among the Ashes

    Chapter 253: Among the AshesThe sun rose early outside the Valley of Mists, casting a soft golden light over a scene of devastation that stood completely at odds with the serene sound of birds chirping to welcome the dawn.


    Ollie, Milo, and their companions arrived near Milo¡¯s late the night before and built a simple camp on an adjacent hillside so they could search the village for any surviving carvings first thing in the morning. Despite Ollie¡¯s excellent cooking and a comfortable camp, none of them had slept well that night.


    They¡¯d deliberately chosen a spot far enough from the village that the smell of ash and char wouldn¡¯t reach them on the evening breeze. Still, the knowledge of what lay less than a mile away had kept them tossing and turning beneath their blankets. Milo had spent most of the night sitting beside the campfire, his tail curled protectively around his legs while he stared into the dying embers long after everyone else had gone to bed.


    When the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky, they broke camp without speaking. There was nothing to say, even during the simple breakfast of bread and cheese that Ollie passed around.


    Breaking camp didn¡¯t take long and by the time the sun had begun to rise above the eastern hills, Ollie, Milo, Harrod, and an additional pair of soldiers sent under Commander Bassinger¡¯s orders greeted the rising sun with somber expressions as they surveyed the remains of Milo¡¯s village.


    The burned husks of several pyres littered the area near the center of the village. Charred bones could be seen among the remnants of the great fires, though whether they were human or Eldritch was difficult to say from this distance. The ash had settled into a thin gray blanket that stirred with each breeze, carrying the acrid scent of burned wood and something worse that none of them wanted to name.


    The once clear pond that had nurtured the village had drained almost completely away when Milo and his brother shattered the dam. Now, all that remained was a murky, muddy puddle at the bottom of a muddy basin that curved around the village. Dead fish dotted the shoreline, their silver scales dulled by a coating of silt, while broken pieces of the village¡¯s dam poked up from the mudslide like ghastly arms trying to free themselves from the muck.


    The burrows of the Heartwood clan, once elaborate works of art buried almost completely underground, stood out like black, smoldering pits, as though a giant flaming hand had poked holes in the soft earth, burning anything it found within. Here and there, the mouth of a burrow still released thin wisps of smoke, suggesting that deeper within, embers might still be consuming the intricate carvings that had made each home a priceless treasure to the people living within it.


    Fragments of everyday life lay scattered everywhere. Near one of the pyres, a child¡¯s doll had been reduced to little more than charcoal, Elsewhere, the shattered remains of a cart used to haul firewood into the village from deeper into the forest lay near a pyre constructed of it¡¯s final load of timber. At the edges of the village, pieces of storage baskets that had survived the flames only to be crushed underfoot by the raiders greeted Ollie¡¯s group like a mockery of welcome mats.


    "Ollie," Milo said, his voice pained and distant. His whiskers and tail drooped low and his eyes swam with unshed tears as he surveyed the devastated ruins of the place he¡¯d once called home.


    Nothing, not even the rope swing hanging from a tree near the dam where he¡¯d played with the children of the village as a child or the benches at the pond¡¯s edge where old ladies sat to feed ducks swimming on the pond¡¯s surface, not a single bit of it had survived the destructive hands of the Lothian butchers.


    "Do you really think there¡¯s anything left here?" Milo asked, turning his gaze to the flame-haired former kitchen boy. "This, there doesn¡¯t seem to be any way anything could have survived."


    "Don¡¯t give up hope," Ollie said, resting a hand gently on his companion¡¯s shoulder. "There may not be much we can save, but even a scrap of food is better than an empty belly," he said, repeating one of his father¡¯s favorite phrases any time things had been lean for their family. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It was that phrase that had convinced Ollie to beg for the opportunity to become an apprentice in the kitchens instead of following his father into service in the stables. The few scraps that fell his way as a young man scrubbing pots had been enough to get by which meant there was more left for his parents when they received their meals from the castle.


    The punishments for stealing food from the kitchens were harsh, but no one cared about the half-burned bits that were stuck to the great cauldrons. In fact, many of the things Ollie ate, whether it was porridge made from three-day-old bread crusts or the soup made from chicken feet, were considered so far removed from ¡¯proper food¡¯ that even if he¡¯d been caught by the guards of the manor, they would only have mocked him instead of delivering the flogging a thief should suffer.


    To most people, those things had been remnants little different from trash, but to Ollie, they had been precious treasures that helped him get through the lean years. Now he hoped that in the devastation that looked like it couldn¡¯t hold anything but trash, there might be a few treasures they could bring back to the refugees in the Vale of Mists.


    "Look at the burrows," Ollie said, shaking off his memories to focus on the task at hand. While the days were long, they only had until midday to work before they needed to return to the Vale. "It¡¯s been several days but they¡¯re still smoking and smoldering in places. That means there¡¯s still something to burn other than ash."


    "Just be careful not to burn yourself," he added, thinking of the number of small burns on his hands from times he¡¯d thought the hearth had completely burned itself out only to conceal embers beneath the ash. "Things may still be hot."


    The warning seemed redundant. It should be obvious that things that were still smoldering might be hot, but Ollie was at a loss for what else he should say. Milo had grown increasingly solemn as they drew closer to the abandoned village and this morning, he¡¯d displayed none of his usual awareness of his surroundings. The skilled archer even stumbled over a tree root as they entered the village.


    No one said anything about it but it was obvious that the sight of the village¡¯s destruction had broken down what little strength Milo had been holding onto in the days since his brother¡¯s death and Owain¡¯s destruction of his home.


    It had been an impulsive decision to bring Milo here in the hopes of retrieving the carvings that meant so much to Old Nan and the other members of the Heartwood clan. Now that they were here, Ollie felt responsible for helping Milo face the deeply personal demons lurking in those ash-covered ruins. The question was how?

 Chapter 254: Cowards

    Chapter 254: Cowards"Milo," Ollie said gently after several moments of uncomfortable silence. For a moment, he wished Ashlynn was here with them. She always seemed to know the words to say and the right way to say them too. She was noble, educated, and incredibly thoughtful.


    Ollie was none of those things, but he was the person who had brought Milo to this place and he wasn¡¯t going to run away from his responsibility to care for his new friend.


    "Would you like to visit Old Nan¡¯s home together?" Ollie said, placing a hand on the archer¡¯s shoulder. "You don¡¯t have to do this alone. I may not be part of your clan, but if it helps, you can lean on me whenever you need to."


    "Please," Milo said, his voice cracked and hoarse. His tail quaked with shame and his whiskers hung low but no matter how hard he tried to move, his feet remained firmly rooted to the ground, as though the mud had turned into cement around his boots that wouldn¡¯t let him take one step closer to the ruins of the village. "You must think me a coward, but I can¡¯t..."


    "It¡¯s fine," Ollie said with a soft smile. Everyone, he supposed, had things they were afraid to face. Seeing that the powerful archer who had stood with just a handful of men against five columns of Owain¡¯s soldiers and just as many knights reveal a timid side to himself suddenly made it much easier to relate to the other man.


    "I¡¯m a coward too," Ollie said ruefully, thinking back on the shameful sight he must have presented during his escape from the Summer Villa with Ashlynn. " Just ask Harrod."


    "Sir Ollie," the horned soldier protested. Ollie¡¯s comment took him by surprise and he had no idea how he was supposed to respond to it. "I¡¯ve never once said you¡¯re a coward. You weren¡¯t trained to fight but look how much progress you¡¯ve made since Lady Ashlynn brought you to the Vale. You¡¯ll be a proper warrior in no time, I¡¯m certain of it."


    "See?" Ollie said, trying to sound light-hearted to dispel a bit of the gloom that had settled over the group. "He¡¯s being so polite about it, he isn¡¯t even mentioning the way I fell to the ground on my backside and cowered behind him when Sir Broll caught us escaping the Summer Villa. Actually, I think I fell to my behind and cowered behind Lady Ashlynn when I first met Harrod too," he added sheepishly.


    "It¡¯s okay to be afraid of what you might find," he said when he realized his comments seemed to have shaken Milo free of his paralysis even if he still looked haunted by the sight before them. Giving the shorter man a slight push, Ollie matched his pace to Milo¡¯s and led him toward what remained of Old Nan¡¯s home. "But if we¡¯re cowards together, at least it¡¯s not so bad."


    Behind them, Harrod shook his head before waving for the other soldiers to split up and start searching for anything that might have survived the fires. Ollie was, perhaps, the strangest man he¡¯d ever met in a position of command. A soldier would have denied that Milo was a coward, reminding the Heartwood archer of his acts of valor fighting the Lothians and the terrifying Inquisitors.


    But Ollie was different. He accepted Milo¡¯s assertion that he was a coward and then claimed to be a coward as well. To a soldier, it should have been humiliating and shameful, but when Ollie said it, somehow, it made it easier for the refugee to face the ruins of his village. He might be afraid of what he would find, but at least he had company.


    Old Nan¡¯s burrow had been hit harder than most. When Owain¡¯s men discovered the wooden statue of Nyrielle, complete with her feathered wings, they immediately judged Old Nan¡¯s home to be the center of demonic worship and doused it in twice as much blessed oil as they used on other burrows.


    The front entrance completely collapsed as if to entomb any ¡¯demonic¡¯ presence that might still lurk in the home that held such an important statue. Because of that, the only way in was through a hole in the ceiling that had been roughly dug by the Lothian raiders to ensure that the fires didn¡¯t run out of air to burn.


    The smell of smoke and ash assaulted Ollie¡¯s nose as soon as he entered. Wrapping a damp cloth around his mouth and nose helped but nothing could keep out the stench of char that filled the space. Milo barely had time to subdue Old Nan herself and drag her away from their home. All of her possessions, everything from cooking spices to clothing, had burned in the fire, creating an acrid stench unlike anything Ollie had smelled before.


    After a few moments of fumbling Ollie lit a small oil lamp, bringing a soft glow to the blackened space. Dark shadows danced around the room but even in the dim illumination of the single flame, Ollie could tell that much of the burrow had collapsed while it burned.


    "I think we¡¯re going to need to dig," Ollie said when Milo joined him in the ruins of Old Nan¡¯s home. "But this could be good news," he added, kneeling at the edge of a small mudslide where one of the supports had given way during the fire. "The earth from the cave-in would have smothered the fire."


    "But, by the time the walls collapsed, everything carved into them should have burned to ash," Milo said heavily. He stood unmoving in the center of what had once been his mother¡¯s living room. On the ground beneath his feet, the scorched remains of a rug that he had played on as a child could still be seen, but as soon as his feet touched it, the blackened fibers crumpled under his boots like charcoal.


    When Ollie proposed coming back to try to recover things, Milo had thought only of the dim hope that they could recover something, anything, that had been carved by his grandfather or great-grandfather who founded the village all those years ago. His desire to help his mother heal had overwhelmed every other thought as he chased after the hope offered by the red-headed human.


    Now that he stood here in the middle of the ruin, seeing his family¡¯s treasured memories reduced to little more than soot stains... Ollie¡¯s support had brought him this far. All last night, he¡¯d imagined entering his mother¡¯s home to find that things hadn¡¯t been that bad or that one of the back rooms in the burrow had escaped completely unscathed.


    They were unlikely scenarios but the possibility they could be true, no matter how unlikely, had kept him moving forward. Now that he stood among the rubble, his fantasies of something miraculously surviving had been burned to ash along with the treasured carvings they¡¯d come to retrieve.


    "Hey," Ollie said, interrupting the archer¡¯s thoughts as he noticed the older man sinking deeper into a dark mood. "Let¡¯s get to work," Ollie added, pressing a shovel into the other man¡¯s hands and pulling him toward the mudslide. "I¡¯ll be right here beside you," he promised. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There weren¡¯t words that could make things better right now. Or if there were, Ollie didn¡¯t know them. But as long as there was work to be done, if Milo could join him in the digging, then at least there would be something to distract his friend from the ache of loss that hung in the air like smoke.


    A few minutes later, a second oil lamp had joined the first, and the sounds of digging filled the air. The chances of finding anything were minuscule, but neither man would leave until they used every minute they had to search through the rubble. If anything carved by Milo¡¯s ancestors survived, they intended to find it.

 Chapter 255: Separate Grief

    Chapter 255: Separate GriefIn one of the many tents in the Vale of Mist that hundreds of refugees had come to call home in the days since Owain Lothian¡¯s massacre, Milo¡¯s wife Juni knelt on the ground beside Old Nan. Juni¡¯s rich brown fur had lost its shine but she still did everything she could to look after herself and her husband¡¯s ailing mother as well. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    While their possessions were meager, Juni did her best to keep the small tent tidy, washing blankets and clothing, cleaning up after meals, and turning small pieces of wood into everyday items they¡¯d left behind in the hurry to leave.


    At least half of it was simply to help her stay busy in these idle days while they waited to find out what the rulers of the Vale of Mists intended to do with them. The important thing was that she stayed close to her mother-in-law while Milo was away.


    "Mother," she said gently, calling out to the woman who had fallen asleep while working on a carving of her lost son, Lako. "Mother, I brought you something to drink," she said, holding up a cup of broth that had been thickened with ground oats. In the days since arriving in the camp, her mother-in-law had barely left the chair she sat in while carving. When Milo was here, he was at least able to encourage her to drink the thickened broth but now...


    Everyone in the camp was grieving to different extents. Juni considered herself among the luckiest. She¡¯d lost the home that she and Milo had only just begun to carve for themselves as they prepared to start a family of their own, but a home could be rebuilt. Both her parents escaped along with her brother who was so young that he had yet to start an apprenticeship.


    Compared to Old Nan and the other families who had lost husbands, wives or children, Juni¡¯s losses had been so minor that she barely considered them worth dwelling on. The people around her were in much, much more pain than she was.


    In some ways, it made it easier for her to care for her husband and mother-in-law. It was easier to be strong when she hadn¡¯t lost as much. In other ways, she felt a wall between herself and the members of her village who had lost more. She was one of the ¡¯lucky ones.¡¯ How could she understand what they were experiencing when she¡¯d lost so little?


    It was foolish, but also very, very natural for people to think that way. She could ignore the occasional sideways glance or unkind words uttered by people who were hurting. They didn¡¯t intend to be cruel to her and she knew it. But just because she understood didn¡¯t make the wall between her and her suffering clansmen any thinner, and no one had put up thicker or higher walls against help from others than her own mother-in-law.


    "You need to keep your strength up to finish Lako¡¯s carving," Juni told Old Nan, hoping that mentioning the project she¡¯d put so much importance on would give her at least a little motivation to care for herself. After she said it though, a twinge of pain pierced her heart and she cast a guilty look at the other woman in the tent.


    After all, Old Nan wasn¡¯t the only person grieving Lako¡¯s death. She¡¯d lost a son, Milo had lost a brother and Cetna... Cetna had lost the man who wanted to become her husband.


    Cetna was barely old enough to call herself an adult, but she already possessed more strength than a young woman her age should. Her mother passed not long after giving birth to her, leaving her father to raise her alone. The solitary hunter did his best to raise his daughter but it seemed like she¡¯d taken responsibility for her household as soon as she was old enough to tend to the burrow without supervision.


    Her father had taken years to recover from the loss of his wife. As Cetna grew older and came to resemble her mother more and more, the aging hunter felt the pangs of grief that years of time had dulled grow sharp again.


    Recently, however, things began to change and he¡¯d come to take a special joy in seeing his daughter find the kind of happiness in the company of a young man that he¡¯d once seen on his departed wife¡¯s face when he courted her. He¡¯d even begun carving a pair of ravens to give the young couple when they began building their own burrow.


    Now, however, he would never see his daughter wed to the man of her dreams.


    If Old Nan¡¯s heartbreak at losing her son could be understood, Juni could only marvel at Cetna for enduring the loss of both her father and the love of her life in the same battle. By rights, she should have been crushed by the loss and grief, yet whenever Juni looked at the younger woman, she saw a steely resolve that faced each day without flinching.


    When Juni had asked her about how she could endure so much, Cetna¡¯s words had been both simple and profound.


    "Father and Lako spent their lives to buy me a chance to live the rest of mine," she¡¯d said. "I wouldn¡¯t dare to waste a moment of the time they bought me." Now, when Juni looked at her with a guilty expression for bringing up the carving Old Nan was making to process her own grief, Cetna just shook her head.


    "It¡¯s not your fault," Cetna said gently. Moving slowly so as not to disturb the sleeping Old Nan, she came to Juni¡¯s side and helped the other woman to stand. "Maybe she¡¯ll respond to Milo when he gets back. She doesn¡¯t seem to see anyone else."


    "I know," Juni said, setting the cup of fortified broth aside. "If I¡¯d realized she¡¯d be like this, I might not have let him go. He said it would only be for two days, but I¡¯m worried that something will happen. Maybe I should have kept him home..."


    "But if you¡¯d kept me home," an exhausted voice interrupted. "You¡¯d have missed a miracle."


    "Milo!" Juni exclaimed, her excited voice startling Old Nan awake. "I¡¯m glad you¡¯re home," she said, her tail thumping the ground several times in excitement. Reflexively, she took a step toward her husband only to stop when she saw his dirty and ragged state.


    Milo, with Ollie and the short, horned soldier, Harrod, behind him, looked like they¡¯d been dragged behind horses through the mud before being rolled in the burned-out remains of a cook fire. Dark grey ash and mud clung to their clothes and even Ollie¡¯s red hair seemed to have turned black with soot.


    From the way the trio supported each other, it was clear that they¡¯d pushed their bodies hard yet nothing could mask the sense of triumph that radiated from the trio. Their faces were covered with soot and ash but all three men wore bright white grins on their faces as they entered the tent.


    "Were you," Juni started to ask, her whiskers twitching with a storm of emotions. Anxiety, anticipation, and hope all flickered across her face as she glanced back at Old Nan before looking back at her husband and his companions.


    "Were you able to recover anything from Mother¡¯s home?"

 Chapter 256: Kindling

    Chapter 256: Kindling"Mother," Milo said, walking quickly to kneel at the feet of the old woman. The pile of cedar shavings at her feet had been pushed to the side and the half-finished carving of Milo¡¯s deceased brother was still clutched firmly in her hands, but he barely noticed either of those things as he reached into his tunic to retrieve a small wooden box covered in intricate carvings of flowers and butterflies.


    "This... this is..." Old Nan said, reaching out with trembling fingers to take the small wooden box. One of the feet on the left side had snapped off and the finish had been ruined by ash, but the rest of the box was in remarkably good condition.


    "Father," she whispered as her claws traced the delicate carvings of moonflowers. They were her mother¡¯s favorite along with the butterflies that clustered around them in the spring. The feelings of love and affection he¡¯d poured into each scrape and gouge could easily be felt as she turned the box over in her hands.


    Inside a faint clink of earthenware bottles made it clear that not only had the box survived, but the small collection of pigments and stains her mother treasured had survived as well.


    "Sir Ollie has something for you as well," Milo said, stepping aside to let Ollie take his place.


    "Sir Ollie?" Old Nan said, blinking several times in surprise at the way her son addressed the human. This boy wasn¡¯t one of the vampire rulers of the vale, so what exactly had he done to earn such respect from her son?


    "I was only able to retrieve one side of the bookshelf," Ollie said, unwrapping an intricately carved plank of wood nearly two feet in length and two handbreadths wide. "The other end was crushed with the walls collapsed, the splinters... they weren¡¯t, weren¡¯t very large," he said, looking away in shame.


    He knew very well why this piece was so important and once he found the first half intact he¡¯d spend an entire hour digging through the mud to see if the other half had survived. The runners between the ends had been lost but they were the least important part of the whole piece. If both ends survived, he was certain that Old Nan would be able to restore the treasured piece. In the end, his efforts had been wasted and they¡¯d run out of time to search for anything more.


    "Grandfather," Old Nan whispered. For a moment, she seemed lost, uncertain what to do. Then, for the first time since she began carving a likeness of her fallen son, she turned to Milo and held the carving out to him. "Can you hold this for me? Please, I..."


    "Yes, Mother," Milo said, reverently taking his mother¡¯s half-finished carving in his hands so she could retrieve the end of the bookshelf from Ollie.


    For several minutes, no one said anything while Old Nan traced the tips of her claws over what might be the last surviving remnant of her grandfather¡¯s work. Unlike her father who relished in carving flowers, butterflies, birds, and playful animals to delight his wife and young daughter, her grandfather celebrated the natural world they lived in, carving the sides of his bookshelf to resemble the Ancient Oaks of the Vale of Mists.


    To Old Nan, every whorl of bark and veined leaf felt like it contained a deep sadness and sense of loss for the Vale he no longer felt safe to return to. She had been born in the village, but her grandfather fled the Vale when it became clear that the Lothians would never stop targeting the vital strategic entrance to the High Pass and the rich lands beyond.


    Despite his choice to flee, his heart held a deep and enduring love for the trees of his first home and he carved many of them into the furnishings of their burrow. Old Nan had always taken it as a sign of his commitment to not return to the Vale of Mists. He created something to remember what he lost, but he never intended to return there. But as she sat there tracing her claws over the delicate lines of his work, she wondered if she¡¯d missed something even deeper in his heart that she couldn¡¯t truly understand until she¡¯d lost a home of her own.


    "Harrod has a few more pieces as well," Ollie added, looking at the women in the room. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure which was which, though from the radiant way one of them was looking at Milo, he guessed she was Juni, which made the other one Cetna.


    "Milo wasn¡¯t certain if the carvings we recovered from your home were made by your father or someone else in your family but..."


    "You were able to recover something from my home?" Cetna said. Her eyes misted almost instantly and her steely demeanor crumpled for the first time Juni had seen since they fled the village. "There was something left of it?"


    "I found a chest full of old clothes and blankets," Harrod said, stepping forward and pulling out a badly singed blanket that had once been made of bright yellow fabric with soft lavender embroidery, but was now stained almost beyond recognition. It hadn¡¯t been large to begin with, suitable for infants and small children, but it had protected carvings that were just as old.


    "This was inside," he said, pulling out an old and well-worn rattle carved with small squirrels and rabbits chasing each other around the handle of the rattle. "There was also a set of small spoons," he added, pulling the stained blanket back further to reveal a small set of spoons that could be used to feed a small child.


    Having visited the village before the Lothian raiders put it to the torch, it was hard for the diminutive soldier to feel proud of the few scraps he¡¯d been able to recover. The village he¡¯d visited was vibrant and steeped in generations of their craft. For this to be all he could hand someone, he could only hang his head in shame, unable to meet the young woman¡¯s gaze as he held out the few things that had survived the destruction of her home.


    "M-mother," Cetna wailed, dropping to her knees in front of the short, horned soldier. Her tail hit the ground with a heavy thump and her fingers trembled, hovering just above the wooden relics as though she was afraid to touch them. She had never known her mother, but she had felt her mother¡¯s love in the things she carved for her when Cetna herself was just a kit in her mother¡¯s belly.


    "I know it¡¯s not much," Ollie said, hanging his head low. "But we tried to bring something from every house that we could. We¡¯ll do everything we can to make sure they find their way to the right people." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Why?" Old Nan asked, looking at Ollie through misty eyes. Dirty, ragged, and exhausted as he was, to her, the young man possessed the halo of a hero. "Why go so far for us? For just these few useless items?" To her and the members of the Heartwood clan, the were priceless artifacts but to anyone else, a pigment box and a broken bookshelf could hardly be considered useful.


    "Because they¡¯re important to you," Ollie said honestly. "And because I want your help, Old Nan. But... You needed help first. This was more important," he said. The words were awkward and he wasn¡¯t quite sure if he was expressing his sentiment the right way but... he meant it. She needed help to heal whether she helped him or not. When he saw how stricken she was by everything she¡¯d lost, helping her became the most important thing.


    "Mother," Milo said gently. "I¡¯ve spent some time talking to Sir Ollie about what he wants help with. I think you should hear him out..."


    "All right," Old Nan said. "I, I can¡¯t make promises, but for what you¡¯ve done, I can at least hear you out," she said.


    As Ollie began to explain what he needed, how he had been directed to oversee the construction of a village for the refugees and his desire to make the place feel like a new home rather than simply a collection of houses, Old Nan clutched the box and bookshelf end to her chest and listened to every word.


    The carvings from her father and grandfather were more than just artifacts of her ancestors... they were the kindling that had lit a fire of hope in her heart. Years ago, her grandfather had called the Vale of Mists home. Perhaps, with help from this strange human, she could do the same.

 Chapter 257: Visiting Vampires

    Chapter 257: Visiting VampiresNyrielle¡¯s carriage clattered through the night, already more than a hundred leagues away from the tangled swamp of the Briar. Within the dark interior of the carriage, her alabaster skin lit by a single swaying lamp, Nyrielle did her best to ignore the tugging sensation that gripped her chest.


    Starting part way through the previous day, she¡¯d felt something probing around the edges of her bond with Ashlynn. At first, the probes had been light and tentative, as if a blind creature from the depths of the sea was trying to feel out the magic that connected her heart to Ashlynn¡¯s by tracing its outline.


    Nyrielle was prepared to forgive the Mother of Thorns for some curious probing. As Ashlynn¡¯s teacher, the witch had the right to understand any magic that might affect her student. The longer the probing lasted, however, the less certain she was that the probing came from the Mother of Thorns.


    By sunset, the feeling of gentle probing had given way to a constrictive tugging. It was still gentle, as if it was afraid that it would harm Ashlynn¡¯s heart by tearing it free, but it pulled nonetheless, trying to find ways to untangle the bond of blood that gave each woman an echo of the other¡¯s heart within their chest.


    The sensation was uncomfortable, but at the moment, Nyrielle was willing to endure the discomfort, confident that Ashlynn would resolve the problem for herself. Already, she could feel the intensity of Ashlynn¡¯s love and commitment echoing stronger through their bond.


    If Ashlynn had been corrupted by the invasive tendrils of magic somehow, if she was trying to break free of her bond, Nyrielle would have ordered the carriage to turn around at once and it was unlikely the Briar would withstand the fury of her arrival. From what she could feel so far, things weren¡¯t nearly that dire.


    Still, the growing pressure and constant tugging made it hard to focus on her preparations for the awkward dances of diplomacy that awaited her at their next destinations.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Zedya called from where she sat driving the carriage through the darkness. "We¡¯ve acquired an escort."


    In the forest bordering the road, several figures moved with varying levels of stealth and grace. Some were as capable as the Heartwood clan at blending with their surroundings as they moved while others crashed through the underbrush, unable to manage both stealthy movement and the speed required to keep pace with Nyrielle¡¯s carriage.


    "Ignore them," Nyrielle said, shaking her head at the performance of their ¡¯escort.¡¯ "This pack of mutts is too terrified to come close to us," she said disdainfully. "They¡¯re not protecting us from Uncle Tausau¡¯s people, they¡¯re making sure that uncle¡¯s people don¡¯t get in our way and offend us."


    Outside the carriage, more than a dozen figures raced through the night, moving with speed and grace that transcended the limits of most mortal beings. None of them would hold a candle to Thane, Marcell or even Zedya, but compared to people like Captain Lennart and his men this motley escort was still a clear cut above.


    The escort followed them for nearly half an hour before the carriage arrived at an imposing fortress gate. Despite the late hour, the heavy timber gate stood open with more than twenty men standing in neat rows. Torches cast flickering golden light on the gathering while more men spilled out of the nearby forest, falling into ranks alongside their brethren.


    Atop the carriage, Zedya did her best not to wrinkle her nose at the sight of the vampires who had arrived to greet them. As someone who had once been human, she might be expected to see all ¡¯demons¡¯ as much the same. Once she had come to accept the Eldritch, by rights, she should treat them all more or less equally. And yet, she¡¯d lived longer among the Eldritch than she had among humans and the sense of revulsion these men inspired was all but inescapable.


    After a certain point, some prejudices were hard to escape and the vampires before her touched on one of the greatest Eldritch taboos. More than that, their very appearance carried a certain wrongness that would be apparent to anyone who wasn¡¯t blind. The Eldritch were far more accommodating of diversity among their people than humans were, but even the Eldritch found such people... unsettling.


    No two of the vampires greeting the carriage looked the same. It wasn¡¯t that these men each came from a different clan, rather, they were the products of forbidden unions between clans.


    Among most Eldritch clans, no one would quibble over a love affair between people of different clans so long as they never attempted to birth children. Once a couple crossed that line, however, the couple would be lucky to escape persecution by both of their clans. Things were even worse for their unfortunate children.


    Some clans were considered close cousins. The Horned Clan and the Cloven Clan were relatively successful at blending and didn¡¯t draw much ire for skirting the taboo. A union between the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw, however, had more than nine chances in ten of producing stillborn offspring.


    Those that survived were like the vampires gathered here. Each of them bore the marks of their blended heritage and rarely did that blending come without dire consequences. Hunch backs were common sights, or one limb being of significantly different size than its counterpart. Some had both feathers and fur while others had vestigial stumps where a tail attempted to form but failed to fully develop.


    Men like these rarely lived more than twenty years, and seeing thirty was all but unheard of. Yet one vampire dared to turn such men into his progeny whenever he found them, granting them a reprieve from their inevitably short lives for as long as they could teeter on the edge of the knife between life and death.


    "Death walks among us," the men chanted in ragged unison. "We welcome the Harbinger of Death!"


    Taking a deep breath, Nyrielle unfurled her wings as she exited the carriage, allowing shadowy energy to spill like drops of water from her dark feathers as she descended to land lightly on the stone pavers.


    "Your Eternity," a man said, striding forward from the ranks of his progeny to kneel before her. Like his progeny, Tausau was Clanless, the result of a union between the Clan of the Great Claw and the Clan of Painted Masks. The forbidden union had given him a bulky stature that rivaled Captain Lennart¡¯s, but paired it with arms too short for his size that ended in highly dexterous paws.


    "Rise, Tausau," Nyrielle said impatiently. The ache from Ashlynn¡¯s heart had grown stronger and she wanted to waste as little time as possible on unnecessary formality. "Have your men show my people where they may stay. You and I have many things to catch up on and precious few hours before daybreak."


    "Of course," the vampire said awkwardly. In the past hundred years, the little girl who he remembered bouncing on Torbin¡¯s knee had transformed into something almost unrecognizable. There had been a time when he and Nyrielle¡¯s grandsire had considered themselves close brothers and the bearish vampire had worn his ears raw boasting of the future Harbinger of Death that had been born in his lineage.


    To Tausau, it would have been salt in an old wound if it hadn¡¯t been for Nyrielle¡¯s charm and grace as she grew from a young child into a talented vampire and sorceress. In those days, it was easy to feel pride in the young and growing Nyrielle as they imagined the woman she would become.


    Now, however, the loss of Torbin, her parents, and countless progeny had turned her into the darkest and most ruthless vampire that Tausau had ever known. When she emerged from her carriage, she wasn¡¯t his darling grand-niece wearing a human guise the way she had more than a century ago. She was the Harbinger of Death and she made sure that Tausau and is progeny recognized the fact.


    "If you¡¯ll follow me, Your Eternity," he said, gesturing to the open gate. "I¡¯ve prepared refreshments for you and for Madame Zedya as well."


    "I don¡¯t need refreshments," Nyrielle said distantly as though her mind was elsewhere. The last person she¡¯d fed on was Ashlynn and she intended to savor her lover¡¯s taste for a few days more before she fed on anyone else.


    "What I need from you, Tausau, are answers. I trust you¡¯ll have an explanation for me for... this," she said with a pointed glance at the older vampire¡¯s assembled progeny. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Your Eternity, I..."


    "Not out here," Nyrielle said, sweeping past him to enter the fortress directly. "Your progeny are only one of the things I require answers about. The others shouldn¡¯t be spoken of where others can overhear."


    "I understand," Tausau said, bowing his head and falling in behind the powerful True Vampire. It seemed that everything he¡¯d heard was true. Little Nyrielle had died long ago. All that remained was the Harbinger of Death.

 Chapter 258: Taking In Strays

    Chapter 258: Taking In StraysNyrielle¡¯s ancient fortress had been rebuilt and renovated several times until it grew into its current state, resembling a grasping hand emerging from the side of a large cliff. Still, every renovation served to improve its ability to function as a defensive bulwark that the people of the Vale of Mists could rely on in the never ending war against the Lothians.


    Lord Ritchel¡¯s fortress had been fashioned as much from ice as from stone. It offered a commanding view of the High Pass and gave the sorcerers of the Frost Walker Clan the ultimate advantage in raining down snow, ice and even avalanches on their enemies with near complete impunity once they shattered the ice bridge across the chasm that surrounded all approaches to the fortress.


    Both fortifications were built to help an Eldritch Lord maintain their dominance and hold over their territory. They were weapons of war just as much as they were places that people called home. At no time did either the Vale of Mists or the High Pass forget the purpose of a fortress.


    Tausau¡¯s ramshackle fortress, however, was starting to lose the ability to function as a true weapon of war. New wings had been added haphazardly without tearing down older sections of the ancient fortress. Once important firing positions for archers hidden in towers had become irrelevant when a new wing blocked the arrow slits from being able to fire over the outer wall.


    Tausau could be forgiven for this to an extent. Unlike Nyrielle and Ritchel, Tausau did not hold the title or status of an Eldritch Lord. As the progeny of a powerful High Lord, he wasn¡¯t without responsibilities and a territory to manage, but the number of people under his care were smaller than even the scattering of villages that currently made up the Vale of Mists.


    To Nyrielle¡¯s eyes, the ramshackle expansion of the fortress echoed what she sensed in Tausau himself. The misshapen vampire no longer radiated the sense of predatory cunning that reminded her so much of her grandsire Torbin. Instead, he seemed to have embraced an ennui that allowed his domain to grow like a field overrun with weeds.


    "Will this do, Your Eternity?" Tausau said after leading Nyrielle down a spiral staircase into an underground sitting room.


    He¡¯d expected her to arrive in need of a meal and he quickly banished the offering he¡¯d prepared so the two of them could speak in private. The walls of the sitting room were covered with books and five overstuffed armchairs ringed a low table in a way that suggested that small gatherings were commonplace here.


    "You don¡¯t have to be so formal, Uncle Tausau," Nyrielle said, folding her wings away and restoring her human appearance. "Your progeny needed to witness the arrival of the Harbinger of Death. They need to understand the order of things. The man who taught me how to paint with bare fingers only needs to welcome his grand-niece."


    "Nyrielle," the older vampire said, a rare smile forming on his lips, revealing fangs that were slightly too large for his mouth. "For a moment, I thought your heart had been completely worn away," he said, taking a seat in an overstuffed armchair across from his usual one and offering the grandest of the chairs to his guest.


    "I can understand a public and private face," he said as he fetched a bottle of rich red wine and poured a cup for each of them. "But did you need to intimidate my progeny by saying you wanted answers from me about them? I¡¯m sure that they¡¯re quaking in their boots upstairs wondering what the Harbinger of Death is going to do to them."


    "I do need answers from you about them," Nyrielle said, an impassive mask settling on her features as the brief joy at their reunion slipped away. "Uncle," she said, trying to keep the conversation as informal as she could. "How many progeny do you have now? How many of them are..." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Clanless? Mongrels?" Tausau said, raising a bushy eyebrow at Nyrielle. "Sixty two," he said flatly. "There would be more but, you know that the odds are never good when raising progeny to begin with. The Clanless, even the best of them, only one in four hold out to the end and even then, half of those who take my blood die in the transformation. These little more than sixty are the only ones I¡¯ve been able to save."


    "More than sixty," Nyrielle said, her midnight eyes growing wide in surprise. There had been more than thirty present at the entrance to the fortress and she¡¯d already thought the number was large. Knowing there were twice as many sent a chill down her spine.


    "No wonder you look so worn down, Uncle," Nyrielle said with a heavy. "You can¡¯t sustain so many. If you keep pushing yourself like this..."


    "If I keep going like this, then I give a few more decades to people who would have lived tragically short lives," the older vampire said bitterly. "No one asked to be born a mongrel. To be brought into the world as something so misshapen and malformed that it¡¯s a miracle we even have all our organs."


    "You used to approve of what I did, Nyrielle," Tausau said, his tone growing sharp. "You didn¡¯t look down on them. Or on me. You might call me ¡¯Uncle¡¯ and put your wings away, but are you still my grand-niece or are you just the Harbinger of Death putting on an unassuming mask."


    "Watch yourself, Uncle," Nyrielle snapped as shadows danced in her midnight eyes and her fingers lengthened into sharpened claws. "You can thank my darling Ashlynn that I¡¯ve recovered enough of a heart to try, but don¡¯t presume that I am simply one thing or another. I am your grand-niece and I am the Harbinger of Death. Those aren¡¯t two different people, so please don¡¯t act like you can talk to a little girl when she had to grow up years ago."


    "I¡¯m sorry, Your Eternity," Tausau said reflexively, shrinking back into his chair as Nyrielle¡¯s power flared along with her temper. The wine in his glass sloshed in his trembling hand, nearly spilling onto well worn suede of the armchair. It had only been an instant, but for a moment, he felt himself tip on the edge of the knife between life and death, as if he were about to plunge into the abyss.


    "Nyrielle. I¡¯m sorry," he amended, his voice shaking as he regathered himself. It seemed like even after all this time, his body still remembered fear. "It¡¯s just, you understand what happens to people like me. Many will cross the territories of half a dozen lords or more to reach this fortress for the chance to avoid certain death. How can I deny them the chance at survival when they come so far?"


    "I¡¯m not suggesting that you should deny them, Uncle," Nyrielle said, carefully withdrawing her power. It wasn¡¯t her intention to intimidate him but his complacency had clearly struck a nerve. It was one of the things that had been difficult for her in the High Fen and it was almost worse encountering it from someone she considered family. The Vale of Mists had been at war for more than a century, yet here he sat... taking in strays.


    "My darling Ashlynn sees nobility in a person¡¯s struggle for a better life," Nyrielle said, focusing on the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat to calm herself down. The tightness and discomfort remained but the love and dedication accompanying that strain pulsed even stronger. Just that little bit was enough for her to regain her composure.


    "My darling would be proud that you¡¯ve rewarded so many people for succeeding in their struggle to stay alive long enough to reach your merciful fangs," Nyrielle praised. Perhaps Ashlynn would go even further than that, finding kinship with the outcasts who suffered fates every bit as cruel as what she¡¯d suffered from Owain Lothian.


    "But Uncle," Nyrielle said, her tone growing darker. "I¡¯ve seen the competence of those you¡¯ve allowed into your service. You are descended from Bardas, the Jaws of Death. Your progeny exist to help you keep powerful groups in check, but this pack you¡¯ve assembled aren¡¯t wolves, they¡¯re barely even hunting dogs. Some of them feel like nothing more than pets."


    "Tell me, Uncle," Nyrielle said, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of the dark red wine. "Do you still keep the old ways as Bardas commands? Can your progeny hunt their own food? Or are their fangs so dull that they can only rely on their brethren to find them a meal?"

 Chapter 259: A Spark

    Chapter 259: A Spark"Can your progeny hunt their own food? Or are their fangs so dull that they can only rely on their brethren to find them a meal?"


    The moment Nyrielle spoke, she knew that she¡¯d crossed a line with Tausau that would be difficult to retreat from. For a moment, she regretted her impatience. There were other matters to discuss before she left Tausau¡¯s ramshackle fortress and she could have easily filled this evening with those matters rather than springing her trap as soon as she arrived.


    She almost wished she¡¯d brought Zedya along with her. Not only was Zedya the only person who had experienced firsthand what Nyrielle was about to attempt, but her command over her Mesmerizing Eyes had reached a level that few vampires ever obtained. A more susceptible Tausau who had fallen under Zedya¡¯s sway would be a better target for her untested sorcery.


    Unfortunately, Tausau was far too old and experienced to lower his guard with one of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny in the room. In order for her plan to work, she needed her Uncle to be off balance and agitated. She needed to find out if there was even a chance of success and the only way Tausau would give her the opportunity is if they were alone together.


    If not for the growing sense of pressure in her chest as something attempted to pull Ashlynn free of their bond, she might not have made her move tonight. Already the feeling of pressure had shifted, accompanied by a faint sensation of tearing. Nyrielle¡¯s hands clenched on the armrests as she worked to keep concern from flickering across her face.


    She had faith in Ashlynn¡¯s ability to resolve this crisis but that didn¡¯t make it easier for her to focus on what was happening in front of her. Yet now that she had set the trap, no matter how much she wanted to retire for the night to focus on whatever was tearing at her bond with Ashlynn, she could only wait to see how Tausau would respond. Would he offer his neck, or bear his fangs?


    Nyrielle¡¯s words hung in the air of Tausau¡¯s sitting room like a sword hanging above the older vampire¡¯s head. His expression darkened as he struggled to remain impassive before Nyrielle¡¯s overwhelming presence. Emotions he¡¯d believed long lost, ground away by the milestone of time, flickered to life deep within his heart. Anxiety. Apprehension. Shame.


    How long had it been since he had felt shame for anything he had done? For the past several decades as he took in more and more progeny, he¡¯d reveled in the deep feeling of satisfaction, one of the few emotions left to his withered heart. Satisfaction and pride at every success along with disappointment and sorrow at every failure.


    So how was it that within minutes of speaking to him, his grand-niece had rekindled his long-lost ability to feel shame? S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯re trying to provoke me, your Eternity," Tausau said, withdrawing into formality to shield himself from the discomfort he felt. "I understand that you have your own traditions to follow as the Harbinger of Death. You don¡¯t need to keep the old ways, even though you were born to descendants of his Eternity Bardas."


    "But, your Eternity," the older vampire said, putting his wine down on the table and leaning forward in his overstuffed chair. "It isn¡¯t appropriate for the Harbinger of Death to chastise me about the traditions of the Jaws of Death, is it?"


    "That¡¯s your answer, Uncle?" Nyrielle said, her voice growing colder than the winds of the High Pass. "You think you can shelter under the letters of the covenants? What has happened to the proud hunter I knew? I came to see the sire of the Mongrel Horde. You¡¯ve grown soft, Uncle."


    "Time comes for us all, your Eternity," Tausau said, frowning at the way his grand-niece chose to chastise him. "One day, your heart will also grow cold. You will forget the passions that drove you in your early centuries. You will see that there are only a few things that remain in your life that hold any value."


    "I preserve the ones I can," he said, a hint of pride beginning to color his voice as he found the strength to push back against Nyrielle¡¯s oppressive aura. "I do what I must to sustain my progeny. Not all of them are inclined toward violence and the hunt, but that doesn¡¯t make them unworthy of survival. They may contribute in other ways."


    "And who is the Mongrel Horde hunting?" Nyrielle asked pointedly. Inwardly, she did her best to conceal a smile at her uncle¡¯s response. She was afraid that he¡¯d been completely consumed by ennui, but it seemed there was still a bit of fire left in him that could be rekindled. "Who do you prey on to keep them from becoming a blight upon the land?"


    "No one," the elder vampire said, his pride wilting before her question like a rose without water. "We have been given no orders for decades. We guard the eastern border but the Ancient Clan, no matter how powerful they grow, will never leave their lands. They are no threat to Master¡¯s territory."


    "So you sit here, idle and useless," Nyrielle said, ruthlessly trampling on his pride. Shadows flowed from her hands, dancing across the space between them until she enveloped the older vampire completely within her midnight aura.


    "The Mongrel Horde has become so weak that it can no longer be relied on and so you guard a border that is never attacked, warding against a foe that will never expand," she said, her words slicing to his core.


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Tausau said bitterly, a wave of apathy washing over him. "We still have fangs to sink into flesh when we¡¯re needed. We may be hounds on a leash, but we haven¡¯t completely forgotten how to bite. If the day comes when we are let loose from the leash, then the world will again tremble at the mention of the Mongrel Horde."


    The words he said should have contained a fire of passion or the steel of determination but when he spoke to Nyrielle, his words contained neither of those things. Instead, they were calm, flat, as though he described the rising and setting of the moon, something inevitable and unquestionable even if it had long ceased to reflect the truth.


    "I doubt that," Nyrielle mocked as she prepared to unleash her attack. For weeks, Zedya had remained at her side as she practiced a technique that no Harbinger of Death could ever hope to possess. Something unique and precious that was only possible because she regularly fed on the blood of a witch. Maybe something that was only possible because she fed on the blood of someone born to be a witch just as she had been born to be a vampire.


    "What you do, Uncle," Nyrielle said, sharpening her shadows into claws that molded themselves over Tausau¡¯s hands and phantom wings that formed on his back. "If someone gave you a chance to unleash your horde. If you could sharpen their fangs and send them to tear into the throats of the mightiest scourge to sweep across the lands."


    As she spoke, she released the smallest trace of Ashlynn¡¯s energy into her magic, transforming her shadows from something that sapped the strength of a person¡¯s soul into a piece of burning kindling, capable of reigniting the passions in a heart long grown cold and still.


    This was why she had pressed him and provoked him. She had to know if there was anything left within her Uncle that could catch the spark she was about to strike. Without Ashlynn to accompany her, she had only a few opportunities to reverse the effects of time¡¯s inevitable millstone on the heart of a vampire before she ran out of the vital energy of life that blended so smoothly with her own sorcery. If this didn¡¯t work...


    "What would I do?" Tausau said, his lips twitching into a predatory smile that revealed his oversized fangs. "With an enemy to fight, my Mongrels would teach them fear. Our fangs may be dull at the moment, but we¡¯re more than capable of nibbling at the flanks, forcing the enemy to dance at our prodding."


    "We may not be able to drag them down to death, your Eternity," he said, the flame in his eyes growing brighter. "But if you ask us to stretch out their necks, then we will prepare them for the headsman¡¯s ax."

 Chapter 260: Healing a Soul

    Chapter 260: Healing a Soul"That¡¯s the Uncle that I remember from so many years ago," Nyrielle said, a smile blossoming on her lips that revealed her own wickedly sharp fangs. "Welcome back Uncle Tausau," she said, withdrawing her power from the older vampire. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The technique she used was still incredibly crude and there was much that she didn¡¯t understand. She had spent nearly two centuries learning to understand the soul and how to destroy it. Her shadow claws could pierce to the core of a person¡¯s being, withering away the thoughts and passions that defined them one at a time just as easily as shredding their innermost self in an instant, leaving nothing behind but a tattered and broken shell of a person. She understood destruction very well.


    This time, however, when she unleashed her darkness on her Uncle, it bore as much resemblance to her previous actions as a surgeon¡¯s careful ministrations did to the skillful wielding of a butcher¡¯s knife. While both might neatly separate flesh, the skill required by the surgeon was ten times greater and the results couldn¡¯t be more different.


    In order to reignite the passions that once defined her Uncle¡¯s existence, she had precisely targeted and pierced portions of Tausau¡¯s innermost soul. Time had left much of the man¡¯s soul little more than a ground-down and withered husk but once she¡¯d provoked him into revealing his true self to her, she was able to take action.


    Instead of rending or excising the vulnerable essence of her Uncle, she¡¯d guided tiny portions of the living energy she gained from Ashlynn whenever she fed on her Seneschal into those exposed and desiccated places in his soul.


    What happened next was, at present, completely beyond her control. It was like watering a plant. She could only pour the water on the right spots. Whether the plant grew or not wasn¡¯t up to her. Once Ashlynn had better command over her own powers, Nyrielle intended to work more actively with her lover to develop this unique magic, but for now, she was just happy that she¡¯d achieved some small success with Zedya and now, with her Uncle Tausau.


    "I, I feel like the man I was long ago," Tausau said, staring at his hands and pressing them to his chest as if he couldn¡¯t believe that the heart he felt beating beneath his palms truly belonged to him. "Nyrielle, no, your Eternity," he said, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through him. "What is it that you¡¯ve done to me?"


    As he spoke, he couldn¡¯t help but stand, flexing his slender, disproportionately small arms and his dexterous fingers. The sensations he felt from his body were no different than before. He was still, he realized, softer than he had been more than a hundred years ago.


    "Hunter¡¯s Focus. Envelop Me," he whispered, using sorcery long neglected to bring out the greatest acuity of his vision, hearing, and sense of smell. All of this, he turned on himself, until he understood his own state better than he had in years.


    Just hours ago, the results he discovered wouldn¡¯t have troubled him. He would have passively accepted that his powers had grown weaker with disuse, even his sorcery couldn¡¯t bring back the edge he¡¯d held in his prime. Now, however, these revelations provoked an extreme sense of disgust and self-loathing.


    No wonder his niece had looked at him with such disdain when she arrived. He truly had fallen and time had eroded much, much more than his ability to feel. Now that he could feel again, however, that very disgust would drive him to make up for these deficiencies. Within a year or two at most, he silently vowed that he would regain the edge he¡¯d lost.


    "You said that eventually, I would understand how time would grind away at me," Nyrielle said, pulling him out of his thoughts. On her lips hung a smile that was far warmer and more genuine than would have been possible for her just months ago. "You aren¡¯t wrong, Uncle, but the process isn¡¯t as irreversible as we¡¯ve been taught."


    "The gift I¡¯ve given you is rare and precious," she said, her eyes hardening and her tone growing colder. If other vampires came to know the effects of drinking Ashlynn¡¯s blood, it would become much harder to keep her lover safe from those who would be willing to risk her ire for a chance to feel again. "I trust that you won¡¯t speak of this gift or how you obtained it."


    "You have my word, your Eternity," Tausau said vehemently. Since his grand-niece had chosen to trust him with such a heavy gift, we wouldn¡¯t dare speak of it to anyone else. "I¡¯ll spill my blood and sign a pledge for you if you require it," he offered.


    "Unnecessary," Nyrielle said, waving it off. As much as she knew Tausau meant what he said, there were still two people who could force the words from him no matter what he wished. It might technically be possible to resist the commands of his own sire, but Nyrielle didn¡¯t believe for a moment that Tausau had that kind of strength of will, even after she reignited his ability to feel.


    As to the idea of resisting the orders of Bardas, the idea was so laughable that she never considered the possibility that Tausau could keep this secret from the head of his line. If Bardas commanded Tausau to betray her, no amount of ancient loyalty or lingering affection would stop him from turning his fangs on her.


    "There is something else I require," Nyrielle said. Healing Tausau was only the first step. As much as she cared for the motley-looking man who had often visited her grandsire in her youth, there was a limit to what her affection would compel her to do.


    On this journey, the warm energy that flowed into her with Ashlynn¡¯s blood was a finite and nonrenewable resource. Even though the bond she held with Ashlynn pulsed stronger than ever before as her lover fought back against whatever sought to tear them apart, the bond was not so strong as to allow her to feed on her lover from a great distance.


    When what she had gained from Ashlynn on their last night together was gone, there would be no more for many months until they met again in High Fen City. Expending that energy on Tausau had been a deliberate move to place the older vampire in her debt. And now, she intended to collect.

 Chapter 261: No Help for the Vale

    Chapter 261: No Help for the Vale"You have more than sixty progeny," Nyrielle said, cutting directly to the point. As much affection as she had for her Uncle, he and his progeny had been living far too comfortably for far too long. Now that she¡¯d shaken him free of his ennui, it was time to put his Mongrel Horde to better use than guarding an uncontested border.


    "That¡¯s far too many for you to care for," Nyrielle continued. "In a few months, I will return to the Vale of Mists to prepare for war. When I do, send twenty of your progeny with me. I think that even Bardas would agree at this point that the humans must be culled before they get out of hand. The Vale stands as one of the shields against human attempts to cross the mountains and flood the western lands beyond. Help me stop them."


    "It¡¯s up to you who you send," Nyrielle added, sipping her rich red wine and letting the almost nutty flavor roll across her tongue while she watched a sense of increasing discomfort appear on her Uncle¡¯s face. He¡¯d lost the habit of hiding what he felt and the return of so many subtle emotions left him unable to keep her from reading him like a book as he faced her.


    "I understand that you don¡¯t wish for any of your progeny to die," Nyrielle said, her midnight eyes meeting his over the rim of her wine glass. "Send your strongest who have the greatest chance of surviving or send your weakest who place the greatest burden on your house, the choice is up to you. But you said it yourself, given the chance, your Mongrels would teach them fear. I¡¯m giving you that chance."


    "Your Eternity," he said, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Nyrielle, I... It¡¯s not that I do not wish to support you. If you wanted to pull down the Frost Walkers in the High Pass or any other Eldritch Lord, I would send my progeny, even if some might, might not return," he said, stumbling at the end as he forced himself to admit the truth of what sending many of his less capable progeny would mean for their fates.


    "But commands have been spread far and wide from years ago," Tausau said, his head drooping with shame as he could no longer meet Nyrielle¡¯s gaze. "No vampire is to aid you in defending the Vale of Mists against the humans. We may protect you personally and give you aid," he added quickly. "Only, only we are forbidden from fighting in your war."


    "Do you know why?" Nyrielle asked sharply. Darkness swirled around her hands and it took considerable effort to restrain herself from destroying the chair she sat in. The feeling of tearing had faded from her chest and a new warmth began to build there which helped her to calm herself but the idea that she would be denied the support of other vampires in her war against the Lothians... "Who issued the order?"


    "I don¡¯t know," the older vampire said, barely managing to keep from cowering in front of the cold, dark fury that enveloped Nyrielle. "But the number of people who could give such an order..."


    Shadows around the room danced, flowing across the floor to meld with Nyrielle as her fury grew. Her fingers flexed and along her back two faint red lines appeared as though she was moments away from unfurling her dark wings.


    For more than a century she had stood guard at the far end of the High Pass, preventing human expansion into Eldritch lands. The only time she¡¯d turned to other nations for help, she¡¯d taken her defeated foes as progeny in order to retake the Vale of Mists. Ever since then, she¡¯d worked only with the Eldritch Lords on her side of the mountains, leaving the western lands to enjoy generations of relative peace.


    And now, now that she finally turned to her own kind for help, to a member of her own extended family no less, she found an order barring her way. Worse, she thought as her aura leached the warmth from the room, the order only prevented her kin from supporting her territory.


    It was as though someone was attempting to strip her of the Vale of Mists, denying her position as an Eldritch Lady... and for what? What reason could someone have to act in such a deliberately cutting way?


    "It seems like I¡¯ll have to take it up with your sire," Nyrielle said. The realization that someone was trying to separate her from her nation hit her like a bucket of ice water, helping her regain her composure to focus on the issue at hand.


    Slowly, she pulled her dark aura back enough that Tausau stopped cowering as if Nyrielle was about to strike him. At times, it was useful for her uncle to be a bit fearful and compliant but she had no intention to bully the man, especially when he was one of the weakest among his peers. Someone else had already bullied him into refusing her demand for assistance. Bullying him further would do no good.


    What he didn¡¯t know, he couldn¡¯t tell and what he had been commanded to keep silent she would need to destroy him to learn. As cruel as she had become over the years, even she had lines she was reluctant to cross and this was one of them. Besides, even if Tausau gave her a name, it would change nothing about the orders he¡¯d been given.


    "Prepare you men anyway," Nyrielle said as she stood to leave the sitting room. The intrusive feeling in her bond with Ashlynn had faded, replaced with something that felt more like Ashlynn herself was struggling and in pain. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    That pain radiated from Ashlynn¡¯s heart and into her bond with Nyrielle, as if she were reaching out to her. As important as these matters were, anything that concerned Ashlynn was almost automatically more important.


    "I¡¯ll speak with your sire about these orders when I visit him," Nyrielle said. "I expect to bring him with me when I return. It¡¯s been too long since he visited Torbin¡¯s tomb and paid his respects. At that point, he may order you to join us as well. See that you and your men are both ready to travel."


    "Of course, your Eternity," the older vampire said, bowing helplessly at her command. He didn¡¯t believe she would succeed in either of her goals, but what else could he could do? There was nothing wrong with preparing even if they were preparing for something that would never come to pass. Better to prepare even though it was useless than to face her wrath for defying such an easy command.


    "We have other matters to discuss tomorrow night," Nyrielle reminded him in a tone that felt distracted to the point of being absent minded. "For now, something important has come up. We will speak again tomorrow," she said, sweeping from the room in a swirl of darkness that left the older vampire no chance to respond. He hadn¡¯t even had the chance to offer to escort her to the rooms he¡¯d had prepared for her stay!


    "I knew you had changed from our darling little Nyrielle," he said, several minutes after she left. Pouring himself a fresh glass of wine, Tausau stared at the door she left through, replaying their conversation several times in his mind as he tried to process details he¡¯d missed while he sat in her overwhelming presence.


    "But this change," he muttered as he thought about her abrupt departure. "What has come over you my darling niece? What is so important that you would skip feeding and rush away after giving your orders? And how did you notice it while I noticed nothing?"


    There were no answers to the questions he asked but as he sat in his study contemplating their conversation, he hoped that she would at least inform him if it was something that threatened his small domain and the progeny he¡¯d worked so hard to rescue.


    For several minutes, he considered whether he should pass orders to his progeny to prepare themselves for trouble. The Mongrel Horde might not be strong individually, but they accomplished much with superior numbers. If he put them on alert...


    But then, he thought, if it was something that threatened even the Harbinger of Death... then perhaps there was no reason for him to know because at that point, there was nothing he could do.

 Chapter 262: Bonds

    Chapter 262: Bonds It had been decades since Nyrielle¡¯s last visit to Tausau¡¯s ramshackle fortress but the underground levels had changed very little since the last time she visited. The tapestries hanging on the walls had changed and the number of oil lamps had increased but Nyrielle noticed none of these things in her haste to reach the underground chamber that had been prepared to receive her and Zedya. "Mistress," the unremarkable-looking vampire said as she dropped into a curtsey when Nyrielle swept into the room. "You didn¡¯t spend much time with our host... did it fail?"


    "The sorcery didn¡¯t fail," Nyrielle said bluntly. Her midnight eyes swept the room, ignoring the opulent suede-covered chairs and elaborately carved furnishings until she spotted the lacquered screens that gave an additional element of privacy to the place where her coffin-like daybed had been placed.


    "Something is happening to Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, placing a hand on her chest. The echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest was calmer than it had been, with a strong, steady beat that contained fierce determination. The tendrils of foreign energy probing and pulling at their bond had ceased their efforts to separate the two women but they still clung stubbornly to the mystical tie that bound Ashlynn¡¯s life to hers.


    "Do we need to return to the Briar, Mistress?" Zedya asked, pausing in her preparations. To Zedya, who had served in the manor of a baron before taking her place at Nyrielle¡¯s side, Tausau¡¯s manor felt like a poor imitation of opulence. She understood that the aging vampire wanted to give his ragtag progeny a life that felt luxurious after a lifetime of persecution, but the effect was more gaudy than extravagant.


    The only thing she felt was worthy of her Mistress¡¯ stature in the rooms they¡¯d been provided was the collection of fine wines. She was preparing to pour a glass of a local vintage with a strong, oaky flavor that she felt would remind Nyrielle of the scent of growing things that often accompanied Lady Ashlynn until Nyrielle¡¯s words left her wondering if they should depart immediately to rescue their Seneschal.


    "I wouldn¡¯t think that the Mother of Thorns would do anything to harm Ashlynn, but perhaps her teaching methods are a bit... extreme," Zedya said, recalling her own days under the powerful witch¡¯s tutelage.


    While Amahle could present a gentle and motherly guise to the world, only a fool would forget her title as the Mother of Thorns. When the time came, anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her protective thorns would discover just how sharp the woman wielding them could be.


    "This doesn¡¯t feel like something the Mother of Thorns is doing directly," Nyrielle said. Working quickly, she released the locks on her darksteel lined daybed before turning back to Zedya.


    "There are still a few hours before dawn," Nyrielle said, her words crisp and quick as she delivered instructions. "Mingle with Uncle¡¯s progeny. There are more than sixty of them. Tomorrow night, I¡¯ll want your impressions of them."


    "Someone has given Tausau orders to withhold assistance from the Vale of Mists," she added bluntly. "You don¡¯t need to learn who, but expect that things may be more delicate than we thought they¡¯d be when we left the Vale. I¡¯m not to be disturbed unless I fail to emerge for more than three days."


    "Yes, Mistress," Zedya said, dropping into another curtsey and holding it until her Mistress had retreated to the safety of her daybed. In the past two decades, there had been very few things that could bring out her Mistress¡¯s impatience and worry, but now that Lady Ashlynn had entered the picture, things were changing rapidly.


    After several weeks of experiments with Nyrielle, Zedya found herself changing as well. She¡¯d claimed her vengeance against the nobles who wronged her long ago and for years, the only emotions she¡¯d protected against the millstone of time were her dedication and reverence for Nyrielle. So long as she could serve well, she was content.


    Now that Nyrielle had begun to help her rekindle her heart, those emotions had become more nuanced and complex. There wasn¡¯t just a deep satisfaction in performing her own duties well or pride in the knowledge that her Mistress had come to rely on her. Seeing her Mistress¡¯s happiness had begun to manifest as a happiness of her own.


    At the same time, seeing her Mistress pained with anxiety for Lady Ashlynn, at a time like this, left Zedya feeling something else that was distinctly unpleasant. Helplessness. There was nothing she could do to aid Nyrielle in this, so before she left the underground room to carry out the orders she¡¯d been given she gave Nyrielle¡¯s coffin-like daybed a very long look.


    "Good luck, Mistress. Lady Ashlynn," she said, offering a final, unwitnessed curtsey before she left the underground room.


    Within her daybed, Nyrielle closed her midnight eyes and allowed herself to sink fully into the darkness. Without distractions, she could focus entirely on the flow of energy between herself and Ashlynn.


    Distance made it more difficult to notice subtle differentiations flowing across the bond of blood. Part of why Nyrielle felt such great distress over the sensations emanating from the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest is because they were distinct, uncomfortable, and even painful. If she could feel these changes when she was more than a hundred leagues away, how fierce would it have felt to stand next to Ashlynn during this assault?


    But in the darkness, when she focused on Ashlynn¡¯s presence she felt not only the echo of her lover¡¯s heartbeat, she could hear the rustling of wind in the leaves of trees, smell the rich and sharp scent of pitch and sap... All of the subtle things that defined Ashlynn¡¯s energy in her mind were still there, pure and strong despite the distance.


    Her brows furrowed as she focused more closely on the energy she felt from Ashlynn. Her lover¡¯s presence was so strong in her heart that it was difficult to notice the tendrils of something similar, something that almost blended with Ashlynn¡¯s energy of the forest.


    "An Ancient Oak?" Nyrielle muttered, finding the presence to be similar to the Ancient Oaks in the Vale of Mists. And yet, there were differences as well. The energy of an Ancient Oak was strong, unyielding, and withstood the test of time through might alone. This felt much softer, and every time she thought she¡¯d gotten her hands around the entangling roots of this energy, it gave ground, yielding to her approach only to return when she turned her attention to another tendril.


    "Frustrating," she said, her hands flexing like talons at her side. She wished to rip and tear at this thing that tried to come between her and Ashlynn, that dared to attempt to pull them apart, but several of its roots had already sunk deep into Ashlynn¡¯s heart. If she tore at it violently, she might destroy it, but she would harm her lover in the process.  S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Hours slipped by and Nyrielle found herself no closer to a solution. The more energy she expended on forceful attempts, the more entangled she became. Worse, the approach of dawn seemed to grant this interloper even more strength while Nyrielle felt herself flagging and faltering as light spilled across the sky.


    "Endure my darling," Nyrielle breathed as she felt the first rays of light fall upon the earth above her. Without the shrouding mists of the vale, persisting after the sun rose above the horizon, even when she was beneath the earth, was incredibly difficult and she¡¯d exhausted much of her strength in the struggle.


    "I will return to you..." she started to say, only to be pulled forcefully from the waking world into the distant memories that took the place of dreams.


    This time, however, the place where Nyrielle found herself was nowhere she remembered. The city around her was crowded with throngs of people, and thousands of candles had been lit in lanterns all over the city. The sounds of waves crashing could be heard in the distance and the smell of salt filled the air.


    "Nyrielle," Ashlynn¡¯s voice called from behind her. "I thought the visions and tests were over," she said, looking around at the familiar city in confusion before looking at the woman who shouldn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t possibly be here.


    For Ashlynn, her trial at the hands of Cecile and the Ancient Willow had only just ended. They were supposed to be releasing her so that she could return to Amahle and bring the completed seed of witchcraft to Heila. Why then had she entered another vision?


    The vision of Nyrielle before her was unlike any she had seen before. Rather than her usual dark and lacy garb, the vampire had dressed in a pale seafoam blue dress adorned with strands of pearls and a seashell bracelet that looked like something Ashlynn had once given Jocelynn.


    All around them, the lights of a festival glowed, reminding Ashlynn of one of the rare occasions that she and Jocelynn had been free to enjoy an evening of revels among the common folk while the city celebrated the Holy Festival of Light. It was as if they had returned to one of Ashlynn¡¯s most precious memories of her home in the years before she left for Lothian March, but Nyrielle had taken Jocelynn¡¯s place at her side.


    After days of enduring the visions and trials of the Ancient Willow, Ashlynn only wanted to return to her small hut to rest, but now she was presented with yet another vision of Nyrielle. Only this one looked far more real than any facsimile conjured by the Ancient Willow... and she looked deeply concerned as her midnight eyes gazed at Ashlynn.

 Chapter 263: Shared Dreams

    Chapter 263: Shared Dreams"My darling," Nyrielle said, momentarily stunned by the sight of Ashlynn before her. When Ashlynn arrived in the Vale of Mists, she had nothing, and everything she now owned had been given to her by Nyrielle since her arrival, including her jewelry.


    But the Ashlynn before her now wore refined strings of pearls around her neck and delicate pearl studs adorned her ears. The dress she wore, rather than the earthy greens and browns, was a deep ocean blue that hugged her narrow waist before offering up a stunning view of her bosom with a neckline cut low enough to be considered scandalous in places like Lothian March.


    "You look beautiful," Nyrielle said, reaching out to trace a finger along her lover¡¯s cheek, marveling at the intricate curls Ashlynn¡¯s hair had been styled in, adorned with strings of pearls dangling from elaborate hair pins. The entire ensemble gave her the appearance of a goddess of the sea, stepping onto land among the press and crowds of lesser beings.


    "How does it feel like you¡¯re really you," Ashlynn whispered, closing her eyes and feeling the echoing pulse of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in the other woman¡¯s touch. Memories flashed through her minds of a burned and scarred Nyrielle on the edge of death but as real as it had felt when the Nyrielle in her vision took every last drop of blood from her body, it hadn¡¯t felt as... present as the woman in front of her.


    "Every other vision has been a hollow imitation," Ashlynn said softly, still struggling to believe that Nyrielle was truly before her. "But this... This all feels real."


    "Because it really is me, my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said, wrapping her arms around the younger woman¡¯s slender waist and pulling her close. "Once before, you touched a dream, a memory of mine. You entered a place you could never have appeared in a time long ago and..."


    "And we danced the night away," Ashlynn whispered, her brows furrowing as she tried to recall more details about the strange dream. She had only the vaguest memories of a dream of dancing with Nyrielle at an extravagant Eldritch ball.


    At the time, she had been desperate to find a way to survive after a fallen Tuscan dragged her beneath the ice of a frozen lake. She¡¯d used sorcery to place herself in a state of false death where her heart barely beat and her lungs could sustain her for several minutes off a single breath of air. In that state, she¡¯d fallen into a dream unlike any she¡¯d ever experienced before.


    She remembered that the dream felt far too vivid and real to be an ordinary dream, but the chaotic and terrifying events she woke to afterward left her mind scattered and her memories of the dream hazy at best. By the time Nyrielle had arrived to rescue her, Heila and the Frost Walker Hauke from the abomination of melded ancestral blood golems, Ashlynn had almost completely forgotten the strange dream she experienced while trapped under the ice.


    Nyrielle, however, seemed to remember the event in far more detail. The banquet Ashlynn appeared at had occurred over two centuries ago, long before the death of Nyrielle¡¯s parents. For Nyrielle, it should have been a joyous moment of reliving a memory of days before her parents fell to Lothian savagery, but it had instead transformed into something even more precious - a dream where she danced with Ashlynn while her parents and grandsire watched with approving eyes.


    "It seems that our dreams have touched each other yet again," Nyrielle said, blinking back tears as she recalled their last shared dream and looking away from Ashlynn for a moment to look around the seaside city.


    "Only this time, the memory we¡¯re sharing isn¡¯t one of mine, but one of yours."


    For what felt like several minutes, Ashlynn stood trembling in Nyrielle¡¯s arms, leaning against the vampire and clinging to her as if to reassure herself that this Nyrielle, the one who stood calmly looking around the vision of Blackwell City, wasn¡¯t just a manifestation of the Ancient Willow in yet another strange and twisted test.


    "How are you here?" Ashlynn whispered, pressing her ear against Nyrielle¡¯s chest and listening to the heartbeat that matched so precisely with the echo of a heartbeat within her own chest. "Why is this happening?"


    "I don¡¯t know for certain," Nyrielle said, returning her attention to Ashlynn and gently stroking her lover¡¯s pale golden curls. From the way Ashlynn shook in her embrace, it was clear that whatever had attacked their bond had been an arduous trail, but what she had faced to feel like this, she had no idea.


    "Something was attacking our bond," Nyrielle whispered gently. "I felt it probing at us, then pulling you away from me like it wished to tear us apart. I fought back against it but the energy never retreated," she said with a hint of bitter frustration. Fighting the invasive energy felt like pushing sand uphill. It yielded and moved under her touch only to flow back as soon as her attention turned elsewhere.


    "The Ancient Willow," Ashlynn said, her tone growing sharp as she pulled back to meet Nyrielle¡¯s gaze. "The witches seem to want to rescue me from you. The Ancient Willow even offered to strip away our pact, ¡¯freeing me¡¯ from our bond."


    "You know I disapprove of burning down such powerful wonders of nature," Nyrielle said, her tone growing even darker than Ashlynn¡¯s. "Do I need to make an exception for this Ancient Willow? If it is bent on its own destruction, it has only itself to blame."


    "I don¡¯t think so," Ashlynn said, closing her eyes and reaching out with her own senses to feel the energy of the Ancient Willow. Cecile, the spirit of the previous Willow Witch, had said they would no longer stand in her way when it came to her relationship with Nyrielle. Now, however, when she reached out to the ancient tree, she felt something completely unexpected. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I think, I think I understand now," she said as she gingerly explored the energy that felt like roots wrapping around her bond with Nyrielle. "I think that this is the Ancient Willow¡¯s apology. It¡¯s helping me to reach you, giving me the energy to connect so deeply. It really is a healer¡¯s tree," she said with an ironic smile tugging at the corners of her lips.


    "Is that the case?" Nyrielle said, raising an eyebrow in doubt. "If it is, then I suppose I can withhold any punishment for this Ancient Willow. But Darling," she said, placing a finger under Ashlynn¡¯s chin and lifting the other woman¡¯s gaze to meet hers. "The distress I felt from you, what happened?"


    "I can explain but, I¡¯d rather not do it in the middle of the street," Ashlynn said, gesturing to the crowds of people milling about. It was hard to make out the features of passersby and no one seemed to pay any attention to the two noblewomen standing in the middle of the road but it still felt strange to be out in the open with Nyrielle like this, especially in her home city.


    "This feels like some of the visions the Ancient Willow immersed me in," Ashlynn said. "Some of them were memories where I could only watch things as they replayed but others were more open. I think I should be able to take you somewhere quiet where we can speak. I¡¯ll explain everything," she promised.


    "For a chance to see my darling Ashlynn¡¯s home," Nyrielle said, holding out an arm as though she were a gentleman escorting a lady. "I¡¯ll go wherever you like."

 Chapter 264: An Impossible Evening Begins

    Chapter 264: An Impossible Evening BeginsIt didn¡¯t take long for the two women to leave the brightly lit core of Blackwell City. Ashlynn may have only left the Blackwell Manor infrequently but she still lived in this city for more than twenty years before she left to marry Owain Lothian. In order to escape the crowds that packed the brightly lit festival, she led Nyrielle to a quiet stretch of docks used mostly by local fishermen.


    The air smelled of the briny water of the harbor, the mingled tar and wooden scents of the small ships, and an underlying fishy odor that clung to everything long after the day¡¯s catch had been delivered to the fishmongers of the city.


    In the relative quiet of the empty docks, they could hear the gentle lap of waves against weathered hulls and the creak of mooring ropes as the fishing boats shifted with the incoming tide. The distant sounds of the festival, music, and laughter carried on the sea breeze across the open water, seemed to belong to another world entirely.


    On the far side of the harbor, the tall ships that sailed across the sea were far grander and were certain to have a small crew of unfortunate souls who stayed aboard even during the festival, but here, with nothing but local fishing ships, the docks were deserted, giving the two women a quiet space in the darkness completely to themselves.


    "So this is what it looks like when the stars touch the sea," Nyrielle said, gazing off into the darkness of the ocean. The glittering sight of so many stars was unlike anything she had seen from the Vale of Mists, though the view of the night sky from the High Pass came close. "It¡¯s beautiful," she whispered as she sat next to Ashlynn at the end of the dock, pressing up against her lover and holding her close.


    "I didn¡¯t realize how much I would miss it," Ashlynn said softly. "But the more I attune myself with the trees, the less this feels like ¡¯home.¡¯ I think I miss the Vale of Mists almost as much as I miss Blackwell County."


    "Almost?" Nyrielle teased.


    "Almost," Ashlynn said, giving Nyrielle a playful poke. "You¡¯re not there right now. Even if I rushed home right this instant, I would still be missing you. But if I rushed back to Blackwell County..."


    "You still have family and loved ones here," Nyrielle said, nodding in understanding. Inwardly, her heart warmed at the way Ashlynn mentioned ¡¯returning home¡¯ to refer to the Vale of Mists. It was something small but also profound. As much as she could feel Ashlynn¡¯s desire to visit Blackwell County and her loved ones here, that was all she yearned for. A visit.


    "I¡¯ll keep my promise to you," she said, giving Ashlynn a reassuring squeeze. "I¡¯ll bring you here to visit in the winter when the nights are long."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, looking over the twinkling lights of Blackwell City. "You wanted to know what happened to me," Ashlynn said, changing the topic before things could grow too heavy between them. The time to return to Blackwell City and to confront Owain Lothian and his family would come, but that time wasn¡¯t now.


    "It started with the process to bring Heila into my coven and creating a seed of witchcraft for her..." Ashlynn began. She kept her explanation brief, sticking mostly to facts but Nyrielle paid just as much attention to the subtle expression on her face and the faint tremble in her voice as she did to the words themselves. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By the time Ashlynn had finished recounting her arrival in the Briar and the trials she faced from the Ancient Willow, Nyrielle had a very good idea of just how hard the trials had been on Ashlynn.


    "So you¡¯ve decided that Heila will become the Willow Witch," Nyrielle said with an approving smile after listening to Ashlynn¡¯s explanation. "I think it suits her. And I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve been able to learn so much, so quickly after arriving in the Briar."


    "I am too," Ashlynn said, standing on the end of the doc and extending a hand for Nyrielle to join her. "But I¡¯m also glad that the Ancient Willow has given us a chance for me to share a piece of my past with you. For as long as this connection lasts, will you let me show you around?"


    "Of course, my darling," Nyrielle said, rising elegantly to take Ashlynn¡¯s hand. "This is one of your memories. When was this?"


    "Two years ago," Ashlynn said. "It was during the Holy Festival of Light. I went out with Jocey to mingle with the common folk of the city and escape the more formal rituals held by the church. Father didn¡¯t want me to spend the whole night out but it was just after we received Owain¡¯s proposal and I pleaded that I would only have a few more chances to see it before I moved to Lothian March..."


    "I see," Nyrielle said, picking at the seafoam-colored dress she wore in this vision. "So I¡¯ve taken the place of your younger sister in this memory."


    "Yes, but," Ashlynn said awkwardly. "The color really doesn¡¯t suit you and the dress makes you look almost as young as she was at the time," she added with a giggle. "I can¡¯t imagine being older than you by even a day."


    "Then change it," Nyrielle said with a smile. "It¡¯s your memory."


    "Can I do that?" Ashlynn asked, her brows creasing slightly as she thought about it. If she had to think of Nyrielle and her memories of all the things she¡¯d seen Nyrielle wear... A moment later, Nyrielle¡¯s dress shimmered, the seafoam blue growing darker as though a drop of pitch-black ink had spilled onto the dress only to spread across the entire surface of the garment. Within a few heartbeats, Nyrielle was dressed once again in the elegant silks and dark lace that she had worn on the night that she and Ashlynn first met.


    "I¡¯m surprised you remember this dress so well," Nyrielle teased. "You weren¡¯t at your best that night."


    "No, but," Ashlynn paused for a moment, biting her lower lip before she said something that felt deeply personal and a little embarrassing. "It was the most important night of my life," she said. "Sometimes, I feel like that night, I became your bride as well as your Seneschal."


    "Would you like a real wedding?" Nyrielle asked, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde curls. "One that your family can come to witness?" Among the Eldritch, every clan had their own traditions for formal unions, whether they were unions of love or politics.


    Some were as private and simple as the ceremony she¡¯d held with Ashlynn beneath the Ancient Oak, but others were much more intricate, sometimes turning into festivals in their own right as entire kingdoms celebrated the union of two noteworthy individuals. If Ashlynn desired a ceremony, whether it was attended by a dozen or a thousand people, Nyrielle was prepared to give it to her. So long as it made her lover happy, there was little she wouldn¡¯t do.


    "I would," Ashlynn whispered, stepping close to Nyrielle and wrapping her arms around the other woman¡¯s lithe figure. "But right now, it feels impossibly far away. And, I don¡¯t know if they will still accept me as their daughter once they find out that I really am a witch."


    "They loved you enough that they never turned you over to the church, despite the mark you bear," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn in close and stroking her lower back to soothe her. "I¡¯m sure that you and your happiness matters a great deal to them. They may not understand at first, but given time, the day will come. And you and I, we have all the time we need."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, pulling back from Nyrielle and trying to put her other thoughts out of her mind. "But that¡¯s for the future. For now, let me show you the festival," she said, pulling Nyrielle in the direction of the well-lit heart of the city.


    Her mind, however, couldn¡¯t help but wonder how much her family truly loved her. Despite the risks, her father had pressed ahead with her marriage to Owain Lothian and that had proved disastrous. More than that, someone betrayed her to Owain and she still didn¡¯t know who or why. Until she could find the truth... It was impossible to put her faith in them without answers to her questions.


    Once she knew, then and only then would she decide if it was important to have a ceremony to celebrate her union with Nyrielle in front of witnesses. After all, with a bond so close that they could share a dream like this together, did they really need a wedding to prove things to each other?

 Chapter 265: A Phantom Festival

    Chapter 265: A Phantom FestivalThe festival in Ashlynn¡¯s memory was filled with the bustle of people, the sounds of laughter and music and the smells of dozens of dishes overlapping with the salty air of the fresh sea breeze.


    The Holy Festival of Light was the largest festival of the year in Blackwell County. In places like Lothian March, the Lord¡¯s Harvest in the fall was even bigger and Ashlynn had heard that in the northern territories, Mid Winter¡¯s Night held the crown for the largest public celebration, but in Blackwell, the Holy Festival of Light had always been the busiest and most enthusiastically welcomed festival of the year.


    People spent an entire week before the start of the festival setting up stalls and booths that lined the streets of the city center. Some families spent an entire year preparing their wares. Children combed the beaches each morning for perfect shells or rare sea glass while their parents transformed these treasures into delicate wind chimes that sang in the breeze or intricate jewelry that captured the ocean¡¯s beauty.


    The simplest crafts were often just strings of shells that children had cleaned and polished themselves. While they weren¡¯t highly prized by locals, sailors from across the sea would still pay as much as a whole copper penny for a single string of shells that were free of chips or blemishes.


    Meanwhile, families with older children or adults who were particularly skilled worked with delicate tools to turn the treasures of the sea into beautiful hair combs with intricate patterns of shell pieces or set sea glass into walking sticks carved from driftwood that were admired by everyone from young merchants to aging pensioners. These handcrafted pieces would either be sold at family stalls during the festival or given away as prizes by those with the business acumen and wealth to host games for the common folk.


    Most importantly, the spring squalls had ended and the autumn gales had yet to blow in, making this the best time of year for visitors from across the sea. The busy port was filled with foreign traders, eager to snap up a piece of the ¡¯new world¡¯ to bring home to the old countries and flaunt their status before their less traveled peers. Even a common deckhand with a few copper pennies in his pocket could find hours of entertainment and chances to bring home souvenirs worth their weight in silver across the sea.


    "What kind of games are played at Eldritch festivals?" Ashlynn asked, as she guided Nyrielle to a street filled with small stalls and barkers trying to lure people to one particular game or another.


    "You¡¯ve heard about the arena in High Fen City," Nyrielle said, gazing more at the joyful expression on Ashlynn¡¯s face than the sights of the festival around her. "The Eldritch prefer physical competitions. If it isn¡¯t gladiatorial combat, it might be wrestling matches, archery contests, or any number of other things."


    "In the Southern Steppes," Nyrielle continued. "They play a game where brightly colored rings are hung on strings from poles and people from the Swift Hoof Clan race around a track with spears to catch as many rings as they can. People from other clans may ride horses to compete alongside them. The Eldritch value strength and most games they play have some martial application."


    "Well, these games aren¡¯t nearly so aggressive," Ashlynn laughed, trying to imagine humans getting excited about the kinds of games that Nyrielle described. It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine many people lining up to spectate at these sorts of contests but far too few people would be able to enjoy them.


    "Here, let¡¯s try this one," Ashlynn said, approaching a narrow and long stall where a man was juggling loops made of soft, pliable leather cord. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Beautiful ladyships," the man greeted, smoothly stopping his juggling to offer a bow to the approaching women. "Come to capture a few special adornments? Such a delicate and dainty wrist deserves a spindle seashell charm," he said, holding up a simple leather bracelet with a polished spindle shaped seashell dangling from it. "The more you snare, the more charms you win. Three tosses for a penny," he said, holding out a trio of leather loops toward Ashlynn.


    "Here," Ashlynn said, pressing four pennies into the man¡¯s calloused hands. "Six for me, and six for my love," she said, turning to Nyrielle. "The goal is to throw your loop and have it catch on one of the pegs on the board at the far end," she said, pointing at a wooden board covered with different colored pegs about ten paces away from where they stood.


    "You want me to win charms for you?" Nyrielle said, raising a questioning brow at Ashlynn.


    "No," Ashlynn said, stretching up on her tiptoes to whisper into Nyrielle¡¯s ear. "I want to see if you can beat me at the game. You might be a vampire, but I¡¯ve played these since I was a child. Do you think you can win?"


    Mischief glittered in Ashlynn¡¯s eyes as she stepped up to the throwing line, spinning her loop of leather through the air with a practiced toss and catching it on a bright red painted peg that was nearly as large around as the loop itself.


    "That¡¯s three points for me, my love," Ashlynn said. "Can you match me?"


    "I see," Nyrielle said, her eyes flashing as she accepted her lover¡¯s challenge. If she just tossed the loop through the air, the floppy leather might not be ¡¯open¡¯ enough to fit around the wider pegs. "Who came up with this sort of game?"


    "Sailors," Ashlynn said, giggling as Nyrielle¡¯s throw failed to catch the large peg she¡¯d thrown at. The loop had sailed through the air toward a red peg with unerring precision that Ashlynn had expected of her vampire lover, but when the loop struck the board, it failed to hook around the peg and instead flopped uselessly to the sandy cobblestones below.


    "Show me how you did that again," Nyrielle said, sharpening her focus on Ashlynn¡¯s next throw after giving the limp loop of leather on the ground a look dark enough that if it had been a small animal, Ashlynn was certain it would scurry away in fear.


    "If you watch when they¡¯re working with ropes," Ashlynn said, effortlessly tossing another loop spinning through the air with a practiced twist of her wrist, this time catching a thinner blue post. "They can make a rope dance around mooring posts or all manner of other things when they need to secure things quickly on a ship."


    "So there are still practical skills here," Nyrille said, imitating Ashlynn¡¯s movement and managing to loop one of the thinner blue posts. "Just not for battle."


    "I guess so," Ashlynn said. "To me, it was just a bit of fun. I used to dream that if I could learn skills with ropes or things like this, I could sail somewhere far enough away that no one would care about my mark and I could just be normal..."


    "Darling," Nyielle paused in her throwing, using the leather loop instead as a snare to capture Ashlynn¡¯s wrist and pulling the other woman close to her. "You deserve to be somewhere better than a place that just doesn¡¯t care about what you are. You should be celebrated for the woman you are instead of hiding your brilliance away."


    "I, I don¡¯t know about that," Ashlynn said, her face heating as she struggled to meet Nyrielle¡¯s intense gaze. "But, since my mark brought me to you, then it was worth the hardship to get here."


    "Your hardship has been too much," Nyrielle said. Her arms wrapped around Ashlynn, pulling the other woman into a tight embrace, but her gaze looked over Ashlynn¡¯s head at the distant Blackwell Manor. How much of a prison must it have been for her love to dream of sailing away from this place, just to be an ordinary person? The thought of it was just too cruel.


    "And I haven¡¯t begun to shower you with enough affection to make up for all the years you suffered before you reached me," the vampire added. "But I promise, I will."


    "You¡¯d better," Ashlynn whispered into the dark fabric of Nyrielle¡¯s dress. Her arms held the other woman tightly, feeling her cool flesh beneath the silky dress and breathing in her faint lavender fragrance.


    "But don¡¯t think you can distract me with pretty words," Ashlynn said, stepping back and wiping moisture away from her eyes as she returned to the throwing line. This time, her loop spun with even greater precision than the first one, easily catching another of the thickest, most difficult red pegs. "I¡¯m still going to beat you at this game!"


    "Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll make it easy for you," Nyrielle said, tossing a loop of her own and landing on the very same red peg as Ashlynn¡¯s last throw. "You¡¯ll find I¡¯m a very quick study," she added with a playful smile and a challenging gleam in her midnight eyes.

 Chapter 266: A Taste of Home

    Chapter 266: A Taste of HomeIn the end, Ashlynn won the loop tossing game by a single toss. Nyrielle¡¯s ability to match Ashlynn toss for toss broke the younger woman¡¯s rhythm enough that she missed her fourth throw by a laughable margin. Even with her enhanced physical abilities as Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, there were limits to the level of perfection she could achieve.


    After that, it would have ended in a tie if Nyrielle hadn¡¯t failed on her last throw, trying for a winning toss on a red peg and narrowly missing it. Ashlynn, however, wasn¡¯t entirely convinced of Nyrielle¡¯s failure.


    As the barker gathered their prizes, Ashlynn studied Nyrielle¡¯s face. That last throw had been suspiciously wide for someone who had matched her shot-for-shot until then, but perhaps even Nyrielle was capable of feeling a little bit of pressure and making minor mistakes.


    "You didn¡¯t let me win, did you?" she asked, even as the man presented them with more spindle-shaped shells than she¡¯d ever won before. Her eyes widened at the collection before she caught herself and waved him off. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    No matter how real this felt, they were still sharing a dream. These weren¡¯t prizes she could take with her, even if it would have been nice to have a keepsake of the evening. Still, the suspicion remained as she turned back to Nyrielle.


    "That last throw," Ashlynn said, letting her voice trail off as she raised an eyebrow at Nyrielle.


    "My darling," Nyrielle said with a light laugh. "You don¡¯t have to save face for me. If I lost, I lost. I¡¯ll just have to win the next one," she added with a twinkle in her eye. "What other games are there to play?"


    "We could go fishing," Ashlynn suggested, pointing to a booth further down the street with a small crowd of people holding crude fishing poles and clustering around a row of barrels. "There are colored wooden rings floating in the barrels. You have to collect rings to earn better prizes. I guess it¡¯s not that different than the game you mentioned in the Southern Steppes, just played with fishing poles."


    "There¡¯s a large difference between a game that tests a lancer¡¯s aim at a gallop and a game that that is simpler than hooking fish in a barrel," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn a teasing poke that turned into a light tickle. "But that doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t play with you," she added with a sly wink as her hand slid lower on Ashlynn¡¯s hip, pulling her close enough to bestow a chaste kiss on the other woman¡¯s startled lips.


    For a moment, Ashlynn¡¯s heart raced and her eyes darted around, afraid of how the common people would react to such a public display of affection between two noblewomen. But in her memories, it had been a very normal night with nothing but polite and respectful treatment for the daughters of Count Blackwell.


    Now, despite Nyrielle¡¯s behavior that would have shocked a good number of citizens in Blackwell City, the common people went on as if everything was normal, giving Ashlynn the momentary illusion that the people of her home town accepted not only her relationship with another noblewoman but with a vampire as well.


    The thought was too silly to hold on to, but, at least for a few hours, she let herself indulge in the fantasy. One day, she hoped, it wouldn¡¯t be fantasy anymore. Until then, she would treasure the memories she made with Nyrielle this night.


    One game turned into another and while they remained competitive, neither woman cared whether they won or lost in the end. The real prizes weren¡¯t the baubles handed out by the barkers but the precious moments they shared.


    Suddenly, however, Ashlynn stopped halfway across a street as a familiar aroma assailed her nose. Unconsciously, her mouth began to water and she¡¯d already taken several steps in the direction of a man on the corner with several steaming baskets sitting atop pots of water and filling the air with a scent that, to Ashlynn¡¯s nose, might as well be wafting from the Heavenly Shores themselves.


    "What is it that¡¯s caught my darling¡¯s attention?" Nyrielle asked as she followed along beside her lover. The brilliant yellow lemons were easily recognizable but the strange black gleaming shells scattered all over a tray in front of the vendor looked like nothing Nyrielle had ever eaten before.


    "Stuffed mussels," Ashlynn said, stepping into the line and fishing out a pair of copper pennies. "You get five of them for a copper penny. It¡¯s filled with rice and raisins, allspice and herbs and with a little bit of lemon it tastes like the summer sun on your face on the cliffs overlooking the sea," she said, eagerly pressing her coins into the vendor¡¯s hands.


    Seeing the two beautiful noblewomen, the man wasted no time, quickly splitting open a mussel to reveal the spiced rice stuffing underneath the glistening steamed mussel. With a flourish, he squeezed a bit of lemon juice over the morsel and presented it to Ashlynn like he was offering up fine jewels.


    "You eat it like this," Ashlynn said, taking one half of the shell and using it as a scoop to spoon the rice, raisin and mussel mixture into her mouth. For a moment, she did nothing, closing her eyes and savoring the familiar flavor. The fresh chopped herbs blended with the lemon juice to give it a freshness that contrasted with the salty muscle and the soft, delicate texture of rice. Combined with the subtle sweetness of the raisins, the dish teased and tantalized every flavor, leaving her eager for another.


    "Fish, you can find in rivers and lakes," Ashlynn said after opening her eyes, finding Nyrielle holding a mussel of her own and looking at Ashlynn with an amused expression. "But mussels like these you can only get from the sea. In the old countries, they make this dish with dates instead of raisins, but here, only people like the heads of guilds or the nobility can afford dates shipped over from the old countries. Most people use raisins instead."


    "And it really tastes like the sun on your face?" Nyrielle said, eyeing the mussel with a dubious expression. "Are you certain that I¡¯d enjoy it?"


    "Oh! That, that¡¯s not what I meant at all," Ashlynn said, her face turning bright red. "The lemon and herbs give it brightness and freshness, that¡¯s all. You liked the steamed trout that Georg and I made for you before we left the Vale so you should like this."


    "You¡¯re too easy to tease my darling," Nyrielle said, imitating Ashlynn¡¯s action and scooping up the morsel of rice and mussel for herself. The taste was exactly as Ashlynn had described, fresh and bright, but briny in a way that was different from any fish dish she¡¯d ever been served.


    "I can see why you miss these," she said after savoring the dish. "Should we get more? I see they have small buckets we could take away. You don¡¯t have to limit yourself to just a few."


    "Um," Ashlynn paused for a moment, biting her lower lip and thinking. "I forgot that this is a dream but since it is, we should be able to go anywhere I can remember. I¡¯m going to buy a basket," she said, pointing to another vendor further down the street selling various goods woven from the wide bladed dune grass that grew along the beaches.


    "Once I finish filling it, I want you to fly us to the clifftops over there," Ashlynn said, pointing off into the darkness to the north of the city. "We can have a picnic under the stars, just for us."


    "I¡¯d like that," Nyrielle said with a smile as she unfurled her wings. "Get as much as you want. My wings can carry you even if your basket is filled to the brim with heavy stones."


    "In that case," Ashlynn said, a mischievous gleam appearing in her eyes. "Wait here, I¡¯ll be back in just a few minutes."


    When she returned, Ashlynn had a slightly guilty expression on her face and a basket that was so full of food that she needed two hands to hold it. Nyrielle, however, met Ashlynn¡¯s guilty look with an indulgent expression and held out her arms to her lover.


    "Come, my darling," Nyrielle said. "The night has as many hours as we need. We can savor as many dishes as you wish," she said, scooping Ashlynn up in a princess carry before her powerful wings began to beat, lifting them into the cool night air above Blackwell City.


    In Nyrielle¡¯s arms, Ashlynn clutched the basket tightly and revelled in the feeling of Nyrielle¡¯s strong arms holding her close as they flew through the night. The basket held many things she wanted to share with Nyrielle but the most important thing to savor, as far as she was concerned, was the time they spent together.

 Chapter 267: Picnic Beneath the Stars

    Chapter 267: Picnic Beneath the Stars"Over there," Ashlynn said, pointing to a point high above the crashing waves on a cliff overlooking the sea. "It¡¯ll be perfect."


    The place that Ashlynn had directed Nyrielle to was far enough outside of Blackwell City that the crash of waves and the occasional cry of night birds drowned out the faint sounds of the Holy Festival of Light. Here, the tall grasses bent and swayed in the summer breeze and only the moon, high in the sky, could observe the two lovers¡¯ arrival atop the towering cliff.


    "When I was younger, if Father was away at court, I used to sneak up here with Jocey in the small hours of the morning," Ashlynn said as she pulled a small table cloth out of the basket and spread it out before unpacking the basket.


    "We¡¯d get here just before sunrise and watch the sun come up over the water," Ashlynn continued, her hands pausing for a moment. Her fingers tightened on the thin loaf of crusty bread in her hands while her mind replayed those simpler days. In order to escape the manor without drawing attention, they often snuck a leftover loaf of bread and a bit of cheese from the kitchens to nibble on while they watched the sun rise.


    "On the right days," Ashlynn continued, setting down the bread and pulling more items out of the woven-grass basket. "The harbor would be full of ships raising their sails to catch the morning tide just as the sun came up. We¡¯d stay up here for hours, watching the ships and their sails until they vanished over the horizon." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And you got away with this?" Nyrielle asked.


    "Sort of," Ashlynn said, turning her attention back to Nyrielle. "Mother knew. Mother usually knew more than she admitted to. She left orders that Jocey and I were allowed to roam a bit as long as we didn¡¯t do anything dangerous, but she had a few guardsmen follow us in secret. It was years before we found out that the goodies we were ¡¯sneaking¡¯ from the kitchen had been set out for us to find," she said with a laugh.


    "Your mother sounds like a kind woman," Nyrielle said, placing a hand on Ashlynn¡¯s and looking deeply into her lover¡¯s moist emerald eyes. "My mother would never have given me so much freedom when I was young," she said in a voice that was soft and wrapped in sorrow.


    "I think she was so new to being a vampire that she lived with a sort of dread that I would get stuck outside when the sun rose before I was old enough to understand what would happen to me if I did," Nyrielle said. "She was very protective of me when I was little."


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, pulling Nyrielle close and pressing the other woman¡¯s head up against her generous bosom. "It must have been hard for you," she whispered, lightly stroking Nyrielle¡¯s midnight hair.


    "No more than it was for you," Nyrielle said. At first, she stiffened when Ashlynn pulled her close but after a moment, her body relaxed as she allowed herself to be comforted. How long had it been since the mighty Eldritch Lady of the Vale had anyone she could rest her head on instead of being the one who people turned to for comfort? More than a century at least.


    For several minutes, neither woman said anything. Nyrielle sank deeply into Ashlynn¡¯s touch, soaking up the warmth that radiated from her and listening to her heartbeat while Ashlynn¡¯s fingers wove their way through her midnight hair. Both of them felt adrift on a sea of memories, recalling simpler days that were filled with a childish joy that they could never return to.


    "Your basket looks like it¡¯s holding much more than just bread and cheese," Nyrielle finally said as she pulled back from Ashlynn¡¯s comforting embrace. "Just how many different things did you bring?"


    "Not as many as you¡¯d think," Ashlynn said, giving Nyrielle¡¯s hand a gentle squeeze before she returned to pulling things out of the basket. "There¡¯s a creamy, salty cheese to go with the bread, more mussels, and some crab cakes," she said, pulling out several golden brown patties formed from pale crab meat, bread and eggs that smelled strongly of fresh herbs.


    She¡¯d considered fetching a few steamed crabs just to see the elegant and composed Nyrielle making a mess of herself while cracking open the succulent claws but in the end she decided against it.


    It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t want to have something to tease her lover over, rather, she wasn¡¯t confident that she could manage cracking open freshly steamed crabs without making a mess of herself, and tonight, since she was dressed in her festival finest, she wanted to enjoy the way Nyrielle¡¯s eyes roamed over her figure in the moonlight more than she wanted to indulge in a bit of mischief.


    "I also brought a bottle of wine," Ashlynn added, pulling out a chilled bottle and a pair of simple cups. "It¡¯s nothing special, just a common white, but it should be nice with the mussels and the crab cakes."


    "Are you sure you should be drinking?" Nyrielle teased. "Not that you weren¡¯t cute last time when..."


    "Stop, stop," Ashlynn interrupted, frantically waving for Nyrielle to stop before saying anything about the time she¡¯d gotten thoroughly drunk while dining with High Lady Erna. Her memories of the night were still slightly fuzzy but she remembered saying some very embarrassing things before Nyrielle sent her off to bed. "It¡¯s just one bottle and you¡¯re going to drink half of it so I¡¯ll be fine," she insisted.


    "If you say so, my darling," Nyrielle said with a look that said she didn¡¯t believe Ashlynn at all.


    For the next several hours, Ashlynn and Nyrielle enjoyed their picnic under the stars, listening to the crash of waves against the cliffs below and talking idly about whatever came to mind while they nibbled at the nostalgic treats Ashlynn had gathered for their picnic.


    Mostly, Ashlynn shared stories of growing up in Blackwell County while Nyrielle compared Ashlynn¡¯s experiences to her own childhood in the Vale of Mists.


    Though their specific circumstances were worlds apart, both women found more and more things similar between their upbringings. For Ashlynn, the mark of the witch acted like shackles that kept her largely confined to Blackwell Manor. The threat of being exposed loomed over her constantly and forced her parents to make careful arrangements to keep her safe.

 Chapter 268: Greeting Dawn

    Chapter 268: Greeting Dawn"I never learned to swim," Ashlynn mentioned at one point. "Even though we¡¯re so close to the sea, we couldn¡¯t take the risk that my mark would be seen through wet clothes or while I changed. I was so jealous when my father started taking Jocey to the beach to learn."


    "Wasn¡¯t he worried that something would happen to your sister," Nyrielle asked, looking down at the waves crashing forcefully against the rocks below the cliff. "Swimming in the sea seems dangerous."


    "There are sheltered coves and places where the waves are more gentle," Ashlynn said, pointing further down the coast. "There are even places where people dive from cliffs like this into the water below. Father drew a line at learning how to dive, even Jocey wasn¡¯t allowed that much freedom. But still," she said, her voice turning wistful. "I would have liked to learn."


    "The Briar has several pools and there¡¯s an entire lake nearby," Nyrielle pointed out. "Perhaps you can learn while you¡¯re there. Or would it mean less since your father wouldn¡¯t be the one to teach you?"


    "I, I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said. In truth, she¡¯d never thought of it, but given how much travel in the Briar depended on boats, it might not be a bad idea. "There are dangerous creatures in the waters of the Briar, but it might be possible to learn in the lake. I¡¯ll think about it."


    "I think you should," Nyrielle said as she gave Ashlynn a reassuring squeeze. "If you don¡¯t learn in the Briar then I can teach you to swim in the river when we get home."


    "So even you got to learn to swim," Ashlynn said, pouting playfully at the unfairness of the world.


    "Of course," Nyielle said, keeping her voice light. "My father was a very practical man. He put me through his own version of ¡¯survival training¡¯ in case I ever needed to flee the Vale of Mists. I, I wish he had been wrong about needing to learn those things, but I¡¯m glad for the lessons. Without them, I might have..." Her voice trailed off as neither woman wanted to contemplate what could have happened if she hadn¡¯t been able to escape the Lothian¡¯s attack when the Vale of Mists fell.


    Ashlynn¡¯s childhood had been defined in many ways by her mark of the witch but for Nyrielle, it was her status as a True Vampire that defined her childhood. While Ashlynn would be reviled if her true nature was ever discovered, Nyrielle faced an entirely different form of isolation. A True Vampire was certain to be an important figure in the future, one with great power who was feared and worshipped by the masses.


    Nyrielle¡¯s parents and grandsire all agreed that she needed to be defended until she grew into her powers enough to protect herself. There were countless people who would feel threatened by the rise of yet another powerful vampire, especially the ones with ambitions to rise higher than any of their peers ever had.


    "Before the second crusade toppled the Eldritch Lords who ruled to the west of the Vale of Mists, there were a few lords who sent assassins," Nyrielle mentioned. "They were afraid that, once I grew strong enough to do so, I would descend from the Vale to conquer more territory for my grandsire."


    "Would he have?" Ashlynn asked with genuine curiosity.


    "Maybe in another hundred years or more if the Lothians hadn¡¯t come," Nyrielle admitted. "But he would have done it for me. From the day I was born, he wanted to hand the Vale of Mists over to me. He felt that I would be the greatest protector the Vale could ever know. If he conquered Airgead Mountain, the Verdant Wood and the Stone Fields then it would have been easy to name himself a Great Lord before passing that status to me."


    "But the Verdant Wood and the Stone Fields were conquered by the Lothains before he had the chance," Ashlynn realized.


    "When I was younger, I didn¡¯t care about being a Great Lord," Nyrielle said as she sipped the crisp, refreshing white wine. "Now, I still don¡¯t care about the status of being a High Lady or a Great Lady... I only care about having the strength to protect my people. Whatever it takes to get that, whatever it takes to keep you safe... I¡¯ll do it."


    "We¡¯ll do it," Ashlynn corrected, taking Nyrielle¡¯s free hand and lacing their fingers together. "We¡¯ll protect each other and the people we hold dear."


    While both of them had arrived at this point for reasons that couldn¡¯t be more opposite, the results were much the same. Both women grew up sheltered and isolated from many people who might otherwise have been their peers and they¡¯d both lost the ability to live in peace with the people who raised them. That past instilled a fierce desire in both women to protect the things that mattered to them lest they lose anything else precious.


    Overhead, the stars glittered and the moon crept across the sky watching silently as the two women drew closer together. In the soft darkness of the night, Nyrielle wrapped a feathered wing around Ashlynn, pulling the young witch close as the two stared out at the waves and watched the sky begin to lighten.


    "This is your favorite color, isn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn said as a subtle peach hue began to creep into the eastern sky. "The color of dawn."


    "It is," Nyrielle said, leaning against Ashlynn as if she was clinging to the younger woman¡¯s warmth. "But right now, I hate it just a bit. I don¡¯t want this moment to end."


    "I¡¯ll find a way to reach out to you again," Ashlynn promised. "We¡¯ll share more dreams in the days to come."


    "Don¡¯t hurt yourself trying, my darling," Nyrielle said, cupping Ashlynn¡¯s chin and turning her head so she could see her lover¡¯s yearning expression. "Without the strength of the Ancient Willow, you would never have reached me and I¡¯ll only be traveling farther away this summer. I¡¯m worried that reaching me like this will take too much from you."


    "I, I know," Ashlynn said, struggling to meet Nyrielle¡¯s soft, affectionate gaze. "I won¡¯t push myself, but I¡¯ll still keep it as a goal. Now that I understand that it can be done, it¡¯s just a matter of time before I find a way to do it whenever I want. There¡¯s so much I want to share with you..."


    "And I have many things to share with you," Nyrielle said, leaning in closer until their foreheads pressed together. "But now, I feel our time together is ending. Even in dreams, it seems I cannot resist the rising sun."


    "I love you," Ashlynn said, crossing the last bit of distance between hem to press her soft lips against Nyrielles, their tongues dancing with each other as the sun inched ever closer to the horizon.


    "And I love you," Nyrielle whispered, pulling back for a last look of her lover, fixing in her mind the image of pre-dawn light shining on Ashlynn¡¯s hair as though it was made of spun gold.


    "Until next time," she said, her voice growing distant as she faded from Ashlynn¡¯s dream, leaving the young witch alone on the cliff as the sun finally broke above the horizon.


    "Until next time," Ashlynn whispered.


    "Thank you," she told the Ancient Willow. While it had never appeared in this dream, she knew that she¡¯d never have reached Nyrielle without its help. Perhaps this too had been part of the trial the tree set for her, to see for itself what her relationship with Nyrielle was really like. Or maybe it was just what she had taken it to be in the beginning, an apology for trying to pull them apart.


    Either way, it was time for this trial to end. Ashlynn could feel the tightness in her chest that Amahle had spoken of. The seed of witchcraft had spread its roots around her heart. Now, it was time to remove it from her chest and present it to Heila.


    One witch¡¯s trial had ended and another¡¯s was about to begin. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 269: Learning From Sister Holly’s Failure

    Chapter 269: Learning From Sister Holly¡¯s FailureWhile Ashlynn prepared the seed of witchcraft with Jacques standing guard, Talauia focused on preparing Heila for the trial ahead. At the moment, that meant both women were working in one of Amahle¡¯s many gardens, collecting both ingredients for dinner and for something else that the older witch intended to concoct for Heila.


    To Heila, the garden itself was something of a marvel. She wasn¡¯t unfamiliar with vegetable gardens, she¡¯d helped tend to her family¡¯s garden as a young girl and she helped with the flower gardens in the castle once she joined the serving staff.


    One thing she had never seen, however, was a garden that was so free of weeds. Not only that, but every plant in the garden seemed to grow larger than any similar plant she¡¯d ever encountered, towering over her and requiring sturdy wooden posts in the ground to hold themselves up with the weight of vegetables they produced.


    "You know, you know, it¡¯s not easy to become a witch," the winged Thistle Witch said as she hovered over an overgrown okra plant, carefully selecting the best-looking seed pods. "You have to really know, really know who you are and who you want to be. If you lose yourself or if you lose sight of your goals, the seed will consume you."


    "Like Sister Holly?" Heila asked, shuddering slightly as she recalled the holly bush that had once been a living person. "Is that what happened to her?" Heila asked as she held a basket above her head for Talauia to drop freshly harvested okra into.


    Ever since her visit to the unnerving ¡¯Sister Holly¡¯, Heila had found it difficult to put her heart at rest. The sight of the failed witch was a powerful lesson that nothing in this process was guaranteed to succeed and that failure could carry a price so heavy that she would never recover. But she still didn¡¯t understand what ¡¯Sister Holly¡¯ had done wrong or why things had turned out the way they had.


    "Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t know," Talauia said with a sad shake of her head. "Sister Holly, she, she wasn¡¯t very strong," Talauia said softly. "Well, she was strong, but she wasn¡¯t very sharp," she said, correcting herself as she thought back on the young woman from the Clan of Painted Masks that she¡¯d once tried to rescue.


    It had been decades since she brought the gentle woman to the Briar in order to escape abuse at the hands of her family. Sister Holly had an incredible talent for cultivating all manner of rare plants and her family in High Fen City had turned her into a virtual prisoner on their estate while she tended to the medicinal gardens that supplied the arena with more than half of their medicines.


    Talauia had only been visiting to procure a few seeds to bring back to the Briar but when she saw the pitiful woman who struggled to raise her eyes from the ground, beaten down by years of mockery and abuse for her ¡¯worthless¡¯ talent that could ¡¯only¡¯ be used in the gardens, she¡¯d been absolutely furious.


    The young woman had no idea how much money her family was making from her labor and instead believed herself fortunate that she hadn¡¯t been exiled for her inability to follow her family¡¯s traditions, using sorcery to restore broken valuables to pristine condition.


    When the young woman¡¯s father casually struck her while entertaining Talauia, the Thistle Witch snapped. The scene that followed was so bloody and horrifying that the surviving members of the family fled the High Fen altogether, hoping that the winged witch would never find them. Meanwhile, Talauia brought the abused genius back to the Briar in the hopes that her talents would allow her to become a witch.


    "Sister Holly, she was too gentle," Talauia said, descending from the okra plant and moving to a large bush covered with brilliant red and yellow sweet peppers. As much as the peppers made for a bright and cheery sight, it was hard to shake off the remorse that clung to her when she spoke about Sister Holly.


    "Mother chose the holly for her because its leaves started rounded and smooth. They only grow sharp when something tries to devour the holly bush," she explained as she let her own prickly aura wash over the pepper plant, scaring away any insects that might cling to the peppers that would become part of their meal. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "After everything she¡¯d been through, she needed to grow some spines to protect herself," Talauia said sadly. "It¡¯s okay to be soft and gentle on the inside but if you¡¯re soft and gentle on the outside too, you can never really be free. You can only count on others to protect you then and you¡¯ll always live in one cage or another. That¡¯s why we wanted to help her learn to grow sharp enough to protect the softness in her heart."


    "But she couldn¡¯t do it," Heila guessed, stepping up next to Talauia to join her in harvesting peppers. "Because she was too broken to learn to protect herself?"


    "Might be, might be," Talauia said, nodding her head. She and Amahle had discussed it several times but the only person who really knew was Sister Holly and she had yet to give either woman an answer, though at least the plant that she¡¯d become didn¡¯t seem to bear any ill will toward the witches who had been responsible for her current state. Just as before, if Sister Holly blamed anyone for her failure, she seemed to blame herself.


    "That¡¯s why you need to decide what kind of witch you want to be," the Thistle Witch said firmly. "The person you want to be. If you don¡¯t know who you are and who you want to be..."


    The look the Thistle Witch gave Heila sent a chill from the top of her horns to the bottom of her hooves. Images of slowly turning into a tree, like Sister Holly, filled her mind, followed by images of Ashlynn and the rest of her family coming one by one to prick themselves and make an offering just to tell her that they hadn¡¯t forgotten her...


    In her mind¡¯s eye, those tear-filled faces of her loved ones looked at her with haunted eyes as if asking her ¡¯If you didn¡¯t know then why did you take the risk?¡¯

 Chapter 270: Who Heila Wants To Be

    Chapter 270: Who Heila Wants To Be"But can I decide what kind of witch I want to become without knowing what kind of tree Lady Ashlynn has chosen for me?" Heila asked. Her winged companion had explained that Ashlynn would need to choose a seed for her and that it would pair Heila with a tree that suited her nature but the young lady-in-waiting had no idea what kind of tree Ashlynn would choose.


    Would Ashlynn choose an Oak like the Ancient Oaks in the Vale of Mists? Or cedar like the forest of their home? Heila had never thought about what kind of tree suited her before. It seemed like such a strange question if not for her current circumstances. Now that it had become relevant, she didn¡¯t know what she would choose for herself, much less what Ashlynn might choose.


    "Does Auntie Ashlynn know you well?" Talauia asked, cocking her head to the side and pausing her pepper picking. "If she knows you well, she¡¯ll know to pick the right thing, as easy as picking ripe vegetables. You just have to think about what you¡¯ll do once she picks it because it will naturally fit."


    "I, I think she knows me well," Heila said. Her fingers hesitated, hovering above a pepper as she thought carefully about the conversations she¡¯d had in the carriage with Ashlynn while they traveled.


    Talauia made it sound simple and saying things was often simple, but was it really that easy to know a person well enough to choose something for them that would completely change their life? Heila didn¡¯t think so and she didn¡¯t think that Ashlynn would find it easy to make the decision either.


    Heila had spoken a great deal about her family and her life growing up as one of the youngest with a large group of older siblings. She¡¯d talked about how happy she was to be able to serve in the ancient fortress and the many important friendships she¡¯d made among the other servants in the keep.


    But had she ever spoken about what she wanted? Her ears heated behind her horns as she realized how often she¡¯d spoken wistfully about the handsome men who caught her eye or the idea of having children of her own one day.


    She¡¯d even suggested that, when the time came, perhaps one of her daughters could take over as Ashlynn¡¯s next lady-in-waiting the same way that Georg had taken over as Nyrielle¡¯s personal cook after his father retired.


    "I just want ordinary things," Heila said, resuming her picking. "Maybe I¡¯ll find a man one day and raise a family. But now that I¡¯m joining Lady Ashlynn¡¯s coven, maybe I won¡¯t. If I spent the rest of my life at her side, making sure that she was happy, that wouldn¡¯t be a bad life."


    "Not bad, not bad?" Talauia said, her wings vibrating with a low-pitched hum. "Not bad isn¡¯t good," she pronounced, folding her arms over her pert bust. "You can¡¯t be passive like this," she added fiercely, turning to fix her multifaceted eyes on the diminutive horned woman. "You have to want something, really want something, or the seed will consume you."


    "A witch uses her desires to shape the energy of the world," the Thistle Witch said pointedly. "You have to have strong desires. It doesn¡¯t matter what they are, but if you¡¯re passive, too passive, like Sister Holly, you¡¯ll end up like Sister Holly and that," she said, her throat seizing up as tears formed in her eyes. "That would be too sad!" sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It wasn¡¯t often that someone was presented with the opportunity to become a witch. There were, perhaps, fewer than a hundred witches on the entire continent. From the moment they had met, when she saw Heilla stubbornly slogging through the soft, muddy, and silty ground of the Briar, she knew that this diminutive young woman had the heart to become a great witch.


    But if things turned out like Sister Holly again... if it was her fault for not preparing her well enough again. That would be too much to bear, even for her.


    "But, I don¡¯t know what I want!" Heila said, dropping the basket of vegetables in a moment of panic. "I have more than I ever wanted. I have so much because Lady Ashlynn has been so generous that I¡¯ve never thought of what I could want that I don¡¯t already have," she said, her lower lip trembling.


    "I used to do the laundry, make the beds, and tend the curtains," she said softly. "When Madame Zedya asked me to tend to Lady Ashlynn, I didn¡¯t know it would turn into this. Now, now I have fine dresses and I go wherever Lady Ashlynn goes and even Captain Lennart acts like I¡¯m above him now and... and I didn¡¯t get this because I ¡¯desired¡¯ it, it just happened because I was the one who Madame Zedya picked," she said, looking down at the soft soil beneath her cloven feet.


    "I¡¯m nothing special," Heila said in a small voice. "I just got lucky to come this far. Now, I just want to prove that I can be useful. That I can help Lady Ashlynn when she needs me and that she didn¡¯t make a mistake when she chose me," she said, her voice growing determined.


    "That¡¯s not enough, not enough," Talauia said, her words slicing deep into Heila¡¯s heart even though she said them gently. "You should talk to Mother. Maybe, maybe Mother can tell you which tree Lady Ashlynn picked. Then, then we can find the best way to build up your desires to fit that tree."


    "That would be good," Heila said, picking up her basket of vegetables with an embarrassed look as she collected the few peppers and okra pods that had fallen from the basket. "I know I¡¯m no one special but..."


    "No, that¡¯s not right, not right at all," Talauia said, placing her hands on Heila¡¯s shoulders and staring directly into Heila¡¯s eyes with her own amethyst multi-faceted gaze. "I heard what you did for Auntie Ashlynn, how brave you¡¯ve been. Even little brother Jacques said that you¡¯re not an ordinary woman."


    "You have all the courage you need," the witch said. "You¡¯re just scared of the unknown. So, we¡¯ll turn the unknown into the known and then you won¡¯t need to be afraid. I promise!"

 Chapter 271: Aunt Amahle’s Advice

    Chapter 271: Aunt Amahle¡¯s Advice That evening, in accordance with Amahle¡¯s traditions, Talauia and Heila joined the Mother of Thorns at her home for a family dinner. Heila had been delighted to learn that the colorful peppers that Talauia guided her to were sweet rather than spicy. Each of them was the size of Heila¡¯s diminutive fists which she felt made them perfect for stuffing. After packing each pepper with soft, fluffy rice and succulent, slightly fatty sausage, Heila carefully set them in an iron pot directly on the coals of the fire for roasting, letting their warm, sharp fragrance fill the air.


    "So, Heila, honey, Tala was telling me that you weren¡¯t too sure about what you desire as a witch," Amahle said while stirring a rich, creamy chicken and vegetable soup. "Ain¡¯t that right, sugar?"


    "It is, it is," Talauia said as she carefully scrubbed at the tender okra pods she¡¯d picked. "Can you tell her the tree that Auntie Ashlynn picked for her?"  S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I can," Amahle said, using a spider-like limb to place a lid on the creamy soup. "But I think that it¡¯s best if little Heila answers a few questions for me first. You just want to do whatever you can to help Ashlynn don¡¯t you, hun?"


    "I do," Heila said with a sharp nod of her head. "I hated feeling so useless when the Tuscans attacked us, all I could do was cower behind Hauke while Ashlynn went out with the soldiers to fight. It, it didn¡¯t feel good at all."


    "That¡¯s a good place to start," Amahle said, pouring a fresh cup of chilled sweet tea and placing it in front of Heila. "Now sharpen that desire," she said, her crimson eyes growing intense as she looked at Heila. "Helping a person fight comes in many forms. What do you want to do to help?"


    "A powerful witch could tend her wounds after the battle, helping her return to the field again and again," Amahle suggested. "Ain¡¯t no need to get yourself in danger that way. Just stay in the back and patch people up so they can keep fighting. No one will look down on you for that. In fact, many people would praise you for patching them up when they might otherwise have died."


    "I want to learn to heal people," Heila said, though her voice held a trace of uncertainty. "Ashlynn gets hurt too often and it would be good if I could help to ease her pains. But I don¡¯t want to hide in the rear while other people are risking their lives. It¡¯s not right when I could be doing more."


    "In that case, are you willing to take lives?" Amahle asked. "A witch who¡¯s bound to trees can often find ways to channel the power of branches or roots to bludgeon or choke the life out of their enemies. Would you be willing to watch the light fade from their eyes because you crushed them beneath the power of your witchcraft?"


    When Amahle asked the question, the humid air in the open sitting room seemed to become ten times heavier and the heat became twice as oppressive. Sweat rolled down between Heila¡¯s shoulder blades as she thought about whether or not she was willing to take a life. It felt easy to say when she thought about thrusting a sword or a dagger into another person. Right now, an artificer in High Fen City was preparing to turn a Frost Walker horn into a weapon for her that could do just that.


    But the way Amahle described killing with the power of trees felt much more... visceral than what she¡¯d imagined before. Could she really make herself do it?


    "If you don¡¯t want to get your own hands dirty, you could take a more... passive approach," Amahle suggested. "After all, roots and branches can bind and tangle. You could help Ashlynn by ensnaring her opponents, trapping them for her to deal with one at a time or removing threats from the field for questioning or ransom later. You don¡¯t need to become a killer in order to defeat opponents and help on the battlefield, hun."


    "That," Heila said slowly as she turned the idea over in her mind. "That doesn¡¯t sound right. I know those things can help, and sometimes, I might want to do them to help," she said. After all, Ashlynn had gone to the Summer Villa to find information and she¡¯d interrogated Sir Kaefin to learn important things. Capturing people to do the same was surely a valid way to help Ashlynn.


    "I want to fight by Lady Ashlynn¡¯s side," Heila said firmly. "That way, I can be right there to heal her and protect her if she¡¯s injured, but sometimes, the only way to protect someone is to kill the person trying to hurt them," she said, thinking about the attack they endured from the Tuscans. Without killing them, nothing would have stopped the massive men from trying to claim Hauke¡¯s horn.


    "So, if it¡¯s the only way," Heila said, her voice growing firmer. "Then I don¡¯t want to be powerless to do it. I, I need to learn how to fight and that means I need to learn how to kill. If the Inquisitors ever come for her, they won¡¯t stop until she¡¯s dead and they¡¯d do the same to me, even if I wasn¡¯t a witch. If I¡¯m not willing to kill them to stop them then I¡¯m only putting Lady Ashlynn and everyone else in danger."


    "You see, you see?" Talauia said, setting down the batter she¡¯d finished whipping and fluttering over to join Heila and Amahle. "I told you that she had some spikes to her."


    "Indeed she does," Amahle said with a smile. "The tree that Ashlynn chose for you, little Heila, is a Willow Tree. It¡¯s a healer¡¯s tree at heart, with its greatest strengths in wood and water."


    "Oh," Heila said, sitting down with a heavy thump. "So, I won¡¯t be able to fight at her side after all." After working up the resolve to learn how to fight, to stay by Ashlynn¡¯s side no matter how dangerous things became, the notion that Ashlynn had selected a healer¡¯s tree for her felt somehow... bitter.

 Chapter 272: A Willow’s Strength

    Chapter 272: A Willow¡¯s StrengthSeeing the crestfallen look on Heila¡¯s face when she learned that Ashlynn had chosen a willow as the tree to serve as the source of Heila¡¯s power, Amahle quickly realized that she¡¯d forgotten how little she knew about the forces at play and the many different things a single tree could mean in different circumstances.


    "Oh, honey, don¡¯t go getting a look like that on your face," Amahle said. "I told you that it¡¯s a healer¡¯s tree at heart didn¡¯t I? You think a healer don¡¯t have her own ways to protect her patients? Let me show you something, darlin¡¯, just watch."


    "Step back, step back," Talauia said quickly. Her wings beat rapidly as she floated across the room to tug on Heila¡¯s sleeve, pulling her to the side to give Amahle room for her demonstration. "Watch close, Mother is going to show you something special."


    Before Heila could respond, Amahle held a hand and began to chant, gathering the energy of the vines wrapping around the cypress trees to power her witchcraft.


    "From twisted vine and ancient thorn, Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Let weapons of my will be born.


    Through blood and pain thy hooks shall feed,


    Till every foe is made to bleed."


    As she spoke in a steady, formal cadence, dark green and lurid energy gathered at her hand, flowing to her as though it were eager to be used by the powerful witch. When the short invocation finished, Amahle held a wicked whip in her hands.


    The whip looked like it had been formed by a vine that was a dark enough shade of green to nearly be black and its entire length was covered with wicked hooked thorns that were tipped in a lurid, almost blood-colored crimson. Seeing its coiled lethality and feeling the sense of sharp menace that emanated from the whip, Heila¡¯s heart felt like it had forgotten to beat while her mind struggled to understand if this was a weapon for killing... or a tool for torture.


    "You¡¯ll need a different invocation to conjure a Willow¡¯s Whip, but I promise you that you can learn it," Amahle said confidently. If she noticed Heila¡¯s stunned state, she chose to ignore it, offering up a further demonstration instead. With a flick of her wrist, the thorned whip whistled through the air before it snapped with a loud -CRACK- that stunned Heila with the explosive power possessed by such a flimsy-looking weapon.


    "Anyone who tries to harm someone sheltering beneath the branches of a willow tree will be whipped by its limbs," Amahle said. "Or, they may be pulled beneath the water¡¯s surface, entangled in its roots to drown. The power of wood and water offer great synergy in healing, but they also offer you the power to lash, to bind, to flood and drown."


    Seeing the stunned look on Heila¡¯s face, Amahle held back the last part of the power that came from mastery of wood and water. Everyone knew the Willow for its medicinal properties but the difference between medicine and poison could often come down to simple dosage. In large enough measures, even beneficial medicine could become a deadly toxin.


    Besides, just because Heila drew her greatest strength from the willow tree didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t harness the powers of poison from other, more dangerous trees. It would just take more effort on her part if she wanted to embrace the power of deadly poison.


    "Remember, little Heila," the crimson-eyed witch said, allowing the whip in her hands to evaporate into a cloud of dark mist before it vanished like it had never been there at all. "Nature¡¯s power ain¡¯t just one thing. It¡¯s all things. Sweet and sour, healing and harming, living and dying, all goes together. You ain¡¯t a simple woman, you want to be useful to Ashlynn in all ways, not just limiting yourself to healing or killing."


    "Lady Ashlynn will face danger again and again, for a long time to come," Heila said, her eyes still fixed on the space the whip had occupied. "Being at her side, I have to be able to face all of it with her. At the very least, I can¡¯t be a burden that she has to defend."


    "And yet, just six months ago, I¡¯d say you¡¯d never have thought of saying those words," Amahle said, lowering herself down to sit on the ground next to Heila so she could more easily look at the diminutive young woman¡¯s eyes without towering over her. "You¡¯ve changed and your thinking is flexible, capable of bending in new directions without breaking."


    "That¡¯s a good thing, darlin¡¯," the witch said. "It means you¡¯re meant for all of nature¡¯s power, not just a little slice. These next few days while Ashlynn forms your seed, we just need to draw those desires out of you and help you understand what you can do with them."


    The words Amahle said washed over Heila and she heard them but her heart wasn¡¯t really caught on them. Instead, her eyes were still filled with Amahle¡¯s demonstration. If she could harness power like that... then she wouldn¡¯t have to watch helplessly while Ashlynn was hurt and people like Andrus died.


    "And there¡¯s one more thing I can tell you, hun," Amahle said sweetly, pulling Heila¡¯s attention back to her. "My little sister¡¯s talents are strongest in Wood, Earth, and Fire. She¡¯s almost as weak in Water as she is at manipulating the Air," the witch said pointedly. "When Ashlynn chose the Willow for you, she gave you a path to be strong where she is weak. You understand, don¡¯t you?"


    Amahle¡¯s final words wiped away the last of Heila¡¯s lingering doubts. Ashlynn wasn¡¯t keeping her away from the battlefield by forcing her to be a healer hiding behind the lines. She was counting on Heila to be strong in ways she couldn¡¯t be.


    That small detail made a huge difference in how Heila perceived Ashlynn¡¯s choice. Now that she had understood her lady¡¯s intentions, she knew what she desired. She just had to make sure she was strong enough to grasp it.

 Chapter 273: Ashlynn’s Return

    Chapter 273: Ashlynn¡¯s ReturnHeila spent the next two days in deep study with Talauia and received a few lessons directly from Amahle as well. Both witches worked to build Heila¡¯s understanding of natural forces. The little bit of knowledge that Heila had gained from Zedya about sorcery helped her to shape her will and at least complete the simple exercises that she¡¯d been given, even if she wasn¡¯t able to touch the energy of the earth to use true witchcraft.


    "Now I understand why Madame Zedya spoke so highly of the lessons she received here," Heila said on the third evening since Ashlynn¡¯s departure. "You both see the slightest mistake with incredible detail. I feel like I¡¯ve made more progress in two days than I did in two weeks before coming here."


    Zedya¡¯s lessons had focused on practical activities where a little bit of sorcery could make up for things they lacked on the journey. Using a bit of energy to draw water out of clothing they washed but didn¡¯t have time to hang to dry, or creating a breeze to keep insects away while they rode through the night were practical lessons that gave her ways to practice using her energy without straining herself or risking the sorcery raging out of control.


    The lessons she received in the Briar, however, were much more in tune with harnessing natural energies to do specific things. The formal incantations made it easier to focus her will and achieve greater effects.


    Today, she¡¯d stimulated the growth of several vegetables that now sat on a chopping board in front of her, ready to form the base of a salad weeks before they would have ripened naturally. The process had been a little draining, but Talauia assured her that once she was able to harness the power of nature, she would be able to use the energy of any weeds growing in the garden to fuel the growth of the plants she wanted to cultivate while removing the ones who intruded where they didn¡¯t belong.


    "It ain¡¯t so exaggerated as that, sugar," Amahle said as she puttered around the hearth with two of her four spider-like limbs helping her tend to different pots. The rich and savory aromas of seared catfish rubbed in a complex blend of spices mingled with the soft, almost grassy scent of an herbaceous rice dish to create a tantalizing scent that left both Heila and Talauia eager for their evening meal.


    For someone as sensitive as Amahle, with her webs extending to every corner of the Briar, it was impossible to miss the moment that Ashlynn¡¯s trial had ended. As soon as she realized that her little sister would be returning, she planned one of her best fish dishes to welcome Ashlynn home. If she had timed things right...


    Suddenly, the two witches in the room paused in their work, turning to look at the front door. This close, even though Jacques kept his presence restrained, it was impossible for a witch to miss the ripple of energy that flowed through the air carrying an evergreen scent that belonged uniquely to Ashlynn.


    "Right on time, on time," the Thistle Witch said, rubbing her hands together while her wings fluttered behind her, humming with excitement.


    "Lady Ashlynn is back?" Heila said, standing up eagerly from the salad she was assembling.


    Before anyone could answer, the door opened to reveal the sturdy figure of Jacques as he supported an exhausted-looking Ashlynn into Amahle¡¯s home.


    After spending three days lashed to a tree, eating only a single meal with Jacques the entire time she was there, Ashlynn wore fatigue like a cloak. Her every movement was slow and deliberate and she leaned on Jacques for support as she made her way across the room to a waiting chair.


    Despite her obvious fatigue and difficulty moving, however, even Heila could feel an almost stately aura radiating from her with a vibrance and strength that hadn¡¯t been there when she left. More than that, when Heila met Ashlynn¡¯s emerald gaze, for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of a silvery-green glow flicker across her eyes, like a leaf drifting on the breeze.


    "Welcome home, little sister," Amahle said, moving several pots off the heat before she strode across the room to bring Ashlynn a glass of chilled mint tea as soon as she took a seat. "I was worried when it took so long," she confessed. Her crimson eyes roamed over Ashlynn¡¯s figure, taking in every detail as she looked for signs of deeper injuries or distortions to her mark that would erode her power. She didn¡¯t speak again until she was certain that nothing was amiss.


    "I was frightened that your pact with the Harbinger of Death might interfere with your ability to pass the Ancient Willow¡¯s trial," Amahle admitted with a relieved sigh. "I¡¯m ever so relieved to see that it didn¡¯t."


    "It did," Ashlynn said flatly, giving Amahle an uncharacteristically unfriendly look. "It tried to pull us apart. It even offered to transfer my bond to the seed so that I could be ¡¯released¡¯ from the pact." Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That," Amahle said, taking two steps back before using her spider-like legs to steady herself, a look of horror clear on her face. "It went that far? I never thought it would go so far as to harm you. I know the Ancient Willow still bears some resentment toward me, even after your offering," she said with a brief glance at Talauia.


    "At most, I thought it might reject you over your bond and refuse to help you," Amahle said sincerely. "I never thought it would act against you."


    "I¡¯m learning that some people have different ideas about what it means to help me," Ashlynn said with a gentle shake of her head. Placing a hand on her chest, she felt the tightness of the seed gripping her heart.


    Even now, the pressure was difficult to bear but the energy of the seed had its own rhythm and it had come to pulse in counterpoint with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest, as if it was offering strength to fill the gaps between Nyrielle¡¯s heart beats.


    "The Ancient Willow seemed to believe that it was acting in my best interests by attempting to ¡¯free me¡¯ from my blood pact," Ashlynn said. "From its perspective, it wasn¡¯t harming me, it was helping me by attacking Nyrielle."


    Ashlynn¡¯s last words landed on the room like the crack of a whip, exploding in everyone¡¯s ears but most of all, landing on Heila like she¡¯d been struck by Amahle¡¯s lash of thorns. The tree she was going to gain a seed from had attacked Lady Nyrielle?!?

 Chapter 274: An Understanding

    Chapter 274: An Understanding"How could it?!" Heila said, staring at Ashlynn in horror. Of all the things that could have happened to her lady while creating a seed for her, if death was the worst then losing her bond with Lady Nyrielle would be almost as bad. To tear apart such a strong bond of love...


    "So dat¡¯s what it was," Jacques said as a moment of realization struck him. "Maman, de energy of de ritual went strange and dark on de last day. Leaves fell from de Ancient Willow like it got tangled up wit¡¯ death itself and a chill filled de air. What Lady Ashlyn¡¯s sayin¡¯ it¡¯s no exaggeration."


    "How could it, how could it?" Talauia said. "Lady Nyrielle is far away from the Briar. How could the Ancient Willow do anything to her."


    "Through me," Ashlynn said, looking to Amahle for confirmation of what she felt to be true. When she saw the older witch nod, she continued. "I have a, a tether that connects me to Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn explained, placing a hand gently on her chest. "Our hearts are connected. As long as hers beats, mine will too. Our lives are tangled together and no distance can break that bond."


    "I told you, didn¡¯t I little Heila?" Amahle said. "The willow has the power to entangle and restrain or to drag someone down to the depths with its roots. If there was a bond between Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle, the Ancient Willow could pull at that bond as soon as I created the bond between Ashlynn and the Ancient Willow."


    "But the trial was just for Lady Ashlynn, wasn¡¯t it?" Heila said, looking from Ashlynn to Amahle in confusion. "How could it attack her bond with Lady Nyrielle, or even attack Lady Nyrielle? Is the tree just wicked and cruel?"


    "Dere¡¯s more to it den dat, ma petite," Jacques said. "Vampires and witches, dey don¡¯t usually mix as well as Lady Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle do. De Ancient Willow, she jus¡¯ trying to help de way she knows how, non?"


    "The Ancient Willow apologized, in its own way, when it saw the truth of our relationship," Ashlynn said, her emerald eyes remaining flinty as she looked from Jacques to Amahle before softening when she looked at Heila. "The willow is a fierce protector with a soft heart. I think it will suit you well," she said with a tired smile forming on her lips. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you," Heila said. Setting aside the salad she¡¯d been preparing, she rushed across the floor, her cloven hooves clomping as she ran until she was close enough to fling herself into Ashlynn¡¯s waiting arms.


    Ever since Ashlynn left to form the seed, Heila threw herself into her studies to distract herself from the increasing sense of worry that formed in the pit of her stomach. One day turned into two, and two into three and even Talauia seemed to feel nervous as day turned into night on the third day.


    Now, hearing that Ashlynn nearly lost her bond with Nyrielle in order to form the seed for her, Heila¡¯s shoulders shook with quiet sobs as she buried her head in Ashlynn¡¯s bosom, weeping openly in relief.


    "You see?" Ashlynn said softly, brushing her fingers across Heila¡¯s soft ringlets. "You¡¯re the same. You have a soft heart and it pains you to see people suffer. I know you¡¯ll do everything you can to keep people from harm and to help them mend if they¡¯re ever wounded. You don¡¯t mind what I chose for you... do you?" Ashlynn asked with a trace of uncertainty creeping into her voice.


    "No, I don¡¯t mind at all," Heila said, pulling back so Ashlynn could see the determination in her reddened eyes. "I promise, I¡¯ll be a good Willow Witch for you."


    "Just do your best," Ashlynn said with a warm smile. "We¡¯ll find a way to make it all work, one way or another," she added. The Ancient Willow might have mocked her with the words she spoke as a naive young woman, but the more often the tree said it, the stronger her conviction became to live up to those words. No matter what challenges she faced, she would find a way to make things work.


    "I promise," she said, giving Heila a reassuring squeeze.


    "Tala, sugar," Amahle said, returning to the meal cooking on the hearth. "Ashlynn could use a chance to wash up before dinner. Little sister," she said, turning to fix her crimson gaze on Ashlynn again. "You need a hot meal and a good night¡¯s rest before we remove the seed from your chest. Can you endure for now? If you need something for the pain..."


    "I¡¯m fine," Ashlynn insisted, rising with Talauia¡¯s help. "Everything smells wonderful, but Jacques," she said, glancing at the Sandbox Witch¡¯s hulking form. "If there¡¯s time and you¡¯re able to make a batch of that fried fish again, I think I might just have to kiss you. On the cheek," she clarified quickly.


    "You don¡¯t have to go dat far, cher," Jacques said, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. "But if I can hook a fish quick enough, den I¡¯ll fry one right up."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said as she slowly made her way back toward the door and her own hut in the Briar. "And Jacques," she added before she left. "You can call me ¡¯Auntie¡¯ from now on if you like."


    "Yes Auntie," the witch said, ducking his head slightly as a large, toothy grin formed on his lips. He still didn¡¯t entirely understand how they¡¯d gotten off to such a rough start, but ever since their first meeting, he felt like he¡¯d been walking on the edge of a knife between Ashlynn and her vampire companions. Even Heila treated him like a dangerous beast that might turn on them at any moment.


    Now, it finally seemed like they¡¯d found a common ground they could build on, even if it was something as simple as a love of deep fried catfish.


    In truth, the three tireless days he¡¯d spent guarding Ashlynn and his acceptance of her bond with Nyrielle once he understood that even the Ancient Willow approved had done more to melt the last of Ashlynn¡¯s resistance to his presence than the catfish had.


    But the way he worked so hard to prepare a meal she would enjoy even while she was lashed to a mystic tree, well, that had played a part as well. Beneath that hard, scaly surface and thorny exterior, Ashlynn was beginning to find the soft heart that beat with Jacques chest and once she saw him without his guard up, it was much easier to understand the genuine care that flowed from his heart, even if his actions didn¡¯t always convey it well.


    Now, all that remained was for Heila to pass her own trail and officially join their small but growing family.

 Chapter 275: Planting The Seed (Part One)

    Chapter 275: Planting The Seed (Part One)That night, Heila joined Ashlynn in the latter¡¯s hut for the evening. After days of anxiously waiting for Ashlynn to pass her portion of the trial and sleeping alone in the hut that Talauia had prepared for her, Heila barely managed to hold herself back from asking to sleep with Ashlynn in the same bedroom.


    Perhaps it would have been easier if she¡¯d adjusted to sleeping by herself in her own hut before Ashlynn underwent her trial, but right now, she just wanted to return to something that felt ¡¯normal¡¯ and recently, normal meant sleeping near her lady and being available for anything she needed.


    After spending months so close to Ashlynn, Heila couldn¡¯t fail to notice the strain in her lady¡¯s voice when she spoke or the way she frequently touched her chest above the seed of witchcraft she¡¯d nurtured.


    Of all the burdens she¡¯d seen Ashlynn bear, seeing her lady bear such an obviously painful one for her sake sat heavily on Heila¡¯s heart. In her mind, the very least she could do to show her appreciation and understanding of the discomfort that Ashlynn was enduring would be to stay close at hand through the night in case her lady needed anything.


    The small reading hammock on the balcony was the perfect size for Heila and before she knew it, she¡¯d fallen fast asleep while listening to the sounds of the Briar outside and Ashlynn¡¯s steady, rhythmic breathing inside.


    Morning came with the first rays of dawn filtering through the thick canopy of the Briar, casting diffuse light through the small hut that gradually brightened as it pressed back against the fog. The day was already hot and the air carried a muggy dampness that left everything outdoors slightly damp, including the unfortunate Heila who had slept in the balcony hammock.


    When Ashlynn woke her, Heila found that despite sleeping in the hammock, she felt more refreshed than she had any right to expect. Her night had been plagued by unsettling dreams and the sounds of creatures moving in the night startled her awake several times, but each time she jolted awake, she found herself enveloped by a soothing evergreen scent that reminded her of Ashlynn, as if her lady were standing nearby to keep any harm from reaching her. Within a few moments of waking, she quickly drifted back to sleep.


    Together, in a reversal of their usual roles, Ashlynn helped Heila to wash and then dress in a simple outfit consisting of a plain white skirt and white blouse, topped with a silvery-green silk bodice that matched the color of the Ancient Willow¡¯s leaves.


    Amahle had made the bodice herself and the back, front, and side panels of the garment were each covered with carefully embroidered glyphs invoking the strengths of the willow tree.


    "Amahle says you should drink this now," Ashlynn said after she finished tying the laces at the small of Heila¡¯s back. In her hands, she held a small earthenware bottle sealed with a cork stopper and covered with wax to prevent anything, even air, from polluting the contents within. "She said that it will help to give you strength while the seed grows within you."


    For a moment, Heila hesitated, her fingers hovering less than an inch away from taking the bottle. While it wasn¡¯t exactly true, she felt that the moment she drank the contents of the bottle, there would be no turning back. She would either become Ashlynn¡¯s Willow Witch or she would join Sister Holly as a permanent resident of the Briar.


    Her hesitation lasted only a moment. She¡¯d been offered many opportunities to change her mind. Now that the moment was upon her, the time for second thoughts was over. Breaking the seal and pulling the stopper from the bottle, Heila quickly drank its contents.


    The liquid was cool and refreshing with a taste that reminded her of mint tea and fresh lemonade with faint undertones of rosemary, thyme, and other herbs she couldn¡¯t identify. The concoction sent a wave of energy through her body, banishing the lingering fatigue she felt after waking and leaving her refreshed and ready to face the trail to come.


    "I¡¯m ready," Heila said firmly.


    "Good," Ashlynn said with a warm smile. The pressure on her chest had grown even worse as the night went on but she refused to show signs of her distress to Heila as her diminutive friend prepared to face her own trial. Instead, she guided Heila outside to join Amahle and her coven as they boarded a wide, flat-bottomed boat.


    "Jacques has raised a new island, just for you, sugar," Amahle said warmly while Jacques took a pole and began navigating their way through the waterways of the Briar. "He¡¯ll keep you company and keep you safe while your seed grows, just like he did for Ashlynn."


    "I¡¯ll be with you too," Ashlynn promised. "You don¡¯t have to do this alone."


    "Are you sure, little sister?" Amahle asked. "You won¡¯t be able to influence the outcome and you have much to learn in the limited time we have. I had hoped to begin your training while Heila undergoes her trial."


    "I won¡¯t leave her," Ashlynn said, placing a hand on Heila¡¯s shoulder and giving her a reassuring squeeze. "I know Jacques will be there, and he¡¯s very good at protecting people, but I know that being alone is the hardest thing for Heila. I¡¯ll stay with you," she said, kneeling down next to Heila. "So don¡¯t you worry."


    "Maman," Jacques added, his tail swaying with a touch of eagerness. "I can practice a bit wit¡¯ Auntie Ashlynn dese few days, non? We won¡¯t be wasting no time."


    "Little sister," Amahle said, looking at Ashlynn with a slight smile on her crimson lips. "I wonder. Does Lady Nyrielle ever tell you that you can be a might bit willful?"


    "More often than you¡¯d imagine," Ashlynn said, blushing at the question. "But she always indulges my willfulness."


    "So I see," Amahle laughed. "You should learn from little Heila. She¡¯s the perfect student. Mindful and diligent in every way."


    The warm, casual banter helped put Heila¡¯s mind at ease as they navigated through the thick morning fog. With so many witches on the boat, the creatures of the Briar stayed far away from them, as if they could sense that only trouble would come from approaching the boat as it glided through the murky waters.


    Faintly glowing moss seemed to dim as the diffuse light in the Briar gradually grew brighter but nothing else gave a sense of time to their trip through the thick, hazy fog of the early morning. Eventually, however, the journey reached its end when they arrived at a small barren island a few dozen paces across.


    "Doesn¡¯t anything grow here?" Heila asked, looking at the strange island in puzzlement. Everywhere else, trees, vines, and even flowers grew, but here, the island was completely barren, as if the earth had been salted and nothing would grow.


    "Maman said, didn¡¯t she? Dis island wasn¡¯t here till last night," Jacques explained. "I rose it jus¡¯ for you, ma petite. Dis way, dere ain¡¯t nothing growing here dat could infringe on you. Just you and de willow seed."


    "It¡¯s safest this way, sugar," Amahle said, using her spider-like legs to navigate through the shallow water until she reached dry land. "Come," she added, extending a hand. "It¡¯s time to begin."


    sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 276: Planting the Seed (Part Two)

    Chapter 276: Planting the Seed (Part Two)Once they stepped onto the island, Heila and Ashlynn quickly noticed a circle of stones nearly five paces across at one edge of the island. Within the circle, five smaller circles had been positioned around the edges, forming the points of a star or pentagon within the circle.


    "These are for offerings, darlin¡¯," Amahle said as Jacques and Talauia began to retrieve items from the boat. "The feather of a hawk stands for Air, an oil lamp will burn for Fire, an agate for Earth, a bottle of water taken from near the Ancient Willow for water, and a willow branch for Wood," she explained as the two witches set out items in the appropriate places.


    "Little Heila, never forget, while a Willow Witch is strongest in Wood and Water, you are a conduit for the energy of the world. Your desires give it shape. Don¡¯t deny yourself a useful tool just because it isn¡¯t the one that you¡¯re most suited to," Amahle advised.


    "I¡¯ll remember," Heila said, nervously standing at the edge of the circle.


    "Big sister Amahle told me how hard you¡¯ve been studying for this Heila," Ashlynn said, kneeling down next to her diminutive friend. "Just remember one thing about the willow tree and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do fine."


    "You can bend," Ashlynn advised. "It¡¯s okay to yield, but when something presses against your bottom line, you don¡¯t have to keep yielding. If you always yield, you¡¯ll bend too far and you¡¯ll break. Hold to what¡¯s important and don¡¯t let anything make you believe that you¡¯ve chosen wrongly."


    "I won¡¯t let it take me away from you," Heila promised. "I won¡¯t let it take me away from Lady Nyrielle, Madame Zedya, or any of the others either."


    "Hopefully it doesn¡¯t test you the way it tested me," Ashlynn said. "But if it does, I know you¡¯ll pass."


    "Are we ready?" Amahle said, taking her place at the center of the circle. Several complex-looking glyphs had been drawn in the soft soil of the island and the offerings had been placed around the edges of the circle. Among them, Ashlynn recognized the Eldritch glyphs for ¡¯Witch¡¯, ¡¯Nature¡¯, and one that resembled ¡¯Family¡¯ that she assumed represented the coven, but many of them were still a mystery to her.


    Now, the only things that were missing were Heila and her seed of witchcraft.


    "I¡¯m ready," Heila said. She held her head up high as she walked into the circle with Ashlynn following behind her. Today, her life would change. When she stepped out of the circle, she would be the Willow Witch.


    All of the doubts that had swirled around her before seemed to fall away as she stepped within the circle. Amahle, Ashlynn, Talauia, and even Jacques had all contributed to preparing her for this moment. With everyone standing in support of her, Heila refused to believe that she couldn¡¯t succeed. No matter how difficult it was, she wouldn¡¯t allow herself to fail.


    "In this circle, I name myself Amahle, the Mother of Thorns," Amahle intoned formally. "My blade is sharp, my hands are sure. I¡¯ve come to witness a coven¡¯s birth, to lend my strength and power too. But the bond we forge," she added, looking between Ashlynn and Heila. "It belongs to you."


    When Amahle spoke, dark crimson energy spilled from her hands, dripping to the ground and flowing into the glyphs drawn in the soil, lighting each of them with a lurid red glow.


    "In this circle, I name myself Ashlynn, the Mother of Trees," Ashlynn followed, matching Amahle¡¯s tone and cadence. "My heart is strong and the seed is ripe. I¡¯ve come to birth my heart¡¯s desire, to raise a witch and bring her home. She is my friend, my family, and the first of my coven. This seed I¡¯ve grown, it¡¯s hers alone."


    Above Ashlynn, as she finished speaking, ghostly branches of a willow tree formed above her, swaying in a wind unfelt by anyone present and bathing the island in their silvery-green light.


    Standing opposite Ashlynn, Heila blinked away the moisture that formed in her eyes when she heard Ashlynn¡¯s words. No matter what happened today, they¡¯d become family to each other.


    "In this circle, I name myself Heila. I enter with open hands and open heart," she said with only the slightest quiver in her voice. "I¡¯ve come to receive a seed, to join the coven of the Mother of Trees and become her Willow Witch. My life is hers to command. Today I¡¯ve come to make this stand."


    Above them, silvery-green leaves spilled from the phantom swaying branches, swirling around Heila before settling to the ground in a faintly glowing ring around her. Once the leaves had settled, Amahle drew the same silver knife she¡¯d used on Ashlynn to place the seed, resting the tip of the blade against Ashlynn¡¯s skin as the younger witch began to chant.


    "By water¡¯s flow and wood¡¯s deep song,


    Where healing arts and strength belong,


    This seed of power, nursed with care,


    Has drunk the strength that witches share.


    Beside my heart it learned to feel


    The flow of power, pure and real."


    This time, when Amahle¡¯s blade sliced into Ashlynn¡¯s skin, while dark crimson blood spilled down her bodice, a brilliant silvery-green light shined from within the wound. Gently, working with the tips of her spider-like limbs, the Mother of Thorns pulled the wound open wide enough that she could reach in with slender fingers, grasping the tiny willow seed and pulling it from Ashlynn¡¯s chest.


    Pain exploded all through Ashlynn¡¯s body as if every hair of her body was being wrenched away, the feeling of tendrils that wrapped around her heart being torn from her chest produced a pain that was only exceeded by the beating she¡¯d received at Owains hands.


    When the seed emerged from her chest, it trailed what looked like hundreds, if not thousands of tiny wispy roots, delicate tendrils of magical energy that pulsed in time with the heart that gave it birth.


    "Do you need me to take over?" Amahle whispered, seeing the blood drain from Ashlynn¡¯s face and her features distort as she fought to clear her mind after the surge of pain. "I can complete this, you¡¯ve already done the hardest parts."


    "No," Ashlynn said quietly after taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I can finish this." Placing a hand on one of Amahle¡¯s spider-like limbs to steady herself, Ashlynn began the next part of the ritual, her voice clear and loud as she fought through the lingering pains that wracked her body.


    "From Mother¡¯s heart to daughter¡¯s core,


    Let nature open desire¡¯s door.


    Now from my flesh to yours must pass


    This gift of power, meant to last. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As willow bends but does not break,


    So shall your power grow and wake."


    As Ashlynn spoke, Amahle made a similar slit on Heila¡¯s chest, carefully pulling back her skin to place the glowing seed within. The thin, root-like tendrils twitched and writhed as the seed entered Heila¡¯s body as though they were the living roots of a tree and Heila¡¯s flesh was the soil they needed to survive. When Amahle released the seed, it burrowed deeply into Heila¡¯s flesh, embedding itself directly next to her heart as the tendrils wrapped around it.


    Though blood trailed down her chest from the wound, Heila made not a sound. Not when Amahle cut into her flesh and not when the seed entered her chest. Her hands curled into tiny fists and her nails bit into her palms as she fought against the pain, but she refused to cry out when Ashlynn had already borne so much for her.


    Seeing Heila standing strong after receiving the seed, Ashlynn quickly moved on to the final verse of the ritual.


    "Sleep now, and seek within,


    For strength that flows from coven¡¯s kin,


    Now come to master willow¡¯s way,


    To heal and guard by night and day.


    Or let your form to wood return,


    And forsake the power for which you yearn."


    Amahle¡¯s spider-like limbs moved quickly to catch Heila as the magic of the ritual took her firmly under its spell, plunging her into a deep, mystical sleep.


    The glowing glyphs and phantom willow branches faded away as the ritual reached its conclusion. Now, as Amahle laid Heila down on the sandy soil of the barren island, only a faint flicker of silvery-green light could be seen on the diminutive woman¡¯s chest.


    The seed had been planted, now it was up to Heila, whether she would grow into a powerful witch, or the seed would consume her, growing into a willow tree and becoming part of the Briar for the rest of her days.

 Chapter 277: An Overdue Conversation

    Chapter 277: An Overdue ConversationIn Lothian City, the week-long Holy Festival of Light had overtaken the city. At the center of the city, the fortified Holy Temple gleamed like a golden beacon with strings of lanterns and large bonfires lit along every tower and rampart, the temple turned itself into the ¡¯Eternal Sun¡¯ at the center of Lothian City.


    The streets were filled with revelers, whether they were truly pious or indulging in more worldly pleasures, the entire city came alive to celebrate the Holy Lord of Light who watched over the people and protected them from the scourge of demons who infested the land.


    Far removed from the revels, Marquis Bors Lothian looked down on the festivities from the window of his office, high in Lothian Manor. This year, in order to help bolster Owain¡¯s presence among the common people, he¡¯d chosen to step back from many of the festivities. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    His eldest son¡¯s relatively successful raid deep into the wilderness created an opportunity to celebrate the power of humanity and the Holy Lord of Light that Bors would be foolish not to capitalize on, no matter what he thought in private.


    Behind closed doors, however, he wondered if the price of Owain¡¯s victory had been worth it. A single village destroyed for the price of half his men. Worse, it had only been possible because of the assistance of an Inquisitor and several Templars along with members of the Temple Guard.


    The Church, it seemed, was no longer content to allow the Lothians to fight for their own destiny on the frontier. The coming Holy War might bring them enough knights and noblemen from across the sea to secure their future as a duchy on the backs of the aristocracy, but if it took the full might of the church to break into the western lands then Lothian March¡¯s days of independence would quickly come to an end.


    A soft knock at his door interrupted Bors¡¯ brooding thoughts. At this hour, with the city caught up in revelry, few would dare disturb him, especially with Owain handling so many of his formal obligations this year. Fewer still would be admitted by his guards without alerting him to the identity of his guest and seeking his approval to admit them.


    When he saw who stood in his doorway, however, Bors understood why the guards had let him pass without challenge. The white and gold vestments of a high-ranking priest carried their own authority, even if the man wearing them was his son.


    "Loman," Bors said, turning away from the window to look at his younger son. "I¡¯m surprised you could spare a moment during the festivities to see an old man like me. Has something come up? You know I dislike it when the Church chooses to abuse you as a go-between to negotiate with me," he said with a dark scowl forming between his greying brows.


    "This is personal, Father," Loman said, his steps faltering slightly under his father¡¯s gaze as he came to stand before the imposing desk carved from the trunk of one of the demon¡¯s Ancient Oak trees. "I came to talk to you about Owain. May I sit?" he asked, gesturing to one of the large, high-backed chairs in his father¡¯s stately office.


    The stuffed heads of demons, captured weapons, and fading banners that covered the walls were all carefully placed to overawe visitors and impress upon them the might of the Lothian line in battling against the demon menace. As a child, Loman had played in this office and the snarling heads or hollow-eyed skulls held no fear for him.


    Now, however, as he stood before his father, he found himself strangely distant from all of it. The eyes of the stuffed heads seemed to follow him and the open mouths of the mounted skulls silently cried out ¡¯outsider.¡¯


    "If it was personal, you shouldn¡¯t have worn that," Bors snapped, gesturing at Loman¡¯s white and gold robes. "If you wanted to come as a son to see his father, you should have put aside the vestments and come to me as a man," he said, dropping heavily into his own chair behind the desk.


    "If you¡¯d like, I can change," Loman said, continuing to stand. Owain, he imagined, would have flopped into the chair as soon as his father sat, but Loman held himself to a different standard. Since he¡¯d asked his father¡¯s permission, he wouldn¡¯t sit until he gave it.


    He just wished that his father could still see his son within the robes. Loman Lothian could relax in his father¡¯s presence. Loman the Priest couldn¡¯t enjoy that luxury.


    "Don¡¯t waste your time or mine," Bors said tersely. "Sit boy," he said after staring at his son for several breaths. "You don¡¯t have to be so polite with me. Your mother isn¡¯t here to scold you about propriety anymore."


    "I know," Loman said. His eyes glanced to the side of his father¡¯s desk where he found his mother¡¯s embroidery chair, still sitting to the side as if waiting for her to return and take up her needlework while Bors handled the business of the march. "But I think she was right that the little things matter more than people give them credit for. A little extra courtesy never hurt anything."


    "But it does, Loman, it does, more than you know," the old marquis said. Opening a desk drawer, he pulled out a small bottle of fortified wine along with two small cups. "Since you¡¯ve come to see your father, then drink with your old man," he said, filling each cup near to the brim with the dark, strong wine. "Or do you need to abstain while you¡¯re wearing... that?"


    "It¡¯s fine," Loman said, leaning forward to take a cup. "To Mother, may she find her eternal rest in the Heavenly Shores," he said, raising the cup to offer a toast.


    "To Isla," Bors said, raising his own cup before taking a large gulp of wine. "So, out with it boy. You came to discuss your brother. What has he done that has you so unsettled that you¡¯d come to see me in the dark of night during the middle of your Church¡¯s holiest celebration?"


    In the months since Inquisitor Diarmuid arrived, Bors and his son Loman had grown even further apart, particularly after Sir Tommin abandoned his service to Owain, taking a Templar¡¯s oath and taking up some kind of position near Loman.


    While there were limits to the information he could obtain about the activities occurring within the Temple at the heart of his city, common acolytes and servants were still worldly enough to understand the value of a silver penny or two. From the reports the Marquis had received, Loman had been keeping close company with the Inquisitor ever since his arrival.


    That could be explained as a simple duty. For the High Priest to assign someone as important as Loman as the temple¡¯s liaison with the Inquisition likely made sense. The Inquisitor¡¯s actions, however, left Bors feeling something else was going on with his son and the Inquisition.


    This conversation between them was something that both men felt was long overdue. Now, perhaps they could finally get the answers that each of them so desperately wanted. Whether it was about Owain or the Inquisition, the time for avoiding each other to avoid the subject had come to an end.


    "Father," Loman said after taking a deep drink of his own. "I don¡¯t believe that Owain is fit to be your heir. I want to contend for his place as the successor to your throne."

 Chapter 278: Contending For The Throne

    Chapter 278: Contending For The Throne"Ha," Bors snorted, nearly spilling his wine when he heard Loman say he wanted to contend for the Lothian throne. "A little late for that, don¡¯t you think, Priest Loman?" Bors said pointedly. "You¡¯ve sworn your life to your Church. What do you have to do with the succession at this point?"


    "Just because I wear the Church¡¯s robes at the moment, Father," Loman said in an attempt to separate himself from his father¡¯s distrust of the Church. "That doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ve ceased to be your son. That doesn¡¯t mean I stopped caring about the people of Lothian March. In fact, it¡¯s the opposite." Seeing that his father was listening with no intention to interrupt, Loman continued pressing his point.


    "Father, all these years, I thought that the best thing I could do for Lothian March was to use my position to protect the souls of our people while Owain led the charge against the demons," Loman said. "As brothers, I thought we could learn from the era of Four Lothian Brothers, supporting each other from the throne and temple equally."


    "Those four nearly signed our family legacy over to the Church," Bors countered. "If my great-grandfather hadn¡¯t taken the throne, all four of them would have been Templars and even he had to be persuaded to give up the power of a holy sword to rule the march and carry on the family. I¡¯m not sure that they¡¯re such a good example for you."


    "I think they are," Loman countered. "All of them were deeply devout and unified in their desire to cleanse the land of demons. The harmony between the family and the Church was never greater and the people prospered for it. Our gains may have been small," he said.


    "But our barons grew stronger under their rule, and more lines of noble knights were founded during their reign than under any other Lothian Marquis," he added. "Their descendants now manage many more villages than we¡¯ve established in the years since then. The people prospered because of the unity between the family and the faith."


    "And that¡¯s what you want to do by contending for the succession?" Bors asked, taking another large gulp of potent wine. "Do you want to become the Holy Marquis of Lothian March?"


    "No," Loman said, shaking his head. "I have to put down the stole to take the throne. I cannot keep a priest¡¯s position and rule over secular affairs. The Church has learned its lessons well. A king must compromise his faith at times to rule his people. A priest who compromises his faith in such a way is no longer fit to be a priest."


    "And a king who will not compromise his faith isn¡¯t fit to rule," Bors said, finding himself in agreement with his son. "So why is it that you think that Owain isn¡¯t fit?"


    "Because a king or a lord may compromise his faith in order to rule, but he may not compromise the integrity of his authority," Loman said. His fingers tightened around his wine cup as he gathered his courage. Everything he¡¯d discussed so far, from the era of Four Brothers to the balance between faith and rule, had all been leading to this moment.


    The words that would follow could never be taken back, could never be forgotten, and might shatter their relationship as father and son. The consequences of that happening were dire and contemplating them had kept Loman awake for many sleepless nights. But the consequences of doing nothing, in his mind, were even worse.


    Taking a deep breath, Loman steadied himself and met his father¡¯s steely gaze with an unflinching look of his own. When he spoke again, his voice carried the same measured tone he used when speaking to men who had come to confess their crimes. The guilty had to stare directly into the truth of their own actions, and his father could no longer be allowed to hid from the truth of what had happened.


    "Father, a lord cannot flaunt the law," Loman said, keeping his voice as even and controlled as he could, even as the cup of wine trembled in his hand. "Owain proved that he cannot be trusted with your throne when he murdered his wife on their wedding night and paraded an imposter before the people to conceal his crime."


    For a moment, it felt like the room had frozen. Bors stared intensely at Loman, and the young man stared back, each of them trying to read the other¡¯s face and wondering how much the other person knew. Finally, Bors was the first to break the silence.


    "So the Church knows," he said with a heavy sigh. "Did they send you to challenge me about it?"


    "No, they didn¡¯t," Loman said, a slight sigh of relief escaping his lips. It wouldn¡¯t have been out of character for his father to explode in fury, even drawing a weapon if he felt that Loman was threatening him. That he didn¡¯t said much about how seriously he considered Loman¡¯s desire to challenge for the position as heir.


    "I¡¯ve spoken with Inquisitor Diarmuid about this matter," Loman said, choosing to be more forthcoming. "He came to investigate Lady Ashlynn Blackwell¡¯s actions, to determine if she had established a ¡¯coven¡¯ of witches or had spread demonic influence." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And? Did he find any proof that she consorted with demons?" Bors asked.


    "None," Loman said flatly. "We exhumed the body and examined her mark. The Inquisition isn¡¯t convinced that the mark is genuine. It may just be an oddly shaped birthmark. These things aren¡¯t unknown."


    "That Diarmuid has been here, sniffing about, for months," Bors said, opening his drawer again and retrieving the bottle to pour another cup. "How thorough was this investigation?"


    "Very," Loman said, looking away from his father and staring into the dark red wine in his cup. "The investigation isn¡¯t over. Inquisitor Diarmuid will be heading to Blackwell County after the festival ends. He intends to investigate Lady Ashlynn¡¯s known associates there, her tutors and the guild masters she was known to be close with, just in case one of them may have been a source of demonic influence on her."


    "But the Church believes that Owain may have committed simple murder," Bors said darkly. "Rhys Blackwell swore that his daughter never showed signs of consorting with demons but he admitted she bore the mark. Now you¡¯re telling me that this whole thing was some kind of misunderstanding? Do they intend to charge Owain with magnicide over this?"


    As he spoke, a fire began to burn in Bors thick belly. He¡¯d worked hard to prevent this whole situation from coming to pass. He pressed the Blackwells to accept their part in all of this to protect his son from being accused of murder and he offered a chance to salvage their alliance if they would play along with the deception long enough to let ¡¯Ashlynn¡¯ die quietly away from the public eye. As long as Lady Jocelynn would take Ashlynn¡¯s place, things hadn¡¯t become unsalvageable yet.


    But now, knowing that the Inquisition knew the truth, Bors felt like he had been cornered between the king¡¯s justice, the Inquisition¡¯s power and his own son¡¯s recklessness.


    "That¡¯s why I wanted to talk to you, Father," Loman said. "If we continue on the path we¡¯re on, I don¡¯t see things ending well for anyone. But maybe, we can find a way to do what¡¯s right for our people and the family as well."


    "Will you hear what I have to

 Chapter 279: Between Father And Son

    Chapter 279: Between Father And Son"Will you hear what I have to say?"


    Loman¡¯s question hung in the air for a tense moment while Bors Lothian stared at his son as if he was truly seeing him for the first time.


    "No," Bors said bluntly. "You¡¯ve grown, son, I¡¯ll give you that. It takes a set of stones to try to blackmail your own father into following your scheme. Maybe the apple didn¡¯t fall as far from the tree as I thought."


    "Father, I," Loman started only to be cut short by his father¡¯s fierce reproach.


    "No, you sit there and you listen to what I have to say," Bors snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Loman. "Your father asked you a question. Your liege lord, if you still remember what that is, asked you a question. Yes or no, does the Inquisition intend to charge your brother with the crime of magnicide? Will they drag him before the king¡¯s justice and the ruling council of dukes?"


    Bors voice grew louder and louder the more he said and his face grew redder and redder from the combination of wine and fury. For a son of his to come to blackmail him, just how weak had he become in his children¡¯s eyes?


    "I don¡¯t know," Loman admitted, lowering his head as he felt the full weight of his father¡¯s fury. How long had it been since he¡¯d seen his father this fierce? Since mother died? Or even longer? S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Right now, only a few people within the Church know the truth," Loman explained. "Inquisitor Diarmuid has shared a report with the Inquisition in the Holy City. I know, as does Sir Tommin, and Confessor Eleanor has been assigned to investigate Lady Jocelynn and to ensure that nothing which might have affected her sister comes to taint the remaining Blackwell daughter."


    "So what you¡¯re saying is that no one who can make a decision is aware of the truth," Bors said, slumping back in his chair. "No one has made a decision yet. But if they know everything you¡¯ve said, then why haven¡¯t they?"


    "Because Owain is good at killing demons," Loman said with a heavy sigh. "For all that went wrong with Brother¡¯s raid, and Inquisitor Diarmuid acknowledges things that went wrong, two things were very clear to him."


    "First, Owain is very, very good at killing demons. You may not have heard, but Sir Tommin has mastered a Holy Sword of Light. Diarmuid said that Owain kept pace with him even without a holy relic of his own," Loman said.


    "Your brother is a madman with a sword in his hand," Bors acknowledged with a hint of pride in his voice. Even in his youth, Bors wouldn¡¯t have considered himself to be Owain¡¯s equal. Hearing that the Church shared his assessment of his son¡¯s skills both filled his chest with pride and blunted the anger he felt. "If only he were aware of the battlefield around him. What was the second thing that the Inquisitor saw?"


    "He saw the strength of the flat-tailed demons first hand," Loman said with a heavy sigh. "Inquisitor Diarmuid believes that the Church has been underestimating the strength of the demons in the mountains based on what they knew of the demons encountered in the lowlands. Because of that, and because Brother has demonstrated incredible skill at killing them..."


    "The Church may decide it¡¯s better to keep his matters quiet," Bors said. Taking a sip of his wine, he stared at his younger son for several minutes before he spoke again. "You¡¯re still too young, Loman. You tell me all this and you think I¡¯d still support you in contending to be my heir?"


    "I do," Loman said. His hands gripped the well worn arms of the chair tightly enough that his knuckles turned white but he forced himself to relax and continue to make his points. His father was a wise man and a veteran lord of many decades. If he could see the logic of things, Loman was certain that he could still guide his father to the right decision.


    "Whether the Church charges Owain with a crime or not, the opinion of the people will matter greatly when he begins to conscript an army," Loman pointed out. "A popular ruler with a reputation for slaying demons can raise a banner that many would rally to. But a ruler who loses half his men in battle who is rumored to have slain his wife..."


    "You¡¯re playing with fire, boy," Bors said, his brows lowering as he saw where Owain was heading. "You haven¡¯t seen what happens when the common folk rebel. It isn¡¯t a pretty sight. Men pick sides for the strangest of reasons, unable to discern the truth from the lies and the things in between that fly about like arrows on a battlefield. Neighbors with grudges kill each other in the name of the lord they chose because their neighbor believed differently than they did..."


    "The will of the mob is a dark thing son," the Marquis said as he looked at Loman with flinty eyes that seemed to see right through him. "Are you certain that you can wield that blade without it twisting in your hands?"


    "The Church has always stood for truth in the light, Father," Loman said calmly. While it was true that he¡¯d never seen the common folk revolt, he¡¯d read the sealed histories of the Church. More than once in the centuries since Lothian March was founded, common folk had risen up against the Church.


    Some even began to trade with demons and advocated for peace with the enemies of the Light. Those rebellions had been suppressed brutally and all but a few records of the events expunged from the history that was taught outside the temples.


    "If I speak from the pulpit to share the truth of my brother¡¯s deeds, then the people will know what is true and what is false," he said. "This is the difference between someone who has been a priest and someone who has only ever been a lord."


    "You¡¯re naive," Bors snorted. "You¡¯ve thought long and hard and you¡¯ve come a long way to reach this point, but you don¡¯t know the church the way a lord does. You can declare your ¡¯truth¡¯ all you want. Someone else will point out that the Inquisition hasn¡¯t charged Owain with a crime."


    "The longer the Church does nothing, the more rumors will circulate that you¡¯re attempting to replace your brother as the heir," Bors said, his strong fingers tapping firmly on the ancient wood of his desk as he made his points. "And before you protest, that rumor would be just as true as the one you¡¯d spread. Because that¡¯s what you are trying to do and you can¡¯t deny that."


    "Further," Bors said before his clever son could respond. "Your support as a priest is strong but the people know nothing of your ability to rule, or to keep them safe from demons. You¡¯ve never gone to war, never set foot on the battlefield. You¡¯re untried, unproven and ultimately, that will make you unconvincing."


    "I don¡¯t doubt that you can stir up the rabble, son," Bors said. "But if you want to rule this march, you have much, much more that you must demonstrate before you¡¯re ready."


    "Now, it¡¯s my turn to ask," Bors said, leaning over his desk to peer into his son¡¯s eyes. "I might be willing to give you a chance, but I won¡¯t follow your scheme. If you want to inherit my throne, you do it MY way."


    "So, now it¡¯s my turn to ask. Will you listen to what your father has to say?"

 Chapter 280: To Become The Heir

    Chapter 280: To Become The HeirSweat rolled down between Loman¡¯s shoulder blades and his body trembled as his father¡¯s powerful presence rolled over him like a landslide. For as long as he¡¯d held fast to his decision to dedicate his life to his church, there had never been a reason for the two to come into conflict with each other.


    Certainly, there had been some spirited conversations at the family dinner table when a younger Loman had uncritically repeated things he¡¯d learned at the temple but there had never been any heat in his father¡¯s words when they traded ideas between the salad and main courses.


    Now, however, for the first time, he felt himself on the receiving end of his father¡¯s full force of will and his decades of accumulated wisdom and he realized that he¡¯d badly misunderstood his father¡¯s gentle and accepting nature. His father accepted because nothing Loman said or did ever threatened him. Now that Loman had chosen to launch an offensive, his father¡¯s counterattack left him with little room to maneuver.


    "Of course," Loman said, trying to regain his composure in the face of his father¡¯s intensity. "I will always listen to Father¡¯s wisdom."


    "Smart lad," his father said, stretching out his hand to top off his son¡¯s cup of wine. "Let me get the nastiness out of the way first. Five years ago, if you¡¯d approached me with a desire to become my successor, I would have been delighted. You showed a great deal of promise, more than your brother and I thought you would have made a better ruler than he would."


    "Unfortunately, that time has passed," Bors said, ruthlessly stomping on the light of pride that had begun to shine in his son¡¯s eyes. "You wasted five years, and you can¡¯t get them back. I let you enter the Temple because you said you wanted to and because your mother..." The Marquis abruptly stopped, forcing back the memories that threatened to spill forth when he thought of his departed wife.


    "Your mother always supported you in following your faith," he said. "If she had still been with us, I might have argued but, I suppose I failed you just as you failed me when I let you do what you wanted."


    "Father, I," Loman started, only for his father to cut him off once again. Clearly, the wine was starting to affect his father¡¯s mood but his mind was still as sharp as ever. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I said you listen and you will listen," Bors said, tapping firmly on the desk. "During the past five years, what have you done to show the people you can rule and what has your brother done with those years?"


    "Your brother might be riding a lame horse, Loman," Bors said. "But yours is still in the stable. He¡¯s way out in front with battle honors, a public wedding to a beautiful noblewoman who captivated the people with stories of years spent in romantic courtship, and he¡¯s forming alliances with everyone from the merchant guilds of Blackwell County to the Dunn family of all people," Bors said, shaking his head in amazement at how his least talented son had managed to court the thorniest of baronies in Lothian March.


    "I¡¯ve done much to help the people, Father," Loman insisted. "We feed more of the poor, heal more of the sick, clothe more of the needy. The temple¡¯s doors are open wider than they¡¯ve ever been and the pews are filled at every service. I have been there before the people, and beside them, every day for all these years."


    "It¡¯s not enough," Bors said, waving a hand dismissively. "You have some reputation among the people in Lothian City, but if you called the barons to war, who would send their finest soldiers and who would send their discipline problems? Which could you press for an extra levy of grain and which would send you rotten wheat?"


    "This is why I say that you¡¯ve wasted these past five years, confined in your temple and rarely leaving Lothian City," Bors said. "If you¡¯re going to contend for the position of heir, you cannot be so disconnected from the burdens of the throne. Your brother, for all that he has fallen short, has worked hard to take up these burdens. Even now, he¡¯s standing before the people in my stead, showing them the man who will be their next Marquis."


    "You said you might be willing to give me a chance," Loman said, looking for a silver lining to the dark clouds his father¡¯s words summoned around him. It wasn¡¯t until his father pointed out his own shortcomings that he realized the trap he¡¯d fallen into.


    It was easy to criticize Owain for his failures when he had known only success in all his endeavors. But the inescapable truth was that Loman hadn¡¯t failed because he¡¯d never tried. The burdens he had shouldered within the thick and mighty walls of the temple weren¡¯t the same as the ones that Owain shouldered at all. If he wanted to take the throne from his brother, he would have to prove that he could bear those burdens better than his brother could.


    "Owain has managed something extraordinary in befriending Liam Dunn," Bors said. "The problem is that Owain¡¯s obligations require him to leave for Blackwell County after the Holy Festival of Light. Meanwhile, Liam is raising a force to attack the demons in the wilderness."


    "I¡¯ve heard," Loman said, nodding along as he saw where his father was going. "Liam Dunn has been searching for support for his campaign. I could speak out from the pulpit and encourage people to flock to his banner. Perhaps I could direct some capable pensioners his way and..."


    "You¡¯ll do nothing of the sort," Bors interrupted, pointing a finger at Loman so fiercely that his son almost flinched even though a massive desk stood between them. "You¡¯ll march to war with Liam Dunn or I¡¯ll hear no more of you contending to be my heir."


    "March to war?" Loman said, blinking in surprise. "I¡¯m not like Owain, Father. I carry a healer¡¯s staff but my fighting skills are meager at best."


    "But your healing skills are much more than meager, aren¡¯t they?" Bors said with a calculating gleam in his eye. "Owain counts his victories by the trophies he takes from his kills. You can count your victories by the lives you save while exposing yourself to danger."


    "No Lothian Marquis has ever failed to take to the field and fight against the demons," Bors said. "I can accept an heir who heals the wounded and commands his army from the rear but I can never accept an heir who will not join the battle."


    "So, the choice is yours, my son," Bors said pointedly. "There is an opportunity for you to prove yourself. I will not retire this year or for the next several years. If you can show me through your deeds that you are worthy then I can consider you as a better heir than Owain. But if you retreat at the first opportunity then this conversation will end and I will face the Church myself in your brother¡¯s matter."


    "Now, I don¡¯t want to hear the words you¡¯ve prepared to say," Bors said, his voice piercing Loman, like nails pinning him to the chair. "Tell me what you¡¯re going to do."

 Chapter 281: Explosive Power

    Chapter 281: Explosive PowerIn the Briar, six days had passed since Ashlynn and Amahle bestowed the seed of witchcraft on Heila, and still, she showed no signs of waking up. Her body lay still within the stone circle on the barren island, though Ashlynn had covered her with a soft blanket and placed a pillow beneath her horned head.


    -BOOM- -CRACK- The sounds of a fierce confrontation filled the air as magical energy flared, casting its flickering light across the island and adding a variety of hues to the diffuse light that filled the Briar.


    At the opposite side of the narrow island, Ashlynn stood panting, her hands balled into fists and her arms raised before her in a defensive posture to guard her head and body. Facing her, Jacques stood in a similar pose, flexing his clawed hands as if he¡¯d just struck something painfully solid. Around his hands, a flickering orange glow danced between his fingers, ready to explode again in an instant.


    "You see, Auntie?" Jacques said with a toothy grin. "When you have de strength of de oak tree, you don¡¯t need any fancy armor. Jus¡¯ wrap dat solid trunk ¡¯round yourself and de forest, she¡¯ll be all de armor you need, non?"


    "I still don¡¯t like it," Ashlynn said. Deep gouges scarred the ground between her and Jacques and the sleeves of her dress had long since been torn so badly that she¡¯d removed them entirely, revealing arms that were bruised and bleeding in places from her confrontation with the Sandbox Witch. Overlaying her body, a faint green energy shimmered like the bark of an illusory tree.


    "If I have to draw on the strength of the forest to protect myself when a suit of armor would do the same thing for me, then I¡¯m wasting the forest¡¯s gifts," Ashlynn said as she changed her posture to one that was more relaxed and released the energy that sustained the ephemeral armor.


    In a real fight, she would never close her eyes in battle, but when sparring with Jacques, she felt it was more important to do things correctly rather than forcing herself to fight as though it was ¡¯real combat.¡¯


    Amahle had sent her a collection of invocations used by various witches of the forest and their covens for personal combat to accommodate her desire to train with Jacques while they waited for Heila¡¯s transformation to finish. Now, Ashlynn reached for a simple one as she stretched her hands out before herself.


    "From oak heart¡¯s core to battle roar,


    Call forth the staff that felled of yore."


    In her hands, emerald green energy flowed twisting itself into a short, dark wooden staff with a heavy, rounded end that revealed the lighter inner wood of the staff. Drawing on the power of the cypress and sandbox trees around her, she poured more energy into the head of the short staff until it glowed with menace.


    "Dat¡¯s a potent-looking stick, Auntie," Jacques said, taking an involuntary step back from Ashlynn as she gave the weapon a few experimental swings.


    "You have a thick hide and thicker skull," Ashlynn teased as she took a stance similar to what she would use when fighting with a falchion. "It¡¯ll take a potent stick to get through to you."


    This time, when Ashlynn and Jacques clashed, she poured all her effort and energy into landing crushing blows on the reptilian witch. The gifts she received as Nyrielle¡¯s seneschal gave her speed and strength that matched or exceeded what the Sandbox Witch could bring to bear and she used them both to avoid his powerful fists every time he struck out.


    It took only a single blow from the head of Ashlynn¡¯s staff for Jacques to learn that blocking it with his forearms, no matter how strong his scaly hide and solid bones were, was a recipe for disaster.


    The instant the staff made contact with a meaty -THWACK- his entire forearm down to the tips of his claws went numb. Worse, the flicking orange energy that danced around his fist faded away as he lost his ability to extend his explosive aura to that hand.


    -BOOM- -CRACK!-


    The sound of an explosion followed by a violent spray of sandy soil filled the air as Jacques slammed his other fist into the ground, triggering an explosion ten times as violent and powerful as the explosion of a sandbox tree¡¯s seed pods.


    "All right," Ashlynn said, raising the staff up high before letting it fade away. "Any more of that and we¡¯ll disturb Heila," Ashlynn said, rubbing sand out of her eyes before glancing in the direction of her sleeping friend. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Dat¡¯s true I suppose," Jacques said, walking over to her and raising his hands while he recited a brief healing invocation for Ashlynn. By now, she knew enough to heal herself, but to Jacques, it was a sign of respect that he tended her wounds after their sessions ended.


    If he didn¡¯t and left cuts and bruises on the Mother of Thorns for her to heal herself, that would be more shameful than he could bear. The moment the energy washed over her, however, his tail almost dropped to the ground when he felt the pain his blows had inflicted upon her body.


    The longer they had been waiting, the more fiercely Ashlynn threw herself into training, as if she was preparing herself to charge into Heila¡¯s trial to rescue her friend, despite the impossibility of such a notion. More likely, she was using the intense training to force any other thoughts out of her mind and giving vent to the feelings of powerlessness that plagued her while they waited for Heila¡¯s transformation to reach its end.


    Today, however, Ashlynn had pressed Jacques hard enough that he¡¯d cracked several of her bones and left injuries deep beneath the surface of her skin. It wasn¡¯t until his magic began to heal her injuries that he realized how badly she¡¯d been wounded and yet she stood there looking calm as if they didn¡¯t bother her at all. Or, perhaps she welcomed the pain as a way to suffer alongside Heila.


    Jacques couldn¡¯t say for sure, but there was one thing he was increasingly coming to realize. The combination of the powers she gained as the Seneschal of a True Vampire blended with her powers as The Mother of Trees to create a terrifying power that, even if it hadn¡¯t already, would very soon match the strength of most Eldritch Lords, and that was with barely any training.


    Part of him was terrified at what she and Nyrielle might accomplish together. If they set their minds to it, perhaps the world would welcome a new Eldritch Empress. Perhaps only one of the other True Vampires would be able to stand in their way.


    But, as much as the notion of the power they possessed frightened him, when he thought of the type of woman Ashlynn was, her fierce protectiveness and compassion... a larger part of him hoped that nothing would hold her back.


    There were far too many people in the world using their power for far worse ends. If Ashlynn had the chance to grow and if she stayed true to the path she was on... wouldn¡¯t that be a wonderful thing?

 Chapter 282: Growing Concern

    Chapter 282: Growing Concern"Thank you," Ashlynn said, setting a hand on Jacques¡¯ scaly forearm and giving him a genuine smile as his gentle, protective energy washed over her, washing away not only the traces of their aggressive sparring, but a good measure of the fatigue she felt as well.


    The wounds she¡¯d suffered weren¡¯t light and knowing that he had to feel the same pain she felt in order to heal those wounds, she worried that accepting his healing might impose too great a burden on the scaly witch. Seeing him quietly endure, she couldn¡¯t help but feel guilty for pushing things so far in their recent sessions.


    "I didn¡¯t hurt you too badly when I hit you with the staff, did I?" Ashlynn asked, worried that she might have done more damage than she meant to when she struck his arm. They might be able to heal and recover quickly but all of these things still hurt immensely and the strain on their bodies from the frequent use of healing magic wasn¡¯t light either.


    "Just enough to turn my arm numb, Auntie," Jacques said, waggling his fingers as though it wasn¡¯t a big deal. In truth, he planned to heal his own arm once he finished with Ashlynn because even a few minutes later, he still hadn¡¯t regained feeling in his fingers, but he didn¡¯t want her to think that he couldn¡¯t match up to her strength in their sparring sessions.


    It was clear to Jacques that Ashlynn¡¯s power exceeded what he could gather. She had the support of every tree in the Briar, whether they were sandbox, cypress, willow or anything else. For Jacques, he could only draw a fraction of the power that he could get from a sandbox tree from any other tree in the forest. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Normally, that would be enough and he frequently managed to keep up with Talauia when she drew on the strength of countless thistles in the briar. But against Ashlynn, even though it had only been a few days, she was already beginning to feel similar to fighting the Mother of Thorns.


    As soon as Jacques finished with his healing, Ashlynn crossed the short distance to the stone circle where Heila lay sleeping.


    Each day, Heila¡¯s face showed greater signs of strain as she struggled to meld with the power of the seed of witchcraft and the Ancient Willow tree. At times, she tossed and turned violently in her sleep, crying out in pain or fear. Now, her eyes were screwed tightly shut and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she fought against the effects of the witchcraft coursing through her body.


    "It¡¯s been six days," Ashlynn said, fetching a cool wet cloth and wiping away the sweat on Heila¡¯s brow. "Was it like this for you?" Ashlynn asked, turning to look at Jacques.


    "Not dis bad, Auntie," he said, shaking his head. "I¡¯m not talented de way big sister Tala is," he said. "She only took three days, but I took five. Dis... dis goes farther den I¡¯ve seen."


    Six days. According to Amahle, it took at least three days for the roots of the seed to spread through a witch¡¯s body. Those roots would follow along the veins and arteries of the body, forming an entirely new network through which the energy of the world could flow and binding the witch to the world just like a tree planted in the soil.


    Beyond three days, however, the ¡¯roots¡¯ grew strong enough to draw energy from the body of the would-be witch. The more they fed, the greater the chance that they would consume the witch, bursting forth into a different sort of magical plant that contained a remnant echo of the person the seed had sprouted from.


    Six days had already passed while Ashlynn and Jacques took turns watching over her and practicing to fill the time and take their minds off of Heila¡¯s struggle. Three more days. From all of the records Amahle had ever seen, any witch who failed to meld with the power of the world and the seed of witchcraft within their body after nine days had no hope of becoming a witch.


    "I wish there was a way for me to help her with this," Ashlynn said, her voice thick with frustration and helplessness as she knelt next to her friend. "I¡¯m supposed to be the Mother of Trees, to be her mother in the coven," she said. "How is it that a mother isn¡¯t able or allowed to help her daughter when it matters most?"


    "Dis is de way of tings," Jacques said, taking a seat opposite her and gently stroking a finger along the curve of Heila¡¯s horn. "It¡¯s harder when you use de power from an Ancient Tree because she¡¯s not just your daughter, she¡¯s also the daughter of de Ancient Willow. She has to face de trails from dat flow from your power and from de tree."


    "I should have waited and grown a seed the right way," Ashlynn said bitterly. "This is my fault for trying to rush things too much."


    "Auntie," Jacques said softly. "It ain¡¯t dat way. It ain¡¯t dat simple. Maman, she had to do de same ting for me wit¡¯ de Bloody Sandbox Tree. Dis, dis was de best choice you could make at de time, non? So don¡¯t be so hard on yourself right now."


    Seeing the way Ashlynn had all but tortured herself with intense training these past six days, with each day growing harsher than the one before it, Jacques¡¯ heart couldn¡¯t help but ache at the way this was tearing her up.


    He didn¡¯t know what it had been like when Amahle had to wait for him to pass his trial but seeing Ashlynn¡¯s anguished face as she looked at the sleeping Heila, he couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful for the care and kindness he¡¯d been shown when Amahle made a seed of witchcraft for him.


    "Come back to us, Heila," Ashlynn whispered into the diminutive woman¡¯s ear. "We¡¯re waiting for you to show us how amazing you are. And even if you aren¡¯t," Ashlynn said softly. "I¡¯m still waiting for you to come back."


    "I need you," she said, gently stroking Heila¡¯s sweat soaked curls. "I need my friend back more than I need a witch beside me. So come back to me soon, Heila. Come back to me soon."

 Chapter 283: Something Is Very Wrong

    Chapter 283: Something Is Very WrongSix days turned into seven, and seven days turned into eight as Ashlynn and Jacques continued to wait for Heila to reawaken as the Willow Witch, though her success seemed less likely with every passing hour.


    At this point, Amahle and Talauia returned to the barren island. Whether Heila succeeded at the final hour or succumbed to the power of the seed of witchcraft, Amahle would be there. She still held hope that she had come to witness the birth of this generation¡¯s Willow Witch, but if she was wrong, then Ashlynn would need her support to come to terms with what would come next.


    When the two witches arrived at the island, they both took several moments to stare in shock at the state of the island.


    The barren island wasn¡¯t very large to begin with, but in the time they¡¯d been gone, one half of the island had been completely reshaped. Deep trenches and craters marked its surface and an earthen berm had been raised between the savaged end of the island and the one on which Heila lay.


    "What is this, what is this? What happened here?" Talauia said, hovering over the transformed island.


    "I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll learn soon enough, sugar," Amahle said, exiting the flat bottomed boat and picking her way carefully across the scarred terrain while Talauia fluttered along behind her. In the dim early morning light, nothing disturbed the misty air but the sound of their boat rocking and the low hum of Talauia¡¯s wings.


    "Maman?" Jacques said when Amahle reached the top of the berm. "You came," he said as a sad, relieved smile formed on his lips.


    The reptilian witch sat next to a small campfire, stripped to the waist and wearing ragged looking pants that he¡¯d cut off at the knees when it became clear that the shredded remains of his pants would only entangle his movements. While there were no signs of injuries on his powerful, muscular body, it was clear from the stiff way that he moved that he was both tired and worn from his time watching over Heila.


    Behind him, Ashlynn lay on the ground next to Heila with an arm draped across the diminutive horned woman as she slept. Her sleeveless dresses and tattered skirts bore numerous bloodstains and her blond hair seemed to struggle to escape the tight braid she¡¯d tied it in with several whisps floating around her face as she slept.


    But as bad as the two witches looked, it was Heila who captured Amahle¡¯s attention. Her complexion had turned a sickly silvery-green and darker green veins crawled up her neck and across her cheek. Most concerning of all, a layer of bark had formed over her horns and delicate leaves had begun to sprout at the tapered ends of her horns.


    "She, she¡¯s going to fail," Talauia said. Her wingbeats became erratic and she tumbled to the ground, dropping to her knees with tears filling her multifaceted eyes. Every detail was clear to her, from Heila¡¯s shallow breathing to the way the curls of her hair had begun to resemble the drooping branches of a willow tree... she was still Heila, at least, she was mostly Heila, but by the time the sun set... there might be nothing left but... Sister Willow.


    "She hasn¡¯t failed yet, sugar," Amahle said softly. Moving quietly so as not to disturb Ashlynn, she knelt beside the ailing woman and reached out to her with her spider-like limbs, each one tipped with faintly glowing red energy that delved deep beneath the surface to feel the flow of the world¡¯s energy through her body.


    The spider-like limbs of the Night Weaver Clan were known for their ability to create silks that were both luxurious and, in some cases, as strong as light armor. The clan was famed for their caution, patience, and ability to move through the forests and swamps where they made their homes.


    They were much less known for their uncanny ability to multitask, something that elevated Amahle¡¯s manipulation of the energy of the world to an art. Four additional limbs that could move with the precision of a master embroiderer combined with multi-pupiled eyes to give her an unmatched view of the world and the ability to maneuver through it while splitting her attention between multiple tasks.


    Now, Amahle used all of that skill to gently tease at the edges of the magic pulsing through Heila. The tips of her spider-like limbs were like the fingers of a musician on the chords of a harp and her crimson eyes flickered rapidly, observing the flow of energy from every angle.


    "Were we wrong to press forward so fast?" Amahle whispered as she inspected the magic that was slowly and inexorably transforming Heila into a willow tree. "I don¡¯t believe that Heila would fail here, so what has gone so wrong?" As her senses swept over the sleeping witch she found the roots that grew out from the seed of witchcraft had become tangled and... obstructed?


    Something had formed a blockage within Heila that stopped her from receiving the full support of the Ancient Willow and even interfered with her connection to Ashlynn. As Amahle looked closer, she found the thinnest tendril of emerald green energy flowing from Ashlynn into Heila, battering at the blockage even while Ashlynn slept.


    "Jacques," Amahle said, turning to look at the exhausted-looking witch. "Tell me, what happened here? Something is very, very wrong."


    "I don¡¯t know, Maman," Jacques said helplessly. "Last night, little Heila, she started to change. Auntie Ashlynn, she said dat something was pullin¡¯ Heila away from her, like when de Ancient Willow tree, she tried to pull Auntie away from Lady Nyrielle, only dis, she said, was much weaker. Only, little Heila, she¡¯s so much weaker too."


    "So Ashlynn has been trying to reach her, even though there should be no way to interrupt the trial of an Ancient Tree," Amahle realized, turning back to the pair in wonder. "My little sister is a fearless one, ain¡¯t she? But now, with things so tangled, I don¡¯t dare to interfere. Just what is going on in there?"


    Trapped within the visions of the trial, Heila stood panting and alone in the middle of a vast battlefield. Blood covered her body, plastering her simple dress to her skin though very little of the blood was her own.


    A lash formed from braided willow branches dangled in each of her hands, shorter than they¡¯d been when this vision began again and dripping with blood but still singing faintly in her ears with the thirst for more.


    The bodies around her seemed to come from every force imaginable. Some were humans, dressed in the colors of the Lothian army, or the Temple Guard of the church. A few were even knights, Inquisitors, and Templars. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Others were Eldritch, spanning every clan Heila had ever met and several that she hadn¡¯t. There were vampires among the dead, as well as people that Heila would have considered friends like the High Pass¡¯s young lord Hauke.


    "Still, dis is what you want, yeah?" Cecile¡¯s weathered voice said as the former Willow Witch made her way across the battlefield to the bloody and ragged Heila. "Dis is de fate you want to choose for y¡¯r self?"

 Chapter 284: Heila’s Fate

    Chapter 284: Heila¡¯s FateDuring Ashlynn¡¯s trial with the Ancient Willow, the specter of Cecile had appeared to guide her in the Willow¡¯s Way, teaching her the healing arts she needed to master in order to face the Ancient Willow¡¯s trial.


    Now, that very same specter had appeared before Heila, once again coming to guide her through the trial. This time, however, the specter took a much heavier hand with Heila than she could have with Ashlynn. After all, Ashlynn was the current Mother of Trees. There were limits to what a Willow Witch could do against the person who was born to lead all witches of the forest.


    But Heila, Heila was supposed to be her successor as the next Willow Witch and Cecile refused to allow her to pass this trial if she wasn¡¯t up to her standards.


    "I¡¯ve done shown it to you, now," the elderly witch said. "You¡¯ve seen de good you can do, yeah? De power to snatch back y¡¯r friends and loved ones from de very edge of death. To cure de sick and restore de lame, you can do dese tings, yeah?"


    "I know I can," Heila said. She¡¯d spent what felt like weeks following at the old witch¡¯s side, learning to treat the wounded, and witnessing the joy and even worship that followed when she performed acts of healing that were beyond the capabilities of any sorcerer. Things that only a witch could do, and even among witches, not everyone would be so capable.


    "I told you, Madame Cecile," Heila said in a voice that was thick with exhaustion. "Your coven may have granted you a peaceful life, but mine will not be so lucky. These people," Heila said, pointing one of her whips at the humans on the battlefield. "They will bring war to my home no matter what. My lady, my Mother of Trees, will fight them."


    "She won¡¯t ever run from that fight, even though she hates the idea of killing people who didn¡¯t do anything wrong," Heila said, tears spilling from her eyes as she shouted at the old witch who had put her through this trial again and again and again. She¡¯d lost count of how many times she faced this battlefield and every time it became worse.


    According to Cecile, Ashlynn¡¯s bond with Nyrielle would invite great jealousy and fear. That humans would attempt to destroy them was a given, but Cecile said that even Eldritch nations would turn against them in the days to come. A warrior fighting at Ashlynn¡¯s side could never escape the ensuing chaos, but a skilled healer would be welcomed wherever she went.


    In Cecile¡¯s mind, there was no reason for Heila to die alongside a Mother of Trees who invited calamity. Heila, however, refused to accept Ashlynn¡¯s fall as ¡¯inevitable.¡¯


    "If she won¡¯t run, I won¡¯t run, no matter how much I hate it," Heila cried. "No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I want to do anything else. Because if I can do this," she said, shaking her whip at the piles of bodies. "If I have all this power to do all this, and I don¡¯t stop them. If I let these, these, butchers hurt my family and friends... if I let them hurt Ashlynn... then tell me, Madame Cecile, why do I even need this power?"


    "Dis isn¡¯t de Willow¡¯s way child," the old witch said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "De Willow, she¡¯s a healer¡¯s tree, yeah? You ain¡¯t treating her right. Now, look what you done wit¡¯ y¡¯r hands. I helped you feel de pain y¡¯r whips inflict, you know how much you hurt dem, yeah? But you call dem de butchers?"


    "You¡¯re wrong," Heila said. Her whole body ached and her flesh felt like it was on fire from the sting of thousands of blows from her whips but that had ceased to matter to her days ago. "Earth has no joy, fire has no hate, water has no sorrow, air has no worry and wood has no desire," she said, repeating one of the very first lessons Amahle had given her.


    "The willow doesn¡¯t want me to be a healer," Heila said as she took one slow step after another toward her predecessor. "The willow doesn¡¯t want me to be a butcher," she added as she came to stand before the reptilian witch. "Those are your desires, left behind in the Ancient Willow and clinging to my seed of witchcraft."


    "Y¡¯r wrong, little girl," Cecile said. "Dis is de way, de way it¡¯s always been..."


    "The way it¡¯s always been for you," Heila said. "I¡¯m not like Lady Ashlynn," she said, her hands tightening on the handles of the whips. "If I was half as smart as she is or half as brave or... if I wasn¡¯t so convinced that I should listen to my seniors and serve them obediently," she said bitterly.


    "I wanted to respect you so much, Madame Cecile," she sobbed, tears clouding her eyes. "I wanted to learn so much from you. To treasure everything you could teach me. I would have done whatever you asked because you were a great Willow Witch and I thought I could only dream of being half as good as you were."


    "You still could be," Cecile said gently. "Jus¡¯ drop dose lashes and come away wit¡¯ me. Dere¡¯s still time, yeah? Time to put dis all behind you."


    "No," Heila said, blinking the tears out of her eyes. "No because even though I¡¯m slow. Even though it took me all this time and pain to figure it out, I realized that I was wrong from the very start," she said as she stared up at Cecile with fury in her eyes.


    "It isn¡¯t me who couldn¡¯t be half the witch you were," Heila said. "It¡¯s you who wasn¡¯t half the witch I¡¯ll become, Madame Cecile. Now, Lady Ashlynn needs me. She needs me to be a healer when there are wounded to care for and sick to nurse back to health. But she needs me to fight beside her too. She needs me to go everywhere you went and everywhere you refused to go." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So let me go," Heila said, her tone more commanding than the pleading it had been in the days before. "My lady is waiting for me and I need to go back to her side. She needs me. My coven needs me. It¡¯s time for me to go."


    Deep within her heart, she knew that it was true. Ashlynn needed her. Dimly, she almost felt like she could feel her lady¡¯s presence calling to her. Even over the overpowering stench of blood and fouler smells on the battlefield, her nose caught the faintest trace of Ashlynn¡¯s unique evergreen scent. And if she listened very closely, she could hear her lady¡¯s voice, begging her to come home.


    That little bit, that faint presence and the deep desire Ashlynn had for her to return gave Heila the final push she needed to make her stand.


    "Ah, such a failure," Cecile said, turning to walk away. "Perhaps, if I let you see dat dis path of y¡¯rs, it only leads to more of dis. Maybe den," she started to say only to be silenced by the -CRACK- of Heila¡¯s whip striking the air beside her ear.


    "Let me go, Cecile," Heila said, for the first time addressing the old witch without an honorific. "I won¡¯t ask again."


    "Your Mother of Trees, dat she rejects de Willow¡¯s Way is her right," Cecile began. "But you," she said, raising her walking stick and gathering silvery-green energy to her hands.


    "I¡¯m going home," Heila said, striking out with one whip to knock the staff from the old woman¡¯s hands while the other coiled around her neck. "You had your time. You had your ways. But I¡¯m sorry," she said as her hand jerked hard on the whip, snapping the old woman¡¯s neck like it was nothing more than dried kindling.


    "But I have to go back to Lady Ashlynn," she said, finally dropping the whips in her hands. "She¡¯s waiting for me, and if I don¡¯t go now, I¡¯d never get the chance. Good bye, Madame Cecile," she said, offering a final curtsey of gratitude for all she had learned from the woman¡¯s spirit as the vision began to fade. "I promise, I¡¯ll be the best Willow Witch I can be."

 Chapter 285: Joining Ashlynn’s Coven

    Chapter 285: Joining Ashlynn¡¯s CovenThe diffuse light in the Briar had begun to dim as Amahle and her coven stood in silence, waiting through the final hours that would determine Heila¡¯s fate.


    Ashlynn still lay next to Heila, wrapped comfortingly around the diminutive horned woman like a mother cradling her child. A thin, steady stream of emerald green energy flowed from Ashlynn¡¯s hand into Heila¡¯s heart, sustaining and strengthening the prospective witch as she continued to struggle with whatever seemed to be obstructing her trail.


    "Mother, mother, look," Talauia cried, pointing excitedly as her wings began to beat rapidly with a high-pitched hum.


    The sound of a soft -crack- broke the still silence that enveloped the island and a piece of willow bark that had grown over one of Heila¡¯s horns cracked a second time before falling to the ground. The first piece was followed by a second and a third as the transformation gained speed.


    A healthy pallor returned to her face and the green tendrils that had crept up her neck faded away as though they¡¯d never been there. While the process wasn¡¯t instant, it took only a few minutes for the diminutive woman¡¯s transformation to completely reverse, leaving her even more radiant and healthy than she had appeared before the start of her trial. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Behind her, an ethereal willow tree took shape, starting as a sapling and growing rapidly until its branches drooped over Heila and Ashlynn. The branches moved and swayed in the wind for a moment before the tree transformed into a stream of silvery-green energy that flowed into Heila.


    No sooner had the glow faded than Heila drew a deep, shuddering breath, opening her soft, grass-green eyes and blinking several times in surprise when she found herself in Ashlynn¡¯s warm, comforting embrace.


    "Welcome back," Ashlynn whispered from behind her diminutive friend. Her arms wrapped completely around Heila, drawing her in close for a fierce hug. Tears dripped down Ashlynn¡¯s eyes and her heart trembled with relief. "I was afraid we would lose you. That I would lose you," she whispered.


    "No," Heila said softly. "No, no, no, no, no. You need me," she whispered fiercely. "And, and I need you too. So I¡¯ll never go. I, I¡¯m sorry I took so long," she added, closing her eyes and hanging her head low. "If I was just a little bit smarter, I would have,"


    "Enough of that," Amahle interrupted as she knelt by the two women. "You are here, Little Heila," she said gently, reaching out with a hand to brush sweat-soaked curls out of Heila¡¯s face while her less mundane senses examined the flow of magical energy through Heila¡¯s body. "You did your best and your best was good enough. You¡¯re a witch now," she added. "Whether it took three days or nine, that you passed your trial is all that matters."


    "Nine? Has it really only been nine days?" Heila asked, sitting up and pulling away from Ashlynn as she looked around in confusion. "My lady!" Heila exclaimed when she saw the state of Ashlynn¡¯s torn and stained dress. "What happened?"


    "Nothing important," Ashlynn said, sitting up before she recaptured Heila and pulled her into another embrace. "I felt like something was stopping you from passing your trial when even the Ancient Willow felt content with you. I didn¡¯t realize it until it was almost too late," she said in a voice that was rough with emotion.


    "Now, now," Amahle said, using her spider-like limbs to pull both women into an embrace. "Y¡¯all have both been through an ordeal. We can talk about the details later, but right now, I think both of y¡¯all could use a good soak in a bath, some fresh clothes, and a home-cooked meal."


    "Tala, honey," the Mother of Thorns called. "Get the boat ready to go. Jacques, help your auntie and cousin to get settled but when we get home, you need a long bath yourself. Let Tala and I take care of the cooking and everything else tonight. You¡¯ve done enough."


    "Yes, Maman," Jacques said before he took her place kneeling next to Ashlynn and Heila. "Ma petite," he said reaching out to gently stroke Heila¡¯s hair before his hand froze awkwardly in mid-air. After spending so many days watching over her, he felt closer to the newly born Willow Witch and even more so now that she was a real ¡¯cousin¡¯ but... Heila had been asleep all this time.


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said, smiling at his awkwardness. "You¡¯ve been standing guard all this time, haven¡¯t you? Go ahead."


    "I didn¡¯t make it easy for him," Ashlynn added while Jacques affectionately ruffled Heila¡¯s curls. "I asked him to help me with my training since we¡¯re so far from Thane but the longer things took, the rougher things got. Jacques," Ashlynn said, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. "I took out much of my anxiety on you, and you never once complained. You had every right to refuse me. I¡¯m sorry."


    "Dis ain¡¯t a ting to worry about, Auntie," Jacques said with a toothy grin. "I was anxious too. Little Heila, she¡¯s too precious to say goodbye to so soon, non? Now, we¡¯re all together in de end, jus¡¯ like it should be."


    "Just like it should be," Ashlynn agreed.


    When Heila tried to stand, her legs trembled beneath her and refused to support her weight. The long days spent lying motionless had left her muscles weak and unresponsive. Before she could fall, Jacques was there, kneeling beside her with gentle hands ready to help.


    "May I, ma petite?" he asked softly. At Heila¡¯s grateful nod, he scooped her up carefully, cradling her in his strong arms while his scaly hands held her with surprising gentleness. "You¡¯re looking drained too, Auntie Ashlynn," Jacques added as he looked at the exhausted young Mother of Trees. "I¡¯ll come right back for you, jus¡¯ wait a spell."


    "No, I¡¯m fine, if, if you can lend me a shoulder," She said, pushing herself to her feet. Her body ached and she felt like she was a towel that had been rung out but she was no worse off than she¡¯d been at the end of her grueling training sessions with Thane during her blossoming period. "I want to stay close to Heila," she added softly.


    "Den, my shoulder is all yours, Auntie," Jacques said. As they picked their way carefully over the earthen berm and the ground that had been torn asunder by their intense training sessions, he also lifted his tail, wrapping it around Ashlynn¡¯s other side to help steady her when she stumbled over the rough terrain.


    "Let me help you, jus¡¯ dis bit," Jacques added after settling Heila in the back of the boat. Standing ankle-deep in the water he gently lifted Ashlynn up and placed her in the boat next to Heila before fetching a blanket for the two of them.


    In the oppressive heat of the Briar, most people would reject anything that would have kept them warmer, but there was something comforting about being under a blanket together with someone, even if it just lay across their laps. For all his exterior was rough and thorny, even Jacques understood this much and from the relieved look on Heila¡¯s face when he held out the blanket, he¡¯d made the right decision.


    "Take these, take these," Talauia said, holding out cups of cold, crisp lemonade that had been muddled with mint and other herbs. "It¡¯ll help perk you up on the way home. Mother¡¯s potion helped you to last this long, cousin Heila, but even Mother¡¯s witchcraft has limits."


    "Thank you," Heila said, gratefully accepting the cool, refreshing beverage that wet her parched lips. Along with the sweet and tart beverage, her senses detected the slightest trace of wood energy that she would have missed before her ordeal.


    Clearly, Talauia had been worried about her too if she¡¯d gone so far as to add a bit of witchcraft to the simple beverage, but in the state she was in, Heila could only admit that she likely needed it.


    The boat ride back to Amahle¡¯s home in the Briar passed in relative quiet. It was clear that both Heila and Ashlynn and to a lesser extent even Jacques, were still processing the events of the past several days. But this, to Amahle¡¯s eyes, was the foundation of a good coven.


    Ashlynn had done as a mother should. She had provided a way for her daughter to grow and realize her potential, even though doing so was painful and carried risks to herself. Then, she¡¯d let Heila do everything she could to take advantage of that opportunity and when it was clear that something was preventing Heila from succeeding, even though there was little she could do to help, Ashlynn hadn¡¯t hesitated to step in.


    The difference between being a Child of the Earth and becoming the Mother of trees was the ability to take this step. To create a coven that was bound together like a family and could face the countless trials to come together.


    However hard it had been on them, in Amahle¡¯s eyes, they had succeeded in the most important part. If Ashlynn could continue this way, then Amahle felt like there was hope that the darkness that clung to the Harbinger of Death wouldn¡¯t swallow her.


    And if it tried to... well, Ashlynn wasn¡¯t just the Mother of Trees now. She was also someone that, after seeing how she¡¯d responded to her trials, Amahle felt proud to call her little sister. And if someone came to hurt her little sister, whether it was vampires or the human crusade, Amahle wouldn¡¯t stand idly by to let it happen.


    As she watched Ashlynn wrapping a blanket around herself and Heila so they could continue to comfort each other on the way back home, Amahle made her own promise. It was rare for her to take sides in any conflict, after all, nature itself was neutral in the conflicts between men and nations, but if anything came after Ashlynn and her coven... the Mother of Thorns would take her stand alongside the Mother of Trees.

 Chapter 286: First Hat

    Chapter 286: First HatThough Amahle had intended to offer a small celebratory dinner in honor of Heila¡¯s return, seeing how worn both Heila and Ashlynn were after their ordeal, she postponed her plans, sending them both to wash up before preparing a thickened lentil soup with a healthy portion of dark leafy vegetables from her garden.


    By the time they¡¯d washed and eaten, neither of the young witches possessed the energy to do more than return to Ashlynn¡¯s hut. This time, however, Heila had a slightly guilty look on her face as she looked in the direction of the small hammock on the balcony.


    "It¡¯s okay if you want to join me tonight," Ashlynn said, holding out a hand as she stood beside her own hammock. "You don¡¯t have to go so far away."


    "It should be enough to be nearby," Heila said awkwardly, shifting her weight from one cloven hoof to the other. "But right now, I just want to be held a bit. Is it really okay? Lady Nyrielle won¡¯t mind, will she?"


    "It¡¯s not like that between us," Ashlynn said before using the strength she¡¯d gained from Nyrielle to scoop Heila up into her arms and carry her into the hammock. "You becoming part of my coven, it created a bond between us, similar to the one I share with Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said.


    "Mmm," Heila said with a nod. "I can feel something when we¡¯re close. Like, we¡¯re tangled together, even when we¡¯re barely touching."


    "Exactly," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around the diminutive witch. "It¡¯s not the same as my bond with Nyrielle. It doesn¡¯t feel as strong or as intimate, but it¡¯s real. It isn¡¯t something you¡¯re imagining. And... and I¡¯m glad that you¡¯re the first person I get to share it with."


    "I am too," Heila whispered as she snuggled closer to Ashlynn, drawing comfort from the other woman¡¯s touch. For a moment, she felt like she had returned to her days as a little girl, pleading for affection for her mother and clinging to her for affection before she went to bed with her siblings.


    Only this time, it was Ashlynn who gave her that warm sense of security and comfort. And right now, she had no siblings to contend with. In the future, she knew that there would be others, but for now, as her eyes drifted closed, she was happy to indulge in her lady¡¯s affection.


    The following day, as the sounds of buzzing insects filled the air and the fog of the Briar began to thin, Ashlynn and Heila made their way to Amahle¡¯s home for breakfast. It was amazing how much a single night of rest had done to revitalize both women, and Ashlynn privately wondered if there had been a little bit of witchcraft in the previous night¡¯s soup but if there had been, she wasn¡¯t about to complain. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When they entered Amahle¡¯s large home, Ashlynn paused in surprise at the festive decorations that covered the space. Colorful silk streamers in greens, silvers, and blues hung from the ceiling and bows of the same colorful fabric hung on chairs or covered tables.


    Even more impressive, however, was the spider web-like banner that stretched across the space, like a giant knitted banner that read ¡¯Congratulations Heila & Ashlynn.¡¯ Clearly it was something Amahle had made personally but just how long had she spent to create such an intricate decoration that would only be used once?


    "Y¡¯all just settle yourselves at the table," the Mother of Thorns said as she emerged from another room with a pair of large packages. "Tala, sugar, go ahead and bring in the crepes you¡¯ve made so far and everything else, I know you want to see this part."


    "I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming, don¡¯t start without me" the excited witch said, fluttering into the room with a plate piled high with delicate crepes and a tray bearing wide variety of fresh berries and whipped, sweetened cream.


    "Dis is jus¡¯ ready too," Jacques said, turning away from the fire to carry over a large cast iron skillet filled with a dish of scrambled eggs, sweet peppers and coarse ground sausage. "De pan is very hot," he warned as he set it on a small trivet in the center of the table. "Jus¡¯ let it sit and keep cooking a spell and it¡¯ll all be fine when it¡¯s time."


    "Ashlynn, Heila," Amahle said sweetly as she used her spider-like limbs to hand one of the large packages to Ashlynn and the second one to Heila. "This is a proud moment for both of you. From now on, Ashlynn can truly call herself the Mother of Trees, and Heila has become the Willow Witch. I know that it wasn¡¯t easy for either of you," she said a touch more solemnly than she¡¯d meant to.


    "This is a gift from my coven to yours, to celebrate what you¡¯ve both become," she said, tapping the tip of a spider-like limb on each of the packages. "But I need to explain something before you open them," she added.


    Immediately, both Ashlynn and Heila sat up a little straighter in their seats, adopting the demeanor of attentive students.


    "You¡¯ve seen the hats we wear," Amahle explained, touching the edge of her wide brimmed hat as she spoke. "A witch¡¯s hat is like her badge of office. The traditions for these hats may be as old as witchcraft on dry land, maybe even invented by Jacques¡¯s Ancient Clan. By now, they¡¯ve become so intertwined with the identity of being a witch that anyone caught wearing them who isn¡¯t a witch might be accused of a crime in some nations."


    "You¡¯ve made hats for us?" Ashlynn said, feeling deeply moved as she ran a hand over the surface of the package.


    "Not just any hat, but the first hat that a witch needs," Amahle explained. "Every witch needs three hats, Ashlynn, as the Mother of Thorns, and especially as Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, I suggest you get a fourth as well."


    "The first hat is your Hedge Hat," Amahle said, pointing at the hat that Talauia was currently wearing which had been festooned with all manner of flowers, bits of leaves and other things seemingly picked at random. "Go ahead and open them," she said with a wide smile.


    Inside the round boxes, they found two hats that were both unique and bore many similarities. Ashlynn¡¯s had been crafted of a dark, pine-green silk with a hat-band that looked to Ashlynn¡¯s eyes like a net meant for fishing.


    More netting ran around the edge of the brim and the hat had countless small loops across its surface clearly meant to hold something, she just couldn¡¯t understand what. Heila¡¯s hat looked much the same save for the color that was a much lighter sage-green and, because of its smaller size, held many fewer loops.


    "A Hedge Hat is meant for working in your gardens or foraging in the wilderness," Amahle explained. "Even if you add deep pockets to your skirts and carry a basket for gathering things, there are always items that are too special to be packed away with everything else. A Hedge Hat is a working hat but it also keeps the most precious things you¡¯ve collected in easy reach. In time, you¡¯ll learn how important that can be when you¡¯re foraging in places that civilized folk don¡¯t dare to tread."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, setting the hat on her head before throwing her arms around Amahle in a tight embrace. The closeness bumped both her and Amahle¡¯s hats askew but neither woman cared.


    To Ashlynn, who had grown up in the court of her father the Count of Blackwell County, this was the least formal ceremony she¡¯d ever seen. If she compared it to the pomp and circumstance that surrounded the bestowal of a knighthood or peerage then the simple gifting of hats in Amahle¡¯s living room would have been seen by her parents as insultingly casual.


    The last time her father had conferred a knighthood on someone, businesses opened two hours late in order to give time for a grand procession to ride from the city gates all the way to Blackwell Manor. As the procession passed, sweets made of honey and nuts were thrown to the children while a minstrel sang of the newly raised knight¡¯s glorious deeds.


    The celebration for the common folk ended when the procession reached Blackwell Manor, but for Ashlynn¡¯s family and the gathered knights and barons of the county, the procession was followed by a solemn ceremony, the bestowal of a new sword and coat of arms, and then a lively banquet and ball that lasted until late into the night.


    By contrast, though the status that went with the hats was as great as an Eldritch Lord or greater, it was presented as a simple practical gift, even when it carried such significance. Yet to Ashlynn and Heila, it was everything they could have wanted and more. With this, Amahle had recognized their coven and they¡¯d truly become something more than just witches. They¡¯d become family.

 Chapter 287: Wearing Many Hats

    Chapter 287: Wearing Many HatsBreakfast, once they started eating, was one of the most casual, intimate and delightful meals Ashlynn had ever had. The crepes were light and delicate and everyone filled their own with whatever they wanted.


    Ashlynn felt like she was eating festival treats as she filled a second crepe with sweet whipped cream, fresh-cut strawberries, and a dusting of crushed nuts that added a mild earthy flavor to the treat that felt just as indulgent as Georg¡¯s desserts.


    "Watch out for dat bit, ma petite," Jacques warned Heila as she browsed toppings for her savory crepe. "Dat¡¯s a sweet and spicy blend, de scotch bonnet, she¡¯s de mother of sweet heat and she¡¯ll burn your lips right off if you¡¯re not careful."


    "Why do you eat such painful things?" Heila said, jerking her hand back from the berry and pepper chutney and giving it a look like it had transformed into a venomous snake. "There¡¯s no one to impress here by proving you can eat it," she said, thinking of how Ashlynn had described Owain using spicy peppers as a contest of sorts among his friends.


    "Because, because, Little Brother¡¯s tongue is as thick as his tail and just as good at tasting things," Talauia said while scooping up a large spoonful of the spicy chutney for her own crepe. "If it¡¯s not this hot, then he can¡¯t taste anything at all."


    "Then why do you do it?" Heila said, still perplexed at some of the things Amahle¡¯s coven considered ¡¯tasty treats.¡¯


    "Because, because," Talauia said, hiding half her face behind the crepe and giving Heila a mischievous look. "Sometimes, I like the pain," she said, flashing a smile that was full of sharply pointed teeth.


    "Anyway," Ashlynn interjected before the conversation could go any further down that road. "Big sister," she said, turning to Amahle. "You said a witch needed three hats and the Hedge Hat is the first one. What are the other two? Or three? Didn¡¯t you say I might need an extra one?"


    "Just as nature isn¡¯t just one thing," Amahle said, loading up her own crepe with dark, juicy blackberries and an extra drizzle of honey. "A witch is a person with many facets. A Hedge Hat is for working and foraging. It isn¡¯t practical outside of that unless you¡¯re like Tala."


    "Oh?" Ashlynn asked, giving the winged witch a curious look. "Is it because you¡¯re the Thistle Witch?"


    "Nope, that¡¯s not it, not it at all," Talauia said. "I get distracted when I notice useful things. It¡¯s hard to go somewhere on my own without collecting at least half a dozen new ingredients on the way. Um, and, that¡¯s why, that¡¯s why, I¡¯m also very bad at time," she admitted, blushing slightly in embarrassment.


    "But big sista Tala, she¡¯s always finding de rarest of ¡¯tings," Jacques praised. "If she spots something dat¡¯s so distracting she can¡¯t resist, four in five times, it¡¯s something so rare dat I ain¡¯t seen one almost ever. She spots tings better even den Maman does, non?"


    "Tala does truly have a gift," Amahle agreed with a wide smile. It had taken years to retrain that gift from spotting anything the winged witch might consider ¡¯prey¡¯ to spotting valuable flora and fauna alike, but once she¡¯d gotten the knack for it, she¡¯d become a frighteningly successful forager.


    "But we¡¯ve wandered off the topic," she added, bringing the conversation back to Ashlynn¡¯s question. "The second hat you need is an everyday hat, what tradition calls a Traveler¡¯s Hat. In the old days, witches spent quite a bit of time traveling, looking for people with the talents to join their covens or searching for other witches. Some of our traditions go back so far, I don¡¯t think they were even written down, just passed on from one witch to the next."


    "Is there anything special about a Traveling Hat?" Heila asked between bites of her savory crepe. At her size, she normally couldn¡¯t have eaten more than two, but after spending so long on the barren island for her trial, she was already eyeing the berries for a third crepe after she finished this one.


    "Some witches put special things in their Traveling Hats, but I never saw the point," Amahle said, using a spider-like limb to tap her own dark hat. "Simple, comfortable, recognizable, and water repellant are all I cared about for my Traveling Hat. You can tuck a few things in it if you want, and it should absolutely reflect who you are as a witch, but it doesn¡¯t need to do anything more than that."


    "Durable," Jacques added around a mouthful of sausage-stuffed crepe. "And easy to clean. Mine, she gets all kinds of dusty on de roads between here and anywhere." S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Which is exactly the opposite of the sort of hat that I think you might need as an extra, little sister," Amahle added. "Most witches, we can¡¯t be bothered with the burdens of ruling territory. I keep the Briar for myself but this is more of a large garden and a wildlife preserve than a true territory to rule."


    "Other witches take up the mantle as Eldritch High Lords or Great Lords," she added. "I think it¡¯s a distraction, but when you have those burdens, there¡¯s a need for a Fancy Hat, one that will impress people and holds up when paired with whatever grand outfit you need to wear. Since you¡¯re the Seneschal of the Harbinger of Death who is herself an Eldritch Lord..."


    "I¡¯ll probably need one," Ashlynn agreed. "But, it¡¯s just fancy, right? Nothing else to it?"


    "It should be special, it should be extra, extra special," Talauia said in a tone that was surprisingly emphatic. "You never know, never know, when fancy people will betray you or surprise you. You can¡¯t be defenseless just because you¡¯re at a fancy party or, or," her voice faltered as her amethyst eyes grew distant.


    "It¡¯s all right, sista," Jacques said, gently reaching out with his tail and wrapping it around the winged witch to pull her closer. "Dose people, dey can¡¯t get you here, and dey¡¯d never offend maman just to get at you."


    "I know, I know," Talauia said softly, blotting the moisture from her eyes before it could roll down her cheeks. "But Auntie Ashlynn, you know, don¡¯t you? That you can¡¯t always trust the people that come together at fancy places? Even when you¡¯re supposed to be celebrating...."


    "My husband tried to murder me when I was still wearing my wedding dress," Ashlynn said, stretching across the table to clasp Talauia¡¯s hand. For a moment, neither of them said anything, but as Ashlynn¡¯s emerald gaze met Talauia¡¯s amethyst eyes, both women recognized familiar ghosts lurking in the depths of their dark pupils. Ashlynn still woke from the occasional nightmare about the night she nearly died, and looking at Talauia, whatever haunted her was every bit as dark. "I think I understand what you mean."


    "It¡¯s good to prepare for a contingency," Amahle agreed. "When you have your hats made, since you walk a much more dangerous path than mine at the moment, you may want to hide a few extra things in your hat band or inside the cone. I hide a small wand in my hat when I¡¯m going somewhere that might be dangerous but I¡¯ve only needed it twice."


    "I hope my life won¡¯t always be this dangerous," Ashlynn said. Looking around the room, with the joyful family gathering and the cozy meal, it was easy to forget that Owain Lothian was preparing to wage war.


    By this time next year, she would likely be embroiled in battles that stretched across the length of the border between Lothian March and the Eldritch lands. Whether he attacked the Vale of Mists first or tried to directly assault Airgead Mountain, there would be a day soon when she would learn how close the visions she¡¯d been shown would resemble reality.


    "As much as I wish that you could stay here and enjoy peaceful days for decades to come," Amahle said with a trace of sadness in her voice. "I know that your enemies will come for you, whether you make trouble for them or not. When they do, that¡¯s when you and little Heila will need your last hats."


    "A Witch¡¯s War Hat is meant for battle," Amahle explained. "Most are crafted from leather or other more durable materials. It¡¯s a place to store some of your most powerful potions and elixirs that you need to keep handy, but more importantly, it¡¯s a hat that you should cover with powerful totems and tools that can aid you in a fight."


    "You¡¯ve seen mine, ma petite," Jacques said. "Dat time in de arena, de hat I wore was a War Hat. De feather in my hat helps give me speed I¡¯d lack otherwise. De crystals in de band, dey store up a bit of de energy of de Bloody Sandbox Tree so I can draw on it wherever I go."


    "A good hat, she is like a whole suit of armor and a sword and shield combined," he said, giving Ashlynn a look that called to mind their conversations about wearing armor while training. "Before you leave, I¡¯ll show you how I build mine, Auntie."


    "There are so many things that you need to learn, Little Sister," Amahle said. "I wish I had more time. The Hedge Hats will help you the most for the next few months as we prepare, but now that little Heila has become the Willow Witch, I want to put a stop to the fighting practice you¡¯ve been doing with Jacques."


    "For the next month," Amahle said, taking on the demeanor of a teacher speaking to her pupils instead of a sister or aunt talking to her family. "It¡¯s time that you learn about the fundamental tools of witchcraft. You¡¯ve been doing far too much with your own energy or the pure energy of the world. It¡¯s time that you learn why a witch on her own is a fearsome thing, but a witch who has made thorough preparations is a nightmare from which her enemies will never awaken."

 Chapter 288: A Witch’s Tools

    Chapter 288: A Witch¡¯s ToolsWhile Talauia and Jacques cleared away the remains of their indulgent breakfast, Amahle took the opportunity to give Ashlynn and Heila a glimpse into the month ahead.


    "Sorcerers can get away with simple invocations and crude rituals because they don¡¯t work with much power, but for us, as the amount of power you draw on grows, your need for supportive implements will also grow," Amahle explained. "Like a craftsman, a witch is far more capable when she¡¯s working with all of her tools."


    "Like the items you put around the circle at the start of the seed-planting ritual?" Heila asked attentively.


    "No, those are anchors or supplemental materials," Amahle said. "Let¡¯s compare to a woodworker since we all have some affinity for wood," the elder witch said. "A carpenter has his hammers, saws, rasps, and so on as the vital tools of his trade. But he also needs timber, nails, glue ,and other materials that are consumed in the practice of his craft whenever he builds something."


    "So, when you say tools," Ashlynn said. "You mean things like wands? I brought a branch from an Ancient Oak to craft into a wand for myself. I imagine we may need to ask the Ancient Willow for a branch for Heila?"


    "Wands are the first tool we¡¯ll work on," Amahle agreed with a smile. "Today, we can visit the Ancient Willow to ask for a branch and tomorrow I can help you both begin your wands. A wand is essential if you want to perform any large-scale witchcraft, or if you want to be very precise with your witchcraft. Both the very large and very small benefit from a wand¡¯s ability to gather energy and give it direction."


    "But, I¡¯ve never seen you use a want, Aunt Amahle," Heila said with a frown. "I haven¡¯t seen Jacques or Talauia use one either."


    "I have my own advantages for doing delicate work," Amahle said. Her spider-like limbs reached out in front of her, each one coming to rest precisely next to a finger the Mother of Thorns placed on the table. A moment later, the tips of each limb began to glow with a dark crimson energy.


    "If I¡¯m attempting to raise walls of thorns, flood the Briar, or do something of a similar scale, I¡¯ll still need a wand," Amahle explained as she withdrew the spider-like limbs. "But for delicate work, I essentially have four of my own wands to work with. It¡¯s one of the reasons that sorcerers of the Night Weaver Clan are so feared, and witches from my clan are even more so."


    "So the reason we haven¡¯t seen Jacques or Talauia use a wand is because nothing we¡¯ve seen them do is of the right scale to require it," Ashlynn said with a nod. "That makes sense. When I was practicing with Jacques, he said we needed to be very careful to restrain ourselves or we would disturb Heila and that if we got carried away, we might accidentally fell trees."


    "It¡¯s good that you two were able to restrain yourselves," Amahle said with an awkward smile. From the look of the barren island when she arrived, the word ¡¯restraint¡¯ could only barely be used. They¡¯d erected an earthen barrier to protect Heila from the aftershocks of their training! That might have been prudent but she¡¯d hardly call it restrained.


    "Wands accompany you everywhere, but the second tool is a bit harder to travel with, though a small one will do in a pinch," Amahle continued. "The products of a witch¡¯s cauldron are among the most valuable and treasured commodities we can produce. Never undervalue the work you can do with a mortar and pestle, a cauldron, and a good fire."


    "Wait," Heila said, startled by the way Amahle had phrased things. "Commodities? You mean you make things with witchcraft that you sell? Isn¡¯t that... wrong? A misuse of nature¡¯s gifts?" During her trial, she¡¯d been presented with visions of many places where Cecile guided her in using the gifts of nature to cure the sick and heal the injured, but she had never set a price for her services in those visions.


    "I would never sell my services cheaply," Amahle said. "Nor would I withhold them from someone who I desired to help simply over a matter of money. But child, trade, even if it¡¯s simple barter, is a way of life. We are not hermits to completely withdraw from the world despite how isolated I may appear here."


    "Take this salve, for example," the witch said, pulling a small bottle from the pouch at her waist. "This bottle contains enough for three applications to a relatively large and deep wound or two smaller wounds. Applied once a day at the same time each day and the wound will completely heal within a day of the last application. How valuable do you think such a medicine is?"


    "To a warrior, it might not be priceless, but it¡¯s life-altering to be sure," Ashlynn said as she thought back on her visions of the battle. Four days to heal a wound sounded impressive and it was, but it wouldn¡¯t turn the tide of a single pitched battle. It might turn the tide of a prolonged war if the enemy didn¡¯t have similar means to restore their soldiers.


    The more she thought about it, however, the more uses she found. Scouts and hunters might need healing while far from a place where they could reach a physician. And even small villages would pay handsomely to have such a medicine on hand in case emergencies happened.


    "How difficult is it to create that salve?" Ashlynn asked.


    "There you are," Amahle said with a smile. "You can¡¯t set a price for it until you know what it costs to make. I can make twenty small bottles in a single batch. Between preparing the ingredients, concocting the salve, and bottling in a way that preserves it against contamination from dust or strange energies, it takes two full days to produce."


    "But the herbs required are also difficult to cultivate," she added. "With what I grow in my own gardens, I can make a batch every month or two."


    "It still can¡¯t be cheap," Heila mused. "It¡¯s just too miraculous to people who have nothing else like it. You must be able to ask for at least a full gold coin for each of them. Even if you only sold a few every year, it would pay for almost anything you could need."


    "That¡¯s the idea, sugar," Amahle said with a smile. "But there is far more than just this that you¡¯ll rely on your cauldron for. Cures for toxins of all sorts, potions that can strengthen and sustain the body and many more things can spill forth from your cauldron. "I wouldn¡¯t suggest setting up a shop, but there are witches in the past who have."


    "Remember, the earth doesn¡¯t care about how its treasures are used," Amahle said. "But we must ensure that we don¡¯t do too much or we risk upsetting the balance of things. If you set up shop, you may be tempted to have others harvest herbs for you. Your harvesters may become overzealous to supply you and before you know it, the herb you need has been harvested to extinction in the area within a hundred leagues of your shop."


    "I don¡¯t think either of us plans to make a business out of witchcraft any time soon," Ashlynn said with a light laugh. "But it¡¯s good to know that we could, one day if we wanted to. If we can bring the wars to a stop, running a shop wouldn¡¯t be a bad life, would it, Heila?"


    When Ashlynn mentioned it, she wasn¡¯t really thinking about Heila, but rather about Ollie. She¡¯d talked to him when they met about simple ambitions, like opening a shop or working as a butcher in town instead of slaving away in the Lothian Kitchens. To the humble kitchen-boy, they seemed like grand and distant dreams, but in the future...


    "I¡¯ll never leave your side, my Lady," Heila promised while clutching Ashlynn¡¯s arm. After what she had been through and what she had seen, she knew Ashlynn would need her help in all manner of ways in the years to come. Besides, with the wealth of the Vale of Mists, making money for Ashlynn was the least useful thing she could think of doing to help the woman who had given her so much. "I don¡¯t need to think too much about selling potions and running shops when I¡¯ll always be your lady-in-waiting."


    "Still," Amahle interjected. "Even if you never sell a potion for a large quantity of gold, you may find a day where you need to trade them for the kinds of things that can¡¯t be bought for money. Favors between nations," the witch said with a pointed look at Ashlynn. "Bartering for the life of a captive. I¡¯m sure you can imagine all sorts of uses for what you called a ¡¯life-altering¡¯ item. Think beyond healing for a moment. How many men have you met who are deeply troubled by their inability to produce an heir? A witch could restore a man¡¯s virility, or help a woman ensure that she conceives after the man has sewn his seeds. How much would men of power give for that kind of help?"


    "You¡¯re right," Ashlynn said, her voice strained as she recalled her parents¡¯ struggles with fertility. Her marriage to Owain had occurred, in large part, because of her father¡¯s lack of an heir. Moreover, if she¡¯d been able to concoct a potion for her mother that would have prevented the stillbirth of her last child... she shuddered to think what her family would have given for such a miracle.


    "Mistress Nyrielle is out there right now," Ashlynn said softly, forcefully turning her mind away from thoughts of her own family and trying to focus on things that were closer at hand. "She¡¯s searching for allies who can help us in the upcoming war. If I could produce a few useful items for her, even if they were just tokens to ease a negotiation..."


    "I¡¯m glad you see the applications and how useful it is to have a cauldron," Amahle said with a smile. "Don¡¯t neglect the gardens that feed your cauldron. You¡¯ll find that you spend as much time in the gardens as you do in your workshop to care for everything you need if you find yourself concocting for trade." S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Still, there¡¯s one other tool that you¡¯ll need to acquire," Amahle said, her tone growing sharper. "It¡¯s important that every witch equip themselves with a Severing Knife."

 Chapter 289: The Severing Knife

    Chapter 289: The Severing Knife"It¡¯s important that every witch equip themselves with a Severing Knife," Amahle said in a tone that was much sharper than what she¡¯d use to describe cauldrons and wands.


    At her waist, Amahle wore a bone-handled knife that Ashlynn and Heila had assumed was a simple utility knife. After all, despite her vaunted status, within the Briar Amahle presented herself as a very mundane and ordinary woman who just happened to have a few extraordinary abilities.


    Now, however, when the older witch pulled the bone-hilted knife from its sheath, the entire room dimmed as if the light itself had been frightened away by the fearsome blade. The blade itself was also made of bone, as though the entire knife had been carved from a single piece of a large beast¡¯s arm or leg. Along the blade, sharp, angular Eldritch Glyphs emitted a lurid red glow that filled both Ashlynn and Heila with an ominous sense of dread.


    Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat quickened and in the presence of the bone knife, both her bond with Heila and the far stronger bond tying her to Nyrielle trembled like a rabbit in the presence of a pack of starving wolves.


    "This is a Severing Knife," Amahle said, placing the terrifying weapon on the table. "The edge is not sharp. This knife isn¡¯t meant to cut physical things. Rather, it severs the ties of magic that bind things together."


    "You could destroy my bond with Nyrielle with that knife," Ashlynn whispered in horror. Her heart trembled and it took all of the strength of will she had to stay seated at the table within striking distance of the bone blade. "Or my bond with Heila. Why? Why would you carry such a thing?" S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This is a tool, no different than a wand or a cauldron," Amahle said, retrieving the knife and returning it to its sheath before it caused further distress. "Everything that can be made with sorcery or witchcraft can be unmade with the right tools and skills," she explained.


    "Something interfered with Heila¡¯s trial," the Mother of Thorns continued. "Something seeped into the bond between the two of you and the Ancient Willow and formed a barrier that prevented her from completing the trial."


    "It was Cecile," Heila said, her grass-green eyes narrowing as she thought about the remnant spirit of her predecessor. "She was another Willow Witch. She wanted me to dedicate myself to a path of peace and selfless healing as she had," Heila said, looking up to meet Ashlynn¡¯s eyes with a gaze that was firm and filled with resolve.


    "I refused," Heila said in a tone that was filled with her conviction. "My lady needs someone who can fight beside her as well as heal the wounded. I won¡¯t leave you to carry the entire burden of fighting for us by yourself, Ashlynn," she said.


    "I¡¯d hate to see you hurt," Ashlynn said, reaching out to pull Heila into a brief embrace. "But we¡¯ve faced danger before and we will again. So, I¡¯m glad that you¡¯ll be beside me when the danger comes."


    For a moment, no one said anything. Ashlynn could see how genuine Heila¡¯s desire to fight alongside her was and she accepted it completely. After her trial, though Ashlynn hadn¡¯t heard the details from the first member of her coven, as far as Ashlynn was concerned, Heila had earned the right to serve as she wished.


    "I also encountered a ghost of Cecile," Ashlynn said, changing the topic. "She didn¡¯t seem to approve of me and my relationship with Nyrielle but she never tried to force my hand. Perhaps because I am the Mother of Trees there were limits to what a Willow Witch could do against me, but against Heila..."


    "Exactly so, darlin¡¯," Amahle said. "If you hadn¡¯t entangled yourself in the magic of the trial by supporting Heila with your own energy, I would have used this knife to cut away this remnant spirit who interfered with the trial," she explained. "Though, I¡¯ll admit that even without Ashlynn¡¯s magic in the mix, it would have been delicate work and my chances of success wouldn¡¯t have been more than one in five."


    "There exist all manner of curses, bindings, and bonds in this world," Amahle continued. "A Severing Knife isn¡¯t a weapon to be used against people like you who have bonds formed willingly by both parties."


    "Just because that isn¡¯t its purpose doesn¡¯t mean it can¡¯t be used that way," Ashlynn pointed out, giving the knife at Amahle¡¯s waist a nervous glance. "A table knife isn¡¯t meant for killing men, but in a pinch, it will do the job," she said, thinking back on her confrontation with Kaefin.


    While she was posing as a servant, she¡¯d used whatever was at hand, shattering a water pitcher over his head in order to turn the tide against him. If something could be used as a weapon, even if that wasn¡¯t its purpose, that didn¡¯t mean she never had to fear someone attacking her with a knife that could sever her bond with Nyrielle.


    "That¡¯s true," Amahle admitted. "But, as uncomfortable as this tool may be, you should carry one of your own, just like a seamstress carries a seam ripper. I know the one I wear feels a touch... overpowering. Yours won¡¯t be like this for years, perhaps decades."


    Heila nodded in understanding as soon as Amahle mentioned the seam ripper. She had done plenty of mending on everything from curtains to clothing and there were times when, even though you¡¯d done your best, you still had to backtrack and rip out stitches in order to make things whole again.


    If witchcraft was the same, then perhaps it wasn¡¯t uncommon to need to ¡¯unmake¡¯ some of their own workings when things had gone awry in order to make sure that the final working was as good as it could be. But, as she thought about it, something else that Amahle had said caught her mind.


    "Is it like Darksteel?" Heila asked, sitting up straighter as the idea struck her. She had never used a Darksteel weapon herself the way Ashlynn had, but she¡¯d grown up around plenty of people who did and she¡¯d heard many stories about how older weapons were treasured because of the strength they accumulated over time. "Darksteel weapons grow stronger the more they¡¯re used, don¡¯t they?"


    "That¡¯s not entirely true," Ashlynn corrected as she thought about the lessons she¡¯d received from Thane. "They grow stronger the more blood they drink. But, maybe it is the same sort of thing?"


    "You can think of it that way, though it¡¯s slightly more complex than that," Amahle said. "It¡¯s enough of an understanding for now. The important thing, right now, sounds like paying a visit to the Ancient Willow. If there is any more of this lingering Willow Witch that¡¯s interfering with the ancient tree, we should free the tree from her influence."


    "I¡¯m not fond of things that attempt to corrupt sacred rituals," Amahle said with a hint of crimson light gathering at the tips of her spider-like limbs. The lurid glow matched the earlier radiance of her Severing Knife, giving the pointed tips of her spider-like limbs the feeling that they had transformed into wicked thorns that would pierce and rend flesh. "And even less so when they threaten my family."


    For a moment, the Mother of Thorns seemed to truly embody her name, radiating an aura of protective menace that curled around Ashlynn and Heila in the same way that Jacques¡¯s aura often enveloped Ashlynn, providing protective comfort within while radiating sharp, thorny menace outward. Only, unlike Jacques, the bloodthirsty menace radiating from the Mother of Thorns was several times more intense.


    Then, like the dense fog of the Briar melting to reveal the light of day, Amahle¡¯s demeanor shifted. The crimson light faded from her spider-like limbs and a gentle smile blossomed on her face that restored her appearance as a kind and gentle matron, leaving both younger women wondering whether this was Amahle¡¯s true face and the other was just a mask or if it was the other way around.


    "Once we¡¯ve ensured that the Ancient Willow is free of any lingering ghosts, we can retrieve a branch for Heila¡¯s wand," Amahle said, her voice warm and encouraging.


    "And then," she added, her smile brightening the room as if to chase away the last remnants of the knife¡¯s darkness, "we can finally begin your formal training."

 Chapter 290: The Tangled Wood

    Chapter 290: The Tangled WoodTwo weeks had passed since Nyrielle entered Ashlynn¡¯s vision and spent an intimate evening together exploring Ashlynn¡¯s memory of the Holy Festival of Light. Since then, Nyrielle had concluded her business with her uncle, Tausau before turning her carriage northwest and heading deep into the territory of her great-grandsire.


    The Tangled Wood was a massive domain, larger than the Vale of Mists had been even under her grandsire Torbin¡¯s rule. At its core, the Tangled Wood was a densely overgrown forest with massive pines and towering hemlock trees that stood hundreds of feet tall and crowded close enough together to cast the ground under their canopy into perpetual twilight.


    Sword ferns, climbing ivy and hooked blackberries covered the ground in a dense underbrush that made much of the Tangled Wood impassable. The roads that connected a scattered network of villages and small towns had to be cleared at the end of each growing season or they would quickly vanish beneath the invasive undergrowth.


    "Should we expect another welcoming party, my lady?" Zedya asked as their carriage clattered through the night.


    "We should, but don¡¯t expect to notice them until we reach the Tangled Tower," Nyrielle said, staring out into the darkness of the night. Her great-grandsire¡¯s men couldn¡¯t be compared to Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde other than to say that Tausau¡¯s Mongrels stood as far beneath them as newborn babes stood beneath the Horde.


    "This is your first time coming so deeply into the western territories, isn¡¯t it?" Nyrielle said with a nostalgic smile. "From now until we leave my great-grandsire¡¯s territory, the rules for feeding have changed. Unless you want trouble from his progeny, leave Lennart and his men alone. Feeding on our own soldiers would be seen as a sign of weakness."


    "How is that weakness?" Zedya asked. "The people of the Vale of Mists offer themselves up willingly as tribute. What more proof of your strength and right to rule could people ask for?"


    "That isn¡¯t how it works here," Nyrielle sighed. "You must hunt your own prey. You will be seen as strong if you are able to prey on the warriors of the Tangled Wood and you will be seen as weak if you prey on the sick or elderly."


    "Will they fight back?" Zedya asked, tilting her head in confusion at the custom. How could a vampire as old as Nyrielle¡¯s great-grandsire rule for so long if his progeny preyed upon his people?


    "Some may, but I don¡¯t expect anyone to be capable of fighting you," Nyrielle said with a laugh. "Just be aware of the stocky fellows with an earthy aura. The Stone Skin clan have flesh that is nearly impenetrable, even to our fangs. They make their homes in the hills near the Tangled Tower, so when you need to feed, head into the forest villages."


    "You speak as if we¡¯ll be here for an extended period of time," Zedya said. "How long do you plan to stay?"


    "That depends entirely on my great-grandsire," Nyrielle said. "Hamdi is one of Bardas¡¯s direct progeny, much like you are mine. He has been a High Lord for nearly five centuries and he is set in his ways. He may not be willing to bend to my desires now that I¡¯ve fully taken up the mantle of the Harbinger of Death."


    "If he cooperates, then he will summon neighboring Eldritch Lords to meet with us here at the Tangled Tower," Nyrielle explained. "Our men are tired. We¡¯ve pushed hard ever since leaving the Vale of Mists and they could use several weeks to recover. It would be best if people come to us here."


    "But Hamdi may not recognize your authority," Zedya said, shaking her head with a sour expression on her face. "Does he really look down on you for not retaining great-grandsire Torbin¡¯s status as a High Lord?"


    "It¡¯s an embarrassment, to be sure," Nyrielle sighed. In the Vale of Mists, the distinction barely mattered. With the High Pass between her and the High Fen and Airgead Mountain between the Vale of Mists and the Southern Steppe, the nearest High Lords were at least one domain removed from her, and both of them had their own reasons to respect her strength.


    Here in the interior of the western lands, wars were still fought between Eldritch Lords and High Lords vying for territory or seeking to advance their status. The human threat had yet to displace the old rivalries and people cared far more about the strength and status of their Eldritch neighbors than how many wars someone had fought against the incomprehensible humans. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We¡¯ll know more when we retrieve Ignatious," Nyrielle said with a dark smile. "It¡¯s been some time since I handed him over to Hamdi and the Mother of Thorns to study. Now that we¡¯re this close, he feels much... milder than he did before."


    "Will you bring him home with us when we leave?" Zedya asked, frowning at Nyrielle. Of all of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, there was only one who had ever attempted to harm their Mistress or showed any signs of rebellion.


    Ignatious lived in exile in the Eldritch lands for the past seventy years while Nyrielle allowed time to scour away his worldly attachments. By now, even the children he had known before Nyrielle took him as one of her progeny had withered and died of old age, leaving nothing and no one for him to attempt to return to. But did that mean that he¡¯d given up on his desire to take vengeance on the woman who tore him away from the world he¡¯d grown up in? Or would he still be just as volatile as he was before?


    "We¡¯ll know soon enough," Nyrielle said, sitting up straighter as the carriage began to slow. "It seems like my wayward child is among our welcoming party. Remember, Zedya," Nyrielle said, placing a hand lightly on her handmaiden¡¯s arm. "No matter what he or anyone else does, you let me deal with it. Insults can be ignored, but challenges must be answered with overwhelming strength. Hamdi¡¯s progeny will respond to nothing less."


    A few minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop in a large, torch ringed courtyard. The Tangled Tower soared hundreds of feet into the air, taller than the tallest trees of the Tangled Wood and made entirely out of a local black stone that made the tower dark even when viewed against the night sky.


    Before the massive gate, a small delegation of soldiers from the Golden Eyed Clan stood at attention, many of them looking ready to pounce. Their sharp, wolf-like features and pert, alert ears combined with intense yellow gazes to make them look like a barely leashed pack of wild animals, ready to tear intruders to pieces at the slightest provocation.


    As members of Hamdi¡¯s own clan, the lupine Golden Eyed Clan had always occupied the positions of highest honor in the Tangled Wood. In the dark, densely wooded environment of Hamdi¡¯s domain, no one could match the predatory prowess of their well coordinated warriors and the few who possessed the power to resist their dominance quickly succumbed to Hamdi¡¯s progeny.


    For the High Lord of the Tangled Wood to send a delegation of his best soldiers was a mark of respect for Nyrielle¡¯s status, but if she considered the size of the delegation, it was somewhat lacking. Still, there were others present who made up for the lack of numbers in the welcoming party.


    One person in particular completely captured Nyrielle¡¯s attention when she stepped out of the carriage. Walking across the courtyard with an elegant, almost stately grace was a human with skin as pale as her own and short hair that was nearly as dark. Both features were incredibly striking against his deep crimson and gold robes as he stopped five paces short of reaching Nyrielle to kneel on the ground.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," he said in a voice that was smooth, dark and silky. Her title dropped form his thin lips without the slightest hesitation and his dark eyes held none of the fury she¡¯d once witnessed from him. Instead, the corners of his lips tugged in a slight smile as he extended his greeting. "Welcome to the Tangled Tower."


    "Inquisitor Ignatious," Nyrielle said with a dark smile as she greeted the second oldest of her human progeny. "You look well. Please, lead the way," she commanded. "It¡¯s been a long time since we last spoke and we have a great deal to discuss."

 Chapter 291: Returning Insults

    Chapter 291: Returning InsultsAfter offering a brief bow, Ignatious turned to the collection of Golden Eyed soldiers who stood at the gate. There were nine in total, six wearing dark green tabards over coats of mail while three wore more ceremonial tunics, each with a number of braided cords over their left shoulders to denote their rank.


    Seeing the assembled welcoming party, a faint frown flickered across Nyrielle¡¯s face. Other than Ignatious, there were no vampires present in the honor guard. And while the officers looked impressive, no matter what positions they held in the Tangled Wood, she doubted any of them stood higher than the High Lord¡¯s own progeny.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ignatious said, his voice rich and smooth like smoke over water as he made introductions. "High Lord Hamdi regrets that he¡¯s unable to receive you directly but he¡¯s sent Commander Stoll of the Dark Wolf Brigade, along with two of his captains to receive you."


    "Commander Stoll, is it?" Nyrielle said, her eyes flashing with a midnight blue and darker, shadowy energy. "And which of these captains is your second in command?"


    "Lady Nryielle," the commander said, placing his right fist over his heart in a simple salute before gesturing at the man to his right. "Captain Gruen is my..."


    Whatever else he¡¯d been about to say cut off in a strangled cry as Nyrielle vanished from sight only to appear a moment later at the commander¡¯s side with her fangs buried deep into his neck. Dark wings unfurled, cloaked in a shadowy energy, unleashing a flurry of feathers formed from the shadows of her wings.


    Seven feathers struck out like daggers hurled with unerring precision, each piercing the neck of an armored soldier or the heart of Captain Gruen. Only the final, yet-to-be-introduced captain was spared from the fury of Nyrielle¡¯s assault.


    "Ah, ah," Zedya said, stepping forward when she saw the captain reaching for the heavy saber at his hip. Her eyes glowed a brilliant amethyst, completely filling his vision as she advanced on him. "In this world, you are the lucky one who gets to live, but only if you stay still and wait for Mistress Nyrielle to tell you why you were spared. Do you understand?"


    "Yes, lady..." the captain said numbly with a glazed look in his eyes.


    Zedya might not understand why Nyrielle had been so ruthless with the welcoming delegation, but she didn¡¯t need to understand in order to play her part. Since her Mistress had spared the life of this man, she had a use for him and it wouldn¡¯t do for him to force someone to kill him in a misguided attempt at heroics. After decades at her lady¡¯s side, she knew her role without being prompted and she wasted no time in securing the fortunate captain until Nyrielle was ready to deal with him.


    For several minutes, Commander Stoll hung limply in Nyrielle¡¯s arms as she drank her fill of his rich, vigorous blood. The commander had been a soldier for most of his life, doubtlessly he was one of the best of his cohort a decade ago. Now, his vitality had begun to fade, losing the fresh potency of the young. Instead, his blood tasted like a rich, aged wine, steeped in decades of bloody combat before being placed on the shelf to mature.


    Ignatious and Zedya watched with calm, unflinching gazes as Nyrielle fed. Neither batted an eye, even when Commander Stoll began to thrash and struggle in her grip. Yet, for all of the man¡¯s vaunted strength, he was as helpless as a newborn cub in her grip, powerless to resist from the start of his struggles until the light faded from his eyes and Nyrielle dropped him unceremoniously to the ground in a heap at her feet.


    "You there," Nyrielle said to the remaining man. His eyes began to tremble the second that Zedya released her hold on his mind, darting from the corpses of his commander and companions to the winged vampire and back again before he took two halting steps backward and started looking for a way to escape the nightmare he¡¯d been plunged into.


    "Take a message to Hamdi," Nyrielle said as her eyes returned to their normal midnight blue pools, losing the menace of her darker, shadowy energy. "Tell him that he is to come to my chambers one hour before dawn to pay his respects to the Harbinger of Death," she commanded. "And tell him that he should thank me for cleaning up his trash."


    "You should run, Captain Aiss," Ignatious added, his voice startling the soldier out of his paralysis. "Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s words are as precious as gold and just as heavy. It wouldn¡¯t do to hold them too long before they¡¯re delivered," he said, sending the Golden Eyed soldier scampering back into the Tangled Tower.


    "I¡¯ve seen to the preparations of your chambers personally," the former Inquisitor added as he gestured for Nyrielle to precede him into the tower. "Sister Zedya can attend to your belongings once I¡¯ve shown you the way," he said, stepping over a fallen soldier¡¯s body without so much as a glance at the unfortunate man.


    Whether the man had met his struggle in this life or not, Ignatious couldn¡¯t say, but he found it unlikely. He could only hope that the man had done enough in this life to be given greater opportunities in the next one. Those thoughts, however, were as fleeting as the man¡¯s life had been, quickly fading from Ignatious¡¯s mind as he led Nyrielle to the Tangled Tower.


    The tower itself had been constructed of black granite with a subtle twist to its pentagonal structure. The entire exterior of the tower was wrapped with a twisted iron structure that emulated a wild climbing rose on a massive scale. Wicked metal ¡¯thorns¡¯ protruded along the length of the twisted ironwork and every dozen feet or so a ¡¯rose¡¯ of blades blossomed, ready to slice flying predators to ribbons if they dared to attempt to perch on the massive iron structure.


    Inside the tower, oil lamps burned at regular intervals interspersed with faded tapestries depicting glorious battles fought centuries ago along with well-preserved paintings of notable men and women of ages past. From the clear depictions of fangs in each of the paintings, it was obvious that only Hamdi¡¯s progeny received the honor of a portrait in his grand entry hall.


    After descending two flights of spiral stairs into the levels of the tower beneath the ground, Ignatious opened a heavy iron-bound wooden door and gestured for Nyrielle to proceed him in.


    The sitting room was opulent and well lit with dozens of oil lamps burning quietly and casting a soft, golden light over the luxurious furnishings. Despite the antique design of everything in the room, not a speck of dust could be found and the cushions and upholstery on the sofas and chairs looked freshly washed and restuffed, even if the fabric itself was somewhat faded from age.


    "Your bed chamber is through those doors," Ignatious said, pointing at another heavy, iron-bound set of doors. "And I¡¯ve moved myself into the room next door for the duration of your stay. I hope Sister Zedya won¡¯t mind sharing a common room with me," he said, flashing the other vampire a smile that revealed a hint of his fangs.


    "Since you¡¯ve made the arrangements, I¡¯ll naturally follow them," Zedya said, offering a shallow curtsey. "I¡¯ll see to your belongings, my Lady," she added, turning to Nyrielle. "I¡¯m sure the two of you have a great deal to discuss."


    "Zedya," Nyrielle said before the youngest vampire in the room could leave. "If anyone slights you, so long as they aren¡¯t Hamdi¡¯s progeny, kill them directly for the offense. Feed if you¡¯re hungry and if they¡¯re worthy, but don¡¯t hesitate to kill until your dress is stained red."


    "As you command, my Lady," Zedya said, her brows furrowing slightly at the instruction. "But, may I ask why?" S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because Hamdi has chosen to welcome me like an Eldritch Lord, and one that he is too busy to waste his time to welcome personally," Nyrielle said, her eyes growing dark as her fingers sharpened into claws. "I can forgive a High Lord for being preoccupied with matters of their domain. I cannot forgive him for failing to send even one of his progeny to receive me."


    "If he still thinks of me as the naive little girl I was two centuries ago, it¡¯s time to teach him otherwise," Nyrielle said. "If Hamdi wishes to keep the old ways then it¡¯s time someone reminds him that the old ways are a two-edged sword."


    "Now, Ignatious," Nyrielle said as she withdrew her dark aura and relaxed her hands. Her wings remained unfurled and her presence was still much less human than normal but she made every effort to present a welcoming attitude to her exiled progeny. "There are many things I wis to ask you, but the most important one is this."


    "From your attire, I assume you have yet to forsake your faith," Nyrielle said, leaning forward and regarding the former Inquisitor with a predatory gaze. The red and gold vestments he wore may be in an antiquated style, but the looked like they had been made recently. While he could have dressed himself in anything, clearly he¡¯d gone through some effort to maintain the attire that functioned as a badge of office in his former life. It was a choice that Nyrielle wasn¡¯t willing to dismiss as a simple habit.


    "What I want to know," she said with eyes that seemed to pierce through his heart to examine his very soul. "Is if you still have command of your Holy Flames..."

 Chapter 292: Inquisitor Ignatious

    Chapter 292: Inquisitor Ignatious"What I want to know is if you still have command of your Holy Flames..."


    Nyrielle¡¯s words pierced directly to Ingatious¡¯s heart, inflicting a wound he had long thought he¡¯d become numb to. Once, his flames had been his greatest pride, or perhaps, they had been the fuel for his unbridled arrogance. Of all the Inquisitors summoned to fight beside the Lothians in the War of Undying Demons, he had stood in the Church¡¯s vanguard, bathing the land in cleansing flames and leaving nothing but sacred, purified ash in his wake.


    At the time, he¡¯d felt that he was destined to join the ranks of the Exemplars at the end of the campaign. The war was a crucible for him in which he tempered his faith against the greatest threat humans had faced since the end of the second crusade. Deep in his heart, he felt that he was answering his calling and that the Holy Lord of Light himself had placed him on a path to unparalleled glory.


    All of that ended the night he captured one of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. He didn¡¯t understand at the time how great of a transgression he committed. Day after day, he worked with white hot irons, screws, lashes and even pure holy flame as he tore secrets from the lips of his captive. In the end, the poor demon begged him for salvation, to be released from their dark pact with the Demon Lady of the Vale so they could walk under the sun again.


    That moment felt like his greatest triumph until the doors of church shattered like kindling and the dark, winged figure of a demonic executioner stormed into his temple. In that moment, when he stared into her midnight eyes and darkness enveloped him, all of his pride felt meaningless. His accomplishments were worthless. None of the secrets he¡¯d learned in the days of torture seemed to matter. Nothing mattered...


    It would have been a kindness if Nyrielle had ended his life that night. Certainly, in the last moments of his life, he failed to meet his struggle. When confronted by the most terrifying demoness known to mankind, he had faltered, as helpless as a babe before her shadowy ax. And yet, she denied him a merciful death.


    There would be no opportunity to present his achievements to the Holy Lord of Light. He would not be judged and his merits would not be weighed. Perhaps he could have entered his next life as a nobleman or, if his merits had truly been great, one of the royal families in the old countries. He had served with all his heart and given everything to the Holy Lord of Light... if he could not reach the Heavenly shores, surely he had still earned some reward.


    Instead, Nyrielle inflicted the greatest cruelty on him that he could imagine. That night, she granted a merciful death to her progeny and condemned him to take their place.


    Sighing heavily, Ignatious raised his hand and closed his eyes as he attempted to recall the way he¡¯d felt, all those years ago, when he unleashed the wrath of the Holy Lord of Light on all the enemies of his church. The righteous confidence, the arrogance and inherent sense of justice he felt every time he reduced a sinner, heretic or demon to little more than ash.


    When he opened his eyes, the dimmest embers of his former zeal could be seen in the dark depths of his gaze as words of power tumbled from his lips.


    "Lord of Light, thy flames descend,


    Let sinners meet their burning end."


    In his hand, a brilliant ball of golden flame sparked into being. The ball of flame was small by his former standards, no larger than an apple or pomegranate, and the edges of the flame flickered with a deep, dull red of wavering intensity.


    The light from his ball of flame banished shadows across half the room and light from the ball of flame cast no shadows of its own. More than just a source of illumination, the light Ignatious held in his hand was the antithesis of darkness. Only Nyrielle and the furniture in the room behind her still cast shadows when Ignatious held up his ball of Holy Flame.


    "The Holy Lord of Light has not forsaken me in this land of darkness, Mistress Nyrielle," he said as he held the ball of flame aloft. "But, I am not the man I once was. I still believe and perhaps, one day, a fallen sinner like me may still reach the Heavenly Shores, but that day is farther away than I can imagine."


    "It would be a waste for someone like you to pass from the world too soon," Nyrielle said as she stared at his flickering flame in wonder. "You are not burned by your own flames? Does conjuring them bring you pain," she asked.


    "I¡¯ve never been harmed by my own flames," the former Inquisitor said with a heavy sigh. "Even when I attempted to light myself ablaze, to bring my existence to a worthy end, my flesh would not burn though my robes were reduced to ash. I believe that the Holy Lord of Light may still have some purpose for me, but what it is, I cannot begin to imagine," he said, waving his hand and banishing the flickering ball of flame.


    "You have changed greatly, Ignatious," Nyrielle said as she stared at the man she¡¯d kept at arms length or further for decades. "The man I exiled would have hurled that ball of flame at me, just to see if there was the slightest chance that he could die together with the woman who cursed him to this unending existence."


    Of course, time had changed things for her as well. There had been a time when she couldn¡¯t look upon his handsome face without seeing the horrific wounds he¡¯d inflicted on one of her champions. There had been a time when she wanted nothing more than to sink her claws into his handsome visage and tear it away until he appeared as hideous to the outside world as he did to her on the night they met.


    Time, it seemed, had worn away at both of their hurts, leaving only the bond of blood that tied them together and distant memories that both of them had worked hard to leave buried deep within their hearts.


    "It wasn¡¯t easy," the former Inquisitor admitted. "The Mother of Thorns gave me perspective that I lacked. The years I spent as her... research subject, they brought many revelations that helped me to reexamine my faith. I was reluctant to admit it, but there is a difference between my faith and the Church that preaches it."


    "So, you have kept your faith but turned your back on your Church?" Nyrielle asked with a raised brow. If that was the case, then bringing him back to the Vale of Mists might be even more important than she had originally imagined.


    She and Ashlynn had discussed the power of the Church many times, and Nyrielle had all but given up on breaking humans free of their faith, but if Ignatious had succeeded in separating his faith from his Church... perhaps he had found a path that could be shared. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    War, after all, wasn¡¯t only a contest to determine who had the greater strength of arms. Sometimes, the reasons that an army fought were just as important as the weapons and armor they fought with. When she took him as one of her progeny, she had never had much hope of controlling or commanding him. At the time, she¡¯d only wanted him to suffer. But now, perhaps enough time had passed that they could reexamine their relationship.


    "I think that the Church has lost its way," Ignatious said, a hint of the flames of old sparking to life in his dark eyes. "They have become distracted by the powers and politics of this world and ceased to strive toward the Heavenly Shores, acting as if they have all but arrived."


    "In this, they are the greatest sinners because if they falter at their final step, they can never lead anyone to the Heavenly Shores," he said, his deep voice regaining a passion he¡¯d thought was long lost.


    "Sinners like those can only lead people astray," he said, as though he was issuing a proclamation from the pulpit. "And those sinners deserve to burn."

 Chapter 293: Estranged Son

    Chapter 293: Estranged SonSeeing the spark of passion rekindling in Ignatious¡¯s eyes brought a cold smile to Nyrielle¡¯s face. It had taken seventy years of exile, but it seemed like the former Inquisitor had turned his fury away from her and onto the Church that made him the man he¡¯d been when she captured him.


    "You seem resolved to your fate," Nyrielle said, leaning back in her chair as she studied her progeny¡¯s reactions. "Has Hamdi had a hand in that?"


    "High Lord Hamdi grew bored of me within a few years of my arrival," Ignatious said with a resigned shake of his head. Lately, I see him once a decade or less. My years in his care were... hard," he said as his eyes gazed into the distance.


    When Nyrielle brought him to the western lands, it was originally to loan him to Amahle so that the witch could study the magic practiced by humans. Nyrielle wanted the insights that a witch could offer and there were things that Amahle wanted to understand beyond just the methods that humans used to practice their strange magics.


    When she¡¯d finished with the Inquisitor, rather than allow him to return to the Vale of Mists, Nyrielle had asked Hamdi to give him a home and an opportunity to learn what it meant to live his life as a vampire. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At first, the aging vampire seemed delighted by the human zealot. He took great pleasure in pushing Ignatious to the brink of starvation before throwing him into the wilderness, or confining him in a cell with young innocents, eager to see if the human¡¯s hatred of all ¡¯demons¡¯ would allow him to feed on such forbidden fruit or if his morals would assert themselves even in the face of his hunger.


    These games had only lasted for a few years, however, before the High Lord passed responsibility for Ignatious on to his own progeny. There was nothing interesting about stripping the broken man down further and since he expected Nyrielle to reclaim him one day or another, he saw no point in investing in rebuilding Ignatious into a functioning person.


    "Rathin was my keeper in the darkest years," he said, returning his gaze to Nyrielle. "He left me in the dark and brought criminals for me to feed on. Eventually, he took me out, I think out of boredom more than anything else, but I learned much from him about hunting and the rules of the Tangled Wood."


    "I do not expect that your existence here was comfortable," Nyrielle said. Though her tone was neutral, a very small part of her was relieved that the years had been unkind to him. While she no longer held a grudge for what he had done, at least, not enough of one to act upon, his crimes couldn¡¯t easily be forgiven.


    "It wasn¡¯t," he agreed. "That changed when you allowed Marcel to send reports about my colleagues. Without those, I might never have found my way out of the dark again." It had been more than twenty years into his exile when the letters began to arrive. They were infrequent, but the man who came to manage Nyrielle¡¯s spies was thorough, even with the smallest leads.


    Over the years, Marcel had learned the fates of the men who fought alongside Ignatious in the war. Many had died there, but the Black Merchant left no stone unturned, tracking down acolytes, personal disciples, even his teachers.


    "I told him that he should let you know when your former associates died," Nyrielle said, giving the fallen Inquisitor an odd look. She couldn¡¯t deny that there had been some cruelty to the task she¡¯d set for Marcel. It had also been a test of her youngest progeny¡¯s ability to turn his network of mercantile contacts into a useful intelligence gathering tool.


    "It wasn¡¯t a kindness," Nyrielle said, tilting her head in confusion. "Yet you say they helped you to find your way out of the darkness?"


    "It was hard to accept at first, Mistress, but it helped to ground me," the younger vampire said. "I had lost all sense of time. Getting reports, even years apart, that my mentor had died in his sleep of old age, or that one of my disciples became an Inquisitor in his own right even if he died in the Lothian¡¯s next war... It not only gave me a sense of time again, it also gave me closure."


    "Do you," Nyrielle started only to pause as she considered her words carefully. At this point, it was clear to her that Ignatious had suffered in every way that she could have wished for him to, and for far longer than the woman he¡¯d tortured had. Now, as she let go of the last lingering bits of resentment, she found herself with a strange feeling of connection to her exiled progeny.


    In a way, Ignatious was like an estranged son to her. The bond that connected them was palpable and very real. It wasn¡¯t something that could be broken easily and in his presence, she felt an undeniable closeness that she felt with all of her progeny. At the same time, it had been decades since she last laid eyes on him.


    Now, sitting in front of him, she realized how little she truly knew about him, even after all these years. Even if he hadn¡¯t changed greatly, he still would have felt like a stranger to her. Looking at the worn down and... tamed man that Ignatious had become, the storm of emotions that Nyrielle felt were too varied to name, but there was one thing she was certain of. She no longer had any desire to see this man suffer.


    "Do you regret missing their funerals?" Nyrielle forced herself to ask. "Do you resent me for leaving you here for so long?" A few months ago, before she met Ashlynn, she not only wouldn¡¯t have cared about his answers, she wouldn¡¯t even have asked the questions. But now... now things were different.


    "Perhaps at one point I did," Ignatious said, raising his brows in genuine surprise at Nyrielle¡¯s question. All he had known of her in the past had been her righteous fury at what he had done to one of her progeny, combined with her enduring hatred for the actions of his former Church.


    At first, he¡¯d returned that fury in full measure for what she¡¯d done to him. It was hard not to hate what he¡¯d become, especially when Hamdi delighted in starving him to the point that he became a savage beast only to be confronted by the magnitude of his crimes after he gorged himself on blood. The moment when lucidity returned amidst the carnage he¡¯d wrought seemed to delight the ancient vampire more than anything else he did to Ignatious in the years he treated the former Inquisitor like a plaything for his amusement.


    But now, was this really sympathy that Nyrielle was showing him? Of the many things he expected from her visit, an expression of genuine care and concern was along the last of them, If so, if she really was showing kindness that wasn¡¯t just an imitation of real emotion, then it was more sympathy than he¡¯d encountered from any vampire since coming to reside in the Tangled Tower.


    "Mistress," he said as a ghost of concern stirred within his chest. "Are you well? You seem much softer than you were at the gates. I¡¯ve taken confession from many men who are approaching the end of their life, towering brutes who find softness only when they realize that they¡¯ve lost the chance to share that softness with anyone. It isn¡¯t my place to pry, and I know that you care nothing for the Holy Lord of Light, but if you need an ear to listen, I still remember how to."


    "So this is the face the mighty Inquisition shows their own kind," Nyrielle said with an ironic laugh. "Perhaps, the day will come when I turn to you for just such an ear, but that day is not today. For now, all you need to know is that I¡¯ve found someone who has breathed life anew into my withering heart, and I¡¯ve taken her as my Seneschal. She¡¯s studying with the Mother of Thorns at the moment, but you¡¯ll meet her when we reunite in the High Fen this autumn."


    "I see," Ignatious said, lowering his head while a sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. From the sound of her voice, this woman was much more than a simple Seneschal and he couldn¡¯t help but wonder what sort of woman could make such a profound impact on the merciless reaper who had cast him into the depths of torment so long ago.


    "I¡¯m glad that you¡¯ve found someone who has brought light into your life and rekindled the fires of your heart," he said, though not without some difficulty. As much as he told himself that his heart had been ground down too far to harbor resentment for what had been done to him... If living well was the best revenge then Nyrielle had certainly proved the statement with the feeling of contentment that radiated from her languid posture and shining eyes.


    "The gift she¡¯s given me is great," Nyrielle acknowledged, sensing the shadow that seemed to have fallen over Ignatious ambivalence and shifting her posture to give him more direct attention before his thoughts could spiral further in the dark direction they¡¯d turned. Nothing, however, could prepare her estranged progeny for the words that came next.


    "But, Ignatious, tell me. If I could bestow her gift on you and reignite the fires of your own passions, could you still make the offer you just made me? Could you join Thane, Zedya and the others and direct the flames of your fury at our enemies and the Church you once served?"


    "Or," she asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands as her midnight eyes stared deep within the fallen Inquisitor. "Would giving you back your passion return you to the raving beast that attempted to set the Vale of Mists ablaze when you discovered that I had turned you into the very thing you despised?"

 Chapter 294: Insolence

    Chapter 294: InsolenceFor several minutes, Ignatious didn¡¯t know what to say in response to Nyrielle¡¯s question. His Mistress didn¡¯t press him either. Instead, she retrieved a bottle of wine from the table nearby and poured a goblet of the crisp, sweet white wine that was favored by High Lord Hamdi favored to wash the taste of blood from his mouth.


    The wine tickled her nose with notes of fresh fruit and hints of oak that made her wonder if she should raid Hamdi¡¯s cellars for a few bottles to share with Ashlynn when they reunited. The thought of Ashlynn¡¯s giggling and slightly confused drunkenness, when they met with High Lady Erna, put a smile on the vampire¡¯s lips that would have brightened the room if it weren¡¯t so at odds with the rest of the woman wearing it.


    The lingering scent of the late Commander Skool¡¯s blood still clung to her, and her features combined with her wings to turn even the gentlest of smiles at least somewhat predatory.


    Ignatious, however, was oblivious to his maker¡¯s musings as he sank into introspective contemplation. He hadn¡¯t thought of himself as human since the days when Hamdi repeatedly reduced him to savagery, and for many years, he¡¯d thought of himself as less than human. Perhaps, lower even than the beasts that roamed the Tangled Wood.


    Only after years of piecing himself back together had he rebuilt his nearly shattered faith and with it, a semblance of the man he had once been. It was impossible to miss the pieces of himself that were still missing, lost forever to the inexorable millstone of time, but if he had them back... who would he be? The man he had been was dead and lost forever. The man he¡¯d become shared much in common with the Ignatious of old but he lacked the pride, the arrogance, the blind faith... and the passion that drove him to be one of the most outstanding Inquisitors of his generation.


    If Nyrielle reignited those flames, he was certain that he wouldn¡¯t return to the man he once was, but her second question stopped him from immediately accepting her offer. That moment of bitterness and jealousy when he saw her contentment. The pain he felt at her joy. Those feelings lurked within his heart like embers in the hearth. If she came to fan the flames of those embers, could he really retain his rationality and the acceptance he¡¯d found in his existence as one of her progeny?


    "Mistress Nyrielle," the fallen Inquisitor said after more than ten minutes of silence. "The gift you offer is a priceless treasure but, even if I was confident in retaining my current disposition, I couldn¡¯t accept it," he said, standing up from his chair before dropping to one knee at her feet.


    "Mistress, I have done nothing in all these years to be worthy of the gift you offered. I have not fought your enemies, tended to your subjects, provided you with council, or done any of the other things a person like me should have been capable of doing for you," he said in a voice that had lost it¡¯s dark, smokey timbre and gained instead the rough edge of bitter regret.


    "So you reject my offer because you think yourself unworthy?" Nyrielle said, raising an eyebrow at the kneeling vampire and setting her empty goblet down on the table. "It is for me to judge who is worthy and who isn¡¯t. What makes you think that you can reject a gift I¡¯ve deemed you worthy of receiving?"


    "Mistress, it is because I have given you nothing that I believe I cannot receive your gift without returning to the ¡¯raving beast¡¯ who once destroyed an entire tower of your ancient fortress," he said. As much as he wanted to raise his head, to see the way she was looking at him, the weight of shame pressed down upon him, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the faded rug beneath their feet.


    "In time, it would please me greatly to accept the gift you offer," he said. "But before that, please, let me serve at your side as one of your progeny should. Let me build a foundation of loyal service so that when you rekindle my heart¡¯s ability to burn with passion, it can burn for passion for the woman who has allowed me to be reborn."


    "I know you meant it as punishment," he said, closing his dark eyes as memories of that terrifying night danced behind his eyelids like ghosts. "But it¡¯s allowed me to gain perspective I never would have obtained any other way. That much alone is worth a century or more of loyal service and yet I¡¯ve never given you a day. Please, reserve this gift for me until I¡¯ve proven that I can bear it."


    "You have surprised me many times this evening, Ignatious," Nyrielle said. Standing up from her chair, she placed her hands gently on his shoulders and pulled him to his feet before lifting his chin so she could meet his gaze.


    "I¡¯m willing to give you an opportunity," she began only to trail off as her ears heard the sound of approaching footfalls. Zedya and the others of her retinue were still on the floors above handling the baggage and it had been less than an hour since her arrival yet the presence she felt approaching was just as potent as Zedya¡¯s... though as it drew closer it became clear that it belonged to a vampire that had balanced on the edge between life and death for much, much longer than her handmaiden had.


    "Well, that didn¡¯t take long," Nyrielle said with a slow smile. "It seems that Hamdi isn¡¯t content to wait until his appointment an hour before sunrise. If you wish to serve me, do so now," she said sharply. "Is there anything I should know before I meet with Hamdi that would explain his current state of agitation and impatience?"


    "He clearly intended to treat you like an Eldritch Lady from a weak nation," Ignatious said quickly, taking a place at her left side where an advisor should stand with a familiarity that came from many years serving senior priests outside of the Inquisition. "Still, the man he sent, Commander Skoll, was being groomed as the first progeny he would have taken in over a century." S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So I didn¡¯t just kill an easily replaceable soldier whose life would have guttered like a candle flame in a few years," Nyrielle realized. The revelation didn¡¯t change anything. Even if she had known, she would have done the same, but now that she knew, it changed how she would handle Hamdi¡¯s reaction. "No wonder he¡¯s irate. Anything else?"


    Before Ignatious could respond, however, the heavy, iron-bound door opened with enough force to slam into the wall and rebound back toward the man who knocked it open.


    High Lord Hamdi represented the very best of the Golden Eyed Clan more than five centuries ago. His fur was still as crisp and black as the day the Jaws of Death had taken him as one of his progeny and his golden eyes gleamed with a predatory fierceness that no amount of time could dim.


    His pointed ears were pierced with half a dozen heavy rings, each one covered with the glyph representing the Eldritch Lord or High Lord who had fallen beneath his fangs. His tunic, embroidered with thread of gold and silver depicting nine wolf heads howling at a crescent moon, bore clear signs that he¡¯d belted on armor over the garment many times over the years and a heavy-bladed sword hung from a leather belt at his side, clattering against the doorway in the haste of his entry.


    "Leave us, boy," Hamdi snarled when he spotted Ignatious at Nyrielle¡¯s side. "This girl and I have matters to discuss."


    Reflexively, Ignatious¡¯s shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He¡¯d taken two steps toward the door before he felt Nyrielle¡¯s hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place.


    "¡¯This girl?¡¯" Nyrielle said in a voice that was colder than the winds of the High Pass. Shadows danced around her and her wings spread wide as she drew herself up to her full height to match gazes with the snarling High Lord.


    "Impudence!" Nyrielle shouted as dark flames flickered in her midnight blue eyes. "Do I need to remind you of your manners?" Nyrielle asked with a sneer. "Old man?"

 Chapter 295: Crossing Lines

    Chapter 295: Crossing Lines"The boy knows his place, young pup," Hamdi snarled as his golden gaze flickered between Nyrielle and Ignatious. In a movement that would have been too quick to be seen by anyone who wasn¡¯t a vampire, the High Lord¡¯s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, baring an inch of cold Darksteel while he took half a step toward the trembling Inquisitor.


    Caught in the middle between Nyrielle¡¯s cool, reassuring darkness and the seething violence of High Lord Hamdi, Ignatious¡¯s knees buckled and were it not for Nyrielle¡¯s hand taking hold of his robes, he would have fallen to his knees.


    Visions of Hamdi¡¯s cruel, smiling visage filled his mind. In his mind¡¯s eye, he could already see Hamdi¡¯s tongue licking blood from a skinning knife after tossing chunks of Ignatious¡¯s flesh to a pack of hungry wolves. The wounds healed, each and every time, as if they¡¯d never been there before. At times, Ignatious wondered if he¡¯d gone made and the gruesome torture had been a fever dream but every time he convinced himself that it hadn¡¯t been real, Hamdi returned with his skinning knife and that sickening grin.


    "Out with him," Hamdi said. He let his sword slide back into its sheath but his hand never left the large basket-hilt of the weapon. "This one never should have been let loose from his mother¡¯s teat, but now isn¡¯t the time for him to hide behind your skirts. No matter how reprehensible your behavior has been, I won¡¯t discipline an unbridled descendant in front of her own progeny."


    "The words you¡¯re looking for," Nyrielle said coldly. "Are ¡¯Your Eternity, I request a private audience.¡¯ Since you are the sire of my grandsire, I will grant you the privilege of making your request from your feet instead of your knees."


    As she spoke, Nyrielle reached out with her free hand, extinguishing half the lamps in the room with a flick of her fingers and drawing on the greater darkness to wrap a cloak of cool, soothing shadows around Ignatious.


    For any of her other progeny, she could conjure the same sensation as the joyous moment she sank her fangs into their necks, triggering memories of her bliss filled bite. For Ignatious, however, every moment of his transformation had been deliberately agonizing, and conjuring those feelings within him would only drag him from one trauma to the next.


    Since she couldn¡¯t give him a grounding memory of pleasure, she instead wrapped him in the cold detachment of the grave, quashing his ability to feel pain or fear. It wasn¡¯t much comfort for the tormented vampire, but facing off against a vampire hundreds of years older than her, it was all she could offer her traumatized progeny.


    "A puffed up title doesn¡¯t mean anything without the strength to rule," Hamdi said, his lips curling back in a fang baring sneer. "You¡¯re barely holding on to the tiniest corner of Torbin¡¯s territory, playing games with these pathetic humans and falling victim to their laughable sorcery. But now, I see how it is. You favor these superstitious fools. No wonder your parents burned at their hands. My most talented progeny died so you could make nice with the invaders."


    "Impudent fossil," Nyrielle snapped. With a twitch of her dark wings, half a dozen shadowy feathers shot out from her wings like bolts from a crossbow, streaking across the small sitting room faster than an eye could blink.


    Yet for all their speed, Hamdi moved just as quickly. Drawing the sword at his hip would have taken far too long, but his hands conjured long wicked claws of pale silvery light that tore through the air and shredded four of her six feathers. The fifth feather went wide as the older vampire moved to strike and only the sixth feather inflicted any harm, slicing through the sleeve of his tunic and spilling a few drops of blood before Hamdi stopped the flow of blood through sheer force of will.


    "My parents were your descendants," Nyrielle said darkly. "As was my grandsire. They deserve your respect for what they endured to prevent an even greater tragedy. I¡¯ll have your apology or I¡¯ll have your claws," she said.


    This time, as she spoke, darkness gathered to her hand, forming a familiar executioner¡¯s ax while her eyes turned from midnight pools into orbs of pure darkness as if she had become a creature of the abyss, gazing back at her ancestor from the depths of an unspeakable void.


    "Ridiculous posturing before your progeny," Hamdi snapped as his right hand dropped to the hilt of his heavy bladed sword. This time, however, the blade slipped completely free of its sheath as he lunged forward. His aim wasn¡¯t Nyrielle, however, but the trembling former Inquisitor that she tried to shelter from his presence.


    If his wayward descendant wouldn¡¯t remove the offending wretch, Hamdi would take care of the man himself. In the end, perhaps it was even better this way. Since Nyrielle had taken Skoll from him, he would remind her what it felt like to lose one of her prized progeny and at the same time put an end to the inflated ego she seemed to have developed in the past century since retaking a portion of Torbin¡¯s Vale of Mists and declaring herself an Eldritch Lady.


    Nyrielle moved through the shadows of the room like smoke. In a blink, she¡¯d shoved Ignatious into the chair she¡¯d occupied just minutes ago and placed herself firmly between her progeny and the charging High Lord.


    Shadows danced with pale silvery moonlight as Nyrielle¡¯s axe met Hamdi¡¯s sword with a resounding -CLANG- that rattled the wine bottles and knocked over the goblets on the table, spilling the wine that Ignatious had never touched.


    "You think you can harm my family while I¡¯m standing here?" Nyrielle said as they separated from their clash and eyed each other with growing hostility. "If you¡¯re senile enough to think you can bully Ignatious in my presence, then perhaps I should take more than just your claws," she goaded. "Perhaps I should take your head!"


    The first collision was met by another and a third before the two vampires began moving too quickly for even Ignatious¡¯s eyes to follow. Yet, as he watched the flickering shadows fighting to envelop the terrifying silvery radiance, Ignatious found his heart beating with a warmth it hadn¡¯t felt in more years than he cared to count.


    Family... Nyrielle was fighting one of the most powerful High Lords on the continent to keep him safe. His heart warmed at the notion that she cared enough to protect him but at the same time, his hands began to tremble as he watched their fight move back and forth across the sitting room. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Was he really going to sit here and watch while she risked herself for him? His hands clenched into fists as shame and gratitude warred within his chest. After decades of exile, after lashing out and destroying a portion of her ancient fortress in his grief and hatred for what she had turned him into, she still called him family. She still found some portion of him worthy of her protection.


    The realization seared the core of his being like the condemnation of the Holy Lord of Light himself, urging him to stand and fight at her side. If any man could be called his true enemy, if anyone in the western lands could be considered a ¡¯demon¡¯ then surely it was Hamdi. Not because he was Eldritch or because he was a Vampire but because the only thing that seemed to bring the man any delight was the look of suffering on the faces of people caught between his claws.


    But as the battle raged on, his body betrayed him. No matter how much his mind screamed at him to move, to help, to do anything at all, his muscles remained locked in place, while every flash of silvery light conjured memories of Hamdi¡¯s skinning knife and that terrible, gleaming smile. No matter how much he wanted to, the chair Nyrielle had flung him into might as well have been a prison cell, wrapped with the same thorny twisted iron as the Tangled Tower.


    Hamdi didn¡¯t even need to lift a finger to pin Ignatious in place... he¡¯d constructed a cage around the fallen Inquisitor long ago, and now, even as he watched Nyrielle fight on his behalf, he felt powerless to escape it.

 Chapter 296: Shaking Foundations

    Chapter 296: Shaking FoundationsThe entire Tangled Tower trembled with the force of impact and magical energy unleashed by Nyrielle¡¯s confrontation with Hamdi. On the floor above, Zedya had just finished seeing the last of their luggage removed from the carriages and was preparing to bring it down to Nyrielle¡¯s temporary quarters when she felt the surge of her lady¡¯s dark energy from the floor below.


    "Little Lenny," the amethyst-eyed vampire said as she took a seat on her coffin-like daybed. "Send four of your men to escort our drivers and the wagons to the stables and then bring everyone here as quickly as possible. I want all of our people where I can see them."


    "At once, Madame Zedya," the bearish captain said, quickly giving orders to a few of his men. "Madame Zedya," he asked a moment later as he took a position behind her where he could guard her back should the need come. "What¡¯s happening?"


    "I don¡¯t know," the vampire said. "Mistress Nyrielle can borrow my eyes whenever she wishes to see through them, but I can¡¯t do the same with her unless she chooses to show me something. All I know is that our host has ascended from the deeper levels and..."


    As the tower shook, a loud rumble and a rain of dust from the ceiling interrupted their conversation, prompting the two to share a concerned look. The tower had been built from tens of thousands of tons of black granite, reinforced by iron-bound timber, and it had stood as an icon of the strength of the Tangled Wood for centuries. Just what was happening below to make the entire tower tremble?


    A floor below, the sitting room had transformed from a place of fading opulence into a scene of carnage and devastation. The chair that Ignatious sat in had become a strange island of the room¡¯s former stately appearance as Nyrielle fought to keep Hamdi from reaching him, but very few of the room¡¯s other furnishings remained intact after several minutes of intense confrontation.


    Bookshelves had fallen from the walls, their contents strewn across the floor. Many of the oil lamps in the room had fallen to the floor, some shattering and spilling burning oil onto the loose pages of books that had been shredded by Nyrielle and Hamdi¡¯s fight. Dark smoke had begun to fill the room, lit from below by the flames reflecting off the broken crystal and crumpled silver serving ware.


    At the moment, Nyrielle and Hamdi stood a few feet apart, both of them breathing heavily and covered in wounds.


    Hamdi¡¯s embroidered tunic had been torn from shoulder to the opposite hip and a deep, bloody gouge marred his powerful chest. The wound was by far the most dire and had he not abandoned his dignity to throw himself aside at the last instant, Nyrielle¡¯s ax would have buried itself so deep in his chest that his heart would have been cleaved in two.


    Dozens of smaller wounds covered his arms and legs and thick blood matted the dark fur of his head from a blow that had nearly severed one of his pointed ears. As is, one of his prized conquest rings had been torn free of his ear, now lost somewhere against the burning wreckage of the sitting room.


    From his seat in the middle of the room, Ignatious watched with wide eyes as blood dripped from Hamdi¡¯s body. The wounds she¡¯d inflicted were much less severe than anything he¡¯d suffered from the Golden Eyed vampire but they were far greater than anything he¡¯d seen inflicted on the vampire in all his years as a captive of the Tangled Tower.


    Moreover, from the slight shudder when the High Lord drew breath to the wince as he raised his sword, Ignatious realized that Nyrielle wasn¡¯t just injuring his tormentor, she had reawakened the ancient vampire¡¯s ability to feel pain, almost as if she wanted to revisit on him a portion of the suffering he¡¯d inflicted on her progeny.


    Deep within Ignatious, cracks began to form in the prison of fear that kept him pinned in place. Nyrielle was doing something he never could have, she was fighting back against his tormentor in a way that had real consequences for the High Lord. More than that, she was proving that, with enough power, even Hamdi would bleed...


    Of course, Nyrielle herself hadn¡¯t escaped unscathed as she dueled with the ancient vampire. She¡¯d paid a price in blood for the wounds she inflicted on Hamdi¡¯s body. True to the methods of the Golden Eyed Clan, Hamdi¡¯s first priority had been to cripple her movement. His habits betrayed his intentions as he focused on her legs, tearing through Nyrielle¡¯s flowing skirts to inflict deep wounds on her alabaster thighs and calves leaving them slick with crimson blood.


    Only her deft use of her wings combined with sorcery that allowed her to flow through the darkness like mist allowed her to ignore the wounds and continue to press her assault on the older vampire.


    The entire time they fought, no matter how hard Nyrielle pressed him, Hamdi never lost sight of the trembling vampire trapped in a prison of his own making in the center of the room. He had no hatred of Ignatious, if anything he found the man to be contemptibly weak and unworthy of his time and attention.


    And yet, because Nyrielle had chosen to defy his will, the man had to die. Once he made his decision, there was no changing it. In a few hours, the sun would rise, and by then, Ignatious would be dead. As far as Hamdi was concerned, both things were inevitable.


    "Give it up, young pup," Hamdi said. Holding up his heavy-bladed sword, he licked Nyrielle¡¯s blood from his blade, savoring the smooth, fresh taste of the younger woman¡¯s blood. The scent of it alone was intoxicating enough to momentarily distract him and the taste sent shivers of delight down his spine in a way he hadn¡¯t felt in well over a century.


    "Offer up the useless wretch¡¯s head and I can forgive this," he said, gesturing at the devastation around them. "Otherwise, I won¡¯t stop with just him. You brought your maid too, didn¡¯t you?" Hamdi said with a dark grin as he licked his lips. "It took a decade for this worthless child of yours to completely break. How much longer do you think she would last?"


    "Is this all that¡¯s left of you after all these years?" Nyrielle asked. Shadowy energy swirled around her, dancing like dark flames drinking in the light of the fire and spreading the chill of the grave wherever they went. "The mighty progeny of the Jaws of Death has become nothing but a force of malevolent cruelty poured into flesh and fur," she said derisively.


    "Ignatious is already twice the man you currently are and he will rise to greater heights than you can imagine," Nyrielle said as she adjusted her grip on the headsman¡¯s axe in her hands, pointing the oversized blade at Hamdi¡¯s chest. "Who shakes in fear at your name, Hamdi? What powerful nation have you cowed into restraint?"


    "Or is this all you¡¯re capable of," she said, glancing at her paralyzed progeny. "Preying on the young before they grow into their power to prop up your illusion of power and strength."


    "Rich words from the failure of an Eldritch Lady who holds less than a quarter of what your predecessor would have entrusted to you," Hamdi said, his tone dripping with scorn. "No nation has stood against my pack in the past three hundred years. The Tangled Wood, the Black Hills, the Sage Fields, and even the Blood Sands have all come under my rule." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My rise is as inexorable as your fall," the older vampire said, looking down his long nose at the winged woman before him. "In another century, the last remnants of your Vale of Mists will address me as Great Lord Hamdi, and you... you they will curse for failing them when they needed you the most."


    "No wonder His Eternity Shabnalu wants you returned to his side. He must be ashamed of the failure his student has become," Hamdi said as the silvery light enveloping his sword expanded to form long claws on his free hand.


    "This is your last chance, pup," the older vampire said. "Offer up your progeny¡¯s head and submit yourself to me and I promise to deliver you back to your teacher in one piece. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d pay handsomely to receive you delivered back into his care."


    Hamdi¡¯s words hit Nyrielle like a dagger to the chest. After seeing Hamdi¡¯s antagonism, she¡¯d all but concluded that he had been the one to order Tausau to withhold aid from the Vale of Mists. He and his progeny were the closest vampire lords to her domain and she would have to spend at least a month traveling to reach another powerful vampire lord who might be able to provide aid. Just his action of denying her would cost her tremendous amounts of time in rallying support for the Vale of Mists.


    But, if the order had come from the Fangs of Death Shabnalu himself... if her mentor was the one to make a move against her, then it was possible that she would find no help from any of the vampire lords. After all, Hamdi wasn¡¯t one of Shabnalu¡¯s progeny, he was one of Bardas¡¯. For her mentor to effectively command Hamdi meant that at least two of the other three True vampires had taken a stand against her...


    "So you¡¯ve become a lapdog," Nyrielle said, as she gathered even more power to her hands. "You will bark for anyone who gives you a command, wagging your tail and hoping for scraps from the table of your betters. The instrument of your fall is already at hand, Hamdi," Nyrielle said.


    "It¡¯s just, that your master never taught you how to recognize when a single man had grown too powerful and too ambitious to be allowed to continue to exist," Nyrielle said. "Since you see fit to invoke my mentor¡¯s name, then let me teach you what the Fangs of Death does to men like you."

 Chapter 297: Lessons Written In Blood and Fire

    Chapter 297: Lessons Written In Blood and Fire"Let me teach you what the Fangs of Death does to men like you."


    With a flick of an elongated fingernail, Nyrielle spilled a drop of blood from the tip of a finger before flicking the drop of blood across the room where it sailed toward one of Hamdi¡¯s many open wounds.


    "Blood Curse: Lethargy," Nyrielle intoned, filling the drop of blood with a swirl of dark crimson energy just before it spattered against the wound on Hamdi¡¯s chest. Instantly, the rich, bloody energy burrowed into his flesh like maggots, drilling into his mussels and leeching strength from his limbs.


    Hamdi¡¯s knees buckled and he slammed the point of his heavy-bladed sword into the floor, piercing through the thick rug beneath his feet and sinking more than three inches into the stone beneath it before his blade bound and he leaned on it like a cane, holding himself up with what little strength remained in his body as he struggled to resist Nyrielle¡¯s insidious curse.


    "This will not hold him for long," Nyrielle¡¯s voice whispered, seeming to come from a place only inches from Ignatious¡¯s ear. "He¡¯s too old to be easily overcome by myself. I need your help, Ignatious. I need your Holy Flames to weaken him for me when he breaks free of this curse. Can you do it?"


    "Mistress, I," Ignatious started only for the words to catch in his throat. Holy Flames? Against Hamdi? Did she think he¡¯d never tried before? He¡¯d never get the chance to finish an invocation! The instant he started, Hamdi would rain down a storm of flesh-rending silvery light that made his currently diminished flames look like candlelight before the light of the full moon.


    "I will distract him," Nyrielle¡¯s voice came again. "But I cannot defeat him without your help," she said.


    On the far side of the sitting room, standing among the burning books and dark smoke, Hamdi roared in pain and triumph as he wrenched his sword from the stone floor. With a shake of his left hand, a drop of dark, cursed blood sailed into the flames, sizzling as the heat of the fire burned away every trace of the toxic drop of Nyrielle¡¯s blood and the dark magic it carried.


    "You think you¡¯re the only one to learn a few tricks from their Eternities?" He sneered. Holding his left arm out in front of his chest, parallel to the ground, the ancient vampire sliced deeply into his own arm with his sword, making a fist and spilling three drops of blood onto the singed carpet beneath his feet.


    "Blood Pledge: Strength of the Pack!"


    As the Fangs of Death, Shubnalu knew a great deal about tearing the lifeblood from the bodies of the strongest people to walk the face of the earth. His Blood Curses were notoriously vicious, capable of felling High Lords and even Great Lords if he chose. Bardas, however, relied on the strength of his followers to tear down entire groups that threatened to tip the balance and dominate the world.


    But just because Bardas relied on the strength of many to overpower even larger groups didn¡¯t mean he was never confronted with powerful leaders who stood atop seemingly invincible armies. In cases like those, he summoned the strength of his progeny to give himself an overwhelming edge against his opponents.


    Now, Hamdi used the same invocation to summon the strength of his progeny, filling his body with renewed stamina, power and more than anything else, the bloodlust of much younger vampires who had yet to lose as much to the millstone of time as their sire had.


    "When I deliver you to His Eternity Shubnalu, don¡¯t say I never gave you a chance to go the easy way," Hamdi snarled before leaping at Nyrielle with twice the speed he¡¯d possessed just minutes ago.


    Nyrielle said nothing in response, meeting the ancient Vampire¡¯s charge directly with a powerful swing of her ax. The stone floor beneath their feet trembled and cracked with the force of the impact as both vampires drove themselves past their previous limits.


    The battle between them had become so heated that Hamdi had forgotten about avenging Skoll and had almost completely disregarded Ignatious. No matter what he had done, it was impossible to move around Nyrielle to kill her progeny, even if the wretched human was to weak to offer any resistance.


    Since he couldn¡¯t slip past her to do the deed, he could only batter her down until she had no choice but to watch as he took his time demonstrating how futile her efforts to protect her progeny were. First with Ignatious and then with her handmaiden, Zedya.


    Strengthened by his bond with his progeny and his Blood Pledge, the ancient vampire used his enhanced strength to batter Nyrielle¡¯s ax aside again and again. Each time, the tip of his sword slid inside her guard immediately after the beat, piercing deep into her arms, slicing along her ribs or forcing her to fall back to avoid a more serious blow to her head or chest.


    From his chair, Ignatious watched helplessly as Nyrielle gave ground again and again. She had been right. For all that she was the mighty Harbinger of Death, there was still too much of a difference between her and a vampire more than twice her age who could draw upon the complete strength of his progeny, even when some of them were hundreds of leagues away.


    Nyrielle was alone. Even Zedya seemed unable to reach her to offer any support. Given the trembling of the tower and the deafening sounds of combat, even Ignatious had enough presence of mind to realize that someone must be interfering with Zedya¡¯s ability to come to their Mistress¡¯s aid.


    This meant that while Hamdi could draw on the strength of his progeny, the only person Nyrielle could rely on... was him.


    "Oh Holy Lord of Light," Ignatious said as he slipped from the chair at last, falling to his knees amidst the burning rubble. This smoke crawled along the ceiling and flames drew ever closer to his place in an island of calm at the center of the destruction but he ignored both as he lowered his head in prayer for the first time in... in he¡¯d forgotten how many years.


    "In my darkest days, in that man¡¯s claws I prayed many times that you would send one of your champions to end my suffering," he said. "I prayed even more that you would reclaim my soul, giving me the strength to bathe in the light of day and return to your embrace."


    "Now, I will not ask you for help, or for strength," he whispered, clasping his hands tightly together. "I have seen the strength it takes to meet my struggle and only in seeing her take a stand have I realized that I was wrong to turn to you for the strength I lacked. Now, I only ask that you bear witness."


    "If I die today, let it be because, at least this once, I worked to meet a greater struggle than I have ever known. Not for you or for my own misguided desire for glory, but because she showed me the way, and I choose to follow."


    Bowing his head low, Ignatious flung his arms out wide, stretching out with senses long unused to feel the flames around him. Their flickering light danced across his red and gold robes and their heat caressed his skin like a long lost lover as he began to speak, calling out to the power in the room in a rich, steady tone.


    "Sacred flames that dance and play,


    Hear your faithful servant pray.


    Through years of pain I kept my faith,


    Now gather and form my vengeful wraith."


    All around the room, whether the flames were large or small, they leaped from the pages of charred books, the broken limbs of shattered furniture and the tattered remains of carpets and tapestries, floating through the air like embers on the wind as they coalesced before the kneeling man, taking on the shape of a ghostly Inquisitor formed of solid flames.


    "Years of anguish end tonight,


    As justice burns with holy light.


    For every wound that marked my soul,


    Now let my flames extract their toll.


    Your darkness dies in sacred light,


    As vengeance burns with holy might."


    "Mistress," he shouted as his flaming wraith swelled to nearly twice his size as he fed it with all of his anger, his hatred, and his pain after years of suffering under Hamdi¡¯s cruelty. "Get out of the way!"


    For several minutes, Nyrielle had gradually lost ground to Hamdi. Blood flowed down her alabaster skin from countless wounds and her dark dress clung to her body in blood soaked tatters. Yet all this time, she¡¯d never once lost sight of Ignatious as he struggled to break free of the shackles that bound his soul in a world filled with torment inflicted by the ancient vampire.


    Now, seeing his flaming wraith take shape, Nyrielle abandoned the pretense of fighting with her mentor¡¯s methods and let loose with power that belonged to the Harbinger of Death alone.


    "Kiss of the Void: Acceptance of Fate," she said in a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of a dark abyss. For a moment, the light in the room dimmed and Nryielle exploited the resulting moment of hesitation from Hamdi to melt into shadows, re-emerging from them standing next to the kneeling figure of Ignatious.


    The moment she fled, Hamdi rounded on her, a mocking retort already forming on his lips until he saw the wraith of holy flame descending on him while a dark shadow fell across his mind. Suddenly, it was if a thousand years had passed in an instant, wearing away his will to resist, his will to fight back, his will to escape the burning wraith of vengeance that had come to bestow retribution on him.


    Shrouded in the magic of the Harbinger of Death and facing Ignatious¡¯s flaming wraith, the only thing he could do... was to stand there numbly, and accept his fate. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 298: Capturing The Tangled Tower

    Chapter 298: Capturing The Tangled TowerOn the ground floor of the Tangled Tower, Captain Aiss stood with three columns of the fiercest fighters from the Dark Wolf Brigade as they prepared to execute the orders Hamdi had given him after he delivered Nyrielle¡¯s message.


    "Captain, isn¡¯t this excessive?" one of the soldiers standing nearby asked. "Three columns is already sixty men, why do we need to wait for Captain Gawel to rouse and arm another three columns?"


    "You don¡¯t understand," Aiss told the young soldier. "Our masters may look down on the vampires of the Vale of Mists but we cannot. Even if they were as weak as the vampires of the Mongrel Horde, we would still send at least two columns to subdue a single vampire."


    "The woman in the servant¡¯s dress," the Golden Eyed captain said, shuddering as he remembered the way she¡¯d frozen him in place with a single look. "She¡¯s not simple. Remember, our job is to take them captive if we can and to buy time for Master Savis or Madame Birsu to return."


    "Don¡¯t worry kid," a grizzled veteran with a pair of rings in one ear said reassuringly. "I¡¯ve fought against the Mongrel Horde before. It¡¯s possible to overcome a vampire with numbers as long as you don¡¯t lose your head. Follow your seniors and you¡¯ll be hanging your first ring before you know it!"


    A few minutes later, the sound of a high-pitched whistle, inaudible to most people, pierced through the night, announcing that the other force had arrived at the opposite stairwell and was ready to begin their half of the assault on the people who followed Nyrielle and the vampire she had left to watch over them.


    On the floor above Nyrielle¡¯s battle, Zedya¡¯s ears perked up when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the clink of armor and weapons. There were only two entrances to the large hall they had gathered in while awaiting permission to bring Nyrielle¡¯s baggage to the lower level.


    One entrance lay in the center of the long, north wall and the other in the center of the narrower east wall. From the sounds she heard approaching, the enemy intended to enter through both sides of the hall to catch them in the middle.


    "Keep your men back to defend the drivers and servants," Zedya told Captain Lennart as she hopped off her daybed and walked towards the entrance to the hall where she heard the loudest sounds of soldiers approaching.


    By sound alone, there were at least fifty of them, if not more. More than enough to overpower Captain Lennart¡¯s less than twenty men even if all of the wagon drivers and attendants joined them to fight back.


    The only saving grace was that the coordination between the two hastily assembled forces was poor and one of them seemed to be advancing significantly faster than the other.


    "I can watch your back, Madame Zedya," Captain Lennart said, pulling on his darksteel fighting claws and stepping up next to the simply dressed vampire. "You don¡¯t need to face them alone."


    "Barricade the east door," Zedya ordered as she took her position in front of the north door. "Don¡¯t use any of our baggage, but a few of the benches and other furniture should suffice to buy me a few moments."


    "After that, pull back and watch over the people who can¡¯t fight back," Zedya said with a shake of her head as she pulled out a set of darksteel fighting gauntlets of her own, much to the surprise of her bearish companion. "Don¡¯t give me that look, Little Lenny," she said. "I can move more freely if the only people around me are enemies."


    "Besides," she added as her amethyst eyes began to glow. "I don¡¯t intend to fight fair."


    "As you command, Madame Zedya," Lennart said with a brief salute. "But one of these days, I would be honored if I could help you for once." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Lennart," Zedya said, catching the bearish soldier¡¯s sleeve before he could return to the rest of the soldiers. "You are helping," she said with a sincerity that would have been difficult before Nyrielle had begun to restore pieces of her heart she¡¯d felt were long lost.


    "You may not share the same dangers," she said. "But what you¡¯re doing relieves me of burdens that would otherwise prevent me from doing my best. Please, don¡¯t ever diminish how much I rely on your support."


    "Thank you," Lennart said, flashing a slight smile before he turned away and returned to his men. There was more he wanted to say, but those words would have to wait until after the battle.


    With a thundering crash, the north door banged open as Aiss and his men charged into the hall.


    "Tangled nets of briars bind. Thorns pierce into your mind," Zedya intoned as the Golden Eyed soldiers stormed into the hall. Her eyes glowed brilliantly and her hands made a grasping gesture before a cloud of faint purplish energy descended from the ceiling onto the heads of the charging soldiers.


    Zedya was no witch, but in the time she had studied with the Mother of Thorns, she¡¯d learned a number of methods of empowering her Mesmerizing Eye,s and the sorcery she¡¯d just unleashed was one of the most cruel.


    "Thank goodness you¡¯ve come," Zedya said, putting on a helpless appearance. "Traitors are charging the east door, they intend to bring an end to the rule of vampires in the Tangled Wood. Raise your weapons high and stand with me against the traitors!"


    As she spoke, her words wove through their minds, combining with her sorcery to distort and confuse their minds. Was this why their captain had exhorted them to rush here so quickly? They had to stop the traitors?


    Many in the front ranks faltered in their charge only to stumble when the ranks behind them ran into them. The once-organized columns fell into immediate disarray as several stopped to raise their weapons while the ones behind were still struggling to reconcile the conflicting instructions they¡¯d received.


    Unlike when she used her Mesmerizing Gaze to interrogate Torsten or to strip away the Frost Walker¡¯s sense of self, this time, she only sought to distort their perceptions slightly, pulling them into a world that was little different from the real world by planting a suggestion in their minds that many would find reasonable, especially under the confusing and chaotic circumstances of a sudden attack by enemies within their own fortress.


    A few managed to resist, finding her suggestion so laughable that they instantly rejected it. But when those men pushed back against the distorted world that Zedya tried to pull them into, their heads were wracked with piercing pain as the thorns conjured by her sorcery dug into their minds. The harder they struggled to resist her attempts to drag them into her twisted world, the worse the pain became!


    "Traitors in our midst!" Zedya shouted, rushing into the crowd of soldiers and catching the throat of a man who was clutching his head in pain. "Death to the traitors!" she screamed as she used the claws of the fighting gauntlet to tear the man¡¯s throat from his neck in a spray of blood and thicker fluids that quickly stained the white lace on her black dress a deep, crimson red.


    The instant she made her declaration, madness ensued as sixty men of the Dark Wolf Brigade turned on each other like maddened dogs, alternately convinced that they had discovered traitors in their midst or horrified that their companions had been turned into puppets by the vampire sorceress.


    Zedya used the chaos to her advantage, flowing through the tangled mass of soldiers with inhuman speed as her hands tore weapons away from their wielders, blinded soldiers who had removed their helmets to clutch their heads in pain, and tore limbs from those who were strong enough to resist her mind destroying sorcery long enough to take a swing at her.


    Behind them, Captain Lennart and his men looked on in shock and a small measure of horror as the mild-mannered maidservant followed the last orders Nyrielle had given her and soaked herself in the blood of their enemies. What shocked most of them is that, unlike Thane, Marcell, and Nyrielle¡¯s other human progeny, Zedya fought with her claws in the same manner that the Clan of the Great Claw would, laying about her enemies with the power and fury of a rampaging bear.


    Thane had trained for years to become a knight before Nyrielle took him into her household and Marcell¡¯s business dealings with the human underworld had honed his skills with easily concealed weapons in a way that only became more deadly when he gained a vampire¡¯s enhanced physical abilities.


    Zedya, however, had been nothing more than a maidservant when she arrived in the Vale of Mists. Her implements of vengeance against the nobles who destroyed her family had been poison and deception. So when the day came for her to learn how to fight for herself and master weapons in case she should ever be required to defend her Mistress, she had turned to the Clan of the Great Claw and learned to fight the Eldritch way.


    No words could describe the carnage of those few moments but by the time the door in the east wall began to shudder and shake under the assault of the other team trying to force their way into the hall, only twenty-six of the sixty men who had charged the hall from the north were still alive... and each and every one of them possessed the glowing amethyst eyes of a man who had fallen fully under Zedya¡¯s spell.

 Chapter 299: Charred Husk (Part One)

    Chapter 299: Charred Husk (Part One)In the wreckage of a sitting room one floor below the battle unfolding around Zedya, a wraith formed of vengeful holy flames descended on the helpless figure of Hamdi. Under the effect of Nyrielle¡¯s Kiss of the Void: Acceptance of Fate, the ancient vampire stood helpless with a calm, welcoming expression on his face as Ignatious flames enveloped him.


    His tattered and bloodstained clothing were reduced to cinders and ash in the blink of an eye and his dark fur followed a second later, filling the air with the sharp, acrid stench of burning hair. Moments later, the searing pain as his flesh bubbled and blackened finally broke Nyrielle¡¯s hold on his mind and the sound of his anguished howls filled the air.


    "You¡¯ve done well, Ignatious," Nyrielle said, resting a hand on the kneeling vampire¡¯s shoulder. Though she stood tall and proud, her touch wasn¡¯t light as she used the kneeling vampire for support to remain standing while she watched Hamdi burn. As powerful as Ignatious¡¯s flames were, they were far from enough to kill such an ancient vampire and Nyrielle refused to relax until she was certain that Hamdi was no longer a threat.


    "And I¡¯m sorry," she added softly. "That you had to wait so long for this moment to arrive."


    "Mistress, you..." Ignatious started only to stop when Nyrielle shook her head slightly and pressed a finger to her lips. Some things, it seemed, shouldn¡¯t be spoken aloud but that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t know what had happened.


    Blood flowed from countless wounds on Nyrielle¡¯s body and her once elegant dress had been reduced to blood stained tatters that barely protected her modesty. It was clear that her fight against Hamdi had extracted a heavy toll from her, and yet, she hadn¡¯t used her Kiss of the Void until the very end when Ignatious launched his wraith of vengeance.


    All of those wounds, and many of them could likely have been prevented but she endured all of it, just to give Ignatious a chance to realize a portion of his revenge with his own hands. To see his tormentor burn before his eyes instead of watching Nyrielle handle Hamdi¡¯s venomous insults herself.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ignatious said, turning completely away from the burning vampire to bow deeply to Nyrielle. "Thank you, for this gift, I, I will do everything in my power to prove worthy of what you have given me today."


    "I haven¡¯t given you anything," Nyrielle said as she watched the flames engulfing Hamdi begin to gutter out and die. His flesh had turned to a bubbled and blackened mass, and in some places on his face, hands and ribs, white bone could be seen where thin skin had burned away entirely.


    The holy flames flickered and died, leaving behind wisps of smoke that coiled around Hamdi¡¯s charred form. Despite wounds that would have killed any lesser being, the ancient vampire remained standing through sheer force of will, his golden eyes blazing with fury even as bits of charred flesh crumbled from his face. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because you are my ancestor and the ancestor of my parents, I will give you one chance to receive mercy," Nryielle said sternly as she strode toward the charred vampire. Despite the wounds on her body, many of which were still bleeding, there wasn¡¯t the slightest tremble or sound of pain in her voice. Rather, thick disdain dripped from her words as she spoke to the High Lord of the Tangled Wood.


    "Kneel at my feet," Nyrielle commanded in a tone that left no room for argument. "Apologize for your rudeness and hostility, and then beg for my forgiveness. When you do, you will address me properly as ¡¯your Eternity¡¯ the way you should have from the beginning."


    For a moment, Hamdi said nothing as his golden eyes tracked slowly between Nyrielle and Ignatious. A little girl and a broken toy had laid him so low. The idea was ludicrous. If not for the fact that he¡¯d lost the ability to dream long ago, he would have thought himself in some kind of fever fueled nightmare. He couldn¡¯t accept it. And kneeling? Apologize? To these pups? The idea was even more ludicrous.


    "You think," Hamdi said, his voice hoarse and raspy as he strained to speak. "That I would break. For so little? Kill me. If you dare. But my progeny. Will slaughter your men. Before you finish with me," he said with a wicked smile. As dire of a state as he was in with gruesome wounds and pain wracking his body, he still had presence of mind enough to know that Nyrielle didn¡¯t dare to kill him.


    Perhaps she would kill his progeny. She had already killed the man he intended to take as his next progeny after all. But killing him would provoke a war with Bardas and Hamdi knew she wasn¡¯t stupid enough or crazed enough to provoke a war with his master. So instead of kneeling and cowering like she wished, he glared at her and dared her to kill him with complete confidence that she wouldn¡¯t dare to do so.


    "I gave you a chance," Nyrielle said. "The consequences are yours to bear." Before Hamdi could respond, she waved her hand, once again using a sharpened fingernail to spill a small drop of blood. While her mentor would always have superior skills and higher attainments in the practice of blood sorcery, Nyrielle had long come to a point of using any and every weapon in her arsenal when fighting the Lothians and she didn¡¯t hesitate to use one of Shabnalu¡¯s curses now.


    "Blood Curse. Desiccation," Nyrielle intoned, flicking a drop of shadowy cursed blood onto one of Hamdi¡¯s many burned and blistered wounds.


    This time, rather than seeping into him, the dark drop of blood quickly swelled in size as it soaked up the blood of his body like a sponge, leaving his flesh dry, cracked and burned, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. And yet, still, the power imbued by the vampire who made him stopped him from tumbling into the dark abyss of death.


    "Kiss of the Void. Timeless Slumber," Nyrielle said in a voice that was distant and ageless.


    Dark shadows flowed from her outstretched hand, wrapping around the charred husk of Hamdi¡¯s body and carrying him into the deep sleep of those who had forgotten their sense of time and all of their cares in the world. The vampire¡¯s last thought as the darkness took him was that he had been right... Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t dare to kill him. And as long as he still lived, there would come a time to revisit this humiliation on her a hundred fold.


    It was only after the light faded from Hamdi¡¯s eyes that Nyrielle allowed herself a moment to relax, dropping to one knee as the strength to maintain her dignified posture failed her and the pain of dozens of wounds rampaged through her body like an unleashed stampede.


    "Mistress Nyrielle!" Ignatious cried as he rushed to her side to offer support. While his sorcery had taken a great deal of his energy, the exhaustion he felt paled in comparison to what Nyrielle felt after her intense confrontation with the ancient vampire.


    "I¡¯ll be fine," Nyrielle said. Gently, with two fingers, she touched the deep wounds in her thighs and the long gashes along her ribs. Finally, now that he¡¯d lost consciousness, the lingering energy that accompanied Hamdi¡¯s sword strikes had dissipated from her body, allowing the wounds to begin to heal. But with so many wounds to heal, it would still be several days before she returned to her full strength.


    Even as she assessed her own injuries, her midnight eyes grew distant, focusing on something beyond the room as an amethyst light flickered briefly across her gaze. Nyrielle¡¯s brows furrowed with concern and she pushed herself to her feet despite the surge of pain that accompanied the motion as her wounded legs protested the abuse she subjected them to.


    "We need to move quickly," she said, in a tone that was clipped and urgent. "Zedya is holding her own against Hamdi¡¯s soldiers, and she has things well in hand at the moment, but I can sense more of his progeny approaching."


    Perhaps Hamdi had deliberately given his progeny tasks to perform away from the Tangled Tower in order to have an excuse about why they weren¡¯t available to greet her when she arrived. If that was the case, then his attempt to slight her had bought Zedya invaluable time. Now, however, at least one of those progeny had entered the tower on the floors above, and another wasn¡¯t far behind.

 Chapter 300: Charred Husk (Part Two)

    Chapter 300: Charred Husk (Part Two)"The battle isn¡¯t over yet," Nyrielle said, taking Ignatious hand for support as she forced herself to stand. "Collect Hamdi¡¯s body. He isn¡¯t dead, but he shouldn¡¯t wake easily after what I¡¯ve done to him. I¡¯m afraid that his progeny has finally arrived. If we don¡¯t stop the battle upstairs soon, tonight will be even more of a tragedy for both sides."


    She was certain that Hamdi would hate her for decades to come for what she¡¯d done to him, but at the moment, it was still possible for things to recover. Matters could begin and end between them.


    If the damage to his household grew much greater, however, she was afraid that things would turn into a blood feud that would never end until his entire lineage had been exterminated and that was something she wanted to avoid almost as much as she needed to avoid losing any of her own progeny in this battle.


    "Battle upstairs? How do you know what¡¯s happening up there?" Ignatious asked in genuine confusion as he scooped up the much-diminished figure of Hamdi.


    The charred body felt impossibly light in his arms. It, or rather, he was nothing like the towering presence that had dominated his existence for decades. Holding his body, in its charred and desiccated state, it was hard to even think of him as a person.


    Each time Hamdi¡¯s limp head lolled against his chest, Ignatious trembled in a combination of shock and disbelief and he had to look down to remind himself that this moment was really happening.


    How many times had he imagined it? How many hours had he spent imagining reducing his tormentor to ash and cinders until he¡¯d given up all hope and lost the ability to imagine anything different than his current suffering? For decades, the only thing he had desired more than the sight of this man¡¯s death was finding a way to end his own life and for much of that time, the only thing that kept him from staking himself out for the sunrise was the idea that one day, he might live to see Hamdi fall.


    Yet now, holding what was little more than a burned and blackened corpse, he felt none of the satisfaction he¡¯d imagined. Instead, his heart swelled with a long-forgotten warmth as he watched Nyrielle push herself forward despite her injuries.


    Seeing her determination, the hatred and bloodlust that had fueled his vengeance seemed to have burned away with his holy flames, leaving behind a deep desire to live on at his Mistress¡¯s side, serving the woman who had touched his soul in a way that he realized the Holy Lord of Light never truly had.


    "I gave Zedya her Mesmerizing Eyes," Nyrielle said, her voice pulling Ignatious back out of his thoughts as she began walking toward the door. With a slight smile, she tapped next to one midnight blue eye to reveal the slightest hint of an amethyst glow. "Since I gave her that power, I¡¯ve long been able to see what she sees."


    "I expected that Hamdi might order his men to cause some trouble for our people," Nyrielle explained as she picked her way carefully across the floor. The flames had all gone out when Ignatious drew on the flames within the room to construct his avenging wraith, but the floor was still littered with the debris of her clash with Hamdi, and navigating through it while she was injured was more difficult than it appeared.


    "That¡¯s why you gave Zedya orders to kill anyone who offended her," Ignatious realized. "You knew that Hamdi would send his men to move against her." He¡¯d always known that Nyrielle was a powerful force and a skilled strategist. If she wasn¡¯t, she wouldn¡¯t have been capable of delivering so many crushing defeats to the combined forces of Lothians and the Church of the Holy Lord of Light.


    After spending so many years being ground down under Hamdi¡¯s cruelty and witnessing the power and might of the Tangled Wood, he realized that his impression of Nyrielle as a strong and cunning leader had also eroded. It was only now, as he held his former tormentor¡¯s unconscious body in hand and realized the depths of her foresight that he remembered why the Church had dubbed her the ¡¯Demon Lady of the Vale.¡¯ S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In a single night, with nothing more than herself, a handmaiden, a few soldiers, and a badly broken progeny, she was bringing the mighty Tangled Wood to its knees. And in the midst of everything she was doing, she still made space to help heal the wounds that Hamdi¡¯s skinning knife had carved deep into his soul. The more he thought about it, the greater the sense of awe and admiration he felt as he gazed upon his Mistress.


    "It was always my intention to provoke Hamdi," Nyrielle said, picking up her pace as they entered the corridor that was clear of debris. The empty hallway was easier for her to walk through with nothing in her way and only the stones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps beneath her feet.


    She still couldn¡¯t move as quickly as she wished and she trailed one hand along the cold, stone walls to support herself as they walked. Once she reached the floor above, she was certain that she would need every ounce of strength she had remaining if she was going to put a stop to this.


    "Without a clash, I was certain that he would keep treating me like the little girl I was when I was when we first met," she explained as they walked. In truth, her only goal for this evening was to clash with enough intensity to compel Hamdi¡¯s cooperation.


    She wanted to borrow the power and prestige of the Tangled Wood to summon other local Eldritch Lords to meet with her here, rather than approaching each of them as a visitor, like a beggar with her hat in hand.


    Hamdi¡¯s support could have made it much easier to sway the Eldritch Lords who dismissed the human threat and saw her as weak for failing to defeat the Lothians after so many years. Those plans had suffered a severe blow because things had gone so far but she hoped that her ultimate goals could still be salvaged. Before she could think about those adjustments, however, she needed to finish dealing with Hamdi¡¯s forces.


    "Then, you expected all of this to happen?" Ignatious asked, holding up the ancient vampire¡¯s slumbering body.


    "No," Nyrielle said, shaking her head. "His reaction was much, much worse than I expected." She hadn¡¯t realized that Skoll held special significance to Hamdi and that had been the first miscalculation of the evening, pushing him harder from the start than she meant to, but there had been other missteps along the way as well.


    Each of those small mistakes added up to create an avalanche that it was almost too late to avoid. Or perhaps it was already too late for everyone who accompanied her on this journey to escape this conflict unscathed.


    "Now, if we don¡¯t reach Zedya in time," she said as she pushed her battered body to move faster. "I¡¯m afraid that my miscalculation will cost too many of our people their lives. Now hurry, we don¡¯t have much time."


    Amethyst light flashed again in Nyrielle¡¯s eyes, giving her a glimpse of the chaotic battle above... and the terrifying figure who had arrived to rescue Hamdi¡¯s soldiers from Zedya¡¯s overwhelming power.

 Chapter 301: Powerful Progeny (Part One)

    Chapter 301: Powerful Progeny (Part One)Blood dripped from Zedya¡¯s darksteel fighting gauntlets as she threw herself at the white-furred nightmare that had arrived to reinforce the column of soldiers attacking Nyrielle¡¯s people. Her movements were stiff and clumsy and without heavy use of Mist Walker Dance, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to stay upright to keep fighting against the savage vampire before her.


    At first, Zedya¡¯s strategy of keeping Captain Lennart and his men out of the battle worked brilliantly. Because the only people around her were enemies, Zedya was able to move freely without concern for how her movements might impact her allies. In her mind, even the Golden Eyed soldiers who had fallen under her spell were expendable as long as they kept the battle from reaching the people she had promised to protect.


    When the hastily assembled barricade on the east doors failed, Zedya led the remains of her spellbound soldiers in a fresh charge against more than twice their number in fresh soldiers. These new arrivals had been hastily pulled from their beds and unlike the first wave she faced, it was much easier to sow disarray among the disorganized reinforcements.


    Even though her spellbound soldiers were outnumbered two to one, she was able to make up for the gap with her strength, speed, and most importantly precision that transcended human limits.


    All of that changed when a white-furred vampire charged into the hall. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The newly arrived vampire had a lithe, powerful build and stood head and shoulders taller than any of the other members of the Golden Eyed clan in the room. His simple sleeveless tunic and breeches in a room full of armored soldiers spoke of either supreme confidence in his fighting ability or the extreme haste with which he rushed to join the battle. Given the number of victory rings set in his pointed ears, Zedya was inclined to believe it was the former more than the latter.


    Though his fur had been white since birth, Savis was still the oldest of Hamdi¡¯s progeny and the powerful, bloody aura he radiated when he stormed into the room momentarily stilled the fighting.


    "Who dares to attack our Master in his own fortress?" Savis snarled, his golden eyes searching the crowd. He¡¯d rushed here as soon as he felt Hamdi invoke a Blood Pledge to draw on his strength but from the carnage he found on the floor above the place he felt his master, things were much worse than he feared.


    "It¡¯s you!" The white-furred vampire roared in rage, lifting a common footman¡¯s flail in his hand and charging at Zedya faster than she could get out of his way. The heavy darksteel ball at the end of the flail spun in a blur before Savis brought it crashing down toward Zedya¡¯s head.


    With no time to dodge, Zedya blocked the heavy blow hastily with an armored gauntlet. Were it not for the protection provided by the darksteel plates, her forearm would have shattered under the force of the blow. Even with the protection of the gauntlets, her hand still went numb and pain shot all the way to her shoulder as the spinning flail careened off her armor.


    Before Zedya could recover enough to retreat and look for an opportunity to counterattack, the flail came streaking back toward her, this time slamming into her unarmored knee with a sickening crunch that sent her tumbling to the floor.


    "Mist Walker. Dance," Zedya snapped, kicking off of air several times to gain some much-needed distance before he could strike her a third time. But even though she escaped a third strike, the white-furred vampire had already done tremendous damage. Not only to Zedya, but to the battle between her spellbound soldiers and the other members of the Dark Wolf Brigade.


    Some soldiers managed to break free of Zedya¡¯s binding while others were too maddened by bloodlust and pain to take advantage of the opportunity Savis had given them. But now, with little more than a dozen spellbound soldiers, they could no longer hold back the forces who were bent on killing everyone in the room who wasn¡¯t an ally.


    In the beginning, their orders had only been to capture. A fight might break out, but many of them had been certain that, in the face of overwhelming numbers, Nyrielle¡¯s soldiers would peacefully surrender and allow themselves to be captured.


    Now, however, far too much blood had been spilled. No one cared whether they were supposed to take prisoners or not, all they knew is that the bodies of their friends and comrades lie broken and torn apart on the cold stones of the ancient hall and the people responsible had been cowering behind the one vampire who could even the odds.


    Yet with the arrival of Master Savis, everything changed. Zedya could no longer constrain them. Like hounds released on a hunt, they lunged past their spellbound companions, clashing directly with Captain Lennart and his men as the battle entered a new phase.


    "For Lady Nyrielle and the Vale!" Captain Lennart cried as he waved his men forward. Beside him, Virve protected his flank while the two dove into the onrushing men of the Black Wolf Brigade.


    Though they were outnumbered by three to two, half of Captain Lennart¡¯s soldiers were men from the Clan of the Great Claw and they used their greater size and reach to tear weapons from the hands of their enemies whenever they could.


    It wasn¡¯t necessary to defeat their opponents, if they could be disarmed and wounded then it was sufficient to knock them aside and move to the next while setting up the soldiers from the Horned Clan to deliver killing blows with their long spears.


    The soldiers of the Vale of Mists had been outnumbered in every battle they¡¯d fought against the humans for generations and even though many of Lennart¡¯s soldiers had never fought in a war against the Lothians, their training and traditions had grown strong through constant testing in brutal war.


    By contrast, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade, while every one of them was an elite soldier, had long grown accustomed to possessing superior numbers and strength compared to the rabble they were sent to suppress. Now, when they thought they should have an advantage, they found themselves pressed into an intense battle against soldiers who fought like demons.


    Behind the line of fighting men, the wagon drivers and servants huddled together near the far wall, as far from the combat as the confines of the hall would allow. Some lifted tables to create makeshift barricades while others had gathered anything that could serve as an improvised weapon, ripping legs from chairs to use as makeshift clubs or clutching the wooden chair seats as crude shields.


    "Stay close to the wall," one of the older wagon drivers from the Horned Clan ordered. "If they break through, we¡¯ll make for the stairs. "You four," he added, pointing to the four strongest men from the Clan of the Great Claw who served as porters in their group. There weren¡¯t enough improvised weapons to go around but rather than arm these four strong men, he had very different instructions for them.


    "We¡¯ll do our best to clear the way to the door," he said as his hands tightened on a broken table leg. "You make sure to protect Lady Nyrielle and Madame Zedya¡¯s daybeds. They won¡¯t be able to travel far without them, so... so make sure you do what you can to keep them safe if it comes to that."


    Hearing his words, everyone nodded with grim expressions on their faces. If it came to that, if they were defeated so badly here that Lady Nyrielle and Madame Zedya had to be carried away in their daybeds, then it was unlikely that they would escape the pursuit of the High Lord of the Tangled Wood¡¯s forces.


    Still, as long as there was something they could do to give Lady Nyrielle even the slightest chance of escaping if the worst came to pass, they were willing to die to the last man to give her that chance.


    But Zedya couldn¡¯t spare much attention for Captain Lennart and his soldiers as they squared off against the men of the Dark Wolf Brigade or the actions of the servants behind them. It took all of her attention to resist the constant onslaught of Savis¡¯ darksteel flail as he relentlessly pursued her across the hall.

 Chapter 302: Powerful Progeny (Part Two)

    Chapter 302: Powerful Progeny (Part Two)Against the common soldiers, Zedya¡¯s basic fighting skills and superior physical abilities allowed her to slaughter with impunity. Against a vampire more than four times her age with centuries of experience in battle, however, she fared little better than a talented recruit, new to the army.


    She managed to avoid blows to the head or chest, only barely, but the sickening crunch she¡¯d heard when the flail smashed into her knee was repeated again when it slammed into the bottom of her ribcage, and a third time when it crashed into her right shoulder, sending shards of bone deep into her flesh and rendering her arm useless as it hung limply by her side.


    Despite her terrible injuries, a smile blossomed on Zedya¡¯s face as she pushed her Mist Walker Dance to its limits, drifting out of reach of Savis¡¯s blood soaked flail. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What are you smiling about, woman?" the white furred vampire sneered. His answer came a moment later, not from Zedya, but from a powerful voice that echoed from the depths of the abyss as a dark winged woman in tattered, bloody clothes strode through the northern entrance to the hall.


    "Drop your weapons, or Hamdi dies," Nyrielle commanded. Shadows flowed from her wings like a dark tide, blanketing the hall with a darkness that dimmed everything from the crystal chandeliers to the standing oil lamps and cast the room into a cold otherworldly darkness like a graveyard on midwinter¡¯s night.


    "You are in the presence of Her Eternity Nyrielle, the Harbinger of Death," Ignatious said, stepping in front of Nyrielle like an obedient herrald and dropping the charred and desiccated body of Hamdi at her feet. "Kneel in her presence, or face her wrath," he commanded, immediately following his own orders and dropping to one knee.


    "Your Eternity, Mistress Nyrielle," Zedya said formally and loudly enough for the entire hall to hear while she dropped to her uninjured knee.


    "Master Hamdi!" Savis cried, his flail falling from his fingers as shock tore through him. The charred figure at the dark-winged woman¡¯s feet was all but unrecognizable, and yet the connection he felt to the man who had made him a vampire all those centuries ago couldn¡¯t be denied. Most importantly, that connection told him that, despite the ghastly wounds, his master was still alive!


    Savis¡¯s anguished cry paralyzed the soldiers of the Dark Wolf Brigade, giving Captain Lennart and his men the opportunity they needed to act. Rather than strike down their foes, however, each and every one of them stepped back from their opponents, laying down their weapons as they knelt and bowed deeply to their lady.


    "Your Eternity, Lady Nyrielle," they cried, the genuine passion in their voices warring with relief at her timely rescue and a measure of shock as they witnessed the many wounds on her body and the ragged state of her clothing.


    "Lady Nyrielle," Captain Lennart said, rushing across the room to kneel directly before his lady. "It has been my life¡¯s honor to fight in your service. Your wounds are too severe," he said solemnly, turning his head to one side and baring his neck. Already, a nasty wound traced along his jaw bone, nearly reaching his ear and deep enough to reveal layers of muscle and even the bright white of bone in places.


    "If my blood can aid your healing then it is yours," he offered formally. "If my life is required, then it is yours as well."


    Behind him, several other soldiers stood, rushing forward to kneel behind their captain. Each one of them bore injuries from the brief but intense clash with the Dark Wolf Brigade but every one of them looked at Nyrielle with the kind of reverence that humans reserved for their icons of faith.


    "My blood is yours for the taking," they said in ragged unison. "My life is yours if you require it."


    "Little Lenny," Zedya whispered from where she knelt halfway across the hall. "Don¡¯t, don¡¯t do this..."


    "Captain Lennart, stand before me," Nyrielle commanded. When he did as she ordered, she reached out gently, turning his face away from her and leaning in to brush her lips against the gruesome wound along his jaw.


    Her tongue darted out, quicker than most eyes could follow, giving her the briefest taste of rich, metallic blood that danced over her tongue like the sharp sounds of battle. The energy she received from his blood was less than a fraction of what she gained from a single bloody kiss with Ashlynn and yet her tongue darted out again and again along the length of his wound.


    By the time she finished, pricking the flesh next to his ear with the barest touch of her fangs, the wound had already stopped bleeding and pale flesh had begun to grow over the deepest portions of the wound.


    More than that, while Lennart experienced none of the world shattering pleasure that so often accompanied Nyrielle¡¯s bite, the pain he felt from his lesser wounds had melted away completely, leaving him feeling refreshed and restored.


    "Healing isn¡¯t my gift, brave Lennart," Nyrielle whispered. "But for those that I feed on, even if it¡¯s just a small amount, I can grant a small measure of healing that helps to recover from my bite. I¡¯m afraid the rest will have to wait."


    "My Lady," the bearish captain said, returning to his knee and bowing his head low. "The gift you¡¯ve given me is already priceless beyond measure. I will bear this scar with honor for the rest of my days," he said solemnly.


    "As you should," Nyrielle said, lightly touching the top of his head before turning her attention to Hamdi¡¯s progeny and the soldiers under his command. "Now," she said, her voice growing dark and cold. "My men are obediently kneeling but why is it that yours still stand? Could it be that you wish to see your master die?"


    "Your Eternity," Savis said, breaking free of the shock that had frozen him in place and dropping to one knee. "Please, whatever crime my master has committed to draw your wrath, let us make amends. Please, spare his life."


    "Your Eternity," the soldiers of the Dark Wolf Brigade echoed, dropping to their knees and bowing their heads in imitation of Savis. "Please, spare our master¡¯s life!"


    "If your master is going to live," Nyrielle said as her eyes swept over the soldiers of the Dark Wolf Brigade. "Then I require an offering. Who will give their blood to save his life?"


    "I, I will offer my blood and my life if my master requires it," a young soldier said, awkwardly standing up. He placed his hands atop his head to show that he hid no weapons and walked slowly to stand over the blackened body of the man who was supposed to be the strongest person in the entire Tangled Wood and for several territories beyond their borders.


    Seeing him reduced to this state, the young soldier¡¯s heart shook and it took every ounce of his willpower to keep himself from cowering in fear before the dark-winged woman who had reduced his master to this sorry state.


    "It, it isn¡¯t our way to make an offering of blood," he said with uncertainty as he knelt next to his master. "Should I cut open my wrist for him? Will spilling blood on his lips be enough?"


    "Who said I needed you to spill your blood for him?" Nyielle asked coldly. "Stand before me. You are my defeated prey and I will feed on you long before I feed on my own injured men," she said with a brief smile directed toward the injured Captain Lennart. "And because you offered, I will spare your life. Now come," she called. "Stretch out your neck for me."


    The young soldier seemed startled by her command but he couldn¡¯t refute her words. They truly were defeated dogs. It felt shameful to offer up his own neck, but if doing so meant that she would spare his master¡¯s life... then he could only endure the shame of it.


    Much to his surprise, there was no pain when Nyrielle sank her fangs into his neck, only a cool sense of comfort and relief from pain as his world grew dim and Nyrielle drank her fill. In her injured state, it would have been all too easy to drain him to the last drop but she kept true to her word, stopping well short of what she needed to completely heal and taking only enough of his blood to recover a bit of her strength.


    "Now, you there," Nyrielle said, pointing a finger at Savis after laying the Golden Eyed soldier on the ground. "It seems like another of your siblings has just arrived on the floors above. Bring them here so that I can explain to you the terms of your surrender."


    "And before you get any strange ideas," she added as she used the tip of one wing to prod Hamdi¡¯s slumbering figure. "Whether or not your Master is able to recover enough, quickly enough, to retain his position as the High Lord of the Tangled Wood depends entirely on how well you follow my instructions in the weeks to come. So whatever you do," she said fiercely. "Don¡¯t disappoint me."


    "Yes, your Eternity," the white furred vampire said, swallowing heavily as he looked at her cold, midnight blue eyes. In them, he saw an infinite abyss that promised to swallow up anything that resisted her orders... and that wouldn¡¯t care if she had to kill him in order to make sure others understood that she wasn¡¯t to be defied.


    After all, if she could defeat his master so thoroughly and do so before anyone could arrive to help him, then what chance did Savis or any of Hamdi¡¯s progeny have of resisting her?


    Now that he saw her open a path not only for him to survive but for his master to regain his throne, Savis grasped it with every fiber of his being, rushing toward his sister Birsu to warn her that they only had one chance to save their master and more importantly, that the "minor guest" their master had warned them of was someone that they dared not offend.

 Chapter 303: Practical Potions

    Chapter 303: Practical PotionsIn the Briar, a month had passed since Heila completed her transformation and became Ashlynn¡¯s Willow Witch. During that time, true to her word, Amahle had drilled both women on the fundamentals of witchcraft.


    The increasing heat of the Briar pressed down on them and made the hot days seem endless and the slightly cooler nights feel far too brief. Within a week of Heila¡¯s reawakening, both women from the Vale of Mists abandoned their long skirts for the shorter, divided skirts favored by the villages across the lake. Similarly, Ashlynn found herself going barefoot whenever possible and when it wasn¡¯t, she was much more comfortable in simple woven sandals than in the short ankle boots she¡¯d arrived in.


    At first, Ashlynn had felt that Talauia was bold for flashing her porcelain legs as often as she did, but now that they¡¯d reached the height of summer, Ashlynn realized that there was nothing bold about it at all. She felt anything but attractive as sweat rolled down between her full breasts and soaked the underbust of her sleeveless tunic and the feeling of unbearable heat was made even worse by her proximity to a bubbling cauldron and the fire beneath it. If she¡¯d tried to maintain her old wardrobe, she¡¯d only have felt worse.


    "I still think I should cut my hair short," Ashlynn grumbled as she stirred the simmering concoction. The scent of fragrant herbs filled the air along with a musty, pungent scent from ground valerian root that still clung to the mortar and pestle on Ashlynn¡¯s workbench.


    "Should I make another batch of cooling drops for you, my lady?" Heila asked, looking up from her own work. More than a dozen different herbs lay on the table in front of her, along with a set of scales and precise weights for measuring each of them but the young Willow Witch had yet to begin assembling her concoction.


    "No," Ashlynn said as she paused to inspect her concoction. As the liquid thickened, she¡¯d found that she had to pay extra attention to scraping the bottom and sides of her cauldron or it would burn, just like a stew left too long unattended. Only, if a stew burned to the bottom of the pot, the worst that happened was that you threw out a batch of stew. If a potion burned to the bottom of the pot, the results could range from creating toxic clouds of gas to setting off small explosions.


    "I can¡¯t interrupt your lessons every time I feel uncomfortable," Ashlynn said. If she really wanted cooling drops to get through the oppressive heat, she was entirely capable of making her own it was just that Heila¡¯s affinity for water magic was so much greater than hers that Ashlynn¡¯s concoction frequently yielded only half as much as Heila¡¯s would for the same amount of starting ingredients.


    "I don¡¯t mind," Heila said as she started gathering another set of herbs. "Practice is practice and the cooling drops are useful. It isn¡¯t a bad thing to get better at making them. It¡¯ll be harder to practice once we go home until we¡¯ve had a chance to grow our own gardens."


    "Wait till I¡¯m done with this one before you start reducing yours," Ashlynn said as she returned to stirring. "One fire is already almost too much, I don¡¯t think I could bear two at once."


    According to Amahle, it was rare for her coven to concoct much during the oppressive summer months. They had settled into a natural rhythm where her coven spent most of the spring and summer harvesting their gardens and foraging in the surrounding wilderness before using the relatively cooler winters to do their concocting for the year.


    More than once, Amahle had hinted that Ashlynn should stay through the winter and return to the Vale of Mists when the passes opened again in the spring but the former noblewoman refused to spend so long away from the Vale of Mists. She already felt an increasing anxiety about what Owain and his family were doing while she was away, being gone even longer would only make it worse.


    More importantly, Nyrielle had promised her a trip back to Blackwell County during the winter months when the nights were long. They would have to move carefully and Ashlynn would need to conceal her identity for most of the journey but once she returned, she would find a way to speak to her parents to discover who had betrayed her and revealed her mark¡¯s existence to Owain.


    "What are you concocting this time?" Heila asked as she looked over at the open book on Ashlynn¡¯s workbench. Amahle had instructed them both in the things she considered essential foundations but after that, she¡¯d set them both loose with instructions to make anything they thought would be useful and that they felt confident in attempting.


    The Mother of Thorns still visited regularly to check up on them, as did Talauia and Jacques, but for the past week, Ashlynn and Heila had enjoyed considerable freedom in what they made.


    "This one is called ¡¯Scholar¡¯s Clarity¡¯," Ashlynn said without turning away from her concoction. Once it reached the thickness she required, she would need to begin the incantation that infused a combination of wood and fire energy into the thick paste, transforming it from a medicinal paste that any apothecary could produce into something that only witches and a select few sorcerers or artificers could make.


    "You rub it into your temples and it banishes the fatigue and headaches that come with studying and helps to strengthen your ability to remember what you¡¯ve read," Ashlynn explained. "We¡¯ve both been reading so much, I thought it would help, especially when the heat makes it so hard to think."


    "Ashlynn, you..." Heila said, her voice trailing off as her hands paused in gathering herbs.


    Ashlynn had taken to the heavy studying load like a fish to water. She¡¯d spent so many of her formative years in the Blackwell library and under the guidance of tutors that studying under Amahle felt almost like a return to her younger days as a student before she began preparing for her marriage to Owain.


    Heila, on the other hand, had grown up in a common family in the Vale of Mists. She¡¯d followed her mother into service in the castle as a common maid until Zedya picked her to be Ashlynn¡¯s attendant. While she¡¯d learned to read and write along with other servants in the castle, she had never spent much time on books and learning beyond the basics that everyone was required to learn.


    In order to keep up with Amahle¡¯s rapid pace of instruction, Heila had taken to staying up late at night, using a potion called ¡¯Essence of Sleep¡¯ to spend as little as two hours a night actually sleeping while she dedicated the rest of her time to reading by lamplight. But even though the potions could provide the energy of a night¡¯s sleep to the body, they did little for the fatigue of the mind.


    "You think I didn¡¯t notice how late your lamps have been lit at night when you go back to your hut?" Ashlynn teased lightly. "I know it¡¯s been hard," Ashlynn said in a gentle tone. "Honestly, I think we¡¯re both working too hard right now, but we only have so much time here before we have to go home and I¡¯m afraid that with a war coming..."


    "That¡¯s why I won¡¯t tell you that you shouldn¡¯t do what you¡¯re doing," Ashlynn said solemnly. "But, I don¡¯t like to see my friend suffer. Since this potion requires a bit of fire magic ¡¯to spark insight¡¯, I thought it would be best if I made it. And really, it¡¯s for both of us, so you don¡¯t have to give me that look," she added with a gentle smile.


    "No, you¡¯re right, but," Heila said haltingly as she tried to sift through the many emotions Ashlynn¡¯s potion had stirred within her petite chest for the words she wanted to say. "Thank you," she said, choosing the simplest expression of gratitude for what she felt.


    There were many thoughts and feelings she left unsaid behind those simple words. Heila¡¯s world had changed almost as much as Ashlynn¡¯s had in the time since they met and at moments like this, the diminutive horned woman wondered what her parents would think of the way that she and Ashlynn were currently trading expensive potions as if they were sweets from the kitchens.


    For Heila, brewing a batch of cooling drops to help Ashlynn resist the summer heat felt natural, like something she should do. The fact that Ashlynn reciprocated with a concoction of her own to help Heila study still felt like an overwhelming honor, but slowly, that feeling was beginning to wear away, replaced by a more intimate friendship where the two women were much, much closer to equals than Heila had ever imagined they would be. S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For the Mother of Trees, or the Seneschal of the Vale of Mists to bestow a gift on a lowly servant would carry a weight heavier than gold. But slowly, Hiela felt less and less like Ashlynn¡¯s servant and more like a part of her family. And for family to gift each other with a few useful items... That was only natural, right?


    Since it was only natural, Heila smiled to herself as she returned to her own preparatory work. She had her own end of the potion trade to keep up, and she refused to let Ashlynn down. Not because she was Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting, but because they were family and she wanted to be family that Ashlynn could depend on.

 Chapter 304: Handling Distractions

    Chapter 304: Handling DistractionsWhile Ashlynn and Heila worked diligently on their studies, Amahle summoned Talauia and Jacques to her own abode for a serious discussion.


    "So, it¡¯s true den?" Jacques asked between sips of cold, refreshing lemonade. "Lady Nyrielle, she really trapped de High Lord of de Tangled Wood in a pine box atop his own tower?"


    "It is," Amahle said as she examined the letter in her hands for what felt like the dozenth time since it arrived early in the morning. "Though Lady Nyrielle¡¯s letter is short on details, she made it clear High Lord Hamdi is suffering greatly for the offense of failing to recognize her authority over vampires as the Harbinger of Death."


    "Even then, even then," Talauia said. "A green pine box will twist and warp in the summer sun. Even if it kept all the daylight out when they made the box for him, after a few days, every seem will let a little bit of light in all day long. Won¡¯t it eventually kill High Lord Hamdi like dying from a thousand small cuts?"


    "According to Lady Nyrielle¡¯s letter, she allowed his progeny to wrap him in a beggar¡¯s cloak before sealing him in the box and placing it atop his tower. Further, she¡¯s allowing his progeny to hunt for him so long as they spill the blood of their prey over the box. What little seeps through is enough to allow Hamdi to slowly heal his wounds, though the sunlight during the day may undo most of that."


    "Dis woman of Auntie Ashlynn¡¯s is fiercer and crueler den I thought," Jacques said, shuddering slightly at the thought of how much he¡¯d offended her when they first met. Looking back at the way Ashlynn had resolved their dispute, he offered a silent thanks to the Mother of Trees for saving him from a fate so dark that he wasn¡¯t able to imagine it.


    "The important thing isn¡¯t what she did to High Lord Hamdi," Amahle said, bringing the conversation back on track. "The question is whether or not one of you should go to represent me at the gathering she¡¯s called. Every Eldritch Lord for three hundred leagues has been invited and she¡¯s extended us the same courtesy."


    "Shouldn¡¯t Auntie Ashlynn go wit us den?" Jacques asked. "I¡¯m sure she must be missing Lady Nyrielle, non? Dis is a chance for her to pay her lover a visit."


    "That¡¯s what makes this difficult," Amahle said. "We¡¯re invited, but I have to admire Lady Nyrielle for her determination to do what¡¯s best for Ashlynn. She doesn¡¯t want to disrupt Ashlynn¡¯s training. Besides, if we went, our attendance would amount to little more than a show of support. We¡¯ve already aligned ourselves with Ashlynn and through her, with the Vale of Mists. This assembly of Nyrielle¡¯s doesn¡¯t offer us much."


    "But if we go, if we go, then it tells the other Eldritch Lords that Lady Nyrielle has our support," Talauia said, fidgeting with the ends of the laces on her tunic as she spoke. "But if we go, it means we can¡¯t help Auntie Ashlynn with her studies anymore..." she added, her voice trailing off.


    Of everyone who could go, Amahle would send the strongest message of support. Having the Mother of Thorns appear in person would do much to convince other Eldritch Lords that they should throw their support behind the Vale of Mists in the upcoming conflict with the humans. It would also deprive Ashlynn of the best learning opportunities.


    "I won¡¯t send you, sugar," Amahle told Talauia directly. While the Thistle Witch had once been something of a princess within her own clan, those days were long over, and the winged woman had never once shown signs that she wanted to return to the kind of life she¡¯d lived as the daughter of a High Lord.


    Talauia¡¯s wings quivered slightly as a wave of relief washed through her. If Amahle told her to go, then she would have gone, but among so many powerful lords, the odds that she might encounter someone who still bore a grudge for what happened all those years ago were far, far too high.


    Recently, she¡¯d begun coaching Jacques on how to attend more formal gatherings in a way that reflected his station as a powerful witch, but from what they¡¯d heard of his visit to the High Fen, he still needed many, many more years of practice.


    "And I won¡¯t go myself either," Amahle added. She couldn¡¯t deny that part of her wished she could go. After getting to know Ashlynn better, she wanted a chance to see how the Harbinger of Death had changed in the years since the powerful vampire had offered up a captured human Inquisitor as a ¡¯research subject¡¯ for her.


    The way Ashlynn spoke of her lover was so different from the raw and hurting vampire she¡¯d met in the past that she was tempted to attend Lady Nyrielle¡¯s gathering just to see for herself what her little sister¡¯s lover was really like. Unfortunately, the cost of neglecting Ashlynn¡¯s training was just too high and it was unlikely that Nyrielle would appreciate the visit when doing so came at her Seneschal¡¯s expense.


    "So really," Amahle concluded. "It¡¯s up to Jacques if he thinks he should go."


    "I ain¡¯t one for de delicate dance of words wit¡¯ lords," Jacques said helplessly. "What about Saini or Mamao," he said, mentioning the missing Rose and Blackberry Witches. "Are either of dem close enough to make de gathering?"


    "I don¡¯t want to disturb Saini¡¯s work, even if she could make it," Amahle said with a shake of her head. The Rose Witch had been born of a tenacious wild rose and the task she¡¯d taken on required an amount of stubborn refusal to yield that even Jacques couldn¡¯t match. Interrupting her would spoil months of painstaking work and Amahle wasn¡¯t about to throw that away for a simple political gesture.


    "Mamao is too far, too, too far," Talauia added. "It took her last letter four months just to get here. There¡¯s no way she¡¯s coming home without telling us she¡¯s coming, so, so there¡¯s no way she could help."


    "I¡¯ve already sent a letter to her asking that she return as soon as she can," Amahle said as she stretched across the table to pour another glass of lemonade for Jacques. "But by the time my letter finds her and she returns, it will almost be summer next year."


    "I hope she brings lots and lots of new seeds when she comes home," Talauia said with a wide smile. "Sister Mamao always brings the best gifts home when she¡¯s been out for a long time."


    "Either way," Amahle said, putting the folded letter away in one of the many pouches on her belt. "Since none of us will be attending Lady Nyrielle¡¯s gathering, then put it out of your minds," she said as she moved on to the next topic she¡¯d brought them here to discuss.


    "Jacques, darling, since you aren¡¯t going to Lady Nyrielle¡¯s gathering, I¡¯d like you to take Ashlynn and Heila on a small trip to Crystal Lake City. They¡¯re working too hard and while I understand their reasons, I think it¡¯s time for a small vacation for both of them." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Before they go, Tala, sugar, spend a day or two with them to concoct potions for trade," Amahle added. "I know they¡¯re both carrying whatever pocket money Lady Nyrielle gave them, but my little sister hasn¡¯t had much that was truly hers since she escaped that wretched excuse for a man she was forced to marry."


    "Yes, yes, I can help them!" Talauia said excitedly. "The moonflowers in the garden are blooming now and there¡¯s enough that we could make several bottles of..."


    "No, not like that," Amahle interrupted. "Take the two of them foraging deep in the Briar. I want the two of them to reap the benefits of their own labor from start to finish. If we give them things from the garden to use to make their potions, it¡¯s little different from when Lady Nyrielle hands them pocket money."


    "This is a test for them as much as it¡¯s a vacation," Amahle explained. "They can only use what they forage for themselves. You can give them advice and show them where things can be found, but they have to do the work themselves."


    "After all," she said, sitting back on a comfortable cushion and taking a long drink of chilled lemonade. "The fruits of your own harvest are always the sweetest."

 Chapter 305: Vacation Planning

    Chapter 305: Vacation Planning"So this is both a vacation and a training activity," Ashlynn said with a smile when Talauia came to explain the task that Amahle had set for them. She leaned back in her chair as the late afternoon sun filtered through the workshop windows of her hut while massaging the forearm that had grown sore after nearly an hour spent stirring her concoction to prevent it from burning. The air still held the lingering scents of valerian root and other herbs from their day of concocting, though the heat had finally begun to ease as evening approached.


    Talauia perched on a wooden stool nearby, offering a bowl of crispy fried okra she¡¯d brought to share while they talked. The simple snack was a welcome distraction after the intense focus their work had required, and when Talauia mentioned that she¡¯d left out the dusting of cayenne pepper for this batch so they could share, Heila reached eagerly for a piece as they considered Amahle¡¯s challenge.


    "First planning, then foraging, concocting, and selling our wares before we get to enjoy the rewards of what we¡¯ve made. Or we find a way to have the least expensive vacation possible because we¡¯ve utterly failed at the task," she said with a wide grin.


    It was the sort of challenge that she would have loved to tackle with Jocelynn. Economics was a foundation of administering any domain, whether it was a small barony or a sprawling duchy and Ashlynn¡¯s tutors had schooled her well in principles of supply and demand. Understanding the flow of goods back and forth between the old countries was something she spent many hours studying with her tutors.


    On rare occasions, she¡¯d been able to meet with the captain of a trading vessel or one of the masters from the Way Finder¡¯s guild and those people had often posed practical hypothetical problems for her to solve, grounded in their very real experience. Ashlynn always delighted in those challenges, not only because they tested her understanding of many subjects at once but because it was a chance to broaden her very small social circle, even if only briefly.


    But Jocelynn had a much better head for supply and demand of individual goods. She paid attention to what was in style among noble women, what was in demand by the merchant class, and the sorts of things that even the common folk would find an excuse to splurge on if the opportunity presented itself. She was always looking for opportunities to obtain what others couldn¡¯t by finding benefits for everyone involved.


    If Jocelynn were here, Ashlynn was certain that she would immediately know which questions to ask to figure out which potions would give them the best return on their efforts. Since she wasn¡¯t, Ashlynn could only try her best and hope that the lessons she¡¯d learned at home would translate to Eldritch Lands.


    "I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll have a poor vacation," Heila said eagerly. "Even if we just made some cooling drops and other simple things, I¡¯m sure we would earn enough silver to treat ourselves nicely in Crystal Lake City."


    For her, this would be an entirely new experience where she visited an Eldritch city not only as Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting but as a powerful figure in her own right. She¡¯d had a taste of what that kind of life could be like when Jacques took her to the House of Iron but she couldn¡¯t really enjoy it as much as she wanted with Jacques¡¯s looming presence and his strange insistence on showing off his dueling prowess.


    After spending so much time with the reptilian witch, Heila had come to understand Jacques, but at the time, his presence had spoiled what could have otherwise been a delightful meal with new friends she¡¯d met in High Fen City. This time, however, there wouldn¡¯t be any disharmony in their group while they were on vacation and she could truly enjoy herself. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What kind of place is Crystal Lake City?" Ashlynn asked while she prepared a slate to take notes.


    "Jacques knows, Jacques knows better than I do," Talauia said, her wings fluttering slightly as she moved to sit between Ashlynn and Heila rather than across from them. "But I¡¯ve visited with Mother and the others a few times. The best word I can think of is ¡¯sleepy.¡¯ It¡¯s really, really a sleepy city."


    "Is that because it¡¯s so hot?" Heila asked. "I have a hard enough time not sleeping away the heat of the day as is, and we have the canopy of the Briar to block out the sun. I imagine it¡¯s even hotter there."


    "No, mercy," Ashlynn said, plucking at her sleeveless tunic to fan herself. "Not hotter than this. Why would someone build a city somewhere so unbearable?"


    "They don¡¯t mind, don¡¯t mind at all," Talauia said, shaking her head in envy. "It¡¯s mostly the Ancient Clan who live there. They¡¯ll lay out in the sun all day long if they don¡¯t have anything important to do and they¡¯ll be happy about it. But that¡¯s not why I said it¡¯s sleepy."


    The winged witch paused for a moment, her brows furrowing in thought as she tried to consider the best way to explain the Ancient Clan and the strange city they built on the opposite side of the lake from the Briar.


    There were a number of phrases that came to mind, but none of them were complimentary and despite everything that had happened, Talauia didn¡¯t want to speak badly of Jacques¡¯s clan or his hometown when he wasn¡¯t here to speak for himself.


    "Does this touch on some kind of secret that we shouldn¡¯t know?" Ashlynn asked when she saw Talauia¡¯s long hesitation. Compared to the Kingdom of Gaal, the Eldritch people were so much more diverse that Ashlynn had yet to catch up on all of the taboos she felt that she should be aware of when traveling to a new city.


    She¡¯d asked Jacques about the Ancient Clan on a number of occasions when they were training but he always seemed to keep his descriptions superficial and after the third time when he¡¯d avoided her question by going on at length about some of the strange creatures that the Ancient Clan considered to be delicacies, including snails the size of a walnut, Ashlynn had stopped prying.


    "It¡¯s no secret, not secret from anyone," Talauia said as she made up her mind. She would present things as neutrally as possible and hope that they didn¡¯t misunderstand. As long as she kept to the important bits, it shouldn¡¯t be too hard to avoid saying something unkind... and if she got anything wrong in her attempt to save face for the Ancient Clan, she would just have to rely on Jacques to correct her later.

 Chapter 306: People Who Want for Nothing

    Chapter 306: People Who Want for Nothing"Going to Crystal Lake City, it¡¯s like, it¡¯s like going to a great city a thousand years ago," the Thistle Witch finally said. "The Ancient Clan is... content. They don¡¯t need to become better at anything to feed their people or clothe their people. Their buildings are simple and they don¡¯t have engineers to make things better. They do things the way they always have because they¡¯ve already found an answer to everything that¡¯s good enough for them."


    The words Talauia¡¯s father had once used to describe the Ancient Clan were ¡¯arrogantly primitive and deliberately so.¡¯ When she¡¯d last visited Crystal Lake City, she¡¯d seen a good many bronze-smiths and a few whitesmiths but the Ancient Clan still hadn¡¯t seen the point of learning to smelt iron, much less to produce steel of any quality.


    The few professions that made use of iron and steel tools obtained them almost exclusively through trade but convincing one of them they needed such tools was only slightly easier than pulling the fangs of a protesting alligator. They were like that for almost everything they did, and they were as stubborn as stones about changing.


    "How could that be?" Ashlynn asked, utterly baffled by the description Talauia had given. "Isn¡¯t a natural law that without strong predators or constant warfare, each generation will be larger than the one before it? If their population keeps growing, surely they¡¯d find a need to invent better things. Better agriculture, fishing, better housing for larger families," she said only to trail off at the end when she saw Talauia shaking her head.


    "It¡¯s not like that, not like that at all" the Thistle Witch said. "The Ancient Clan live very, very long lives. They don¡¯t consider themselves ¡¯old¡¯ until they¡¯ve passed at least two centuries and their elders have usually lived for more than three. For them, a thousand years ago is just a few generations."


    "Hey Tala," Heila said hesitantly as a curious thought struck her. "Do you know how old Jacques is? Is he considered very young for the Ancient Clan?"


    "Don¡¯t tell him that I told you, don¡¯t tell him, all right?" Talauia said as she gestured for Ashlynn and Heila to lean in close. "He just turned thirty last summer," the winged witch said in a hushed, conspiritorial tone. "He¡¯s been here for half his life after... no, nevermind," she said, suddenly realizing that she¡¯d said too much.


    "Don¡¯t tell," she reminded them with a finger to her lips. "If he wants to tell, he can tell why he came her, but I shouldn¡¯t tell for him." Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, of course you shouldn¡¯t," Ashlynn said, hastily waving off the notion that Taluia betray any sort of confidence. "But if the Ancient Clan feels content with what they have, what sorts of things should we concoct for them?" she asked, returning back to the original topic.


    "I don¡¯t think they¡¯re all content," Heila said as she thought for a moment. "Maybe the wealthy ones are content, but if you don¡¯t have many luxuries, there¡¯s always something that the richer people have that you don¡¯t. Anyone who sees people living better than they do will spend a little time thinking about what it would be like if they had those things too."


    "I suppose that¡¯s true," Ashlynn said as she thought. "The same is true of the wealthy. Maybe most of them are content, but there¡¯s always something that one person has and their neighbor wishes they had it as well."


    "Tala," Ashlynn asked as an idea struck her. "Has the Eldritch Lord of the Crystal Lake ever asked Amahle to concoct something for him? Something that Heila and I might be able to make?"


    "Of course," Talauia said with an almost smug nod. "Thornback Egg Paste. It isn¡¯t a potion that a person drinks, it¡¯s something they slather on their eggs so their children grow up with the strength of the Giant Thornback Alligator. It¡¯s an ancient recipe that originally comes from the Ancient Clan, but..."


    "Mistress Nyrielle told me about the Giant Thornback Alligators," Ashlynn said as she sank into thought. "She said they could crush bones with their jaws and swallow goats whole. This potion... we¡¯d have to hunt down a Giant Thornback Alligator wouldn¡¯t we?"


    "You would, you would and it¡¯s very dangerous," Talauia said. "You haven¡¯t been practicing how to fight like a witch yet, you¡¯ve just been working on potions and incantations with your wands. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a good idea to hunt one of those and Heila doesn¡¯t even have a weapon yet so..."


    "I can make one for myself," Heila said with surprising firmness. "I had to learn how to conjure weapons to fight when Cecile interfered with my trial. I¡¯m not helpless anymore," she added, holding her head up high and giving Talauia a challenging look.


    "How about this," Ashlynn said, thinking rapidly as she watched Talauia¡¯s wings start to twitch anxiously. "There are other predators we could hunt to use in concoctions aren¡¯t there? Talauia, you¡¯re coming with us when we go foraging just to watch, right?"


    "I am, but Auntie, I shouldn¡¯t help you hunt, shouldn¡¯t help at all," she said, crossing her arms in front of her petite chest. "But if you want help just finding thing, and only with the finding, then maybe... maybe I could do that much?"


    "That¡¯s even more than I was going to ask for," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile. "I was just going to ask if you can watch us hunt some lesser predators, then you can decide if we have the strength to fight a Giant Thornback Alligator or not. If we don¡¯t, then it¡¯s fine, we¡¯ll still forage for other things. But if we do, I¡¯d like to take the chance."


    "After all, if this Thornback Egg Paste is so valuable that the Lord of the Crystal Lake wanted it for his children, I can¡¯t imagine there are many parents who wouldn¡¯t like the chance to do the same for their own children."


    "You¡¯re right, you¡¯re right," Talauia said, her multifaceted eyes growing clouded as ghosts danced through the sudden mist that clouded her vision. The sounds of her father shouting for her to fly, fly as fast as she could echoed in her ears and for a moment she could even smell the acrid stench of burning bodies mingling with the thick smoke of smoldering trees.


    "Parents really would do anything for their children..."

 Chapter 307: It’s Personal

    Chapter 307: It¡¯s Personal"Parents really would do anything for their children..."


    The soft, almost broken way that Talauia said it swept over Ashlynn like a sneaker wave, drawing her into a world so filled with sorrow and hurt that she was momentarily disoriented. Without thinking, she reached out and wrapped an arm around the slender witch, pulling her into a soft embrace and gently stroking her hair the same way she¡¯d once comforted her younger sister.


    "It¡¯s fine if you want to talk about it," Ashlynn said when she saw the stream of tears silently spilling from Talauia¡¯s multi-faceted amethyst eyes. "It¡¯s also fine if you don¡¯t. We¡¯re here if you need us," she said, glancing briefly at Heila who hovered uncertainly nearby. "Or we can leave you alone for a while. Whatever you need," she whispered.


    For a few minutes, Talauia said nothing as soundless sobs wracked her body. She buried her face in Ashlynn¡¯s full bosom and her tears soaked the younger witch¡¯s tunic. It had been years since she last thought about her parents and she¡¯d thought that the wounds had long healed over, but as she sat and wept into Ashlynn¡¯s embrace, she realized that the hurt had shrunk but it never truly went away.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Talauia said with a sniff as she pulled back from Ashlynn¡¯s tender embrace. "It was a long time, a very long time ago. I, I didn¡¯t mean to..." sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said, blinking back the mist that threatened to overwhelm her vision. "I miss my parents too. Most days, I don¡¯t think about it and I can keep going. And then, something reminds me and... see?" Ashlynn said, wiping away the moisture collecting in the corners of her eyes. "You don¡¯t have to apologize for missing people you loved."


    "Auntie, can I, can I ask you something?" Talauia asked, giving Ashlynn a deeply troubled look. "About the vampires, and... and about the Harbinger of death."


    "You can always ask," Ashlynn said while she gestured at Heila and pointed at the pitcher of chilled, sweet tea sitting in the corner. Understanding immediately, the horned woman began pouring not only fresh cups of tea, but she also brought out chilled fruit and began slicing it into small pieces that were easy to nibble on.


    "I may not be able to answer," Ashlynn added. "Nyrielle and I, we love each other very deeply and we¡¯re bound together," she explained. "But it¡¯s still only been a few months since we met and there¡¯s still so much about each other that we don¡¯t know."


    "But, if she ever told you that, told you that you had to destroy a whole clan," the winged witch said, looking at Ashlynn with pleading eyes. "You wouldn¡¯t do it, would you? You wouldn¡¯t kill a whole clan because they were too, too good at what they do, would you?"


    Suddenly, Ashlynn froze and Heila stumbled, nearly spilling the collection of cups and bowl of fruit she was carrying. Ever since coming to the Briar, and in fact, even before that, when they¡¯d met Jacques, there had been a tension about Ashlynn¡¯s relationship with Nyrielle and about vampires in general.


    At first, it had been easy to dismiss as something abstract and philosophical. After all, Nyrielle had told Ashlynn that the blood of a witch could restore a vampire to life. Such a miraculous thing was bound to create conflicts between vampires and witches in general, but there was never anything personal about it. Ashlynn had felt that time and getting to know each other as real people would smooth out any misunderstandings.


    But now, thinking back, when she¡¯d first talked to Amahle about the ¡¯purpose¡¯ that vampires felt defined their existence, there had been a certain derision in the older witch¡¯s voice when she proudly proclaimed that nature had no desires, only people could care one way or another. To the elements, it didn¡¯t matter who was in power and who wasn¡¯t.


    Looking at Talauia and the slight tremble in her lips when she asked the question, Ashlynn started to feel like this wasn¡¯t just a question of abstract philosophy for the Thistle Witch.


    "I don¡¯t think it works that way for Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, choosing her words carefully. "For the longest time, she¡¯s dedicated herself to protecting her people in the Vale of Mists from humans. She knows that if humans break past her at the Vale of Mists or find other ways through the mountains, it will be a horrible tragedy for thousands of Eldritch people. She wants to stop that from happening," she explained.


    "What if, what if one day, the humans became peaceful? What if they didn¡¯t want to exterminate all Eldritch people anymore and only fought normal wars with their neighbors." Talauia asked, refusing to let go of the question. "What if, what if humans weren¡¯t any better or worse than anyone else? Would you still destroy them all if Lady Nyrielle told you to?"


    "No," Ashlynn said firmly. She couldn¡¯t imagine a world where Nyrielle wanted her to destroy an entire people without a good reason to do so but even she wanted to bring the Lothians to their knees for what Owain had done to her.


    Ashlynn had come to accept that taking vengeance against a ruling family like the Lothians would cause untold amounts of misery for people who had nothing to do with their feud but failing to act would only create more misery for other people. No response was perfect and she could only do the best she could at any given moment and reduce the harm to innocents wherever she could.


    Trying to answer hypotheticals about what she would do if this thing or that thing happened... It was too difficult to say what she would do when so many other things could change and so she shifted the conversation away from the hypothetical and toward things that were more factual.


    "Is that what happened to your family?" Ashlynn asked in a softer tone. "Were vampires responsible for..." Her voice trailed off since she wasn¡¯t certain of the extent of what had happened to Talauia¡¯s family.


    It didn¡¯t sound like the sort of thing Nyrielle would have done, but if she thought about it, there was another True Vampire that was known for wiping out whole populations and it was the very same vampire that Nyrielle¡¯s parents were descended from.


    "Not just my family," Talauia said. "It was all of us, every single one of us, the whole Glimmerwing Clan that they said had to die. Father he," she started only to lose her voice as another set of sobs shook her petite frame.


    "Here," Heila offered gently when the storm of barely suppressed sobs seemed to subside. "It¡¯s just sweet tea and chilled melon but..."


    "Thank you," the winged witch said, taking a wedge of melon and sinking her pointed teeth into its juicy red flesh. A bit of juice dribbled down her chin, but Talauia didn¡¯t care as she let the sweet flavor and soft texture ground her in the present, pushing back on some of the pain she¡¯d long kept bottled up in her chest.


    "Did you know, did you know," Talauia finally said after devouring a second wedge of melon. "They used to say that there were no better hunters than the hunters of the Glimmerwing clan," she said with a proud smile that revealed her wickedly sharp teeth. "And they also called us the best assassins too."


    "But nobody, nobody was ever a better assassin than my father," Talauia said in a tone that still contained a strong core of pride but this time was wrapped in a dark shroud of sorrow. "Nobody, nobody... until there was me."

 Chapter 308: The Destruction of the Glimmerwing Clan

    Chapter 308: The Destruction of the Glimmerwing Clan"My father," Talauia started haltingly. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, unable to meet the gazes of the people around her but in truth, as she sat there holding a cup of chilled sweet tea, her gaze was lost in the distant past.


    "My father was the High Lord of the Endless Marsh. It¡¯s not really endless," she added as though it were an old reflex when describing her home. "It¡¯s just really, really big. It wasn¡¯t just the Glimmerwing Clan there either. The Scaled Clan, the Ancient Clan, even the Night Weaver and Mist Wraith clans lived there."


    "But the Glimmerwing Clan was always at the top," she said in a tone that blended pride and deep sorrow. "All the way back in my great-great-grandfather¡¯s time, the family rules were to keep the peace by eliminating threats as soon as they became obvious."


    "By eliminating threats," Ashlynn said as the pieces started to fall into place for her. "You mean killing people who might challenge your family for the position of High Lord?"


    "Only outsiders, only outsiders who weren¡¯t part of the clan were killed before they could grow truly strong," the winged witch said. "There was no guarantee that my siblings or I would inherit my father¡¯s crown. Anyone in the Glimmerwing Clan could compete for crown. Rich or poor, man or woman, none of that mattered. Once the contest of succession starts, anyone can compete. Only the best, the most lethal, could wear the crown of the Endless Marsh."


    "What about people outside of the clan?" Ashlynn asked gently. "Was the ¡¯contest of succession¡¯ open to them as well?"


    "Of course, of course it was," Talauia said, swirling her sweet tea in her cup without drinking any of it. "But anyone who might win was dealt with before the competition."


    Ashlynn nodded slowly as things became clearer. The Eldritch, in general, valued strength more than anything and challenges for lordship needed to be open to preserve the idea that the person currently ruling was genuinely the strongest. But, if their competition was never allowed to reach the stage, a lord could easily dominate ¡¯less worthy¡¯ competitors and retain their crown on the basis that no one could defeat them.


    "It¡¯s my fault," Talauia said. Tears began to flow again, dripping onto her hands and occasionally splashing into her tea before Ashlynn passed over a small handkerchief. "I was supposed to be next after Father," she explained.


    "You don¡¯t know, you don¡¯t know how scary it was for people to be told a Glimmerwing assassin had been hired to kill them," the winged witch said. "The worst, worst, worst, worst of us, only failed to kill their targets one in ten times. Anyone who was that bad at assassination would be laughed at and told they should give up and reconsider life as a hunter of dangerous beasts instead of pretending they could hunt intelligent people."


    "One in ten survived," Heila said, freezing in place with a wedge of bright red melon half way to her lips. "And you consider this to be bad? How successful was a good assassin?"


    "The minimum standard was ninety-five in one hundred," Talauia said with a grim smile on her face. "My father only failed six times and he killed more than two hundred men. But I was better. I, I never failed. Not once."


    "And that¡¯s why you think it was your fault?" Ashlynn asked gently when the winged witch fell into silence. "Because you were too good at what you did?"


    "That¡¯s not it, that¡¯s not entirely it," the Thistle Witch said, squeezing her eyes shut against the painful memories until her whole body trembled and her wings begand to vibrate. "Because I was so good, one of the vampires sent his progeny to collect me. They call him the Fangs of Death. He said that I was being wasted in the Endless Marsh and that I should put my talents to use for a greater purpose."


    "The Fangs of Death?" Ashlynn said, blinking in confusion. She had been certain that the Glimmerwing clan had been attacked by Bardas, the Jaws of Death. Nyrielle¡¯s teacher choosing to be involved with a talented assassin made sense, but clearly she had rejected the offer or she would be a vampire now and not a witch. So how had this led to the destruction of her clan?


    "He wanted me, wanted me in the wrong way" Talauia said softly. "Not just because I was a talented assassin but because I was an ¡¯enchanting woman.¡¯ But I didn¡¯t want that. I wanted to inherit the Endless Marsh from my father. I wanted to be the next High Lady. That¡¯s why I worked so hard to be so good," she said, her shoulders shaking as she broke down in another wave of sobs.


    "Now I understand," Ashlynn said, pulling Talauia into a tight embrace. "I understand why you¡¯re so weary about vampires who want to sink their fangs into someone who might be a little powerful and talented and why you all were so nervous about Mistress Nyrielle."


    "But I don¡¯t understand," Heila said, blinking in confusion. "What happened after you said no, Tala? How did it turn into the death of your whole clan?"


    "Because Shubnalu, the Fangs of Death, still wants Talauia as his progeny," Ashlynn said as she gently stroked the winged witch¡¯s hair. "If he attacked her, she might die and then he would lose what he wants. Instead, I¡¯m willing to bet that he suggested that Bardas do the dirty work."


    "If Bardas destroyed her clan because they had grown ¡¯too powerful¡¯, but he allowed Talauia to escape, then Shubnalu could offer her a place of safety. By taking her in, he could keep her safe from ¡¯the Jaws of Death¡¯, when really, all he had to do was ask Bardass to stop pursuing her and he likely would."


    "You¡¯re saying he had her whole clan slaughtered, just to force her to become his progeny?" Heila said, her eyes going wide in horror. "But that, that¡¯s far too cruel. How could anyone be that cruel?" S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because he doesn¡¯t feel anymore," Talauia said bitterly. "Because he doesn¡¯t know what cruelty or sorrow even is. He only knows what he wants. Since he wanted me, he would do whatever was ¡¯logical¡¯ in order to obtain me."


    It had taken her months of running, hiding, and striking back only when she was certain of her opportunity before Talauia had met the Mother of Thorns. It was only after she became the Thistle Witch that Amahle helped her to understand everything that the Fangs of Death had done to drive her into a corner.


    Now, seeing Ashlynn become the Seneschal of the Harbinger of Death, the witches of the Briar had been deeply concerned not just that Nyrielle was using cruel methods to manipulate Ashlynn... but that the Fangs of Death would come for Talauia again. He might not be able to turn a witch into one of his progeny, but if Nyrielle taught him how to take a witch as his Seneschal...


    If that ever happened, then perhaps even Amahle and the defenses of the Briar wouldn¡¯t be enough to keep Talauia safe from the powerful Great Lord.

 Chapter 309: Feeling the Pressure

    Chapter 309: Feeling the PressureAfter Talauia¡¯s heavy revelations, Ashlynn put the rest of their planning session on hold. Everyone needed a bit of time to process and there wasn¡¯t a need to rush and arrive in Crystal Lake City by a specific time. Instead, Ashlynn took Talauia and Heila to one of Amahle¡¯s vegetable gardens so to prepare for the evening meal.


    With the oppressive heat, no one other than Jacques wanted to spend much time standing over a hot stove to cook. Still, when they returned to Amahle¡¯s home to prepare for another family-style evening meal, Ashlynn felt like she had to put something special together for Talauia.


    "You know, I think my friend Georg would love to cook for you," Ashlynn said as she carefully sliced prickly cucumbers into long ribbons before rolling them around a mixture of nuts and creamy cheese blended with tart berries. "Most people only care about how a thing tastes, but you care more about the texture of a dish. I think he¡¯d find that very special."


    "Extra crisp, crisp, or crunchy," Talauia said with a wide grin as she munched on a sweet pepper. "Doesn¡¯t matter what it is. Peppers, nuts, bones, it¡¯s all delightful once you crack into it," she said.


    Getting back to basic chores helped to ground the Thistle Witch, and the close camaraderie of the family that had formed with Ashlynn and Amahle¡¯s covens helped soothe the sharp pangs of hurt that came with memories of the tragedy that brought her here.


    Over dinner, Ashlynn explained their plans to Amahle. When she suggested that they hunt a Giant Thornback Alligator, however, the older witch surprised Ashlynn with a fierce rejection.


    "I¡¯m not sure why y¡¯all are so eager to hunt the most dangerous of beasts in the Briar, darling," Amahle said, tapping the floor with one of her spider-like limbs for emphasis as she spoke. "Perhaps it¡¯s my fault for keeping everything as safe as we have here by the house, but you¡¯ve never fought any creatures of the Briar. You¡¯re biting off too much more than you can chew with that one."


    "It¡¯s my fault," Ashlynn said instantly. "I thought that..."


    "I ain¡¯t blaming you, darling," Amahle said quickly before Ashlynn could go any further. "I just realized, y¡¯all haven¡¯t hunted anything in the Briar since you got here, but this whole time, you¡¯ve had one of us around you, keeping all the critters away."


    "Dat¡¯s de safest way, ain¡¯t it, maman?" Jacques chimed while he ladled another portion of shrimp soup into his bowl. He still wasn¡¯t sure that he believed Ashlynn that there were giant shrimp the size of a person¡¯s palm that could be found in the sea, but even if the ones swimming in the waterways of the Briar weren¡¯t that large, he more than made up for the lack of size with the quantity of shrimp he was able to lure into his nets.


    "Safest isn¡¯t always the best, sugar," Amahle said. Her crimson eyes flashed as she gave both Ashlynn and Heila a measuring look, evaluating their progress over the past several weeks.


    Ashlynn was always troublesome for her to assess. Her bond with Nyrielle gave her strengths and capabilities that most witches lacked and many of those strengths covered for the vulnerabilities most witches had. Few witches of the forest moved with any kind of speed, yet Ashlynn possessed a vampire¡¯s quickness, making her just as fast or even faster than Talauia.


    Heila was much easier for the Mother of Thorns to gauge. Despite the abnormalities of her trial, she held a seed of witchcraft harvested from an Ancient Willow, and that allowed her to make rapid progress compared to a witch with a more conventionally grown seed. She might not reach heights that were any greater than she would have with a safer approach, but whatever her limits were, she would reach them much more quickly than other witches would.


    "This isn¡¯t really about creating one potion or another, is it sister?" Amahle finally asked after an extended silence. "You were training to fight with Jacques while Heila took her trial. She insisted on becoming a witch who could fight by your side instead of being a passive healer. Tell me, darling," she said.


    "What has you so thirsty for blood?" Amahle asked. "I know you¡¯ve got a powerful desire to see your husband dead, but that can¡¯t have twisted you into a maniac who delights in violence and murder. So what is it?"


    "Nothing gets past my big sister, does it?" Ashlynn said as she set down her utensils to focus on Amahle. "I¡¯ve spoken with Heila about the visions we experienced during the trials we each faced. We were both confronted with visions of the upcoming war with the Lothians. Visions that... didn¡¯t end well for us."


    "I told you, didn¡¯t I, Auntie?" Jacques said, raising a brow at Ashlynn. "De trees, she pulls on your memories and your fears to show you de worst tings you can tink of. Dey ain¡¯t real, dey ain¡¯t predictions or prophecies. Dey¡¯s jus¡¯ nightmares."


    "I know it was a nightmare," Heila said. Her right hand clutched her spoon like she was ready to stab someone with it and her cloven hoof tapped the floor as she fought to banish memories of those terrible visions from her mind. "We both know that they weren¡¯t real. People didn¡¯t act like they really would in those visions. They were all twisted up."


    "But that doesn¡¯t mean there isn¡¯t a core of truth in them," Ashlynn said as she gave her diminutive friend a brief, reassuring squeeze. "The truth is that we need to be prepared to face a greater threat than the Vale of Mists has faced in generations. This won¡¯t be one of their tame, generational wars. This time, it¡¯s a Holy War with the support of the Church and soldiers from across the sea coming to make their fortunes in conquest. We have to be ready."


    "And y¡¯all want to test yourselves to see how ready you truly are," Amahle said with a heavy sigh. "Part of me wants to confine you to harvesting herbs in the deep water region of the Briar. You aren¡¯t supposed to be practicing your fighting, you¡¯re supposed to be practicing your concocting and then taking a vacation."


    "I¡¯ve half a mind to deny you healing magic if you get hurt out there with this foolishness," she said, giving both young women a sharp look. "How are you supposed to enjoy a vacation if you¡¯re getting all banged up before it even starts? Little Sister, I know you¡¯re strong and sturdy as Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal but don¡¯t you go acting like little Heila will heal as quickly as you will."


    Amahle¡¯s words landed on both women like a bucket of cold water. Ashlynn hung her head in embarrassment while Heila hung hers in shame that she was holding her friend back. Neither of them had the strength to meet Amahle¡¯s crimson gaze at the moment.


    "Maman," Jacques said as he looked between Ashlynn and the Mother of Thorns. "Auntie Ashlynn, she really is something else. I ain¡¯t sayin¡¯ she can face a Giant Thronback Alligator," he added quickly, holding up his hands before Amahle could say anything.


    "But she¡¯s a fierce one, non?" Jacques added with a nod in Ashlynn¡¯s direction. "And she¡¯s capable of some surprising strength. She cracked my ribs wit¡¯ her bare hands de other day and we was jus¡¯ practicing a bit. If she had her sword wit¡¯ her, it might not have been so even between us."


    "Jacques, sugar, it¡¯s not that I¡¯m unaware of that," Amahle said gently. "But y¡¯all just became family," she said, turning to look at the sheepish pair from the Vale of Mists. "Is this what the constant fighting has done to the folks out there in the Vale? Y¡¯all are so eager to rush off to your deaths I¡¯d have thought you were young men."


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, looking up to meet Amahle¡¯s crimson gaze. "You¡¯re right. We haven¡¯t been here for very long and we¡¯re taking on too much, too soon."


    "Good that you know," Amahle said with a sharp nod. "Since you can admit to it, I¡¯ll give you permission to do a little bit of hunting on your foraging trip, but only a little bit," she said, tapping the table with the sharp point of a spider-like limb for emphasis. "Since he¡¯s practiced with you, you take Jacques along as well. All four of you will go on this trip."


    "Jacques, honey, you have to keep them safe," Amahle said. "You don¡¯t need to hunt anything for them, just be there to ward off anything that¡¯s bigger than a copper-bellied moccasin. Anything smaller than that, you let them learn what it¡¯s like to confront the lesser dangers of the Briar," she said firmly.


    "And Little Sister," the older witch added. "I know Jacques thinks that you¡¯re more than his match with a sword, but darling, you need to leave it behind on this trip. Show me what you can do as the Mother of Trees, not what you can do as Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal. Some things, I know you can¡¯t do nothing about, but as much as you can, you go out there to fight like a witch."


    Ashlynn¡¯s eyes widened at Amahle¡¯s decision and a grin appeared on both her and Heila¡¯s faces as they looked at each other before turning their grinning faces back to the Mother of Thorns. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I understand. Thank you, big sister," Ashlynn said with genuine feelings. She hadn¡¯t realized how much pressure she¡¯d been putting on herself until Amahle called her out for it, but the way the older woman had handled her, both showing her the error of her ways and giving ground on what she hoped to do... It reminded her of how she¡¯d handled her own younger sister growing up.


    It wasn¡¯t until this moment, however, that she realized just how good it felt to have a ¡¯big sister¡¯ looking out for her. Now all she had to do was prove to both herself and to Amahle that the older woman¡¯s trust in her wasn¡¯t misplaced.

 Chapter 310: The Deep Water Region

    Chapter 310: The Deep Water RegionWith changes to their plans, Ashlynn and her companions spent an entire day on preparations before setting out for the Deep Water region of the Briar. Though the actual planning didn¡¯t take more than a few hours, there was another component of preparation that Talauia declared vital for Ashlynn and Heila.


    "You know, you know, without wings, it¡¯s very dangerous to be in the Deep Water region. Falling in the water is as good as falling to your death. It doesn¡¯t need to be a Giant Thornback Alligator to be dangerous and the water snakes will swarm anything that sinks beneath the surface so you shouldn¡¯t, absolutely shouldn¡¯t let yourself fall in."


    "So, either we stay on the boat, or we stay on the island we¡¯re on," Ashlynn said with a nod. "But no wading into the water. Are there places that suddenly drop off underwater that make it so dangerous?"


    Sailors approaching Blackwell City had the opposite problem when navigating into the harbor. Without good charts, a ship could find itself running aground on a sandbar hidden beneath the waves or other places where the water suddenly became much, much shallower than they thought.


    In the swamp of the Briar, however, the boats were all flat-bottomed and wide so they could have a very shallow draft. In many places, the water was so shallow that if Ashlynn had ever chosen to wade from one island to another in the complex waterways, she wouldn¡¯t have sank deeper than her hips. From that perspective, a sudden dropoff was surely just as dangerous in the Briar as sudden shallows were off the coast of Blackwell County.


    "If there are, if there are then it doesn¡¯t matter," Talauia said. "In the Deep Water region, the water is so deep that our poles don¡¯t touch the bottom anymore. I can just fly if I don¡¯t need to carry much but with all of us, we¡¯ll have to use oars. But if you fall in the water and one of the snakes or something else gets a hold of you, they¡¯ll pull you down deep quicker than you can struggle."


    "You know, I wasn¡¯t jealous when Mistress Nyrielle showed me her wings because she always scooped me up in her arms like a princess and carried me away," Ashlynn teased. "But, Tala, you¡¯re starting to make me wish I had wings of my own."


    "Don¡¯t you know sorcery to walk on air, my lady?" Heila asked, blinking at Ashlynn in surprise.


    "I do," Ashlynn admitted awkwardly. "But, since I¡¯m leaving my sword behind, isn¡¯t it cheating if I rely on Mistwalker Dance when we¡¯re hunting? Big sister wants me to fight like a witch."


    "It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine," Talauia said with a wide toothy grin. "If you can learn to draw on the energy of the world for your Mistwalker Dance then it¡¯s better, but it¡¯s fine if it¡¯s just sorcery. But cousin Heila, I have a different one for you."


    "For me?" Heila said, blinking in surprise. "What kind of witchcraft do you have for me?"


    "It¡¯s called ¡¯Floating Leaf Steps¡¯," Talauia said. "It¡¯s special, extra special for you since the Willow is a water tree. You can step on the water like you were just the leaf of a tree. But if you lose your concentration while you¡¯re doing it..."


    "Then I¡¯ll sink like a stone," Heila said, shuddering at the thought. "Should I really rely on something like this that I¡¯ve just learned? If I don¡¯t know it, then I won¡¯t be tempted to try it."


    "You have to learn it," Ashlynn said firmly. "But I¡¯ll learn it with you, even though I¡¯m not very good at water magic. Maybe you won¡¯t be able to rely on it, but if there¡¯s an emergency, isn¡¯t it better to know it and try, even if you have a chance of failing? Not knowing is as good as failing without trying and I don¡¯t want to see you get hurt because you didn¡¯t have another option."


    "Oh," Heila said, frowning in thought as she considered it from Ashlynn¡¯s perspective. "Then, I guess you¡¯re right. I¡¯ll learn it," she said with a determined nod.


    Saying it was one thing, but actually learning it was something else. The incantation itself was simple, only two lines, just a handful of words. Within an hour of learning, both Heila and Ashnlynn could dash across the shallow waters of the Briar near Amahle¡¯s gardens without so much as getting their feet wet.


    It was when Talauia added fighting to the running across the water that things quickly fell apart. Needing to pay attention to the Thistle Witch as she lobbed over-ripe vegetables at them from the air or flew beside them to deliver a precisely timed shove proved more than either woman could handle. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By the time their preparations were complete, both Ashlynn and Heila had fallen into the water more times than either cared to count and the silty soil from the bottom of the waterways clung to their clothing, skin, and even hair as if to remind them how many times they¡¯d failed to keep their concentration. They¡¯d certainly made improvements, but neither woman harbored any illusions that they would be walking on water while fighting off hordes of enemies any time soon.


    "I¡¯m glad Aunt Amahle told us we weren¡¯t ready for the Giant Thornback Alligator," Heila said that evening as she scrubbed away at the silt in her hair. "Like this, I¡¯d probably just fall in its jaws."


    "We¡¯ll get there soon enough," Ashlynn said confidently from the washbasin next to Heila. She¡¯d spent a good portion of the afternoon thinking about how she would use her Mistwalker Dance to move and fight in the Deep Water region and a plan was beginning to come together in her mind.


    "I think that our goal should be to lure things to us on dry land. Or maybe even to fight the creatures that climb into the trees," Ashlynn suggested. "But after today, I¡¯m willing to accept it if we¡¯re unsuccessful in hunting any beasts. There are still rare herbs to collect in the Deep Water region. Let¡¯s treat our hunt as something extra instead of our main goal. We can always try hunting again in a month or two."


    The plan worked for both women, and both Talauia and Jacques were relieved that Ashlynn and Heila were willing to take several steps back in light of their still-developing abilities. Both of them were certain to be powerful witches one day, but no matter how soon that day would arrive, it clearly hadn¡¯t come yet.


    In the morning, the quartet of witches ventured out in one of the largest boats in Amahle¡¯s collection. This one, while it was just as wide as most of the others, was more than three times as long, and it had been filled with several grass baskets to carry back the herbs they harvested along with any beasts they managed to slay.


    As they exited the familiar waterways near Amahle¡¯s home, an anticipatory silence fell over the group while everyone strained their senses for the slightest sign that something might disturb them. In order to allow ample opportunities for Ashnlynn and Heila to hunt their prey, both witches from Amahle¡¯s coven had drawn their thorny auras in tight, allowing fish and other creatures to swim directly under their boat, even brushing up against it without the slightest response.


    Finally, after close to a quarter of an hour of navigating through unfamiliar waterways, Jacques put away the familiar pole and retrieved a long, wide paddle to begin rowing their boat into the Deep Water region.


    All around them, massive cypress trees rose from the murky depths like the spires of a drowned city, their mighty trunks vanishing into darkness beneath the water¡¯s surface while their branches wove together far overhead to create a canopy that left the waterways in perpetual twilight. Clusters of gnarled cypress knees stood above the water like miniature islands that insects and small birds clung to while searching for food in the dim waterway.


    The thick canopy and looming trunks blocked even the slightest breeze, leaving the air not only oppressively hot and humid but as still as the inside of a tomb. The surface of the water was like black glass, disturbed only by the ripples radiating out from their boat and the occasional movement of something beneath the surface of the water. Whatever it was that disturbed the stillness, Ashnlynn only ever glimpsed it out of the corner of her eye before it vanished beneath the surface again.


    "Dere," Jacques said quietly, holding the paddle in his hands and pointing ahead with a scaly claw. In the distance, the faint greenish-blue glow of witch-moss could be seen in the dark canopy above along with the faint rustle of something moving through the branches of the canopy.


    "De herbs we want, dey all grow in places de witch-moss glows," he whispered. "But where de witch-moss glows, something hungry always follows..."

 Chapter 311: On Their Own

    Chapter 311: On Their Own"So from here on out, we¡¯re ¡¯on our own¡¯ unless something catastrophic happens," Ashlynn said, looking from Jacques to Talauia and receiving a nod from both of them.


    "Jus¡¯ keep it simple, Auntie," Jacques said. "Ain¡¯t no need for nothing fancy. Get what you came for and we can get going home."


    "That¡¯s right, that¡¯s right," Talauia added with a flutter of her wings as she stepped off the boat to hover in the air above them. "Pretend we¡¯re not even here," she added, fighting every reflex she had to not focus on the places where she could hear predators moving through the water or among the trees. This was Ashlynn and Heila¡¯s choice, their test, and she wouldn¡¯t be caught giving them any hints. She wouldn¡¯t, no matter how hard it was to resist.


    "We understand," Ashlynn said with a smile before she turned to Heila. "Like Jacques said, our first goal is in the direction where the witch-moss glows. Heila, can you take us there?"


    "Yes, my lady," Heila said with a nervous smile. Her grass-green eyes flickered around the boat, looking for any signs of disturbances on the water or anything lurking among the cypress knees that might pose a threat before she got to work.


    From a small leather sheath at her waist, she withdrew an intricately carved wand, nearly ten inches in length. Building the wand had taken her an entire week, carving ancient glyphs into the tips of three soft and pliable willow branches given to her by the Ancient Willow. The hardest part had been tracing out the pattern for the glyphs, remembering that their positions would shift once she braided the three pieces of willow into her final wand and bound the ends with bands of silver.


    Once she¡¯d completed the wand, it quickly began to feel like it was a living part of her. With the slender wand held lightly between her fingers, she felt almost as though her arm had grown longer and her fingers could reach as far as her eyes could see to gather up the energy of the world and shape it as she desired.


    "Like endless tides that never tire,


    Let currents flow as I desire."


    Heila¡¯s words were simple as was her intention but she wanted the practice of working with the wand now. When her last word spilled from her lips, it flowed across the inky black surface of the water, like a single ripple from a stone dropped into the depths below them, reaching out more than a hundred feet away before the ripple rebounded, flowing back towards them and lapping gently against the sides of their boat.


    "That way," Heila whispered as she focused on the magic she¡¯d gathered for her use and pointed with her wand in the direction of the glowing moss. It took a moment for the water to gather enough strength to move a boat that carried three people and all of the baskets they¡¯d brought for collecting things. After a moment that was too short to draw a deep breath, the boat began to move as the currents of the waterway shifted at the Willow Witch¡¯s direction, gently moving them along the path through the water that Heila matched Heila¡¯s desires.


    Ashlynn smiled at Heila¡¯s calm, controlled use of the abundant water energy in the Briar. While Ashlynn could have executed the same spell, Heila had already left her behind in the practice of subtle and gentle magics like this. If Ashlynn had attempted to do what Heila was currently doing with apparent ease, she had no doubt that the result would have been a shaky ride propelled by cresting waves that resembled to the ocean she¡¯d grown up beside.


    While it might seem wasteful to use witchcraft when they had a perfectly serviceable paddle, this was one of the strategies Ashlynn had developed to make up for the lack of Talauia or Jacques¡¯s thorny auras. By shifting the currents around their boat, they could manage a less obtrusive passage through the water and attract less attention than they would have by plunging a paddle constantly beneath the surface of the water.


    Their progress was slow but steady as Heila gained experience and confidence navigating between the smaller islands and cypress knees that dotted the waterway. The further they went into the Deep Water region, the more Ashlynn strained her enhanced senses to the limit, peering into shadows and listening to every rustle of branches or ripple of water for anything that might pose a threat to them


    Thankfully, though Ashlynn felt several times as if she was being stared at from places just out of sight, nothing made any moves against them before they reached their first destination.


    The island Heila brought them to played host to more than a dozen mighty cypress trees, each more than a hundred years old with trunks more than five feet in diameter, though approaching within a dozen feet of their trunks was only possible from one or two directions as the rest were blocked by piles of thorny blackberry vines that wrapped around the bulbous cypress knees as though they were the supports of a hedge fence. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "There," Ashlynn said, pointing at a cluster of pure white flowers on a lonely-looking magnolia tree on the opposite end of the island. "I count at least two dozen mature blossoms," she said as they ran the boat aground and set out across the small island on foot. "We should be able to take eight without doing much harm."


    One of Amahle¡¯s most important lessons for the pair of newly minted witches had been that they should never take more than a third of any available flower or herb unless circumstances demanded an exception. Over-harvesting could quickly disrupt the native ecology with both immediate consequences like fewer herbs growing back the following year to things that were far more dire and less predictable without an in-depth understanding of how different parts of the ecosystem connected to each other.


    Ashlynn had seen this herself when she followed the advice of an old text to plant a butterfly bush in her vegetable garden at Blackwell Manor. The bush grew quickly and produced flowers constantly, attracting not only butterflies but bees and other insects.


    Jocelynn thought the plant was a nuisance and refused to visit her garden that summer, but by the end of the growing season, Ashlynn found that her harvests had been considerably more bountiful than the year before even though she did nothing different aside from planting the butterfly bush nearby.


    Looking at the magnolia tree and the many buds that had yet to bloom, it was entirely possible that they could strip the tree bare of its current blossoms without harming anything. Or, if not bare, perhaps they could take half or even two-thirds. But without knowing for sure how that could affect the rest of the environment, Ashlynn wasn¡¯t willing to take risks driven by greed or lazy thinking. She was still a student and she had a long way to go before she felt she would be wise enough to disregard Amahle¡¯s advice.


    "Ashlynn," Heila said, pausing as she looked around the island. "I don¡¯t think I can help much with the magnolia," she said, holding a hand out at the height of her head. The lowest blossoms on the magnolia tree were at least two feet above her head and many of them were even higher. "But I think that¡¯s Lizard¡¯s Tail growing among the blackberries by the water¡¯s edge. I¡¯ll collect those while you gather the magnolia blossoms?"


    For a moment, Ashlynn considered telling Heila no, that they should stick together even if one of them was idle while the other worked. But, looking at the pale white Lizards Tails that grew deep in the tangled blackberry vines, Ashlynn realized that she wouldn¡¯t be able to approach anywhere near as many of them as Heila would.


    "I don¡¯t like splitting up in general," Ashlynn said as she thought through Heila¡¯s suggestion. "But it¡¯s not a very big island. Whistle if there¡¯s trouble, I think shouting would attract unwelcome attention," she said, looking around the island again.


    The feeling of being watched had come and gone as they moved through the Deep Water region but here on the island, the feeling had returned again, even though she couldn¡¯t see anything.


    "I don¡¯t like it either," Heila said. Adjusting her Hedge Hat and running her fingers over the different loops that were there to hold her harvest, Heila turned in the direction of the tangles of blackberries and the Lizard Tail blossoms she intended to take as her prize for braving the wicked thorns. "But if we split the work, we¡¯ll be done in half the time," she said hopefully.


    Meanwhile, in the branches high above them, several pairs of black and yellow eyes turned to follow the women as they split up. A few pairs of eyes looked at the boat and the reptilian man waiting there in the company of a winged woman but most dismissed the pair as too far away to get in their way if they made a move.


    By the time anyone could react to their presence, it would already be too late.

 Chapter 312: Danger From Above

    Chapter 312: Danger From AboveAshlynn was grateful that she¡¯d left propriety behind, wearing a short pair of breeches that stopped above the knees and a sleeveless tunic along with her Hedge Hat as she calmbered over the branches of the magnolia tree to retrieve her fifth blossom.


    Suddenly, a giggle spilled from her lips as she tried to imagine what her mother would think if she saw her eldest daughter with her legs bare to the knee, barefoot and climbing a tree to pick flowers..


    The countess had already been slightly scandalized when Ashlynn took to wearing simple peasant skirts and tunics while rooting around in the dirt of her garden. If it weren¡¯t for the isolation imposed on her by her mark and the guilt her mother felt over keeping her confined so often, Ashlynn was certain that her mother would have forbidden her from returning to her garden the first time she¡¯d seen her daughter covered in dirt.


    Instead of banning her, however, her mother had sent out for simple skirts made of higher quality fabrics and commissioned a blacksmith to provide Ashlynn with the best gardening tools he could fashion, crafted to precisely fit her hands. She¡¯d looked heartbroken at her daughter¡¯s joy at such practical gifts, but it had meant the world to the young Ashlynn.


    "One day," Ashlynn promised herself. "I¡¯ll show you what I can do with the things I learned back then. I¡¯ll grow something special and make a potion just for you, Mother."


    All thoughts about what she might concoct for her mother were interrupted by a piercing cry accompanied by the sound of wind fluttering through feathers.


    Acting on instinct, honed by countless hours of Thane¡¯s demanding instruction, Ashlynn¡¯s hand dropped to her waist to retrieve her sword even as she turned to face the threat. Only it wasn¡¯t a sword that sat on her hip today but the slender, gnarled piece of Ancient Oak that she¡¯d carved into a wand.


    The combination of the quick turn and the awkward grab she made for her wand when her mind caught up to the fact that she¡¯d left her sword behind cost her valuable seconds that she didn¡¯t have and left her so awkwardly off balance that she slipped off the branch she¡¯d perched on, falling almost ten feet to the ground below.


    For a moment, she felt like she was completely weightless as her arms and legs splayed out mid-air. In that moment, her eyes widened as she watched three birds with feathers of midnight blue and darker black dove through the space she had occupied just a second ago. Wind swirled around the birds and a cruel, calculating look flashed across their yellow eyes as they realized their prey had evaded their surprise attack.


    The windstorm unleashed by the trio of birds tore through the branches of the magnolia tree, hewing slender branches from the tree like pruning knives and leaving deep gouges in the tree¡¯s soft bark.


    "Witchcraft," Ashlynn said in shock as she recognised the source of power that the birds drew on. All other thoughts were driven from her mind an instant later as she slammed into the soft, sandy soil beneath the tree¡¯s branches. Bright bursts of light flared at the edges of her vision and for a moment, the world dimmed, turning the perpetual twilight of the Deep Water region momentarily into a dark, moonless night.


    Pain exploded in her back, head, and chest when she bounced off the ground and the air was knocked out of her chest leaving her gasping and dazed for several precious seconds. In those seconds, she completely lost track of the birds who had recovered from their missed dive and were circling above for another one.


    Even though she couldn¡¯t see the birds, Ashlynn was well aware of the fact that she couldn¡¯t stay still and try to recover, doing so would only make her an easy target. Instead, she kicked out with one foot, rolling across the ground like a log for a dozen paces until she managed to stagger to her feet.


    Her chest burned as she gulped air, desperately trying to clear the fog that wrapped around her mind after her fall. Her right hand tightened on her wand and her eyes frantically searched the dark canopy above for any sign of where the deadly birds might come from next.


    "Heila," she realized, turning in the direction that her diminutive friend had gone. There, hovering over the tangled blackberry vines, four more of the dark birds hovered. Their broad wings flapped aggressively and every time their wings beat, they unleashed a storm of blades formed of magic and wind, tearing away at the thorny vines that Heila dove beneath to escape the bird¡¯s attack.


    Unfortunately for Ashlynn, the birds trying to cut a path to Heila weren¡¯t the same ones that had knocked her out of the magnolia tree. Another piercing cry split the air, heralding the return of the birds that seemed determined to flay the flesh from her body with their fierce blades of wind.


    This time, Ashlynn swept her gnarled wand in a wide circle as words of power fell from her lips in a smooth, steady cadence.


    "Cypress guardians, old and wise, sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Let deadly harvest now arise.


    Each needle blessed with battle¡¯s art,


    From gentle green to poison dart."


    Ever since her experience with Cecile in the trial presented by the Ancient Willow, the cypress tree had come to have a special place in Ashlynn¡¯s heart. The tree had a steady, reassuring strength that reminded her of the oak, but its needle-like leaves always gave her the feeling that, unlike the mighty oak, the cypress would fight back to protect those who sheltered under its branches.


    Now, the towering cypress trees shook like hounds shaking off water, shedding hundreds of green needles and leaving them suspended in the air. Like glistening droplets of water, the green needles sharpened and their color darkened, taking on a sickly hue as the normally beneficial oils within the needle transformed into a potent toxin.


    "Through air they fly at my command,


    Like arrows loosed by nature¡¯s hand.


    Strike deep and true, my wooden rain,


    Leave none who face me free from pain!"


    Ashlynn made a sweeping gesture with her wand, encompassing the birds diving toward her as well as the ones besieging Heila. At the same time, the torrent of wind surrounding the birds descended toward her, knocking aside dozens of the deadly needles as though they weren¡¯t even there.


    Blades of wind as sharp as any knife danced across her skin, cutting through fabric like sheers and leaving several shallow cuts all over Ashlynn¡¯s arms and torso. Were it not for the strength she¡¯d gained from her bond with Nyrielle, the wounds would have been countless times worse, perhaps even life-threatening. As is, even though the damage they did to her body wasn¡¯t serious, the amount of pain the wounds inflicted was difficult to ignore.


    Still, pain was the last thing in the world that would stop Ashlynn from doing what needed to be done, especially when Heila was depending on her. While the birds had destroyed dozens of her deadly cypress needles, her spell had prepared hundreds more.


    The swarm of needles followed the direction of her wand, shredding the wings of the first group of birds and piercing their lean bodies and slender necks until they resembled feathered pincushions. Ashlynn¡¯s assault didn¡¯t stop there as the remaining needles whistled through the air like a swarm of mosquitos thirsty for blood.


    The quartet of birds harassing Heila had just enough time to realize something was coming and that they should abandon their attack before the first needles arrived. Two of the birds attempted to gain altitude, hoping to return to the cover of the branches above while the other two attempted to dive beneath the swarm, using the power of the wind they¡¯d summoned to propel them even faster.


    If Ashlynn had greater mastery of the spell she¡¯d used, she could have split the swarm of needles, easily defeating the entire group. At the moment, however, she could only choose one of the groups and she decisively chose to strike at the ones diving toward the ground. Toward the ground meant toward Heila and she wouldn¡¯t allow any of them to threaten her family.


    Already, Ashlynn¡¯s mind was racing for a way to deal with the two birds who escaped her cypress needle swarm when she heard Heila¡¯s voice, clear and strong as the Willow Witch charged out from behind a dense group of cypress knees.


    "Get down here!" Heila snapped, following her command with two thundering cracks of impossibly long whips in her hands. The birds should have been much, much too high in the air for the diminutive witch to strike but when she cracked each whip, it grew longer in her hand, striking like a serpent uncoiling itself as it shot toward the birds.


    With one crack of a whip, the first bird¡¯s neck shattered and the crack of the second whip that followed immediately behind it did exactly the same, wrapping around the bird¡¯s slender neck before a sharp tug of Heila¡¯s hand snapped the bird¡¯s neck, knocking it from the sky before it realized it was dead.


    "My lady, you¡¯re hurt!" Heila exclaimed, ignoring the countless scratches across her body from diving into the blackberry branches as she looked at the deeper wounds on Ashlynn¡¯s body with eyes that were wide in horror.


    She¡¯d hunkered down behind the cypress knees to buy time to form both of her whips, but in that time, Ashlynn had...


    "I¡¯m fine," Ashlynn said, holding up a hand before Heila could panic. "Well, not fine, but I will be. Save your energy," she said before the diminutive witch could begin a healing incantation. "A little of your numbing paste and some bandages and I¡¯ll be all right until we get home. Can you do that for me?"


    "Of course," Heila said, wiping moisture from her eyes. For a moment, as she hid behind the cypress knees, she¡¯d been haunted by memories of cowering behind Hauke¡¯s ice shield while Ashlynn faced the Tuscans with Virve and Andrus.


    But this time had been different. This time, she hadn¡¯t been cowering, she¡¯d been preparing her counterattack. And, while she hadn¡¯t arrived at Ashlynn¡¯s side in time to fight by her side, this time, at least she¡¯d joined the battle.


    "My lady, please give me your arm," Heila said gently as she retrieved a small vial of medicinal paste from a pouch at her waste along with a cloth to clean the wound. "This may sting but it will go numb right after..."


    Above her, Ashlynn smiled as she watched her horned companion¡¯s intense focus. Finally, the last of the doubts she had about giving Heila a seed of witchcraft and taking her into danger fell away.


    This was the kind of woman that Heila was working so hard to become, and seeing her so capably moving from battle to attentive care... Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but feel like she was finally seeing the woman that Heila was meant to be. One that she was glad to have as more than just a friend, but as a true member of her new family.

 Chapter 313: A Simple Morning

    Chapter 313: A Simple MorningIn the Vale of Mists, during the very small hours of the morning when the summer sun had yet to peak above the hills to the east and the sky was host to a myriad of colors from yellow-gold, to burning orange and pale, powder blue, Ollie made his way quietly downstairs from his luxurious quarters in one of the castle¡¯s five towers.


    In the months since he arrived in the Vale of Mists, he¡¯d slowly grown accustomed to the large feather mattress, the soft, silky sheets and the scent of freshly laundered linens that wrapped around him when he lay down every night. He¡¯d even grown accustomed to the comfortable, well tailored clothing he was provided along with sturdy, well made boots.


    Some things, however, were too much for the former kitchen boy to adjust to. The presence of Justus, who seemed to have been appointed as his personal servant, was easy to accept until the horned servant tried to do the things he saw as his duties. Ollie refused to receive help dressing himself and he only reluctantly accepted help with bathing and grooming.


    Rather than taking Justus as a servant, Ollie tried to treat the other man as a friend and peer, only to be constantly rebuffed for being ¡¯improperly casual.¡¯ Unlike Ashlynn¡¯s Heila, Justus seemed to have a much more rigid sense of propriety and his place in the castle¡¯s pecking order.


    Which was why, hours before even his own attendant would be awake, Ollie slipped out of his room wearing the simplest clothing he currently owned and made his way to the castle¡¯s kitchens. When he arrived, he paused outside the doors, smelling the familiar scent of a freshly lit fire and listening to the soft, rhythmic sounds of knives on cutting blocks as the kitchen began to prepare for the day.


    "Sir Ollie," Georg said with a wide smile on his bearish face. Ever since construction began on the village that folks had begun to refer to as ¡¯Reunion¡¯, the castle¡¯s head cook had seen very little of the flame haired youth who Ashlynn brought to the vale and introduced as her friend.


    "If you¡¯ve come to steal hand pies for your ride to the village this morning, you¡¯re far too early," the pot bellied chef said. "I haven¡¯t even begun the filling yet, much less the pastry."


    "That¡¯s actually why I came," Ollie said, rolling up the sleeves on his powder blue tunic. It might be one of his simplest shirts, lacking any embroidery or decorative details, but it was still very well made and clearly something that had no place in a busy, working kitchen. "Put me to work, chef. Whatever you could use a hand with."


    For a moment, Georg blinked in surprise and confusion, his eyes opening wide before narrowing as he examined the young man before him. The look from the towering cook lasted long enough that Ollie was about to apologize for intruding and excuse himself from the kitchens when Georg finally spoke again.


    "You¡¯re very handy with a knife," Georg said with a wide smile. "There¡¯s a large sack of carrots I need broken down for the hand pie filling. Dice them so they¡¯re the same size as the peas the little ones are taking from their pods," he said, pointing to a trio of young boys from the Horned Clan who clustered around a large wooden bowl as they slowly filled it with bright green peas.


    Thinking back, it hadn¡¯t been that many years since he¡¯d stood in a similar position in the kitchens of Lothian Manor. Neither of his parents served in the kitchens and when he started, he had no skills to speak of.


    The head cook at the time had given him a small mallet and a large sack of walnuts to remove from their shells. Within an hour, he¡¯d smashed his fingers so many times that he could barely hold nuts in place anymore, but he refused to give up, even though he had been convinced at the time that the cook wanted him to quit and go back to the stables with his father.


    By contrast, these young boys who only had to shell peas had a much easier, and in Ollie¡¯s opinion, much more suitable task for people of their age, especially given their smaller figures and petite hands.


    "Understood," Ollie said with a grin as he retrieved a knife and prepared to get to work. "Do you want the carrots peeled or scrubbed?" Ollie asked, hesitating for a moment before he began.


    "Peeled," Georg said over his shoulder as he turned away to inspect the onions that another cook had prepared for him. "But save the trimmings for the stock pot."


    "Understood," Ollie said, ducking his head slightly before he got to work.


    For the next hour, Ollie followed Georg¡¯s instructions to the letter. Dicing carrots, rolling and cutting pastry dough, rubbing pans with lard, the list went on as he moved from one task to the next, helping in the kitchen wherever Georg felt he could use an extra pair of hands.


    By the time he was done, soot from the cooking hearth had stained his powder blue tunic and sweat soaked the soft linen but Ollie wore a smile of genuine satisfaction on his face as he looked at the long rows of hand pies filling the stone oven, puffing up and turning a rich golden-brown.


    "So," Georg said, dusting flour off his clawed hands before he leaned up against the wall next to Ollie, keeping his eyes on the pastries in the oven as they spoke. "I know you haven¡¯t been away from the kitchen so long that you miss cooking. I¡¯ve heard nothing but praise from the men who have been helping you feed the refugees, no, excuse me, the villagers," he said, correcting himself. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So, Sir Ollie, what is it that brought you down here before the first meals are even ready?" Georg asked, raising a bushy eyebrow at the young man.


    "I guess you¡¯re right," Ollie said as he watched the young boys who had been shucking peas while they began hauling firewood to be placed next to the large ovens. They were too young yet to know when the fire had burned down enough that it needed more fuel without making things so hot in the ovens that the pastry would burn, but as long as the tasks were simple, they went about them with a kind of joyous dedication that Ollie couldn¡¯t help but look at nostalgically.


    "You don¡¯t have to call me ¡¯Sir Ollie¡¯ you know," he added. "I¡¯m not a real knight until Lady Ashlynn comes back and decides whether or not I¡¯ve earned the title. She might even be upset at me for some of the decisions that I¡¯ve made," he said with a small, self deprecating chuckle.


    "I won¡¯t claim to know Lady Ashlynn well," the cook said. "But in the time she worked in my kitchen, she struck me as someone who appreciates hard work done with honest intentions. I think that¡¯s part of why she liked it here when she was learning to master her senses."


    "From what I can see, you¡¯ve been working very hard with very honest intentions," Georg praised. They weren¡¯t empty words either. The cooks he¡¯d sent to help Ollie had all returned with glowing praise not just for the different methods the young man brought to help feed an ever growing group of refugees, but the tireless dedication and personal touch he put into all of his work.


    "So what is it exactly," Georg asked. "That makes you think that Lady Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t recognize you as a knight when everyone else around you already does?"

 Chapter 314: What Makes a Knight?

    Chapter 314: What Makes a Knight?Why did Ollie feel like he couldn¡¯t call himself a knight when so many people felt he¡¯d already earned the title? It was something that had kept him awake long into the night more than once and recent events only made him more uncomfortable with the title that people seemed to use for him so easily. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "To everyone here," Ollie finally said after spending a minute gathering his thoughts. "Sir Thane is a knight because he is one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. But that¡¯s not how Sir Thane became a knight at all. He was a knight even before he became a vampire."


    "Sir Marcell wasn¡¯t a knight when he became a vampire," Georg pointed out, pausing to sniff the air before shaking his head.


    At this point, he¡¯d made more hand pies than he could count and there was a certain smell that that accompanied a perfectly cooked hand pie, when the sauce of the filling had become so hot that it bubbled out over the holes poked in the top of the pastry and just a hint of the juices of the filling hit the hot stones of the oven. These pastries were close, but they weren¡¯t quite ready.


    "My father told me that Sir Marcell was a special kind of human merchant when Lady Nyrielle took him in," the cook said, scratching his head as he tried to recall the words his father had used. "They say he served a ¡¯Black Market¡¯ and that he had great skill at transporting merchandise that others would wish to seize if he was found with it. He was a dangerous kind of merchant."


    "So that¡¯s why Old Nan called him the ¡¯Black Merchant,¡¯" Ollie said with a chuckle. He¡¯d never imagined that the youthful looking vampire had been a smuggler, but after taking several lessons in fighting with knives from the former merchant, Ollie finally understood why the vampire talked about fighting in narrow alleys and unsavory bars as much as he did.


    "But Sir Marcell is still a dangerous man," Ollie said, pushing off the wall when he saw Georg move toward the ovens and grabbing a towel to help pulling the long baking trays out of the oven, transferring the hot hand pies to a counter to cool. "He¡¯s qualified to call himself a knight even if he was never granted the title until he came to the Vale of Mists."


    "So you think that Lady Ashlynn won¡¯t recognize you as a knight because you¡¯re not a dangerous man?" Georg asked as they returned to leaning against the cool stone wall to watch the hand pies cool. "Does a man need to be a warrior to be a knight?"


    "Yes, he does," Ollie said, hanging his head low. "A man is only recognized as a true knight after demonstrating his skill at arms, either on the field of battle or in tournaments during times of peace." he explained. "Even then, a man wouldn¡¯t be considered a knight if all he had done was fight mock duels in competitions. Without putting his own life in jeopardy and fighting for just cause, a man can¡¯t be a real knight."


    "Ah," Georg said, giving the flame haired young man a considering look. "This isn¡¯t about Lady Ashlynn. It¡¯s about the human Lord Dunn attacking the outlying villages, isn¡¯t it?"


    Ollie¡¯s face burned at being seen through so clearly but he nodded as soon as Georg brought it up.


    For a few weeks, everything had seemed calm while he worked with Old Nan to select a place to construct a new village. She¡¯d proposed a location nestled alongside a stream that eventually fed the river Luath. While the reservoir formed by the dam they built in the first week wouldn¡¯t be full until next year, just the process of clearing land and building the dam had given the displaced refugees hope of a new life beginning in the Vale of Mists.


    That hopeful air burst like the Heartwood Clan¡¯s original dam when word reached them that the young Lord Dunn had raised his banner and a small army to attack the partially evacuated outlying villages. Without the protection of the fortified walls of the Vale of Mists, few villages managed to resist the onslaught of soldiers determined to raise their villages to the ground and burn any villager they found, whether that villager was already dead or not.


    The horror of the attack had sparked a second wave of refugees fleeing for safety and leaving nearly everything they owned behind in the hopes that the Dunn soldiers wouldn¡¯t chase them once they¡¯d abandoned their villages.


    "Milo left two days ago," Ollie said, his voice heavy and resigned. "He¡¯s going to escort refugees as far as the walls and then he¡¯ll go look for more. He¡¯s not the only one who left the construction of the village to help people make it here."


    "Commander Bassinger departed two weeks ago," Georg said, rubbing his furry chin in thought. "He took quite a few soldiers with him."


    "Even Harrod went with Commander Bassinger," Ollie said with a trace of bitterness coloring his words. Harrod had been the first Eldritch person he met and until recently, he¡¯d served as Ollie¡¯s guard. It wasn¡¯t until the horned soldier left that Ollie realized how much he¡¯d grown accustomed to the other man¡¯s company and the feeling of safety he had when the other man was around.


    Spats of violence between the refugees as petty disagreements flared in a tense environment had become more rare since construction started and almost no one directed any of their discontent at Ollie, though there were always a few who felt that their needs should be prioritized ahead of others and blamed Ollie for his choices.


    Yet none of those disagreements had escalated to the point where he needed a guard to protect him and so it had been hard to protest when Harrod left to join Commander Bassinger in fighting the Dunns. Now, with Milo¡¯s departure, there were very few people remaining in the Vale of Mists that he considered to be his friends and that made it even harder to stay behind while so many others left.


    "But you have work to do here," Georg observed as he started to understand where Ollie was coming from. "You can¡¯t rush off to battle because you have to oversee the construction of the village. Do you think that you can¡¯t become a knight until you¡¯ve fought in a battle? Are you upset because you¡¯re being denied a chance to earn your honor?" the bearish cook asked.


    "That¡¯s not it, not exactly," Ollie said. "I, I don¡¯t belong on the battlefield yet, even if I could go. Marcell has been teaching me but the nights are so short that I haven¡¯t been able to practice much and I¡¯m so tired by the time the sun sets that I¡¯m barely making any progress."


    "So you think that everyone is calling you a knight when you haven¡¯t done what you¡¯re supposed to do to earn it," Georg said with an understanding nod. "But, Ollie, don¡¯t you think that you¡¯re selling yourself a little short?"


    "Huh? How so?" Ollie asked, wrinkling his brow in confusion.


    "Here," Georg said, snatching a pair of cooling hand pies from the table and passing one over to Ollie before taking a tentative bite himself. "What do you think? Did they turn out well?"


    "Hot," Ollie said, passing the hand pie back and forth between his hands and giving Georg¡¯s claws an envious glance. Grabbing a small wooden bowl, Ollie dropped the hot hand pie into the bowl and broke off a piece with a fork, blowing on it several times before taking a delicate bite.


    Rich buttery pastry crumbled as soon as it touched his tongue, carrying with it a comforting blend of decadent, caramelized onions, a sweet burst of fresh pea and tender carrots, all swimming in a thick pork gravy.


    "It¡¯s good," Ollie said around the mouthful of food, exhaling hot steam in several quick breaths before he finally managed to swallow the flavorful bite. "It¡¯s really good."


    "Ollie, how much courage did it take to eat that?" Georg asked with a toothy grin on his face. "Was it hard?"


    "Courage?" Ollie asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion and looking at the remainder of the steaming hot hand pie in his bowl. "It wasn¡¯t that hot."


    "That¡¯s not what I meant," Georg said, placing a clawed hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder. "If last year¡¯s Ollie was standing here watching, the Ollie who hadn¡¯t met Lady Ashlynn yet, how much courage do you think he would see in you, watching you breaking bread with a ¡¯Clawed Demon¡¯ as though it was an ordinary day?"


    "If the Ollie of a year ago followed you to a village full of ¡¯demons¡¯ and saw you giving orders to cooks, construction workers and soldiers alike," Georg added, giving Ollie¡¯s shoulder a firm squeeze. "How much courage do you think he would see in you?"


    "But that isn¡¯t..." Ollie started only to stop when Georg placed a claw over his lips.


    "War is coming, Sir Ollie," he said ."Even a simple cook like me knows it. But if you talk to me about bravery and fighting for a just cause, then it¡¯s hard not to call you a knight. The other humans who came back with you, they mostly keep to themselves, but not you. You try every day to help the people of the vale, whether they lived here all their lives or they just arrived."


    "If that isn¡¯t having courage and fighting for just cause," Georg said. "Then I don¡¯t know what is."

 Chapter 315: Demonic Cruelty (Part One)

    Chapter 315: Demonic Cruelty (Part One)To the north of the River Luath, the Dunn Barony sprawled over a vast stretch of land that butted up against the western forests to the north of the Vale of Mists. Villages that had grown large enough to be called small towns dotted the landscape along with many other small villages and hamlets. All along the western border, dirt roads worn down by constant patrolling of soldiers on horseback connected the network of tiny settlements to Castle Dunn and its surrounding town.


    What made the hamlets and villages of the Dunn Barrony unique, even in Lothian March, is that every single one of them, even if it was home to less than a hundred people, was surrounded by strong wooden walls and a wide, dry moat. Some had filled their moats with wooden stakes, while others had lined them with stacked stones but every single settlement was prepared to be attacked by demons at any moment.


    When Liam Dunn put out the call for men to join his banner, it wasn¡¯t just the glory of fighting demons or the riches a person could obtain by presenting a trophy taken from a slain demon that he used to entice people with. These small communities, tiny as they were, formed a vital part of his recruiting strategy.


    A village should be overseen by a knight and this had been the custom in the Kingdom of Gaal and even in the old countries for hundreds of years. However, a baron was limited in how many knights could serve under his banner. For over a century, countless barons had chafed at their inability to expand their domains with the limited number of knights at their disposal. Many had watched vast areas within their domains remain wild, unable to be settled and tamed because they had exhausted their supply of minor lords to administer to new domains.


    The Dunns had followed a different path. Instead of constructing one village and installing a knight to lord over it, they constructed a string of smaller hamlets and connected them with primitive roads. These hamlets were overseen, not by knights, but by Guard Captains and a small contingent of armed men who could defend the hamlet if it was ever attacked.


    There was an unspoken promise between the Dunn family and these guard captains. One day, the shackles that held the Dunns back would fall away and they would assume a higher position. When that happened, many more knights would be needed and many of these hamlets would be allowed to grow into proper villages.


    Of course, the Dunn family wasn¡¯t investing in all of those hamlets and guardsmen for nothing. Now that Liam Dunn had raised his banner in the name of conquering new land, offering men the chance to carve out a parcel of land for themselves and maybe, one day, a title, the trained soldiers of the Dunn family were able to form a strong core of a fighting force, supplemented with twice their number in irregular recruits.


    Some of those irregulars were excellent fighters with good equipment who worked as mercenaries or merchant guards most of the time. Others were young men with hand-me-down weapons and armor and heads stuffed with tales of glory and valor that served them as well as cotton stuffed into their ears.


    It was the latter type of irregular soldier that Guard Captain Jorg cursed as he limped through Liam Dunn¡¯s command camp in the wilderness. Bandages wrapped around his right thigh and knee, holding the arrow in place that had pierced his gambeson and breeches alike.


    It had to be a miracle of some sort that it hadn¡¯t cut one of the large arteries in his leg or he would surely have bled out before he managed to make it back to camp. As is, the wound might still end his career as a soldier but as long as he reached the care of Lord Loman Lothian at least he would likely survive.


    "Almost there, Captain," A soldier at his right side said as he helped his captain struggle through the bustling camp. "Lucky for us, Lord Loman is here. He¡¯ll patch you right up, good as new in no time."


    "Pev," the captain said, shaking his head at the other soldier who¡¯d accompanied him from their tiny hamlet to the north. "I can¡¯t go back out there with those fools. The next one who charges off after a demon and sets off one of their infernal traps is going to get us all killed. We won¡¯t be so lucky again."


    No sooner had Jorg¡¯s group of professional soldiers and irregular recruits caught their first glimpse of a flat-tailed demon than one of the young fools had rushed forward, waving his ax and shouting that he would claim the gold sovereign for the demon¡¯s tail. Two other fools had chased after him, shouting boldly that they would be the ones to claim the prize.


    Jorg¡¯s shouted orders to return to formation meant nothing to the hot-headed glory hounds and moments later they¡¯d blundered into a fiendish trap that dropped half a dozen slender trees on them. The trees had trunks that were slender enough for a man to wrap his hands around, but Jorg and his men were immediately mired in a tangled sea of branches and leaves that made moving around impossible.


    It was only after his men were pinned down that the rain of arrows began. The charging idiots were the first to suffer at the hands of the demons but by the time anyone had freed themselves from the primitive trap, half his men were sporting wounds from at least one arrow.


    "We¡¯re just lucky the demon cared more about running away than finishing the job," Pev said, making a sign with his free hand to honor the Holy Lord of Light for protecting them from the demon archers. "If they¡¯d had more time, we¡¯d have been pincushions."


    As he spoke, the two men reached one of the largest tents in Lord Liam¡¯s camp. Unlike the grand command tent at the center of camp which was draped in silks and displayed several colorful banners outside its entrance, this tent was simple and shaped in a long rectangle to hold as many people as possible.


    "More wounded?" Loman Lothian said in a ragged, fatigued voice as he stood up from beside a rough cot and the pale-faced soldier lying atop it to look at the soldiers entering.


    At most, the tent could hold forty men on simple cots made of canvas stretched across a wooden frame. Presently, more than half of those cots were full and Loman had been working from dawn until dusk in the summer heat just to keep enough cots free to receive a fresh batch of wounded soldiers at the start of the next day.


    "I brought Captain Jorg back first," Pev said as he helped his captain to one of the open cots. "There are nine more making their way back here as fast as their wounds will allow.


    "Nine more," Loman said, turning to the other lord in the room and looking at him with weary, exhausted eyes. "Lord Liam, is it always like this when you lead your men to fight the demons?"


    "No, not even close," Liam said darkly as he watched Loman gather up his supplies and move to the injured captain¡¯s side to begin cutting away the bandages so he could remove the arrow. Liam had fought the demons before. He¡¯d even conquered two demon villages, wresting a sizeable chunk of land from demon hands and allowing the establishment of four new hamlets. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    But this time, something was different. The demons were inflicting cruel injuries instead of killing his men outright. Liam wasn¡¯t Owain, each death cut like a knife to his own flesh and his family paid a sizeable reward to the family of a fallen soldier who fought well on the battlefield. It was one of the reasons that people were so willing to fight for the Dunns whenever they raised their banner to purge the demons from the neighboring lands.


    But now, the demon¡¯s new tactics weren¡¯t only merciless, they were cruel, inflicting all manner of wounds on his soldiers and then fleeing like ghosts without finishing anyone off. It should have been a blessing, but seeing the suffering in this bloody tent day after day, Liam wasn¡¯t so sure that it was. The demons were plotting something... and if his guesses were right, they were about to discover what that plot was.

 Chapter 316: Demonic Cruelty (Part Two)

    Chapter 316: Demonic Cruelty (Part Two)"The first village we planned to attack was completely abandoned and I¡¯ve never seen that happen before," the handsome heir of the Dunn family said as he joined Loman by the wounded captain¡¯s side. "Demons don¡¯t flee, even when they should. They all think that they can fight us off because we don¡¯t have any Inquisitors with us, but this time, everyone had already left long before we arrived."


    "A moment, Lord Liam," Loman said, interrupting the young lord to tend to his patient. "Before I remove the arrow," Loman said to the wounded man as he reached into a pouch for a small bottle. "Would you like a sip of Essense of Poppy? It will dull the pain and cloud your mind but..."


    "Never," the man spat fiercely before a horrified look flickered across his face as he realized who he¡¯d spat at. "I¡¯m sorry, my Lord Loman, I, I forgot myself. Please save it for those who are too injured to fight again. I do not wish to become a man who needs to escape into the poppy¡¯s fog."


    "Then bite down on this," Loman said, passing the man a short stick wrapped in leather and soaked in strong willow bark tea. "This will hurt," he said.


    When he first began treating the wounded, he had been tender and gentle with each soldier, treating them like the common people who came to the temple in Lothian City for healing and aid.


    By the second day, he¡¯d all but eliminated his pleasantries as his bedside manner became brisk and more efficient. He no longer asked people to think about a time they were happy or to imagine that the hand of their fellow soldier was the hand of a loved one for them to clutch. "Bite down, this will hurt," was all the warning he gave before he shoved forward on the arrow, pushing the barbed head all the way through the leg and removing it from the other side before he began his prayer.


    "O Lord of Light who rules on high,


    Whose mercy stretches ¡¯cross the sky,


    Let healing light mend his flesh and ease his pain,


    Make whole the broken so he may walk again."


    Pale golden light gathered around Loman like a halo, shining on his chestnut hair and making his white and gold robes appear radiant and far too pure for the dirty, bloody world in this field hospital. Then, as he pressed his glowing palms to the wound, the energy spilled from his hands into the wound.


    Captain Jorg¡¯s teeth had bitten into the leather hard enough to leave an impression of his teeth in the wood beneath the leather with his eyes screwed so tightly shut that tears leaked from them. The instant Loman¡¯s hands touched the wound, however, the pain melted away like the aches of the body fading in a hot bath. Flesh moved like putty under Loman¡¯s gentle touch and within the span of a few minutes, not a trace of the wound remained. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "May the blessings of the Holy Lord of Light be upon you," Loman said in a shaky voice. "May you live virtuously from this day and wield your sword against the demons of darkness to repay the Holy Lord of Light for the gift of healing he has bestowed on you."


    "Thank, thank you, my lord," Jorg said, reaching out with his fingers to gently touch the patch of pale skin where the wound had once been. Not a trace of the injury remained and his leg felt strong enough to run back to his injured men if he wanted to... or to chase down the idiots responsible for getting them caught in a trap.


    "Don¡¯t thank me," Loman said humbly. "I¡¯m nothing more than a vessel for the power of the Holy Lord of Light. Give your thanks to him."


    "Lord Loman," Liam interrupted before the freshly healed soldier could say more. "You¡¯re tired. You should rest. Let my physician see to the wounded who arrive next. They can summon you if anything urgent requires your intervention."


    "I think, I think I may need to do that," Loman said, pushing himself up off the cot only to stagger as his vision swam from the sudden movement. Thankfully, Liam was close by to catch the exhausted priest and help him out of the tent.


    "Lord Loman," Liam said as he helped the young priest across the camp to his personal tent. "I¡¯m worried that the demons are trying to wear us down by wounding so many of our men. Abandoning one village and leaving only the elderly and the infirm in the second village we attacked... I think they¡¯ve gathered all of their capable fighters at the village ahead and now they¡¯re preparing a counterattack."


    "Why do you think that, Lord Liam?" Loman asked as they walked. The light of the sun, the first he¡¯d seen of it in what felt like days, was warm on his skin and seemed to breathe a bit of life into his body as if the Holy Lord of Light was helping him find the strength he needed even if it was for something as small as returning to his own bed for a nap before he returned to the tents.


    "We have always had the advantage of numbers over the demons when we face their warriors in battle," Liam said confidently. "But now, they must think that half our men are wounded after so many days of their fiendish traps and cowardly archers picking away at our scouting parties and sentries."


    "Any day now, I imagine they¡¯ll attack our camp in force," he said. His words might have been grim but both his tone and expression were eager. "Because of you, Lord Loman, they will be very, very wrong about the number of wounded men in our army. They think they¡¯ve softened us up, but the truth is that you¡¯ve turned their strategy completely against them."


    "When the time comes, I¡¯ll make sure my father knows that this victory is one we owe to you and your efforts," Liam said with a wide grin.


    "If we achieve victory here," Loman said with praise for the Holy Lord of Light upon his lips. At the last minute, however, he changed his mind. After all, he wasn¡¯t here just as a priest. He was here to prove that he could be the heir to the Lothian throne.


    "If we achieve victory here," he said with more strength in his voice than he truly felt. "It will be because your men are disciplined and well-trained and because you possessed the vision to see through the demon¡¯s cruel plan. They wish to wear us down, but you have all the support I can offer to ensure that your men meet the enemy at their strongest."


    "Together," Loman said, giving the other man¡¯s shoulder a squeeze before he stepped away to enter his tent. "This time, the Dunn family won¡¯t fight the demons alone."


    "Together," Liam said, bowing slightly to the young Lothian Lord with a predatory smile on his face. As soon as the demons attacked his camp, he would spring his trap and pay them back a thousand times over for the wounds they had inflicted on his men. All he had to do was wait and strike when the opportunity came.

 Chapter 317: A Healer’s Limits

    Chapter 317: A Healer¡¯s LimitsAs the moon climbed higher in the night sky, casting long shadows through the ancient forest outside the Vale of Mists, Commander Bassinger stood over the map in his command tent, glowering at it as if he could change the positions of soldiers or scraps of information through sheer force of will.


    The tent itself bore little resemblance to the luxurious pavilions like the one used by Liam Dunn to coordinate his campaign. Bassinger¡¯s tent had simple canvas walls, weathered and patched in places, that had been deliberately covered in places with mud, twigs, and loose leaves to help it blend into the surrounding forest. The tent¡¯s peaked ceiling barely cleared the commander¡¯s bearlike frame, keeping the profile low enough that even the sharpest-eyed human scout would struggle to spot it among the dense underbrush in the hills to the north of the Vale of Mists.


    While Loman Lothian collapsed into exhausted slumber in the human camp miles away, the commander¡¯s own forces had gathered to discuss what they had learned from the past several days spent harassing Liam Dunn¡¯s forces with everything from ambushes to primitive traps.


    Several other men and women crowded into the command tent. Most came either from the Clan of the Great Claw or the Horned Clan. Much like Lennart, they were captains in Nyrielle¡¯s army and had served for well over a decade each, some of them twice that. Two figures stood out both for their lack of formal position and their membership in clans that had been long absent from the Vale of Mists. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Well Milo," Bassinger¡¯s deep voice rumbled after several minutes as he looked at the the Heartwood archer. "You and your men have done a very difficult job this past week. It must have been hard on you."


    "The hardest part is holding back, Commander," Milo said with a polite bow that hid his pursed lips and tight jaw. Again and again, they¡¯d been given orders to inflict injuries only but kill no one and again and again, he and the other refugees from his village with the skill to build traps or fight had followed their orders.


    It hadn¡¯t been easy, even when he realized that none of the men marching against them now had been in the raid on his village. It wasn¡¯t personal, these men weren¡¯t responsible for his brother¡¯s death, but they represented the same insatiable human greed and bloodthirst nonetheless.


    More than once, that slight difference, the fact that these weren¡¯t the men who had killed his family and friends was the only thing that allowed him to aim for a leg when he could have sent an arrow through the human soldier¡¯s eye.


    It had been even harder when he had to round on his own people to hold them back from claiming some measure of vengeance against the humans. More than once, he had to physically grab a friend and pull him away to prevent violence from escalating to killing.


    "I know," Bassinger said, placing a heavy paw on the younger man¡¯s shoulder and meeting his dark, clouded gaze directly. "But this is war, not a single battle. Battles are brawls, wars are dances. Right now, we need to learn about our partner if we¡¯re going to take the lead."


    "And just what have we learned?" The woman who spoke was the second person in the tent who hadn¡¯t come from the Vale of Mists originally. Dark hair flowed in waves down a face marked by crimson eyes that each held eight pupils and four, spider-like limbs protruded from her back, supporting most of her weight as she stood overlooking the map. On her shoulder, a long-legged spider the size of a man¡¯s palm perched, its dark, beady eyes surveying the room as though it were trying to remember everything that happened here tonight.


    "My Tusi entered their camp days ago," the woman said, gently petting the furry spider with a slender finger. "You have the names of their commander, their priest, their captains. You know their intentions. Now, they¡¯ve figured out that we¡¯re trying to systematically weaken them before assaulting the camp, so just what is it that¡¯s been so important to learn that you won¡¯t allow us to kill any of them?"


    "Peace, Akshala," the bearish commander said, holding up his hands as if he wanted to surrender. "If the humans have concluded that we¡¯re going to attack them after weakening them, then they have misunderstood the dance from the very beginning," he said with a grin. "That¡¯s a very good thing for us."


    "Then why?" Milo asked. He clenched his fists so tightly that his sharp claws bit into the palms of his hands even through his leather gloves. All these days, the men who followed him here had believed that they were softening the enemy for a critical strike, but if that wasn¡¯t the goal, then what was?


    "Akshala," Commander Bassinger said, lowering his rumbling voice to the gentlest tone he could manage. "You said that Loman Lothian collapsed tonight after healing one man, and that the other wounded have been made to wait until morning?"


    "That¡¯s right," the dark-haired woman from the Night Weaver Clan said, tapping one of her spider-like limbs in irritation. "Right now they have lost their support. If we attacked them this night, even the ones we didn¡¯t manage to slay might still die from their injuries."


    "That would be a pointless victory," Bassinger said with a shake of his head. "And one we couldn¡¯t afford to win unless we were very careful to avoid the Lothian Priest. Most of you are young," Bassinger said, looking around the room at the faces that were as familiar to him as his own family as well as the two who weren¡¯t.


    Many of them were older than he had been during the last war. When he first marched to war, it had been as a common soldier, fighting in the front ranks, tearing into Lothian soldiers with his fighting gauntlets and even his bare claws.


    The captains serving him now had been too young then to have gained real battle experience and there was much that they didn¡¯t know. Or perhaps they¡¯d forgotten because their days as a fresh recruit, when they soaked up stories of battle and glory like eager sponges, were too far in the past for them.


    "Our target this entire time has been Loman Lothian," Bassinger said. "According to the reports gathered by Sir Marcell¡¯s spies, Loman is a rising star within the Church. He has been given power beyond what men his age should possess and he has the ear of the High Priest. Recently, he¡¯s been keeping company with Templars and Inquisitors and we¡¯ve learned that a Holy Light Sword was granted to the Templar that serves as his personal guard."


    "Now, what does that tell you about Loman Lothian?" the commander asked.


    "If we kill him, it will only provoke the wrath of the Church," Milo said bitterly. "They will return with even more of their sorcerers, raining fire down on village after village until they vent their anger for killing their holy man. That¡¯s why you said we have to be careful not to kill him."


    "You aren¡¯t wrong," Commander Bassinger said. "But you don¡¯t know the humans well enough to know what we¡¯ve been afraid of."


    "You think he has the same power as their High Priest?" one of the horned captains asked. "Is that why you¡¯ve been targeting him?"


    "Not a High Priest," Bassinger said grimly. "An Exemplar. They are the chosen of the human god, the true rulers of the human Church. It is said that Exemplars have power that rivals that of Witches, that they cannot be exhausted as long as they fight beneath the sun and stars."


    "That¡¯s why I¡¯ve asked you to pile up so many injuries on their soldiers," the commander explained. "I needed to see Loman Lothian¡¯s limits. Perhaps, one day, he may become an Exemplar. I confess, I do not know how a human priest becomes one and the Church may be protecting him because they see that potential in him. What I do know is that he doesn¡¯t have that power today."


    "Humans with the power of Witches?" Akshala said with a derisive snort. "Fairy tales and folk legends. No one has seen a human with that sort of power on any battlefield anywhere. Someone is exaggerating the strength of enemies long dead to claim greater glory than they deserve."


    Several of the captains shuffled uncomfortably at the accusation and a few even dropped their hands to their weapons only to still when their commander raised a hand and nodded in understanding.


    "What little I know of Exemplars was told to me by Lady Nyrielle when I became her Commander," Bassinger said. "I understand that people from the outlying villages may have reason to doubt her words. I¡¯m not asking you to put your trust in her. Instead, put your trust in the woman who told her that Exemplars should be treated much the same way we would treat a hostile Witch."


    "Oh?" Akshala said, raising a sharply pointed eyebrow and looking at Bassinger with an intense, crimson gaze. "Which one of her progeny found this nugget of wisdom? Sir Thane? Or the Black Merchant, Sir Marcell?"


    Even though her tone held a hint of mockery, seeing how many of the gathered captains still held their hands next to the hilts of weapons, she took at least a small step backward, using the titles the people of the vale used to refer to their human vampire overlords. She may not like her hosts, but as long as she was depending on them to protect the people of her village, there were limits to how much she could provoke them.


    "I¡¯m not privy to the details," Commander Bassinger said. "But it was a member of your clan who obtained the information," he said, shocking not only Akshala but everyone else gathered in the tent as well.


    "The pronouncement that Exemplars resemble Witches came from the Mother of Thorns herself."

 Chapter 318: I Know Where I Belong (Part One)

    Chapter 318: I Know Where I Belong (Part One)Commander Bassinger¡¯s revelation shocked everyone in the command tent. The number of people in this tent who understood the relationship between the Briar and the Vale of Mist could be counted on the claws of one hand, and even then, those few captains who had heard about Madame Zedya¡¯s lessons from the Mother of Thorns were among the oldest in the tent.


    "Has the Mother of Thorns fought the human exemplars?" one of the younger captains asked, blinking several times as his mind struggled to think about how else a powerful Witch from across the mountains could know so much about their human enemies.


    "Witches have their ways of knowing," Commander Bassinger said before he pointed a sharp claw at the furry spider on Akshala¡¯s shoulder. "She¡¯s also a member of the Night Weaver Clan for one, so perhaps a Witch as powerful as her is able to send her eight-legged spies even further away than Miss Akshala can. Perhaps she has other methods of knowing."


    "I¡¯m not one to question what Lady Nyrielle tells me, especially when it comes from such a reliable source," the bearish commander said. "The important thing is that Loman Lothian displays none of the traits of an Inquisitor or Exemplar. He seems to be an ordinary priest, though he is a talented and strong one compared to what we saw from priests in the last war."


    "So, now that we have this information," Milo asked hesitantly. "What do we do with it?" sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "For now, nothing," Bassinger said, tapping the map to draw everyone¡¯s attention to the notes written on small bits of paper there. "Our campaign of harassment served another goal. We bought time for Broken Rock Village to evacuate even the elderly. It now stands empty and ready for the next step in our campaign."


    "For the next few days, Liam Dunn is expecting us to attack him and he¡¯s making preparations to receive that attack," the commander explained. "We, however, will move to Broken Rock Village and prepare to receive their attack. Most of the residents were from the Horned Clan," he mentioned, giving a few of his captains a look.


    "The walls aren¡¯t tall enough to repel a human assault," one of them said, nodding with an understanding of the point his commander was about to raise. "They built their defenses to ward off wild beasts and to shelter their herds at night, not to resist human armies. They probably thought that it would be years before the Dunns penetrated so deeply into the wilderness, if ever."


    "Exactly," Bassinger said. "Building a new, taller wall that would survive a serious assault will be too difficult and largely a waste of effort. However, we can dig a deep trench in front of it and set some stakes as well to break a charge. At the same time, we can prepare a method of retreat..."


    As the night wore on, the bearish commander issued his orders, assigning tasks to each of his captains before sending them on their way. Akshala, as a volunteer spy without an official place in the chain of command, was one of the first to be dismissed, but even though Milo expected to be dismissed shortly after, the command never came. Eventually, while the last of the captains filed out of the tent into the cool night air, Commander Bassinger caught Milo¡¯s eye and gestured for him to remain behind.


    The young archer¡¯s whiskers twitched in surprise, but he stayed in place as the previously crowded tent emptied and cool night air swept into the dimly lit space. When the last captain had departed and the sound of footsteps had faded, Bassinger took a seat on a wooden box filled with supplies and gestured for the shorter man to do the same. The formal atmosphere of their meeting melted away as the commander¡¯s posture relaxed.


    "Milo," Bassinger said as he took a seat on a wooden box filled with supplies and gestured for the shorter man to do the same. "I wanted to talk to you alone about what comes next."


    "You want me and the others from my village to booby trap the village," Milo guessed. "And to build sniper hides along your path of retreat so you can disengage when the fighting becomes too costly."


    "Smart," Bassinger said, digging around in a nearby leather sack for a small cask of ale and a pair of wooden cups. After pouring a cup for himself and one for Milo, he took a deep swig of the pale brown liquid that smelled of fresh herbs and sharp alcohol before giving the young archer a very evaluating stare.


    "You¡¯ve done well with your kinsmen all through this campaign," Bassinger praised while Milo sipped cautiously at his ale. The foam tickled his nose and he wasn¡¯t entirely sure he liked the beverage but he was unwilling to be rude enough to reject the commander¡¯s offer. "It hasn¡¯t been long, but I¡¯m old enough and I¡¯ve seen enough warriors come and go to know a man who can lead when I see one. You have the gift, Milo."


    "Thank you, Commander," Milo said, ducking his head while his tail swished in embarrassment. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d done well at all. He¡¯d only barely kept the others from his village in line and he¡¯d cursed himself several times for denying them a chance to claim even a single life in revenge for what had been done to their village. They¡¯d done as they¡¯d been told, but even now that he understood the reasons, it felt far too abstract and distant to feel any great pride over.


    "I want you to join us," Bassinger said bluntly. "Not as a soldier, but as a captain, like the others from tonight¡¯s meeting. It would be good if more of your clansmen came with you, but even if none of them do, I would still offer you a position of leadership. If you think enough of your clansmen will join you, I wouldn¡¯t mind forming an entire unit under your command. We could use snipers and trappers that can operate as a unit in the war to come."

 Chapter 319: I Know Where I Belong (Part Two)

    Chapter 319: I Know Where I Belong (Part Two)"I want you to join us. Not as a soldier, but as a captain," Bassinger said, leaning forward on the wooden crate and holding his wooden cup of ale in both hands as he made his earnest request.


    "Commander Bassinger," Milo said, his whiskers twitching in shock as he was momentarily stunned by the offer. "I, I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t" he said as soon as he recovered. "Perhaps there¡¯s someone else from my village, or one of the other Heartwood clan villages that¡¯s further away and didn¡¯t suffer like we did, but.... I can¡¯t do this."


    "Why not?" The bearish commander asked, surprised by how quickly Milo had rejected his offer. "Is it because you¡¯ve had enough of war? I thought that you and your clansmen still wanted a chance to wash away your hatred in Lothian blood. Have these few days changed your minds?" S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, not at all," Milo said, his gaze growing sharp as his free hand curled into a tight fist. The hand holding the wooden cup remained perfectly steady. No matter how simply it had been carved, no one from his clan would ever lose control of themselves to the extent of harming the fruit of another woodworker¡¯s labor, but his tail thumped the ground several times in agitation.


    "I hate them," he said. "I hate them more than I have words to describe. But there are more important things than hating the Lothians. I only came this time because... because several of us were hoping to spill Lothian blood and because we thought we might get to face Owan Lothian¡¯s men again to claim our vengeance. But they aren¡¯t here and we," he said, his tone turning bitter. "We have been denied our chance to take human lives in the war so far."


    "You¡¯ll have that chance very soon," Commander Bassinger pointed out. "The humans leave their priests and healers in their well defended camps when they send their soldiers to raid a village. We won¡¯t have to be cautious about Loman Lothian anymore. You can kill to your heart¡¯s content as long as you follow my orders about where you stand and when you retreat."


    "I, I appreciate your offer," Milo said after spending several moments sipping the foamy ale and organizing his thoughts. "And we¡¯ll fight under your command until it¡¯s time to return to the Vale. I¡¯m not going to abandon you now just because we haven¡¯t been able to kill our enemy yet. I don¡¯t have to like it to understand that there¡¯s a bigger picture and we all have to play our parts. You don¡¯t have to worry, I¡¯ll play mine in the days to come."


    "But after that, you¡¯ll leave the army?" Commander Bassinger asked, raising a bushy eyebrow at the young archer. "Why?"


    "Because this isn¡¯t where I belong," Milo replied with a helpless shrug. "I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll find a place to fight in the war to come. I don¡¯t intend to hide from it. Perhaps, if I¡¯m lucky, I¡¯ll have a chance to kill the men who burned Lako to death with my own hands. Perhaps I won¡¯t. But, as I said, there are more important things than my hatred."


    "Family?" Bassinger asked, scratching the fur on his cheak with a sharp claw. "I heard that Old Nan was doing better now that construction on a new village had begun. Or are you planning to start a family? If you need to wait until you¡¯ve had a chance to father a child, I can give you some time," the bearish commander said.


    It was something that he had seen many times in the war before. The more times men danced with death and lived, the hotter the fire in their loins burned to leave behind an heir who could continue their legacy if they failed to return one day. No man wanted to die childless, esecially not one as recently married as he¡¯d heard Milo was.


    "Yes, family," Milo agreed with a nod. "But not like you think. It, it¡¯s Sir Ollie," he said a touch awkwardly. "I know he¡¯ll fight in the battles to come. I intend to be by his side when he does. I can¡¯t do that if I¡¯m responsible for leading a unit of my own. He can¡¯t be here right now because he¡¯s taking care of my family, building our new home along with everyone else¡¯s new home," he said, hanging his head in guilt and shame.


    "That was the last reason I came," Milo admitted. "Because Sir Ollie can¡¯t, then I can at least earn some honor for our village in his place. I owe him that and more."


    "The lad means that much to you, does he?" Bassinger asked, leaning back in surprise. It hadn¡¯t been two months yet and already Milo looked like he would march to his death if the red haired human commanded it. To inspire that kind of loyalty so quickly was no easy feat. "Why? Why go so far for a human when humans burned down your village and killed your clansmen?"


    "Because Sir Ollie isn¡¯t like those humans," Milo said. "Commander, you may know about our traditions, but you didn¡¯t grow up in a Heartwood burrow. You don¡¯t know what it meant for us to loose our homes and everything that made them precious to us."


    "When Sir Ollie took me back to our village, the fires were still smoldering and in some places, the embers hadn¡¯t burned out," he said, his eyes growing distant as he remembered the horrifying devastation he¡¯d returned to. "But Sir Ollie, he knelt in the ash with me and dug through the wreckage with his bare hands. Even if it meant he might burn himself, he was delicate, and he handled each carving we found like it was one of the sacred relics of his own Church."


    "He brought my mother back from a place of darkness and depression and he¡¯s worked tirelessly every day to give us a new home in the Vale of Mists," Milo said, his tail hanging low on the ground. "He calls himself a coward," Milo said softly. "But he¡¯s the bravest man I know. He won¡¯t give up on us, even when we¡¯ve given up on ourselves."


    "I see," Bassigner said, swallowing the last of his ale and standing to place a heavy paw on the young man¡¯s shoulder. "In that case, it wounds like you know where you belong. I won¡¯t ask again."


    The commander¡¯s eyes lingered on the map on the table for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he turned back to Milo, there was a hint of challenge in his eyes as he considered the best way to motivate this reluctant soldier in the short period of time he would have him.


    "Before you return to Sir Ollie¡¯s side though, let¡¯s make sure you and your clansmen have something to be proud of," he said, hopping that Milo would rise to the challenge. He¡¯d already pushed them to their limits by forbidding them from taking any human lives in the campaign so far. Since he couldn¡¯t rely on a formal chain of command to keep Milo and his clansmen in line, he¡¯d resort to other methods to encourage them to go along with his plans.


    "Your people know more about traps and moving in concealment than any of my captains," Bassinger said, his voice full of praise. "You¡¯ve done masterfully so far, but I¡¯ve as good as placed a muzzle around your mouth and tied you tails to your backs. It¡¯s time to take the restraints off," he said, unrolling a more detailed sketch of the village and the area around it.


    "Digging a trench and reinforcing the wooden palisade is a start and my men can manage that," the bearish commander said. "What I want to know is what we haven¡¯t thought of yet. We¡¯ve bought at least two days of time before the Dunns poke their heads out of their fortified camp, maybe as many as five. What can you do in that amount of time?"


    "You mentioned a path to retreat," Milo said, moving to stand over the map as his whiskers twitched in thought. "That means we have to make a path difficult for the humans to approach so they don¡¯t trap us in the village we want to flee..."


    As he spoke, the two men grew more and more engaged, each suggesting ideas or refining the ones the other man had put forward. Inwardly, Commander Bassinger couldn¡¯t help but be a little jealous that he hadn¡¯t gotten to Milo before Ollie had. But perhaps, even if he had met the cunning young archer first, it wouldn¡¯t have mattered.


    After all, while Bassinger might be a fearsome commander on the battlefield, Sir Ollie had conquered the hearts of the people who followed him. Compared to what Ollie had done, the loyalty Bassinger could buy by offering a chance to claim revenge seemed ephemeral and fleeting. But when that loyalty was directed to someone who showed as much promise as young Ollie did... it was hard for even the veteran commander to remain jealous for long.

 Chapter 320: A Visiting Lord

    Chapter 320: A Visiting LordAfter weeks of travel, Owan Lothian had grown sick of the interior of his luxurious carriage. Even though it was spacious with seats upholstered in soft suede and the springs of the carriage were far better than those used on most carriages, nothing could turn the cramped interior of a wooden box into anything that felt ¡¯comfortable¡¯ once you spent more than a dozen days confined to its interior all day long.


    The Blackwell household staff had done their best with his carriage after he arrived last night. The dark maroon curtains had been laundered and the carpets washed and scrubbed. Scented oils had been applied to the upholstery, masking the smell of unwashed bodies that clung to the interior after weeks of travel and someone who hadn¡¯t spent weeks in the cramped interior might find it to be opulent.


    Owain, however, was sick of it. If not for the fact that it would have diminished his image in the eyes of the locals, he would have ridden a horse himself just to feel the sea breeze of Blackwell harbor on his face and the warmth of the summer sun on his skin. Instead, once again, he was confined to his carriage as it navigated through the crowded streets of Blackwell City to the guildhall of the Fellowship of Wayfinders.


    Staring out the window, Owain watched the bustle of the vibrant port city with a complicated expression. By rights, Lothian City should be wealthier and grander than any mere County city could possibly be. The reality, however, was a stark reminder that Lothian March was still very much on the ¡¯frontier.¡¯ The iron-bound chest sitting on the floor in the center of the carriage represented the potential to change all that, but for now, it was only potential that had yet to be realized.


    The greatest object of wealth on display in Lothian city didn¡¯t even belong to the mighty Lothian family, rather, it was the golden spires of the grand temple that the Lothians had built to gain the support of the Church which dominated the heart of the city with its golden roof and glittering stained glass windows.


    But every time Owain had visited Blackwell City, he didn¡¯t have to look far to realize that the commoners of Ashlynn¡¯s hometown could live lives every bit as luxurious as his, perhaps even more so. And while only a few might enjoy such luxury, there were still many enjoying lives every bit as grand as the other occupants of his carriage.


    "You¡¯re staring like a country bumpkin," Owain said, glaring at his new steward, Sir Hugo. Seeing the man look so much like a fish out of water triggered a festering wound in his heart as he compared the bookish bastard to his murdered predecessor. Sir Kaefin had been a real man who knew to be bold, even when traveling to unfamiliar lands. By comparison, his replacement was far, far too lacking.


    "Ignore the trappings of wealth and remember that you are one of my knights when we meet with these merchants. You don¡¯t just represent yourself here, or me. You¡¯re the son of Baron Hanrahan," he reminded sharply. "So act like it."


    Hugo withdrew his hand from the carriage¡¯s curtain as if burned, hunching his shoulders slightly as he turned away from the window. His hawk-like features that immediately gave away his parentage to anyone who knew his father only emphasized how ill at ease he looked in his fine clothing. The numbers and figures he¡¯d spent all morning reviewing scattered in his mind under Owain¡¯s stern gaze.


    "I¡¯m sorry, my lord," he said, unconsciously touching the leather-bound ledger in his lap. He¡¯d asked Owain to review his work before the meeting but the handsome young lord had only laughed, saying that if Hugo couldn¡¯t even manage to handle the questions of a single merchant guildmaster then he had no business in Owain¡¯s retinue. Now, the pressure he felt under Owain¡¯s gaze grew even greater as it seemed that nothing he did would meet his new lord¡¯s demanding standards.


    "You told me that there would be many ships in the harbor and that it was a crowded city but I failed to imagine something so... grand," he finished awkwardly. "Compared to you and your experience traveling the world, I¡¯m far too limited in my experience," he added, hoping that a bit of flattery would smooth things over with Lord Owain.


    "Bah, grow a spine, man," Sir Rian interrupted, delivering a sharp punch to Hugo¡¯s upper arm that made the slender steward wince. "A proper knight doesn¡¯t cower before sharp tongues. You fought demons in the wilderness and you lived to tell the tale, even if we had to dig you out of the mud after those beasts broke their dam."


    "You still have ¡¯battles to boast of¡¯," the knight said, wrapping an arm around his slender companion¡¯s shoulders with a heavy slap on the back. "So puff up your chest and act like a war hero to these soft-skinned merchants who have never come within a hundred leagues of a demon."


    The pot-bellied knight¡¯s ¡¯friendly¡¯ gesture would surely leave another bruise to match the collection Hugo had accumulated since his elevation to Owain¡¯s service. Still, Hugo forced himself to hide the wince of pain that flickered across his face at Rian¡¯s touch and to put on a bolder expression, puffing up his chest as the other man suggested. After all, showing weakness would only invite more of Rian¡¯s particular brand of camaraderie. It was better to play along than provoke more ¡¯lessons in knighthood¡¯ from the other man.


    "I know, Rian," Hugo said, rubbing his arm while trying to mask his grimace as an appreciative smile. "This would be easier, my lord, if the Blackwells came with us to make introductions," he added, desperate to redirect the conversation to business matters where his expertise might shield him from further ¡¯encouragement¡¯ from his fellow knight.


    "Count Rhys?" Owain said with a snort. Whatever respect he might have had for the man¡¯s position and authority had fallen away while he was still courting Ashlynn when he learned that the count had never once fought in battle and had only fought a single duel while courting Ashlynn¡¯s mother.


    The man might be a ruling nobleman, but he was no warrior and had achieved nothing that Owain felt worthy of respect beyond what he owed the man¡¯s title. Since the founding of Lothian March, there hadn¡¯t been a single Lothian Marquis who hadn¡¯t ridden into battle against the worst sorts of demons, but it had been over a hundred years since any Blackwell Count had done the same. And yet, he was still expected to kneel before his father-in-law as if his title alone made him a greater man.


    No, as far as Owain was concerned, the less he had to do with his inlaws on this trip, the better, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual. Besides, if he had to run to a soft lord from an old county who had never once faced a demon in battle for help with something as insipid as bringing a few merchant guilds to heel, then he might as well throw himself off a pier and never return to Lothian March. The shame of it would be more than he could bear.


    He had made up his mind long ago that he would return from this trip with everything his father required of him and more. He didn¡¯t know what his brother Loman was up to, riding off to fight demons with Liam Dunn, but Owain sensed his father¡¯s hand in the move. It was clearly meant as a challenge and a reminder that his younger brother had done far more for the prosperity of Lothian City than Owain himself ever had.


    If Owain failed here, his father might very well reconsider which Lothian son would inherit his throne. He didn¡¯t think his father would go through with it, or that his pious little brother would accept the throne even if it was offered. But a tiny voice at the back of his mind kept whispering about all the things that had gone since his disastrous marriage to the witch, Ashlynn Blackwell.


    His father had been clear about things the last time. Owain couldn¡¯t afford any more failures. But this time, he wouldn¡¯t just avoid failures. He would seize these arrogant merchants by the balls if he had to, but one way or another, he would return with everything they required and more!


    Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 321: An Unexpected Welcome

    Chapter 321: An Unexpected WelcomeOwain shook off thoughts about his family and returned his attention to his spineless steward. Privately, he wondered what Lord Hanrahan had done to his bastard child to leave him so skittish and eager to please. If it wasn¡¯t for the fact that he was genuinely talented at his actual duties, he¡¯d have done as Hugo¡¯s father had and found a way to rid himself of the cowardly knight, but now, all he could do was try to hammer the poor man into shape and hope that a trial by fire would be enough to turn pig-iron into refined steel.


    "My father-in-law is far too busy managing the affairs of this busy county to spend time giving me pointless introductions," Owain said, waving the thought off like it was trivial. "Besides, if he attended, the merchants would negotiate with him instead of negotiating with me and I don¡¯t want that at all. Better that he stays out of it."


    "Besides," Sir Rian said, attempting to mimic his lord¡¯s disdainful attitude. "Didn¡¯t he send most of his available knights to escort Lady Jocelynn and protect Lady Ashlynn until she gives birth? This is only a county, he can¡¯t have as many knights to spare as Lothian March does."


    "Enough about the Blackwells," Owain said more sharply than he¡¯d intended. Reminders of Ashlynn were always a sensitive matter with him, but ever since the nights he spent entertaining her at the Summer Villa, reminders of Jocelynn were even more sensitive. If he wanted anyone with him while handling these merchants, it would be her.


    It might not be appropriate to involve a delicate lady in matters of commerce but in the few nights he¡¯d spent talking to her about his upcoming trip, he¡¯d come to realize that the education she¡¯d received from Rhys Blackwell wasn¡¯t any worse than his own.


    She might not be clever enough to put all of the pieces together the way he could, she lacked a mind for strategy, but she had a talent for offering up useful pieces of information at the best times in ways that let him refine his own plans and strategies.


    Now that he was preparing to put her experience with these merchant guild masters to use, he found himself wishing she were here at his side to whisper in his ear all the things he couldn¡¯t possibly have learned from her in the short time that they spent together. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Rian, keep a tight hold on that chest and don¡¯t lose sight of its contents once this Master Sebastian starts to examine them," Owain reminded the portly knight for what felt like the tenth time.


    The iron bound chest sitting on the floor of the carriage was their bargaining tool for this round of negotiations. Most of the riches that Bors Lothian had plundered from Airgead Mountain had been spent in the years since his campaign against the demons, but a few treasures remained. Enough, Owain thought, to spark the greed of simple merchants eager to find easy profits.


    Tonight, they would meet with the most important of the guilds on Owain¡¯s list. It was necessary to enlist the support of the Fellowship of Wayfinders to begin ferrying soldiers and knights across the sea from the old countries under the Church¡¯s declaration of Holy War as soon as possible.


    In the fall and winter, storms would make the seas difficult to navigate and prices would soar tremendously for transporting men. The delays caused by his need to ¡¯redeem himself¡¯ for the incident that claimed the life of two of his knights at the Summer Villa followed by the Holy Festival of Light had already cost them an entire month. Any further delays might push back the start of the war by an entire year if they had to wait on weather to assemble their army.


    "We¡¯re here, my lords," the carriage driver¡¯s voice called, interrupting their thoughts as they arrived at the sprawling building that served as the beating heart of the Fellowship of Wayfinders. Flags bearing the guild¡¯s crest snapped in the cool wind blowing off the harbor and all manor of men from sailors to traders packed into the plaza before the building as they rushed to or from the many ships in the harbor, many hoping to finish their business before tides shifted and ships set sail.


    When they arrived, several smartly dressed servants formed neat lines to meet the carriage and a footman raced to personally open the door and help Lord Owain and his knights down from the carriage.


    At the end of the line of servants, two elegantly dressed figures waited for Owain to reach them at the entrance to the guildhall. If it had been Marquis Bors Lothian arriving, they would have come to his carriage door and knelt until he acknowledged them, but for his presumed heir, they were far more reserved. After all, Owain might be a young lord, but this was business and yielding too much ground to the opposing side from the very beginning would only hurt them in the end.


    "Welcome, young Lord Owain," Master Sebastian said with a brilliant, toothy grin beneath his bushy white mustache. "I¡¯m Master Sebastian, Guild Master of the Fellowship of Wayfinders," he said while offering a polite bow. "Come, the journey must have been a long one and I¡¯m sure you¡¯d be more comfortable inside. I¡¯ve had our chefs prepare their finest dishes from this morning¡¯s catch, I promise, it won¡¯t disappoint you."


    "Master Sebastian," Owain said, putting on a charming smile of his own as he extended a hand. When he shook the old merchant¡¯s hand, he was surprised at the strength in the other man¡¯s grip, but even more surprising was the familiar feel of sword calouses on the other man¡¯s hand. Jocelynn, it seemed, had been right about the sorts of lives that ship captains led.


    The realization made him glad that he¡¯d chosen to meet with the Fellowship of Wayfinders first. If he could hammer out a deal between warriors he was certain that the other man wouldn¡¯t press him as hard for funds he didn¡¯t have. With one guild onboard, the others would fall in line like dominoes, each one accepting his terms because the others already had.


    "And who is this charming lady?" Owain said, his dashing charm on full display as he reached out to take the hand of the woman who had accompanied Master Sebastion. "Do I have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Master Sebastian?" Owain asked.


    "Lord of Light, where are my manners," Sebastian said with a harmless laugh. "My young lord Owain, may I present Master Isabell, currently the Guildmaster of the Illustrious Company of Engineers," he said, gesturing to the steel haired woman beside him. "I¡¯m afraid that my accomplishments as a sailor weren¡¯t the sort of things that would have caught her eye, but I promise, you¡¯ll find her more entertaining company than my old lady," he said with a wide grin.


    "My lord Owan," Isabell said, offering a brief curtsey. "As my old friend Sebastian said, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find the feast we¡¯ve prepared to be delightful and the others Guild Masters are already present and waiting. Shall we head upstairs to meet them?"


    "Other Guild Masters?" Owain said, blinking in surprise. Isabell¡¯s presence was already a minor shock. He¡¯d never contacted her Illustrious Company of Engineers and he didn¡¯t intend to until war preparations were much further along. If she was Master Sebastian¡¯s wife, he could understand, but since that wasn¡¯t the case, what business did she have attending this meeting? And now it sounded like there were other Masters gathered as well?


    Just what were these merchants up to?

 Chapter 322: Assembled Masters

    Chapter 322: Assembled MastersMaster Isabell smiled as she led Owain and his knights upstairs to the luxurious dining room on the third floor of the Fellowship of Wayfinders¡¯ guildhall. Once again, there had been squabbling about who should host this meeting, but in the end, she had won the others over by suggesting they let Owain make the decision. Whichever guild he reached out to first would inform the others immediately and take on the role of host.


    Owain¡¯s choice of the Fellowship of Wayfinders already gave them their first advantage. He clearly valued the ability to transport eager knights and soldiers from the old countries across the sea above anything else or he would have met with one of the others first.


    From the startled expressions on the faces of his knights when they were told that the other guild masters would be present, their decision to surprise the young lord with a collective meeting had already handed them a second advantage. Clearly, Lord Owain was trying to make adjustments to his plans but none of the guild masters present intended to give him much time to do so.


    "It¡¯s regrettable that Lady Ashlynn wasn¡¯t able to accompany you on this trip," Isabell said lightly as they walked upstairs. "I had the privilege of supervising renovations to Blackwell Manor some years ago and formed a small friendship with Lady Ashlynn. She¡¯s truly a remarkable young woman."


    "Yes, well," Owain said awkwardly as the guild master¡¯s small talk derailed his train of thought. Couldn¡¯t she have chosen something else to comment on? The weather or the journey? But she had to mention the person he least wanted to discuss on this trip.


    "It¡¯s a joyous thing," he said, plastering on a charming but slightly exaggerated smile. "By the end of the year, I may be blessed with a son of my own. But the priests who examined her fear that it will be a difficult birth given my adoring wife¡¯s stature and a journey of this length would be far too arduous for her."


    "Really?" Isabell said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Certainly, she isn¡¯t a tall woman, but with hips and a bosom like hers, I would have thought she¡¯d have an even easier time of childbirth and nursing than I did with my lads. But I can see that Lord Owain is a man of impressive stature," she added, openly pandering to his vanity. "If most Lothian children are as impressive as you must have been as a babe, then perhaps the caution is wise."


    "You know, I¡¯ve heard that Lord Owain¡¯s brother Loman is a priest of some renown in Lothian City," Master Sebastian said with a hearty laugh. "I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he double-checked the work of your family¡¯s physicians personally, just to ensure everything goes well for his soon-to-be nephew and our beloved Lady Ashlynn," he said with a toothy grin beneath his bushy white mustache.


    "Congratulations my Lord Owain," he said as he opened the door to the opulent dining room before he turned to address the people already waiting for them, all of whom stood politely as soon as Owain entered.


    "Since everyone is here," Sebastian said. "Please allow me to make introductions, though I¡¯m sure that my lord has already at least exchanged correspondence with most of the people gathered here today."


    "From the left, Master Tiernan of the Iron Mongers," he said, pointing to a burly man with a shaved head and a physique that looked strong enough to challenge Sir Rian if the two men were ever to come to blows. "And beside him is Master Olver of the Brotherhood of Armaments."


    "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Owain," the red-haired man with a close-cropped beard said as he offered a polite bow. "I bring Master Paidi¡¯s apologies that he cannot attend in person, but he has given me his proxy for this gathering so I can assure you that the Staunch Armororers will hear of what we discuss today and you won¡¯t lose the chance to include them in our bargain today."


    "I see," Owain said as he struggled to keep a polite smile on his face. Between the Iron Mongers, the Brotherhood of Armaments, and the Staunch Armororers, everyone he needed to equip outfit his army with everything from lances to horseshoes was present which would make it impossible for him to demand concessions from one of them while claiming that it was required in order to meet the demands of another.


    These men were merchants, they were supposed to be scheming, greedy competitors. Since when did people like this pool their negotiating power?


    "Continuing on," Master Sebastian said affably. "The last of the masters present is my good friend in the landbound side of the transportation industry, Master Ruadhan of the Carter¡¯s Guild," he said, gesturing to the scarecrow-thin man with thinning blond hair. Usually, the two men would be at each other¡¯s throats over any number of petty disagreements, but today, such things had to be put aside while they dealt with this young lord.


    "Last of the masters?" Owain blinked in confusion looking at the other men on the left side of the table. "Then these two are...?"


    "Allow me to introduce myself," a short, balding man said while leaning on his gilded cane. "My name is Adrian and I serve as the Crown¡¯s Assessor of Weights and Measures in Blackwell County," he said with a slight bow. "This young lad beside me is Journeyman Cal of the Gilded Jewler¡¯s Hall. I¡¯ve asked him to sit in and lend his sharp young eyes and jeweler¡¯s loop since this discussion is likely to involve the treasures of Airgead Mountain." S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Pleased to meet you, Lord Owain," the sharply dressed man standing next to the Assessor said. Despite the fact that Adrian introduced him as young, he was a near match for Owain¡¯s age, working diligently to earn the title of Master before he turned thirty in two year¡¯s time. For a gathering like this, just being present would be a significant step forward on the path to receiving the Guild¡¯s recognition, but doing well today could shave as much as a year off of the time it took to gain the support of other masters.


    "I want to assure you, my lord," Cal said smoothly. "While I am a journeyman in good standing from the Gilded Jewler¡¯s Hall, I am not here today to represent my guild in any negotiations. I¡¯m only here at Assessor Adrian¡¯s request to provide appraisals for any gems or precious metals that will be traded today."


    "I promise you, everything I examine today will receive a fair and impartial appraisal," he said, hoping that the young lord would favor his response. After all, while he couldn¡¯t come out and say that he was on Owain¡¯s side, but he could make it clear that he wasn¡¯t on the guild master¡¯s side either.


    Hopefully, that little bit of favor was enough for Lord Owain to consider working with their guild later once it came time to process the riches of Airgead Mountain. If he brought that level of business before his masters, they would practically beg him to accept a promotion to Master, if only to secure the relationship he built with Owain today. But all of that depended on how today¡¯s talks went. If he failed, he would be lucky if he retained his position as a journeyman.


    "Now I see why the tables in guild halls are so long," Owain said neutrally as he moved to the opposite side of the long table to take his seat at the center. "If I had realized there would be so many people present today, I would have invited the rest of my retinue along," he said in a tone that held a mild trace of reproach.


    "My steward, Sir Hugo Hanrahan has been preparing the figures for today¡¯s discussion," Owain said, gesturing briefly to the man on his right. "And Sir Rian Aleese has brought a sample of the treasures from Airgead Mountain with him," he added, gesturing to the portly knight carrying the iron-bound chest with him. "Of course, this isn¡¯t everything my family has pried loose from demon claws on Airgead Mountain, but it should give you a good understanding of the riches to be had in this venture."


    "Of course, of course," Sebastian said, gesturing for everyone to take their seats as servants entered the hall carrying bottles of crisp white wine and trays loaded with small, bite-size pieces of bread topped with everything from small shrimp to lumps of fresh crab meat.


    "A toast," the guild master of the Fellowship of Wayfinders said, raising his glass. "To the Lady Ashlynn Blackwell, may she give birth to a strong Lothian heir, and to Lord Owain, that we may strike a good bargain today."


    "To Lady Ashlynn and Lord Owain!" the assembled merchants cheered. Owain, however, found it difficult to share their cheer and it took every bit of strength he had to keep a smile on his face as he raised his crystal goblet before draining to the bottom in a single long drink.


    Across the table, Master Isabell silently watched Owain struggle when Lady Ashlynn was mentioned yet again. The choice to do so, like many of today¡¯s other actions, had been deliberate, though she hadn¡¯t explained to her fellow masters why. Yet now that she saw Lord Owain¡¯s face when they mentioned his wife, her concerns grew even deeper.


    Lady Ashlynn, she prayed silently. Whatever Lord Owain has done, please hold on until we can rescue you and Lady Jocelynn from it. She had numerous doubts in the months since she received Lady Ashlynn¡¯s private letter, but now that she saw Owain and the dark look in his eyes whenever she was mentioned.


    Now, she no longer doubted that something untoward had happened to the Blackwell sisters, she only wondered why Ashlynn had asked her to help Jocelynn and not herself... and she hoped that it wasn¡¯t because it was already too late for the elder Blackwell daughter.

 Chapter 323: Collective Bargaining

    Chapter 323: Collective BargainingSweat rolled down Hugo Hanrahan¡¯s back as servants passed plate after plate of local delicacies to the assembled guildmasters and their guests. Sitting on a seat beside him, a leather-bound ledger contained all of his notes for the meeting with the Fellowship of Wayfinders but his notes about negotiations with the other guild masters were far from complete enough to present any detailed facts and figures. Even worse, no one had told him that they would be meeting with Master Isabell and her guild of engineers. When it came to negotiating for her services, he had absolutely nothing prepared!


    "Sir Hugo, there¡¯s no need to look so nervous," Isabell said in a kind, almost motherly tone when she noticed him looking in his direction. "It hasn¡¯t been a year yet since the tragic death of your predecessor. I imagine that Sir Kaefin left big shoes for you to fill. My condolences, Lord Owain," she said, turning in the young lord¡¯s direction. "From what I¡¯ve heard, your former steward¡¯s death was quite sudden and unexpected."


    "Master Isabell is surprisingly well informed for matters happening so far from Blackwell County," Owain said, once again taken off guard by these merchants. "I loved Kaefin like an older brother that I never had," he said, taking a heavy drink of the crisp white wine in his goblet. "But outside of Lothian March, I¡¯m surprised that anyone knew much about him."


    "Lord Owain might be surprised," Master Ruadhan said as he nibbled on a succulent lobster claw. "Ever since news of your engagement to Lady Ashlynn was announced two years ago, there has been increasing interest in Blackwell County about events happening in Lothian March."


    "The Frontier is a long way away from our humble coast," the scarecrow thin carter continued. "But even I¡¯ve made a trip out there to visit since the announcement. It¡¯s a shame that I couldn¡¯t be present for your wedding, it must have been very grand. The temple in Lothian City is unrivaled outside of the Holy City."


    "Since I¡¯ve been to the Frontier, I know that you may prefer to be a bit more direct than most of my companions are accustomed to," Master Ruadhan said. "If you let old sailors like my good friend Sebastian start spinning a yarn, we wouldn¡¯t get to business until the sun was setting. How about this, since we¡¯re blessed with the company of a Journeyman jewler, why don¡¯t we let him have a look at the treasures you¡¯ve brought while we eat and then we can get down to where the wheel meets the roadway without taking up too much of your lordship¡¯s time?"


    "My lord," Hugo said hesitantly, his hands twitching toward his ledger. "I already have a preliminary appraisal for the treasures we brought. I can share it if it would make things faster."


    "No, don¡¯t bother," Owain said, gesturing for Sir Rian to open the chest. "Since we have the services of a journeyman jewler, we might as well make use of the man. Cal was it? Take a look. This is only a portion of what we retrieved from Airgead Mountain in a single summer campaign. I imagine you won¡¯t have seen gems of this quality anywhere else," he said with a smile.


    In truth, Owain had a reason for wanting Cal¡¯s appraisal. He was hoping that he could use the journeyman to claw back some of the ground he¡¯d lost to these conniving merchants by getting a higher appraisal from one of their local guilds than he¡¯d been able to obtain in Lothian March.


    It wasn¡¯t that he thought the young man would make a mistake or could be pressured, rather, the market for luxuries in Lothian City was much smaller than what it was in a place like Blackwell County where they frequently traded with the wealthy countries across the sea. Here, he thought that the jewels from Airgead Mountain would command a higher price.


    "Let me see," Cal said, taking the chest from Sir Rian. The portly knight didn¡¯t retreat after handing it over, instead he loomed directly over Cal¡¯s shoulder as the journeyman brought out his tools. The sound of creaking leather and the faint clink of metal as the knight adjusted his sword in its sheath made Cal¡¯s hands tremble slightly as he opened his jeweler¡¯s loop.


    Several of the assembled guild masters exchanged subtle looks at Sir Rian¡¯s aggressive manner, but none said anything to protest. A common guard treating a journeyman of the Gilded Jeweler¡¯s Hall with such suspicion would have been sharply rebuked, but Sir Rian wasn¡¯t only a knight, he was the son of Baron Aleese. Meanwhile, as important as they might be, none of the guild masters who were present possessed so much as a trace of noble blood. So as much as it rankled to see one of their peers treated with such blatant distrust, the insult would have to be endured.


    When the chest was finally opened, everyone gathered in the opulent dining room stopped eating as they unconsciously leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the treasures in the chest. Even Sebastian, who had seen countless treasures in his days as a ship captain felt his breath catch as he beheld the glittering jewels and lumps of ore displaying veins of copper and gold.


    "These sapphires are exceptional," Cal said forcing himself to project confidence despite the loomping presence of the portly knight behind him. He held up a jeweler¡¯s loop and carefully examining one of the larger stones that was nearly the size of the last joint of his thumb. "There are inclusions, he muttered as he turned the stone gently in his fingers. "But they can be cut around and still leave a substantial amount of facet grade stone..." S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If you had to put a number on it, then what would you say?" Owain asked expectantly, leaning back in his chair and grinning at the journeyman jewler.


    "As it is, ten gold sovereigns and not a crown less," Cal said confidently, though he had to stop himself from flinching when Sir Rian shifted his weight behind him. The portly knight¡¯s breath caught at the low valuation, and Cal could practically feel the man¡¯s displeasure radiating off him like heat from a furnace.


    "And from a quick glance at the other sapphires here, I¡¯d wager than none of them are worth less than five sovereigns," he added, hoping the good news would be enough for Lord Owain to call off his overzealous knight.


    "Ten?" Hugo said, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I spoke with a jeweler in Lothian City who assured me that stone could be cut into two high grade stones worth at least fifteen sovereigns each once they were cut. Isn¡¯t a third of the final value just a bit too low?"


    "I wouldn¡¯t say a third of the final value," Cal responded with a slight frown. "More like a quarter. I think this could be cut into two pieces of at least twenty sovereigns final value as long as you create an appropriate matched set out of them."


    "The problem is that the labor required to extract that value isn¡¯t inexpensive," the journeyman explained. "You¡¯ll need a master stone-cutter to truly maximize the value of these stones, and even once they¡¯re cut, you¡¯ll need a jeweler to fit them into settings of appropriate value, and someone else will have to either carry the inventory or find a buyer who can afford such a prized piece. Outside of the ducal families or perhaps the royal family there aren¡¯t many in the kingdom of Gaal who would spend so much on sapphires."


    "Sad to say, but the lad¡¯s not wrong," Sebastian said as he scratched his chin in thought. "You¡¯d do better locally with rubies from what I¡¯ve seen. Sapphires trade well in the old countries because the crown jewels of two different kingdoms are sapphires, and emeralds are almost the same. Shame you didn¡¯t fine any sunstones, the church buys those at exorbinant prices."


    "So what you¡¯re telling me," Owain said with a dark expression. "Is that we have something that can be a treasure, but turning it from potential treasure to real treasure will require paying so many people along the way that we¡¯ll only receive a fraction of the stone¡¯s value unless we do the work ourselves."


    "That¡¯s the way it usually is," Sebastian said before he reached out and picked up one of the stones showing a thick vein of copper and tossing the stone to Master Tiernan. "What do you think?"


    "It¡¯s dense," the burly iron monger said as he bounced the stone in one hand. "I wouldn¡¯t want to transport ore this dense very far but if lumber is plentiful and we can do the smelting near the site of the mine then the yield could be very good. With gold veins in the area too, it could be worth while over the long haul, but you¡¯d need somewhere to process all this before transporting it or Ruadhan will spend so much on extra teams and soldiers to defend them that you¡¯ll lose the profits to the transportation and refining process."


    "It comes down to the best ways to use this box of treasures as seed capital," Master Isabell said with a smile. "Journeyman Cal, if you had to put a value on the complete contents of the chest, what would you say?"


    "Um, I¡¯m not comfortable estimating the complete chest, but, could you give me an hour?" Cal said, looking sheepishly from the glowering Owain to the smiling masters. Clearly Owain thought his chest was worth more than it really was so the only way to give him the highest possible number would be to inspect every single gem and bit of precious metal.


    "That¡¯s probably for the best," Isabell said, adjusting her spectacles as she took the lead once again. "While we eat, we¡¯ve taken the liberty of preparing a few proposals for how we might best cooperate. Would Lord Owain be interested in hearing them?"


    "Since you¡¯ve gone through the trouble," Owain said with a strained smile on his lips. "I¡¯m all ears."

 Chapter 324: A Business Venture

    Chapter 324: A Business Venture"Before I begin," Isabell said as she set aside her meal to retrieve a small leatherbound notebook that contained several pages of notes.


    Hugo¡¯s fingers tightened on his own ledger. The woman hadn¡¯t even glanced in his direction, but somehow he felt like she knew exactly how incomplete his preparations were. His eyes darted from Isabell to Owain and back again, looking at the calm, collected engineer as she adjusted her spectacles like she could see through to a man¡¯s heart through them.


    "I know that you only intended to meat with Master Sebastian today," Isabell said calmly as she considered how hard she should press Owain on this point. From what she had seen so far, he was both fragile and offbalance, as though he¡¯d never considered battles fought in dining halls rather than battlefields. Since that was the case, she decided to cut directly to the heart of the matter as she doubted he had the skills to manage a more subtle conversation. "Do you have a chest like that one for each of the guilds you had planned to meet with?"


    Thanks to Ashlynn¡¯s letter, she knew that he didn¡¯t, but whether or not he admitted to it, the way he handled her question would tell her much about the Lothian heir and how he intended to proceed. Thus far, her impression of his understanding of business was... poor. It seemed like Lady Ashlynn had taken his measure quite well and she hadn¡¯t hesitated to lay bare the arrogant nobleman¡¯s shortcomings.


    "I wouldn¡¯t dare to bring so many chests of treasures on such a long journey," Owain said casually. "This one was carefully crafted to demonstrate the wealth to be had in our campaign to capture Airgead Mountain and its riches. Of course, a Holy War will do far more than capture a single mountain but you needn¡¯t concern yourself with other objectives. After all, the most interesting gains should be treasures like these, shouldn¡¯t they?"


    "You would be surprised at what we would find worth negotiating for, Lord Owain," Isabell said with a smile before she turned to the short, balding Assessor for Blackwell County. "Assessor Adrian, what price has the crown currently set on a low peerage? How much land must be secured and held in order to grant a title?"


    "The cost is not low, Master Isabell," the assessor said with a heavy sigh. Of course, he¡¯d discussed this matter with Master Isabell in advance but he never expected that the Lothian heir would arrive so hat-in-hand that she would have an opportunity to make this move. Since he had, however, he saw no reason to go easy on the young man.


    "A knight should not be granted less than one thousand acres of land, though some may wish for more, and it must be purchased from the granting lord at a fair price," Adrian said. "Further, a sum of twenty thousand sovereigns must be paid to the granting lord and a sum of ten thousand sovereigns must be given as tithe to the crown upon creation of the title. This completely ignores the costs of constructing a fortified manor, establishing a village and raising soldiers to serve in the lord¡¯s army during time of war." S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As the man spoke, Hugo¡¯s hands were busy in the margins of his ledger, making careful notes and calculating quick sums. Owain had told him of his intention to recruit ship captains as new knights but he¡¯d never mentioned how much money was involved in conferring a title! Now, as he stared at the growing sum once he added the cost of the land and everything else involved, his heart began to race in his chest.


    Was Owain expecting the Lothian treasury to bear these costs or did he think that he could extract this money from the captains themselves? Just the few names that Lady Jocelynn had given them would already amount to more than a hundred thousand sovereigns... where was this money going to come from?


    "You see? There are other treasures to be had in Lothian March besides the ones to be mined on Airgead Mountain," Isabell said with a smile as she looked at the horrified expressions on Sir Hugo and Sir Rian¡¯s faces.


    Both men were the sons of barons. They had soaked in the notion from birth that noblemen were somehow better than commoners. Their positions were given to them by right of inherent superiority, and yet, the woman before them was talking about buying the same level of privilege they possessed in the same tone she might have used to talk about going to the market to purchase fish.


    "Becoming a knight isn¡¯t that easy, Master Isabell," Owain countered. His voice was calm and even but his hands clenched on the armrests of his chair tightly enough for the wood to creak. He was already planning to use offers of knighthood to entice ship captains to take up arms with him, and in doing so he expected to gain trained fighting men who were capable leaders. Yet this woman thought that she could just buy her way into the peerage?


    At the opposite end of the table, Sir Rian¡¯s reaction was even more obvious as he momentarily forgot to pay attention to the hands of the Journeyman who was appraising the jewels. If the person speaking wasn¡¯t a woman he¡¯d have marched down the length of the table to slap them for suggesting that a knighthood was something so petty that it could be bought and sold like sacks of grain.


    "Before a title can be granted, a person who wishes to be a knight must render meritorious service to the lord granting the title," Owain pointed out as he held up a hand, gesturing for Sir Rian to back down before the portly knight could cause an incident that would completely derail their negotiations. "Further, the Church must attest to the person¡¯s upright moral standing. These things can¡¯t just be bought."


    "You think that funding your war and arming your soldiers wouldn¡¯t count as ¡¯meritorious service¡¯?" Master Olver said with a snort. "You¡¯re not just coming to us for arms and armor, my Lord. Battle takes a toll on both even as it takes a toll on fighting men. I imagine that if I brought a few of my journeymen and another master smith or two, I could shorten the time it took to repair a fighting man¡¯s equipment by several days, and that¡¯s just the service I can offer."


    "Everyone here can do more for you in this war than supply materials," the red-haired master of the Brotherhood of Armaments said. "Master Isabell is skilled in the design of fortifications and she¡¯s spent time in the old countries learning the what scholars across the seas have spent decades refining when it comes to siegecraft. She¡¯s too humble to say it, but she knows more of war than many knights who have led men in battle," he said, giving a pointed look at Sir Hugo and the portly Sir Rian.


    "The point I wanted to make, my lord," Isabell said, raising a hand before anyone else could pile on. She was well aware of what everyone desired from this, but she had to lay out a bit more rope before she could draw the net closed around Lord Owain. "Is that, while you have brought a chest of treasures, it will take actual expenditures on all of our parts to support your war efforts. I¡¯m afraid that no matter how highly that chest is valued, it won¡¯t be sufficient to meet your demands for all of us."


    "I haven¡¯t demanded anything of you, Master Isabell," Owain pointed out as he rapidly lost patience with this woman and her attempts to diminish and dismiss what he had to offer. "Airgead Mountain has rough terrain and the cat demons that infest the mountain don¡¯t favor the construction of large fortifications. I don¡¯t need a master of siegecraft to take the mountain, much less a woman playing warrior," he said as he finally lost his patience.


    Sir Rian¡¯s hand dropped fully to his sword hilt now, and the portly knight shifted to stand directly behind his lord¡¯s chair, looming over the table like a storm about to break. The subtle sound of steel scraping leather as he loosened his blade in its sheath sounded much louder than it should have, like another log thrown on the fire, increasing the temperature in the room even further.


    Beside him, Hugo nearly dropped his fork as blood drained from his face. This was bad, very, very bad. As a steward, he should speak up. He should do something, anything to smooth the tensions before his lord¡¯s outburst could derail their negotiations. And yet, looking at the man¡¯s tightly clenched fists and the way that Sir Rian¡¯s hand had dropped to the hilt of his sword, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to move.


    On the opposite side of the table, both Master Tiernan and Master Olver looked like they were ready to treat the young nobleman the same way they treated mouthy apprentices and neither smith looke much like they cared about the consequences of doing so. Even Master Sebastian looked like he was wishing for the sword he¡¯d worn during his days as a captain at sea and the way he held his steak knife looked far too practiced for Hugo to feel comfortable within arms reach of the white haired guild master.


    The room itself seemed ready to erupt like a pot about to boil over and all eyes turned to Master Isabell to see how she would respond to Owain¡¯s insult.

 Chapter 325: Offering Terms

    Chapter 325: Offering Terms"You may not need me in order to seize Airgead Mountain," Isabell admitted smoothly, refusing to back down in front of this young lord¡¯s ire. When hadn¡¯t she seen men blustering that a woman couldn¡¯t be an engineer, couldn¡¯t study the art of warfare, or couldn¡¯t do any number of things she had already done? If she lost her temper every time some entitled man got his testicles in a twist, she¡¯d never have secured her position as master of her guild.


    "But you do need someone to help you keep it," she said, gesturing for the assembled masters to relax and waving a servant forward. Slowly, as if she was in no particular hurry and felt no pressure from Owain or his knights, she took a large, rolled-up piece of parchment from the servant before spreading it across the table. "This is a simple design for a mining fortress," she said, explaining the sketches on the parchment. "It can be built quickly using materials that are available so long as you bring enough laborers to clear trees and construct the earthworks."


    "I¡¯ve consulted with Master Tiernan¡¯s Iron Mongers about what it would take to construct a foundry for the safe smelting of ore within a fortified mining operation," she added, pointing to sketches for several structures. "From what I¡¯ve been told, digging out nests of demons can take years, if not decades. With my help, you can begin extracting the wealth of Airgead Mountain much more quickly."


    "And the price you want for this is a peerage?" Owain said with a snort. "You¡¯ll hide in safety behind fortress walls drawing your maps and plans and expect to receive the same rewards as the real knights who ride into battle?"


    "Not every knight rides to war," Master Sebastion pointed out as he gestured at Sir Hugo with a crystal goblet. "Your steward there doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s battle-hardened but I imagine that many of your plans rely on the battle he¡¯s been fighting with that ledger next to him. Half a captain¡¯s battles are the same, whether it¡¯s laying in the right quantity of supplies for a voyage and accounting for spoilage to ensuring the men get paid before they mutiny, there¡¯s more to it than swinging a sword. A battle at sea can be won or lost in the ship¡¯s ledge before you ever set sail."


    "And I suppose you¡¯re looking for a peerage for yourself as well?" Owain said, trying to restrain himself as he looked at the aging former captain. He was glad to see the man had experience leading others in battle but instead of finding an ally in the other fighting man, it seemed like he¡¯d found an opponent who wanted to use clever words instead of openly crossing swords. Perhaps he¡¯d overestimated the man and he¡¯d already gone from bold warrior to old coward.


    "No, I want nothing of the sort," Sebastian said bluntly. "I¡¯ll need the contents of that treasure chest of yours if I¡¯m going to charter vessels and pay ship¡¯s crews. I have no interest in lands or titles so far from the sea. It¡¯s the others who you might have a chance to barter with, but for me, coin is king."


    "I¡¯ve prepared a draft agreement," Isabell said, producing a roll of papers bound with a crimson ribbon. "Lothian March would need to agree to grant deeds to sufficient acreage to most of the masters present, free of charge. In addition, the fees for title that are to be paid to the Marquis are to be waived."


    "Of course, we would bear the costs of paying the tithe to the crown and the construction of our own manors on the lands we are granted, but in exchange for all this, you gain our support as well as an initial round of funding to prepare for a small scale war against Airgead Mountain," she finished with a smile as she handed him the documents.


    "A small-scale war against Airgead Mountain?" Owain said with a brow raised as he snatched the documents from her. Once he held them, however, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to bother reading them and instead shoved them into Hugo¡¯s hands while he seized on Master Isabell¡¯s last statement. "This is a Holy War. It won¡¯t end with an assault on Airgead Mountain."


    Hugo¡¯s heart sank as soon as he took a peek inside the ¡¯draft¡¯ agreement. The handwriting was smooth and crisp with none of the inkblots that came from someone who was thinking while writing out a draft. This ¡¯draft¡¯ had likely been revised several times before being handed over to a scribe in order to produce an immaculate copy. Compared to his own preparations, it was frighteningly thorough with page after page outlining terms in exquisite detail.


    "Oh, we all understand that," Master Tiernan said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room as he cracked the knuckles of his thick, meaty hands. "But understand what you gain from signing this agreement, my Lord. It sounds like you give up a great deal up front, but in the end, don¡¯t several of us become your vassals? At that point, as my friend Sebastian would say, we¡¯ve boarded your ship and set sail together. There¡¯s no getting off in the middle of the ocean."


    "Aren¡¯t you selling out your guilds by claiming titles for yourselves?" Owain said, trying to find a way to turn this nightmare around. "Will your guilds really sign off on this... deal?"


    "I¡¯m sure they will," Isabell said with a slow smile. "Please, have Sir Hugo review the details in the agreement. There are provisions that support each of our guilds. For example, while Master Tiernan is willing to relocate and personally work on establishing foundries, the mining and mineral rights wouldn¡¯t be in his name at all, they would rest in the hands of the Iron Mongers. Similarly, there are other terms that each of our guilds would insist on to back a venture of this magnitude."


    "Think about it carefully, my Lord Owain," she said, sitting back in her chair and retrieving a crystal goblet of crisp white wine. "Discuss it with your steward. Write back to your father, the Marquis if needed. We have time to do this right. If we cannot conclude our business this summer then we can conclude it in the fall. What you¡¯re holding is a proposal for beginning our conversation, not something that you should take as a conclusion."


    "But consider one thing, my lord," she said, driving the final nail into the coffin she¡¯d shoved him into. "If this takes too long, you won¡¯t be able to do more than launch a minor offensive against Airgead Mountain next year. I¡¯m sure that we can arrange the funding and enough trips across the sea to gather manpower for that much as long as we conclude things within a month or two. More than that... well, I suppose it¡¯s really up to you how important it is to wage your war next year."


    Across the table from her, Owain glowered fiercely before turning his glare on the young man who had been painstakingly appraising the contents of the chest. He didn¡¯t look like he was finished, but Owain had completely lost his patience with these money-grubbing merchants who thought that they could exploit him to buy their way into the nobility.


    "Well," he snapped, startling the journeyman jeweler. "Do you have a value for those treasures? I imagine it¡¯s all calculated at that same quarter of its true worth, isn¡¯t it?"


    "It, um, it varies, piece to piece," Cal said, sweat dripping from his brow as he spoke. "There are a few pieces of ore that I cannot value without smelting them to extract the precious metal, but I know that my lord included them so masters like Master Tiernan could inspect the raw ore, and..."


    "Get on with it," Owain interrupted. "How much?" S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Fif-fifteen thousand, four hundred sovereigns," Cal said nervously. "It, it truly is a chest of treasures."


    "Fifteen thousand," Owain said darkly. His own estimates had placed it between twenty-five and thirty. These merchants weren¡¯t even giving him half of what it was worth! "Rian, retrieve the treasures. We¡¯re done here for the day," he said, standing up from his chair and turning to leave the room.


    "Master Isabell," Owain said, looking at the older woman with a dark glower. "I don¡¯t know how you came to be included in these talks when you weren¡¯t ever invited. This sort of thing isn¡¯t how business between men is conducted in Lothian March. It would be a shame if your efforts to insert yourself were to cause losses for the men you¡¯ve placed under your spell," he said, directing his glare around the room at the other masters.


    "In that case, it¡¯s good for me that we aren¡¯t currently in Lothian March," Isabell said with a cold smile. "When you¡¯re ready to discuss terms," she said, meeting the eyes of each of the other masters before returning her steely gaze to Owain. "We¡¯ll be waiting to meet with you again."

 Chapter 326: Venting Frustrations

    Chapter 326: Venting FrustrationsAfter the meeting, Owain¡¯s luxurious carriage felt more like a prison cell. The scented oils that the Blackwell servants had applied that morning had turned sickly sweet in the afternoon heat, mixing with the sour smell of three men¡¯s frustration and anger. Every bounce and rattle of the wheels over cobblestones made Hugo¡¯s teeth clench, each jolt feeling like another small humiliation after their defeat in the guild hall.


    The leather beneath Owain¡¯s hands creaked as his fingers dug into the upholstery. His scowl deepened with each bump, transforming his handsome features into something dark and brooding. Across from him, Sir Rian¡¯s considerable bulk shifted restlessly, the knight¡¯s sword scraping against the wooden panels as he adjusted his position for the tenth time in as many minutes.


    "Sniviling cowards, scrambling for coins and benefits when there are demons breathing down our necks," Sir Rian spat, clenching his fist as if he wished that one of those guild masters was present in the carriage with them so he could personally tell them what he thought of their attitudes.


    "This is what it¡¯s like on the coast," Owain said with a snort. "Money, money, money. They treat these ¡¯Guild Masters¡¯ as though they¡¯re the same as knights and even Count Rhys is a member of one of their guilds. He¡¯s actually proud of it, belonging to a guild of fishermen and fish mongers."


    "Count Blackwell is a guild member?" Hugo said, blinking several times in surprise. "Doesn¡¯t that create a conflict with the other guilds that he¡¯s not a member of?"


    "He has other ways of currying favor with the guilds, bowing and scraping before those spineles vultures," Owain said. "Until recently, he actually planned to marry my, my sister-in-law Jocelynn to the son of one of those feckless ¡¯masters,¡¯" he said, barely catching himself from calling her ¡¯my Jocelynn.¡¯


    Unlike the murdered Sir Broll and the traitorous Sir Tommin, neither Rian nor Hugo were aware that the ¡¯Ashlynn¡¯ at the summer villa was an imposter and he saw no reason to tell them the truth. As far as he was concerned, too many people already knew, it felt like it was inevitable that it would get out some day.


    That wasn¡¯t a problem in the long run, as long as he married Jocelynn and inherited his father¡¯s throne then the truth might hurt him but it couldn¡¯t topple him. Until then, however, he had no intention of sharing his secrets with his newest confidants.


    "You know what," Owain said after his thoughts turned to Jocelynn and her perfect proportions and sparkling seafoam eyes. "Stop the carriage!" Owain shouted, banging on the walls of the carriage to catch the driver¡¯s attention.


    "Hugo, get out," the young lord continued, shocking his steward with the intensity of his gaze. "Go find me a woman. Make arrangements and come fetch me when everything is prepared."


    "My lord," Hugo said, frowning at Owain. "Your only just married and your wife has yet to give birth to your child. If she¡¯s carrying a boy, it¡¯s all well and good, but if she¡¯s carrying a girl and you accidentally leave behind a child in this place, it could threaten your succession," he warned.


    Hugo was all too familiar with the fate of bastards. If his own older brother hadn¡¯t suffered a frightening injury falling from his horse, he might never have been recalled from his studies to the Hanrahan Barony. His father had treated him as a ¡¯back up heir¡¯ in case his half brother never recovered from his fall. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A year later, however, when his brother was once again fit to ride and fight, Hugo¡¯s existence had become an inconvenient reality that threatened his brother¡¯s status. Owain¡¯s sudden need of a steward gave Baron Hanrahan the perfect method of securing a title for Hugo and in doing so, making it clear that he wouldn¡¯t contest for the title of Baron when the time came. But now, as Hugo looked at Owain¡¯s burning gaze, he worried that his lord was about to commit the same sort of mistake that his own father had and the consequences could haunt him for the rest of his life.


    "Do you think I¡¯m an idiot?" Owain said coldly. "This is Blackwell City, home of one of the three greatest ports in the kingdom. Do you think that in a town with this many sailors there aren¡¯t professionals to tend to a man¡¯s needs?"


    "Go hire me a woman, a professional will know how to prevent herself from conceiving," Owain said as though he were explaining things to a child. "And Hugo," he added after a moment of thought. "I like blondes. There shouldn¡¯t be a shortage in Blackwell City."


    "Damn, brat," Sir Rian said, slapping a hand on Hugo¡¯s back with enough force to knock the wind out of the slender steward. "Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve never bought yourself a night with a woman when you were lonely. You¡¯re not the charming sort who never has to pay for it."


    "I don¡¯t..." Hugo started, only for Rian to grab him by the tunic and pull him out of the carriage as the portly knight stepped out. "Lord Owain, I could use a good wench myself. I¡¯ll teach the boy what needs to be done, be sure of it, and I¡¯ll send him back to fetch you when things are arranged."


    "And you, boy," Rian said, poking the young man in the chest. "Tonight, it seems like we need to make a man out of you. Don¡¯t hold your purse strings tight," he added in a low voice. "I hear these Blackwell women can rock a man with the rhythm of the waves and they¡¯ll sweap you away to the Heavenly Shores with the way they move their hips."


    "Just get it done," Owain said. "And be discrete," he added before slamming the door shut and pounding on the walls of the carriage for the driver to continue.


    It was times like this that he missed Kaefin the most. Kaefin hadn¡¯t just been his steward, the man had been like his older brother. He even took a much younger Owain to his first brothel more than ten years ago so that his ¡¯little brother¡¯ wouldn¡¯t suffer from an inexperienced partner for his first time.


    Now, as the carriage rolled away, he wondered if Sir Rian even understood him well enough to know what he wanted when he sent the man to find him a blond. What he wanted right now was someone like Jocelynn, with a figure that was well balanced, who smelled of the sea and had eyes he could drown in.


    It was impossible for a common woman to possess even a fraction of Jocelynn¡¯s refinement and elegance, but as long as her features were pleasant and her body was supple, he could lose himself in the illusion for a while and let go of the stress that had built up in his body after meeting with those conniving merchants.


    He was afraid, however, that Rian would mistake his desires and search out a buxom woman who could rival Ashlynn¡¯s endowments. The last thing he wanted right now was a reminder of the witch who had derailed his perfect life. If not for her, there would have been no need to hide away an imposter at the summer villa and Sir Kaefin would never have fallen on that demon woman, Lynnda¡¯s knife. So many things wouldn¡¯t have gone wrong if he hadn¡¯t nearly been tricked into lying with a witch.


    But then, as he considered the possibility that Rian would find a woman who resembled Ashlynn, a dark smile began to form on Owain¡¯s lips. If they found a woman like Jocelynn, then he would relax and let go of his pent-up desires as he waited for the day he could truly make her his own.


    And if they found a woman who resembled Ashlynn? He¡¯d never had a chance to sample her charms, though Samira came close. But out here, in Blackwell City, with a prostitute that no one would care about, who wasn¡¯t needed for his plans to conceal Ashlynn¡¯s death...


    Owain¡¯s hand curled into a tight fist as visions of an evening¡¯s pleasures danced through his mind. There were limits to what he could do with Samira, but here... he could vent out more than just his lust if they found him a woman who resembled Ashlynn....

 Chapter 327: Crystal Lake City

    Chapter 327: Crystal Lake CityWhile Owain sought to drown himself in the pleasures of the flesh to relieve the tensions of his failures, Ashlynn and Heila celebrated their recent victories in Crystal Lake City in very different ways.


    There were very few attractions that could draw outsiders to the sleepy city built by the Ancient Clan. When the flighty and animated Talauia had described it to Ashlynn, the city sounded as interesting as a stick in the mud. It wasn¡¯t until Jacques showed them a few of the local attractions that Ashlynn realized that being a stick in the mud wasn¡¯t an entirely bad thing.


    "De Ancient Clan, she¡¯s filled with traditions dat are thousands of years old," Jacques had explained when they entered the city. "De way tings¡¯ happen here, everything dat people do, it¡¯s jus¡¯ like it was a thousand years ago and more. Not much new gets built here, but de places we have, dey get fixed up instead of tearing down and building new."


    "Families almost never leave where dey started," he said, his voice catching briefly as he looked at sprawling family home on one corner. "But by de time enough years have gone by, ever bit of it has been rebuilt at least once or twice," he explained.


    The Ancient Clan¡¯s homes reflected the same harmony with their environment that Ashlynn had seen in their shops and other buildings. Unlike the tight-packed buildings of Blackwell City that tried to squeeze as many people as possible into the valuable harbor district, these homes spread out languidly, each one surrounded by broad verandas raised slightly off the ground.


    The overhanging roofs extended far beyond the walls, creating deep pools of shade where members of the Ancient Clan lounged on cushions or woven mats, their scaled hides soaking in what rays of sunlight filtered through the cypress canopy.


    Most of the buildings were low and squat, seldom raising more than two or three stories in height and constructed from baked mud bricks or rough cut timber. What surprised Ashlynn, however, was the number of cypress and tulip trees that lined the roads or filled the spaces between those buildings.


    As they wandered deeper into Crystal Lake City, she was repeatedly struck by how different it felt from human cities she¡¯d known or even the neatly organized districts of High Fen City. Here, there were no rigid streets laid out in careful grids, instead, packed-earth paths meandered between the ancient trees like streams finding their natural course. The paths widened into small squares where people gathered, then narrowed again as they wound between buildings, creating a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.


    As witches attuned to trees, all of them were sensitive to places where people had chosen to dominate the landscape with dense construction and the crowded life of urban centers, but walking through Crystal Lake City didn¡¯t feel very different from walking through the forest. Certainly, there were more people about, but those people gave way before nature¡¯s most majestic trees and built their homes and shops in the spaces between rather than clearing vast stretches of land to house their people.


    Slowly, the trees thinned out as Jacques lead them toward the lakeshore. Here, fewer people built houses and most of the nearby shops seemed to be dedicated to recreation rather than any serious form of trade. Within a hundred paces, Ashlynn felt like she¡¯d seen at least half a dozen small cafes, each one surrounded by clusters of people lazing about in the outdoor seating areas.


    "Some people, dey say dat we¡¯re lazy or sleepy because we spend so much time layin¡¯ about in de sun," Jacques explained when he caught Ashlynn studying a group of elderly clan members playing some sort of game with carved tokens on a low table. "But de sun, she gives us strength, yeah? And what better way to spend your strength den enjoying life with family?"


    As if to prove his point, they passed a small cafe where the scent of roasted nuts and fragrant tea drew them in. Outside the small grass-roofed wooden hut, couples and small groups occupied nearly every table, but none seemed in any hurry to leave. Instead, the proprietor and his young son brought out seemingly endless small dishes that they passed out to each table. A few pieces of fruit here, a handful of spicy roasted chicken wings there, each serving small enough that it seemed more an excuse to continue talking than a proper meal.


    "In Blackwell City," Ashlynn said as she imagined this sight playing out at home, "a cafe owner would go mad watching people occupy tables for hours while ordering so little." It brought to mind the recent dream she¡¯d shared with Nyrielle when they gathered at a vendor¡¯s stall to buy a basket of mussels. S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Their picknick had been lovely, but few cafes held more than a few tables for people to dine at, rather, most people took their food and left to eat it elsewhere so the busy shop keepers could move on to the next customers before people could wander away to spend their money elsewhere.


    "Ah, but here, dey know dat good food and good company feed de soul as much as de belly," Jacques said with a warm smile. "De Ancient Clan, we learned long ago dat having enough and enjoying what you have brings more happiness den always wanting more."


    Looking around the scattered cafes that lined the meandering street, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but agree with him. Every face she saw looked genuinely content, whether they were young couples leaning close together over tiny cups of tea or groups of friends laughing as they shared small plates of colorful fruits and roasted meats. Even the servers moved unhurriedly, stopping to join conversations as they delivered each small dish, as though the act of serving was as much about nurturing relationships as providing sustenance.


    Looking around, she couldn¡¯t help but feel like Talauia¡¯s Glimmerwing clan had truly misunderstood the Ancient Clan. Perhaps it was because the Glimmerwing clan focused so much on being the ultimate hunters that they were always chasing the slightest advantage, but when Ashlynn looked around, she didn¡¯t seepeople who had failed to advance. Rather, they were people who had advanced enough to know when to stop, as if to say "this is enough" and focus on enjoying what they had rather than constantly striving for more.


    "I think I see why it isn¡¯t very exciting to outsiders," Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh. "But seeing it and how happy everyone is... It almost makes me want to put down roots," she said with a soft chuckle at her own pun.


    "So Jacques," Heila asked, chiming in from the opposite side of Ashlynn. "You¡¯ve been keeping your lips tight ever since we sold our potions in the market when we arrived. Are you finally going to tell us about this surprise you¡¯ve prepared for us? Maybe it¡¯s not very exciting to outsiders, but you always do things for a reason," she said. "Even if I can¡¯t always understand it," she added quietly in a voice too low to be heard.


    There had to be a reason why he¡¯d skipped past every shop and cafe, taking them on a winding course through half the city until they reached the lakeshore. Now that they were here, just what did he have in mind?

 Chapter 328: A Place to Rest

    Chapter 328: A Place to Rest"It¡¯s true, most people don¡¯t see much point in coming here. But, de medicinal traditions of de Ancient Clan draw people from hundreds of leagues away," Jacques explained as he led them deeper into the forest city. "Some say dat de people of de Ancient Clan live so long because of dese traditions and dey say dey feel ten years younger when dey leave."


    "I doubt Mistress Nyrielle would want to see me when I was a little girl," Ashlynn said with a laugh. "But this doesn¡¯t sound very different than the noblewomen in the Kingdom of Gaal. In Blackwell City, people would come from inland to soak in the saltwater pools or treat themselves to salt scrubs that would be horrendously expensive anywhere else. It softens the skin and makes it glow."


    "We don¡¯t ever have skin dat glows," Jacques said, pointing to his own thick, scaly hide. "But it¡¯s de same idea, Auntie. Here, it¡¯s de mud soaks dat are magical for de body. Jus¡¯ let old Jacques show you de way."


    For a moment, Ashlynn wanted to tease Jacques that he wasn¡¯t that much older than her, he was nearly the same age as her ex-husband but that would mean betraying Talauia¡¯s confidence and so she bit her tongue and let her ¡¯nephew¡¯ put on an act as though he were a wise and experienced old man, guiding them around his former home like an eager tour guide.


    The place that Jacques eventually guided them to was a large wooden hut with a grass roof that rustled softly in the cool summer breeze blowing over the glittering blue lake. The scent of fresh earth mingled with the aroma of freshly crushed herbs, rosemary, sage, and something sweeter that Ashlynn couldn¡¯t quite identify. Wooden wind chimes hung by the entrance, their hollow tubes creating gentle, random melodies that somehow made the air feel cooler despite the summer heat.


    Behind the hut, a fenced area stretched down to where waves lapped gently at the soft, sandy soil of the lakeshore. Steam rose from several wooden tubs partially sunken into the earth, and the rich smell of mineral-laden mud drifted up from carefully tended pools separated by screens made of woven grass.


    "Would you look at dis," a bright and excited young woman said, her long tail swishing rapidly enough that Ashlynn was momentarily concerned she¡¯d break the low table behind her. She wore a simple wrap dress of faded green cotton that left her midriff bare. The fabric looked soft and well-worn from countless washings. Despite, or perhaps because of its obvious age, the dress seemed perfectly suited to both the setting and its wearer, as natural as the grass roof above them or the packed earth beneath their feet.


    For a moment, Ashlynn wondered if she should find a similar dress for herself, at least while they were in Crystal Lake City. The thought of wearing something so skimpy in public felt a little scandalous even after she had adjusted to wearing sleeveless tops and shorter skirts in the heat of the Briar, but it was a vacation after all... S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "De Mother of Trees herself, and de Willow Witch," she said, her words pulling Ashlynn out of her thoughts as she bowed deeply.


    The young woman¡¯s scales caught the filtered sunlight as she moved, shimmering like dewdrops on morning leaves, and even though Jacques had claimed that the skin of the Ancient Clan never ¡¯glowed¡¯ the way a human¡¯s would after being thoroughly scrubbed with salt, to Ashlynn¡¯s eyes, this young woman¡¯s scales seemed to be fresher and more... supple than the toughened, leathery hide that Jacques showed the world.


    "You two are guests of de highest honor, even if you come here wit¡¯ him," she added, gesturing awkwardly at Jacques.


    "Auntie Ashlynn, ma petite, Heila," Jacques said, looking embarrassed. "Dis is ma little cousin Aledia. She¡¯ll take good care of you both, non?" he said, raising a scaly brow at his excited cousin.


    "Go, go away you lump of a man," Aledia said, placing two hands on Jacques¡¯s shoulders and directly pushing him toward the door. In the presence of his cousin, the normally prickly aura that surrounded the Sandbox Witch melted completely and he seemed to let himself be easily overpowered. "Dis is a space for women, yeah? So you got¡¯ no business being here."


    "Dere¡¯s a quiet little cafe down de road," Jacques said, giving Ashlynn a helpless glance as he let himself be pushed outside. "I¡¯ll be waiting dere."


    "Now," Aledia said once she¡¯d shoved her older cousin out the door. "You jus¡¯ let little Aledia take care of you for de rest of de day, yeah? Don¡¯t worry ¡¯bout anything but feeling good under our care."


    "Before we start," Heila said, stepping forward to take care of things she felt were beneath Ashlynn¡¯s station. "Could you explain to me what your services cost? You may be Jacques¡¯ family but we don¡¯t want to take advantage, so, whatever the going rate is, please just tell me directly."


    In the end, the potions they¡¯d managed to craft for bartering hadn¡¯t been anything as exaggerated or extraordinary as what they would have made from the flesh and bones of a Giant Thornbacked Alligator, but they¡¯d still secured a small collection of gold tails and a large handful of silver ones.


    It would have been a fortune to someone like Ollie before he had left the Lothian kitchens. Even though the gold tails traded in this region were half the weight of the kingdom¡¯s gold sovereigns, two gold tails would still be enough to purchase an entire acre of land to work as a free man and the small handful that Ashlynn and Heila had could support a common family in the Kingdom of Gaal for close to a decade.


    Here, they felt that it was enough to treat themselves quite well in Crystal Lake City so long as they didn¡¯t splurge on luxurious souvenirs. Today would be the first day of their ¡¯vacation¡¯ and while both women were eager to spend most of what they had earned as a reward for themselves, it wouldn¡¯t do to run out of money in their first day or two by overindulging.


    "Going rate?" Aledia said, blinking rapidly in confusion. "I can¡¯t take a single white tail from you for dis," she said sounding mildly horrified at the notion. "No, when I bring you back and you soak in de waters and de mud, you¡¯ll see. We gain so much more den we use jus¡¯ from having a mother and child of the earth be here, taking money on top of it, that would jus¡¯ be greedy, yeah?"


    "I understand," Ashlynn said gently before Heila could press the point. She didn¡¯t know what kind of effect the young woman was hoping for from having a pair of witches in her bath house, but even if there was no mystical effect of witches bathing here, being able to say that they had would surely be good for business. "We shouldn¡¯t press things, Heila," she said gently. "I¡¯m sure that Aledia has considered things well."


    "In that case," Heila said, putting away her purse and turning to face the eager woman. "We¡¯ll be in your care."

 Chapter 329: Bad Water

    Chapter 329: Bad WaterAshlynn and Heila were led by an obviously excited Aledia to a simple changing room where they were provided with baskets to hold their clothing and simple cotton robes to change into. When it came to their hats, however, even though both women were only wearing their most practical hedge hats, Aledia seemed to grow particularly agitated.


    "I promise you," she said as she reverently placed the hats high on a shelf. "No one will dare to touch dese, not so much as de point of a claw will come close to dem," she said. "We don¡¯t have problems with thieving, but if you want, I can hide them away somewhere wit¡¯ a lock, yeah?"


    "They¡¯re just hats," Ashlynn said lightly, afraid that her stature was putting too much pressure on the young woman. "It¡¯s good that no one will touch them on the shelf. We don¡¯t need more than that."


    "It¡¯s kind of you to say it dat way," Aledia said with a wide, toothy grin before she led the pair of witches outside. "Today, we will refresh and renew your body from de tips of your toes to de top of your head. We start wit¡¯ some good heat to loosen your body and expel all de bad water our bodies hold on to," she said, leading the way to a small wooden shed sitting next to a crackling fire.


    "Bad water?" Heila asked, puzzled by the term. "What do you mean by the bad water our bodies hold on to?" Since becoming the Willow Witch, she had become particularly sensitive to the properties of water, whether it was fresh and pure, or stagnant or murky, she could tell without looking as long as the body of water was close enough. But she had yet to feel that there was ¡¯bad water¡¯ within her own body.


    "All de hard tings¡¯ in life, dey leave traces in de water of our bodies, yeah?" Aledia said as though it were common sense. "De sweat when our heart shakes wit¡¯ worry, de tears when our loved ones leave us, all dese tings¡¯ and more build up de bad water in our bodies. We get rid of some of it when we sweat, when we cry and all de other times, but always, some¡¯s left behind. It builds up wit¡¯in us, makes the body heavy and de mind slow."


    "Sit in here," she said, gesturing to the wooden benches that lined the walls of the wooden shed. "I¡¯ll bring you a basket of hot rocks here soon, and cold, clean water to drink too. You need to keep drinking de cool, good water to sweat out all de bad water in your bodies. If you don¡¯t replace de bad water wit de good, you¡¯ll fall faint, so don¡¯t hold back and drink deep."


    To Ashlynn, it sounded strange to attribute the accumulation of stress to a build up of ¡¯bad water¡¯ within the body, but she set aside her discomfort at the idea and decided that it wouldn¡¯t hurt to take the Ancient Clan at their word when they said that this would help.


    It was also the exact opposite of what the Church had taught, that a person should bottle up the accumulations of hurts and fears as the pain they carried within their hearts was proof of their struggle over the years of their life.


    In the eyes of the Church, only the Holy Lord of Light could cleanse a person¡¯s soul of such pain, but as she¡¯d come to do with many of the things she¡¯d learned from the Church, Ashlynn set this notion aside until she could see what it felt like to live a different way. Her life had enough struggle, ever since she was born with the mark of the witch, there had been plenty of pain, loneliness and fear to struggle against. Even if she let all of it go, there would still be plenty more in the months and years to come.


    "Breathe deep of de steam," Aledia said as she rejoined them. "If de steam gets too thin, pour a bit more water on de rocks," she added, gesturing to a small bucket of water with a ladle sitting next to the metal bucket filled with hot rocks that she¡¯d fetched from the fire. "And drink dis down," she added, handing each of them tall cups of cool water, each holding a slice of lemon and a sprig of a fragrant herb.


    "Dis smoke," the reptilian woman said as she lit another bundle of herbs and placed them in the center of the room. "It helps to expel de bad waters. Jus¡¯ sit back and tink¡¯ on de tings¡¯ dat made you sad or hurt or mad. Breathe in de smoke and let de bad waters go."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said, taking a seat and sipping on the cool water. "How long do we stay here?"


    "I come for you when it¡¯s time," Aledia said, bowing deeply as she left. "Take all de time you need."


    For a few minutes, the two witches sat awkwardly on opposite sides of the shed, looking at the drifting steam in the small wooden room and adjusting to the heat as their bodies began to glisten with sweat. The sweet-smelling smoke from the burning herbs seemed to coat Ashlynn¡¯s throat with each breath, making her tongue feel thick and her thoughts begin to drift. Colors seemed brighter through the steam, and memories that usually stayed carefully locked away began to float to the surface of her mind like leaves drifting on a pond.


    A few minutes later, however, she noticed a pained expression on Heila¡¯s face as the young witch tried her best to hold back tears. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s okay to cry here," Ashlynn said softly. "Isn¡¯t that what we¡¯re supposed to be doing? Letting the ¡¯bad water¡¯ go?"


    "But it¡¯s not, it¡¯s not okay," Heila sniffled. "I, I shouldn¡¯t feel this bad just, just because I¡¯ve been away from home so long. I¡¯ll see them again soon," she said, fighting to get the words out around the lump in her throat. "But you, you... it¡¯s so unfair, so how can I cry when you don¡¯t even..."


    "Oh, Heila," Ashlynn said, standing from her bench to rush to Heila¡¯s side. The instant she did, she deeply regretted her decision as the world went briefly dark and everything around her felt like it was falling off the edge of the world.


    Seeing Ashlynn tumbling, Heila sprang to her feet, trying to catch her lady before she could hurt herself only to suffer the same sensations of darkness, floating and spinning before both women crashed to the floor, nearly crashing head first into each other.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, reaching out to pull the diminutive witch closer to her without bothering to get up off the floor. "Just because I¡¯ve been holding it in, it doesn¡¯t mean you have to. It doesn¡¯t hurt more or less, it just hurts," she said, tears streaming down her face.


    Visions of her chambers in Blackwell Manor, her personal garden and the handful of tutors who guided her studies danced through her mind. She missed her parents and her sister more than she had words to describe, but there were so many other people that she hadn¡¯t given herself space to miss. She said her goodbyes when she left Blackwell County to marry Owain but she couldn¡¯t help but wonder what had happened to her tutors since then.


    Were they writing to her? Did they think she had turned her back on them while Owain paraded around the imposter, Samira, as though she was still alive? They must think she¡¯d become a different woman after leaving home, a cold, cruel woman who didn¡¯t care for the people who had helped her grow and learn as a child.


    Tears spilled down her cheeks as she thought of how the life she once knew must be falling apart the longer Owain kept an imposter prisoner and told the world that she was doing well and pregnant with his child.


    Part of her wished that she¡¯d written more letters before she left the Vale of Mists. Marcell would have seen them delivered. But she couldn¡¯t risk contacting anyone close who might have learned the truth... even sending the letters she had to the guild masters had been a tremendous risk.


    Now, as she lay on the floor of room filled with steam and smoke, her body trembled and nothing she did would hold back the tears that spilled from her eyes. Once she started sobbing, Heila joined her and before they knew it, they weren¡¯t just crying quietly but pouring out the aches in their hearts... From the pain of losing Andrus so shortly after coming to know him to the frustration of the many misunderstandings Jacques created when he awkwardly tried to protect them, words spilled from their lips one after another just as the sweat and tears poured from their bodies.


    After fifteen minutes, Aledia slipped in quietly, refreshing the cool water in their cups before she lit another bundle of mind cleansing herbs and left the two witches to pour out their troubles. Her cousin had told her that these two women carried great burdens and from the glimpse she had of them, she believed it. Now, her only concern was to help them find strength and renewal after they finished purging the bad waters that weighed them down.


    If she could do that much for the Mother of Trees and the Willow Witch, then no matter what else she accomplished or didn¡¯t accomplish this year, she would be content. No one would ever know, and she would never speak a word of the things she¡¯d heard from the two vulnerable witches but that didn¡¯t matter. Just helping them was enough...

 Chapter 330: Taking Root

    Chapter 330: Taking RootAshlynn and Heila spent almost half an hour in the tiny wooden shed, sweating, sobbing, drinking cool water, and doing it all over again until they felt lighter than air, as though they would drift away on a gentle breeze the moment someone opened the door.


    "Thank you, my lady," Heila said as she scrubbed the tears from her eyes. "I feel better now."


    "I do too," Ashlynn said, lightly stroking the diminutive woman¡¯s soft, curly hair. "I don¡¯t think I realized how much, just how many things were weighing on me until I let them go..."


    "Dat¡¯s why we have to chase de bad waters out," Aledia said as she entered the room accompanied by a wave of blessedly cool air. In truth, it was still a very warm midsummer day outside, but the humid heat inside the shed made even the unbearably warm summer feel cool by comparison.


    "Don¡¯t try to walk now," the reptilian woman cautioned. "Dis here is Corinne, she¡¯ll be taking care of Lady Heila," she explained as another woman entered the room carrying fresh robes for the two witches. "Now, your skin is still slick wit¡¯ de bad water, so we¡¯re gonna scrub it all away, yeah? Leave you nice and clean, fresh as de day you were born into dis world."


    As much as Ashlynn wanted to protest that she was capable of walking on her own, the hazy memory of how she¡¯d stumbled and fallen after trying to stand prevented her from making any such claims. Instead, the two women of the Ancient Clan proved that even if they weren¡¯t as strong as Jacques, they were more than capable of carrying a pair of witches to the next treatment.


    They weren¡¯t carried far and before they knew it, they were laid out on a pair of cushions on simple tables overlooking the lake. The cool breeze blowing across the water felt like a welcome balm on their sweat-soaked skin and the sounds of birds overhead blended with the distant sound of wooden windchimes to lull them both to sleep.


    "It¡¯s all right if you sleep, yeah?" Aledia said as she helped Ashlynn to remove her robe and began to prepare a thick paste of scented oils and coarse sugar to scrub her body with. "Jus¡¯ let us do our part while you rest. We¡¯ll wake you up when it¡¯s time to move again," she promised.


    As much as Ashlynn wanted to protest, to stay awake to learn as much of the Ancient Clan¡¯s healing treatment as she could, once Aledia¡¯s strong hands began to kneed her tender muscles as though she were a ball of bread dough, Ashlynn¡¯s resistance melted like the scented oils seeping into her skin.


    Beside her, Heila¡¯s eyes had already drifted closed and a faint trace of drool could be seen on her pert lips before Ashlynn herself succumbed to fatigue that swept over her after the intense experience in the steam room.


    When Ashlynn finally woke, she found herself not on the table by the lake but resting on a long padded lounge chair under the shade of a grass umbrella. When she tried to sit up, however, she was startled to realize that she¡¯d been tightly wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled of grassy herbs and honeysuckle. The blankets weren¡¯t uncomfortable, but they bound her so tightly that she could only barely move her hands next to her thighs and turn her head enough to see Heila in a similar cocoon next to her.


    "Do you feel rested, Lady Ashlynn?" Aledia asked when she saw the Mother of Trees begin to stir.


    "Very," Ashlynn said. "I didn¡¯t think it would feel so good to be so warm on a day like this but... I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever felt so relaxed.


    "Mmmm, me too," Heila said sleepily before letting out a startled cry a moment later when she realized she¡¯d been wrapped in a blanket like an infant and had just about as much freedom of movement as a newborn babe.


    "Jus¡¯ relax here a spell," Aledia said with a toothy grin. "Corinne is coming soon with some fresh fruit and shrimp to nibble on before we place you in de mud."


    The food, when it came, was much like what Ashlynn had seen at the cafes on their way here. Small plates covered with sliced fruit drizzled in a sticky, sour sauce came paired with shrimp no larger than her small finger, lined up on skewers, and grilled over an open flame while being basted with melted butter and herbs.


    "Now, dis mud, she¡¯s not just de silt from de lake bed," Aledia explained as she led Ashlynn and Heila toward what looked like two shallow pits dug into soft, dark mud. "We¡¯ve mixed dis up special wit¡¯ all of de earth¡¯s bounty to refresh and renew you."


    "Do we just, lie in the pit?" Heila asked as she nervously prodded the soft, clinging mud with a cloven hoof.


    "Oh no," the reptilian woman said. "First, we¡¯ll paint your faces and your bodies wit¡¯ de mud, and den, cover you in it up to your neck. De earth, she¡¯ll nurture you. You¡¯re her chosen ones after all," she added with a humble bow. "Dis is just something dat lets normal folks know the slightest whisper of de earth¡¯s power helping dem to heal. For you, it will be more."


    "Have you done this with witches before? With the Mother of Thorns or her coven?" Ashlynn asked.


    "Not me, no, but I learned from my mother and she¡¯s served de Mother of Thorns before. Dis is something old, dat goes back to a time before de Briar belonged to de Mother of Thorns, yeah? You can trust dis, or my cousin wouldn¡¯t have brought you here."


    "It wasn¡¯t that I didn¡¯t trust," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile. "Only that we wanted to understand, right Heila? It¡¯s fine, you can paint us when you¡¯re ready," she said, taking a seat on a small bench nearby and holding her chin up to make it easier for Aledia to paint her.


    Since they were going to be buried up to their necks in mud, Ashlynn expected that ¡¯painting them¡¯ would be a simple application of mud on their skin before they entered the pits to be buried. Instead, she was surprised to find that the two women produced small clay jars of a much paler mud along with delicate brushes and began to paint intricate symbols over their faces and bodies. She was even more surprised when the two women began to sing in an older dialect of Eldritch.


    "Deep below where roots entwine,


    Let healing earth with flesh combine.


    Through clay that holds time¡¯s secret art,


    Let strength flow back to flesh and heart."


    The incantation that the two women used was brief but combined with the ancient glyphs that adorned their skin, Ashlynn felt a tingle ripple across the surface of her skin before it sank deeper, seeming to meld with her flesh and bones. The feeling slowly intensified as more and more glyphs appeared on their skin and Ashlynn began to feel a pulling sensation from deep within her core, as if her body yearned to find its home within the earth.


    "Now, it¡¯s time," Aledia said, leading Ashlynn to one pit while her companion led Heila to the other. "De earth, she¡¯ll welcome you home. Don¡¯t resist her call and let her nurture you de way she nurtures any tree."


    Of all the things that Ashlynn expected when she was told that she was the Mother of Trees, she never expected that one day, she would plant herself in the earth like a tree. When she did, however, rather than feel crushed or suffocated by the increasing weight of earth upon her body, she felt like she¡¯d returned to the most comfortable, safest space of her childhood.


    Leaning back into the soft, cool mud, Ashlynn repeated the incantation the women of the Ancient Clan had used, allowing her power to gather within her chest before it flowed out into the earth around her.


    Her energy twisted and flowed, sinking deeper and deeper into the earth as it went. Dimly, she could feel tendrils of her energy brushing up against Heila¡¯s as the other witch followed her example, but neither of them allowed their ¡¯roots¡¯ to become entangled with each other. It was enough to know that they weren¡¯t alone on this journey and to feel each other¡¯s presence, but both of them were far more absorbed by the feelings that began to flow into them from their mystic ¡¯roots.¡¯


    With her eyes closed, Ashlynn began to feel the stout cypress trees that dotted the shore before her senses extended further, encompassing all the trees within Crystal Lake City and beyond. If she listened, she could hear the wind rustling through the leaves of trees so far away that she couldn¡¯t possibly see them, and she could feel the warm sun on the leaves of the vast canopy that stretched for leagues in every direction.


    As her mind stretched further and further from where she lay, she began to hear a different sort of sound. It was quiet at first, and rhythmic, like the precise beat of a drummer keeping time when soldiers marched or the steady clatter of a carriage rolling across a well paved road.


    "Well, young one," a soft, weathered voice said in a tone little louder than a whisper. "It seems someone has finally inherited my curse," the woman¡¯s ghostly voice said. But what shocked Ashlynn almost as much as the voice itself was the language it spoke. After spending so much time among the Eldritch, she¡¯d become fairly comfortable with the language but this voice, a voice that carried a trace of power that felt hauntingly similar to her own, had spoken in the common tongue of the Kingdom of Gaal! S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 331: Predecessor

    Chapter 331: PredecessorDrifting in the darkness, Ashlynn had very little sense of direction. Her mind sank deep into the mud and the soft soil beneath it before following the roots of countless trees, moving from on to the next until she¡¯d heard faint sounds and followed them here, but now, it felt like she could move no further and yet the voice was still very, very far away.


    "Who are you?" Ashlynn asked hesitantly. "And what do you mean I¡¯ve inherited your curse?"


    "I? Who am I?" The voice asked as though she found the question somehow strange. The sound of rhythmic clicking that had accompanied paused and when the voice spoke again, she dod so in a tone that was far more commanding and... regal than before. "I am the Mother of Trees, the first human born a witch. I am Claire du Gaal of the house du Gaal," she said. "Surely time has not forgotten my name so soon?"


    As she spoke, a vision appeared in the darkness of a regal woman in her middle years, dressed in rich sapphire blues with dark hair tied in intricate braids. A crest embroidered across the chest of the woman¡¯s dress in thread of silver looked familiar for a moment, but there was something subtly wrong about it that left Ashlynn momentarily confused about the woman¡¯s house before the vision faded away.


    "Claire du Gaal?" Ashlynn said, rolling the unfamiliar name around in her mind as she struggled to place it. The crest closely resembled the one used by the Royal Family but it lacked the crown at the top and the crossed swords behind the crest that marked the royal lineage.


    "Were you a princess then?" Ashlynn asked, wondering if this woman might have been outside the line of succession. "Or perhaps a member of the royal family¡¯s cadet branches?"


    "Royal family?" the voice said, this time sounding surprised itself before it let out a heavy sigh that felt like it was filled with too many emotions to name. "So the old men of the Church pushed little Charles onto a throne in the end."


    This time, when she spoke, the vision that appeared in the darkness showed a young handsome man, perhaps a year or two younger than Jocelynn, surrounded by white haired men draped in the gold and white robes of Exemplars or the blood red and gold of the Inquisition. The men of the church seemed to treat the young man with incredible respect when they faced him, but the looks that passed between them were anything but kind. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They said they saw it written in the stars," the ghostly voice said as the vision faded away. "They claimed that he would be a king whose line would rule for hundreds of years. Has it? Have my little brother¡¯s descendants ruled for hundreds of years since my death?"


    "Little Charles," Ashlynn said, shaken as she heard the name, finally understanding why the crest in the vision had looked so unfamiliar. It was the crest of the house of du Gaal before Charles du Gaal ascended to the throne!


    "Charles the First?" Ashlynn asked, seeking confirmation as she struggled to accept what the ghostly witch had said. "Charles the Unifier, the founding king of the Kingdom of Gaal was your little brother? The brother of a witch!? But how? Nothing in the history books ever mentioned him having a sister."


    Ashlynn had always loved history. Her tutors frequently mentioned that solutions to the problems of the future could be found by thoroughly understanding the past. As a woman who intended to help her husband rule Lothian March, she¡¯d studied the royal family extensively, learning from both the triumphs of the greatest kings and the follies of the worst. But in everything she¡¯d read about King Charles the First, there had never been a mention that he had a sister. There was, however, quite a bit written about his battles with a witch and her coven.


    The pieces began falling into place in her mind like a puzzle box finally unlocking. One of the things that always stood out in the history books was that the witch herself wasn¡¯t as powerful as some of the other Eldritch Lords of the era but her attacks were always devastating, striking at the most vulnerable places at the worst possible times.


    Now that she understood who the witch had truly been, the timing of the great witch¡¯s attacks, the way she always seemed to know the king¡¯s movements in advance, even the specific noble families she chose to target while leaving others untouched... What had seemed like random acts of cruelty in her history lessons now looked like...


    Like the cold, calculated actions of a woman who had chosen her targets for revenge, Ashlynn realized with a shudder. In much the same way that she had vowed to kill Owain, Sir Broll, Sir Tommin and whoever had betrayed her to Owain in the first place, this woman had systematically destroyed the families that moved against her. It had never been random, rather, it had always been deeply personal.


    "You¡¯re the Night Terror," Ashlynn whispered, her voice trembling as she realized what drove the other woman to commit such acts of wonton cruelty, and how greatly it resembled the path that Ashlynn herself was on. "The Witch of the Black Forest. They called you the Queen of Evil. I always thought it was because you ruled over a coven of terrifying witches but, if you were Charles older sister..."


    "Queen of Evil," the voice said with a dark chuckle. "They must have been eager to bury my name beneath a mountain of epithets to prevent people from ever discovering my real name and my connection to the puppet king they turned my brother into."


    "They say you slaughtered tens of thousands to stop Charles from unifying humanity on this continent," Ashlynn said in a carefully neutral tone. When she had studied her history, nothing seemed more important than the unification of the dispersed human colonies so they could fight against the native demons.


    She hadn¡¯t questioned those lessons until she met Nyrielle and learned that there were many human colonies and even noblemen like Nyrielle¡¯s own parents who were able to coexist with the Eldritch natives. That change in perspective made her view the founding of the Kingdom of Gaal in a very different light and left her questioning the accuracy of what she¡¯d read.


    "Of course I did," the ghostly voice said with a hint of pride.


    Another vision filled the darkness, this time of burning trees that pulled their roots from the earth to march like soldiers against an army flying the banners of the Kingdom of Gaal and the Church of the Holy Lord of Light. Wind whipped around the burning crowns of the trees, sending torrents of flame through the air to fall on soldiers, horses and even the village behind the army. Men and horses burned and died, screaming in pain and begging for the priests to save them from the evil witch.


    "I slaughtered tens of thousands in order to stop the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of Eldritch Clansmen," Claire said proudly as the vision faded away. "You can understand why I would do such a thing, can¡¯t you? Or am I wrong about the scent of death that clings to you like a well-worn cloak?"

 Chapter 332: A Warning

    Chapter 332: A WarningAshlynn paused for several minutes while she considered what the ghost had said. Without doubt, she would fight to protect Eldritch lives from human aggression. But seeing the indiscriminate destruction the other witch had unleashed that spread as far as a village full of people who weren¡¯t trying to fight her... Men, women, children... innocents who had never threatened anyone were consumed by the flames unleashed by this righteous-sounding Mother of Trees.


    War was war and in war, death was inevitable no matter how well a person fought. No amount of careful preparations or clever tactics could stop horrible things from happening once the first arrow was loosed from a bow. But innocents? She didn¡¯t think she could ever put whole villages to the torch the way Claire du Gaal had done.


    But then, Ashlynn even though the other witch had shown her a vision of a village in flames, she wasn¡¯t sure that all of the atrocities attributed to the first human witch had actually been committed in the first place. There was often a bit of truth in the lies the church told. Nyrielle might not feast on the blood and bones of her victims but she did drink their blood. Likewise, Claire may have been responsible for some genuine tragedies, but was she really the cruel and wicked woman the history books portrayed her as? Somehow, Ashlynn doubted it.


    "I understand protecting Eldritch lives," Ashlynn said slowly. "If you smell death on me then you know I am bound to a True Vampire. I... don¡¯t see the world or the Church the way I once did," she admitted.


    This time, as Ashlynn spoke, she focused on one of her own memories, filling the darkness with a scene from the night she¡¯d killed Sir Broll in a trial by combat. It had been a gambit originally intended to preserve her life and the lives of Ollie and Harrod when they were caught and outnumbered, but once she reunited with Captain Lennart, the ploy had allowed her to smoothly capture Sir Broll¡¯s men without risking the lives of Eldritch Soldiers.


    "There are people who need to die for what they¡¯ve done," Ashlynn said firmly. "But the common people shouldn¡¯t suffer for their leader¡¯s mistakes."


    "Niave," the ghostly voice said in a tone heavy with disappointment. "Niave, but it¡¯s still a beginning. Better than if you believed in the lies of the Church even after awakening to your own power. But you are too far from me to do much more than begin. What is your name, young Mother of Trees? Who are you?"


    "I¡¯m Ashlynn Blackwell," Ashlynn said almost automatically, introducing herself the way a noblewoman should, though she showed none of the deference that was due from the daughter of a Count to the sister of a King. As far as she was concerned, they were both the Mother of Trees and that made them equals no matter what their more worldly stations might be.


    "I am the eldest daughter of Count Rhys Blackwell, and the Seneschal of Lady Nyrielle of the Vale of Mists," she said smoothly. "Most importantly, I am the current Mother of Trees."


    "Ashlynn," the voice whispered as though she were tasting the name like wine to see if she liked it. "Do they have things that they call you yet? Death¡¯s Harlot perhaps or some other distasteful epithet?" Claire asked in a tone that concealed several barbs.


    "No," Ashlynn said sharply. "No, nothing of the sort. As far as the human world is concerned, I might as well be dead," she said. She could have said more and for a moment, she considered explaining. In the end, however, she knew far too little about this woman and the faint familiarity of her magic wasn¡¯t enough to prove everything she claimed.


    "I¡¯ve disturbed your rest," Ashlynn said politely, trying to move the conversation away from the direction the ghostly voice was trying to take it. Ashlynn might not have trained as much in the art of conversation as Jocelynn had, but she¡¯d learned enough from her father to recognize when a fellow noblewoman was trying to draw her into a trap and the barbed epithet the woman had chosen told her much about the other woman¡¯s intentions.


    "Before I withdraw, can you tell me about the curse you believe I¡¯ve inherited from you?" Ashlynn asked, already preparing to withdraw herself from the strange state she¡¯d fallen into when she allowed herself to follow the magic flowing through the roots of trees.


    "Don¡¯t you find the mark on your skin to be curse enough among your own people?" Claire said. "You said the human world thinks of you as dead. I assume that your family has already turned against you, haven¡¯t they?"


    "My parents hid me away for more than twenty years," Ashlynn said quickly, forcefully suppressing her doubts about who might have betrayed her to Owain on the night of her wedding. Whoever it was, she would find them eventually and there would be a reckoning, but until then, she chose to believe that it hadn¡¯t come from her immediate family.


    "I will see them again one day," she said, more as a promise to herself than as a comment to the ghostly woman.


    "Perhaps," the other Mother of Trees said. "If you return to human lands, to the kingdom my brother founded, then seek me out in the forests outside my family¡¯s lands. I can tell you much more and give you real help, but only if you¡¯re close enough."


    "Perhaps," Ashlynn said, echoing the other woman¡¯s noncommittal word. "But if there¡¯s nothing more, then I should leave you to your rest."


    "There is one more thing," the ghostly voice said. "It is inevitable that the Church will come for you. Their Exemplars are forces to be feared, as strong as any member of your coven, but the real person you must fear is the one who calls himself a ¡¯Saint¡¯ in their Holy City. Do not allow yourself to be captured by the Church!" Claire said, her voice growing louder and louder with every word.


    "If they get their hands on you and you cannot escape then you must, you must do as I did," Claire said with a voice that shook with fanaticism. "It is better that you turn your magic on yourself, burn your body to ash, and scatter the ashes on the wind before you let them do to you what they¡¯ve done to the Oracles. You cannot, cannot let them control witches as well!"


    This time, the vision Ashlynn was treated to was even more brutal than the one where she witnessed Claire destroying an army. More than a dozen Inquisitors had surrounded a battered and bloody Clair, binding her in heavy chains and dragging her down a long stone staircase beneath a golden, gleaming temple, grander even than the one in Lothian City.


    The closer they came to wherever they were taking her, the more Claire struggled, shouting, cursing, and even pleading with the stone-faced Inquisitors who dragged her toward whatever inexorable fait awaited her. Eventually, as they approached a heavy iron-bound door carved with scenes depicting the first Prophet of the Holy Lord of Light preaching to the masses, a look of grim determination settled over Clair¡¯s face before her power surged, wreathing her in flames that consumed her hair, clothing and eventually her flesh and bones.


    "Do not let them take you like they took the Oracles," Claire repeated as the disturbing vision faded.


    "Oracles?" Ashlynn said, her mind reeling from witnessing the other witch¡¯s violent death. All her life, from the youngest age when her parents taught her that no one could ever be allowed to see her mark of the witch until the day Owain beat her half to death, she¡¯d been afraid of what the Church would do to her if they ever captured her and found the mark of the witch upon her skin.


    Now, seeing the Inquisition dragging Claire away and knowing that being the king¡¯s own sister offered her no protection, she shivered involuntarily as she imagined herself in Claire¡¯s place. If it came down to it, at the last moment, would she have the courage to do what Claire had done? Or would she struggle and fight to the last breath? She liked to believe that she would fight but...


    "What did they do to these Oracles that would make you do... do that... to yourself?" Ashlynn asked in a soft, trembling voice.


    "Better to die than let them capture a Mother of the Earth," Claire repeated. "Find me and I will tell you why." Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 333: Shaken

    Chapter 333: ShakenHeila was dimly aware of Ashlynn¡¯s energy sinking into the mud and earth along with hers, but much like Ashlynn, while she felt the brush of the other witch¡¯s energy, she followed her own path as her consciousness sank into the earth.


    More than the roots of the trees around her, Heila¡¯s mind traced along the roots that connected to trees long fallen, stumps beneath the gentle waves on the surface of the lake. Here, there were a few trees that held on to life despite being almost completely submerged beneath the lake, but if she extended further out, beyond even those hearty trees, she could feel the roots of trees that had stood in places that were once dry land and now lay beneath the water¡¯s surface.


    A feeling of calm peace enveloped her, nurturing her body with the gentle power of water that collected in the soil and roots of trees for hundreds and thousands of years.


    Heila always felt small. It was the fate of everyone in the Horned Clan to feel like people from most clans towered over them and some, particularly the imposing giants like the Tuscans, made them feel so small that they dared not move for fear of being crushed beneath the feet of the powerful giants.


    The lake also made her feel small, but this time, it wasn¡¯t a threatening or imposing kind of small. Rather, she felt connected to something so deep and so vast that she could never possibly contain all of the power it offered. The energy that flowed through her strengthened and nurtured her body like the waters of a river nurturing crops, but the power wasn¡¯t hers to keep and she couldn¡¯t take it away from here if she tried.


    For the diminutive Willow Witch, it was enough to allow the waters of the lake to offer up what they had kept waiting for someone like her to claim. Not all of it, but a large enough portion that the Heila who emerged from the mud hours later felt as though she had grown to more than twice her previous size. Before, if she could have held a single bucket full of magical energy and put it to use for her, now she could manifest an entire bathtub. Moreover, she felt that if she repeated this process after some rest, she could make even more progress!


    "My lady," Heila said as Aledia helped to pull Ashlynn from the thick, cloying mud. "We should return here when... My lady!" Heila cried, stunned by the boneless and limp appearance that Ashlynn presented when they pulled her from the mud. Worse, when Aledia wiped away the mud from Ashlynn¡¯s face, her complexion beneath the mud was pale and sickly.


    "Dis, dis isn¡¯t right," Aledia said in a trembling voice. Moving quickly, she emptied a bucket of water over Ashlynn¡¯s body, abandoning courtesy in her haste to wash the mud and the glyphs beneath it from the skin of the Mother of Trees. "I, I don¡¯t know what dis is..." she said, giving Heila a panicked look.


    Without thinking, Heila reached out toward the lake. The power she¡¯d absorbed during her meditation thrummed through her body, making her feel larger than her diminutive frame. With a grasping motion of her hand, she felt the water rushing to meet her will, almost like an eager hound wishing to please its master.


    A wave rose from the surface of the lake like a rolling wall of water that reached as high as most men¡¯s knees. It swept onto the beach, knocking aside the comfortable lounge chairs, dining tables, and fresh towels that waited for her and Ashlynn as it surged toward the pair of witches.


    At Heila¡¯s direction, the water flowed over Ashlynn, briefly submerging her as it washed away the mud from her face and body. With another wave of her hand, Heila sent the wave back toward the lake, leaving Ashlynn¡¯s skin as fresh and bare as the day she was born among a collection of puddles glittering in the afternoon sun.


    "My lady," Heila called out to Ashlynn, wrapping her arms around the other woman¡¯s torso and pulling her close. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    -CAUGH- -GASP-


    Ashlynn sputtered for a moment, expelling a mouthful of lakewater before she drew a deep, shuddering breath and opened her emerald eyes to meet Heila¡¯s worried gaze.


    "I¡¯m all right," Ashlynn said weakly. "Just very, very drained."


    "Lady Ashlynn," Aledia said as she knelt in the mud and standing water. She placed her hands on her knees and lowered her body until her chin nearly touched the surface of the water before she spoke again. "I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry. Dis ritual, it¡¯s never harmed no one before. It, it shouldn¡¯t have..."


    "It¡¯s not your fault," Ashlynn said, raising an arm that felt like it had the strength of a three-week-old kitten to wave off the other woman¡¯s apology. "Your ritual helped me reach something... someone, very far from here. It¡¯s not your fault that I wore myself out doing so. You didn¡¯t hurt me at all," she said sincerely before offering a weak smile. "You may even have done me a great favor. So please, don¡¯t bow down like that, and hold your head and tail up high."


    "Ashlynn," Heila said softly. "What happened to you? I didn¡¯t feel anything dangerous when I was in the mud but..."


    "I encountered something like Cecile," Ashlynn said quietly. "I¡¯m starting to believe that this is a power that belongs to our coven, to the Mother of Trees and her coven rather. I met a previous mother of trees who planted some kind of remnant of herself in another forest, far from here."


    "The same way Cecile planted a portion of herself in the Ancient Willow?" Heila asked. It shouldn¡¯t be surprising if she thought about it, but somehow, she¡¯d assumed that the power to preserve a ghostly remnant of Cecile had come from the Ancient Willow rather than the other way around. If this was actually a power that came from the Mother of Trees rather than the trees themselves, then did that mean that one day she would become something like Cecile had?


    "I¡¯ll tell you later," Ashlynn said, giving Heila a gentle squeeze. "Right now, it¡¯s a little cold here in the water," Ashlynn added with a faint smile as she gestured to the puddles left by Heila¡¯s hasty magic. "Can we dry off? Maybe Aledia has something else for us to eat?"


    "Of course," their reptilian host said, her tail swishing back and forth rapidly in embarrassment. "Let me help you up and get you properly washed and dried," she said, reaching out as gently as she could to scoop Ashlynn up in her arms. "I have a chilled soup of smashed vegetables and herbs that should be gentle on your stomach and then we can work on restoring you."


    Ashlynn wanted to protest that she didn¡¯t need anything more than the meal and a chance to dry off, but Aledia insisted on doing everything they could to help her recover from her exhaustion.


    "Mother of Trees," Aledia said, bowing deeply as she presented a tray filled with a collection of smooth, polished stones, each one twice the size of a hen¡¯s egg. "Dese are bloodstones," she said, pointing to the red-veined green stones. "If you feel like you can trust yourself wit¡¯ us for one more ritual, den I can stimulate your blood and reinvigorate your body. I, I understand if you do not trust our ancient ways," she said humbly.


    "I told you, didn¡¯t I?" Ashlynn said as she placed a hand on the other woman¡¯s scaly hand. Despite how draining her conversation with Claire du Gaal had been, the treatments that Aledia had provided so far had done a remarkable job of softening Ashlynn¡¯s skin, and the other woman¡¯s hand felt even rougher than usual under the tender skin of her palm.


    "Your ritual helped me, even if I was exhausted afterward," she said in a firm tone that wouldn¡¯t accept argument, no matter how well-meaning. "If you believe that this will help, then I will accept it."


    "Thank you, Mother of Trees," the reptilian woman said. "I¡¯ll heat the stones at once. Once dese are nice and warm, you jus¡¯ need to lie dere while I place dem on your body. De warmth of de earth will flow through you and I¡¯ll guide it where it needs to go wit¡¯ my hands on your skin. It won¡¯t hurt none, I promise you dat."


    While Ashlynn waited for Aledia to prepare hot stones and a soft cushion for a ritual massage, complete with scented oils that smelled of fresh herbs and cypress needles, she explained her encounter to Heila whose brow furrowed in worry the more Ashlynn spoke.


    "I¡¯ve heard mention of Exemplars in old stories," Heila said as her mind struggled to recall stories that had once felt like distant tales told by her parents to frighten their pack of children before bedtime. As a child, they had been frightening tales but as an adult, she¡¯d dismissed them as exaggerations told to keep her rebellious brothers in check. Perhaps there was more truth to those tales than she thought.


    "But I¡¯ve never heard anything about ¡¯Saints¡¯ or ¡¯Oracles.¡¯" Heila added in a worried tone. "Just how many more horrors does the Church have to attack us with?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn admitted. One of her tutors had once said that many records regarding the Church were difficult to find and some texts were banned entirely. Just possessing a forbidden book could land someone in the hands of the Inquisition and given her own status, Ashlynn had never dared to investigate beyond the warning her tutor gave her.


    "But Amahle may know more than we do," Ashlynn added. "Particularly about this other human Mother of Trees. So when we get back, I intend to see what she knows..."

 Chapter 334: Seeking Answers

    Chapter 334: Seeking AnswersCompared to their first day in Crystal Lake City, the rest of their vacation suited Talauia¡¯s description of the city very well. It was comfortable and... sleepy. Aledia¡¯s ritual with bloodstones had done a great deal to restore Ashlynn¡¯s energy and by the time they left as day turned to twilight, Ashlynn had recovered enough that Jacques didn¡¯t even notice anything amiss. Though, in truth, that could have been Jacques¡¯s lack of observational skills more than anything else.


    The one luxury souvenir that the witches treated themselves to was a pair of hammered copper bracelets set with polished stones in the shape of trees. They weren¡¯t expensive items, they spent a handful of silver tails on each of them, but to Ashlynn and Heila, they were a precious reminder of the time they spent together.


    "Will you have one of these made for the next person to join the coven?" Heila asked as she inspected the wide bracelet closely, admiring the way the sun glittered off the pale blue stones arranged like willow leaves blowing in the wind. The pattern had been designed to mimic the mark of the witch on her left shoulder blade. Since she couldn¡¯t see the mark itself without using a mirror, Ashlynn had suggested a keepsake patterned after it as a token that they could share visibly.


    In truth, Ashlynn didn¡¯t want Heila to harbor the same complex feelings she held about her own mark of the witch. After years of hiding it in fear, it was difficult to see the mark as beautiful the way Nyrielle often praised it. At best, she was somewhat ambivalent about it. For Heila, however, she hoped that her diminutive friend would feel only pride and a sense of connection to their coven.


    "I don¡¯t think it will be the same for everyone," Ashlynn said as she thought about who else might be joining their coven. "These aren¡¯t just about being part of the coven. They¡¯re also about being here, in Crystal Lake City, together. So if I had something like this made for someone else, I would want it to be something that meant just as much to them as our vacation together meant to us."


    "I see," Heila said with a warm, glowing smile on her face as she clutched the bracelet to her chest. "Thank you, Ashlynn."


    "Mmm," Ashlynn said, ruffling Heila¡¯s hair affectionately. "You¡¯re welcome."


    In the end, the witches spent four days in Crystal Lake City. It was sufficient to rest and recover with plenty of time to see the few attractions that the city had to offer outsiders, but in the end, Ashlynn¡¯s encounter with Claire du Gaal weighed on her. Though they¡¯d intended to stay for an entire week, no one complained when she said she wanted to return early to speak to Amahle about the strange warning she¡¯d been given but the first human witch.


    The journey back through the Briar felt longer than the trip out to Crystal Lake City had been, with each bend in the waterway increasing Ashlynn¡¯s desire to find answers to the questions that plagued her since her encounter with her predecessor. By the time they reached Amahle¡¯s home, questions about Claire¡¯s warnings had coiled so tightly in her chest that she barely took time to settle their belongings before seeking out the Mother of Thorns.


    "I¡¯ve been expecting you for several days now, Little Sister," Amahle said when Ashlynn returned to the Mother of Thorn¡¯s home within the Briar. "Come, sit a spell with me and have some lemonade," she added, pouring a tall, cool glass of the sweet and tart beverage for Ashlynn. "Little Heila can settle your things while we talk."


    "It¡¯s fine if she stays," Ashlynn said, holding up a hand. "I don¡¯t like keeping secrets from my family. If I can¡¯t trust family..."


    "This isn¡¯t about trust, darling," Amahle said as she folded her spider-like limbs behind her and took a seat at the table across from Ashlynn. "It¡¯s about choices. After I tell you, then you can choose to tell Heila everything or nothing. That¡¯s your choice to make. If Heila stays, then I¡¯m taking that choice away from you."


    "Right now, it may not matter," Amahle added, giving Heila a gentle look. "You two are close, and you always will be. Little Heila is your first after all. That will always make her different. But there are habits you should learn now, and this is one of them. It will serve you well when you return home to expand your coven."


    "My lady," Heila said softly. "It¡¯s fine. You can tell me later, or not. Since it concerns another Mother of the Earth, you should discuss it together first," she added with a slight curtsey to the Mother of Thorns.


    "I¡¯ll tell you later then," Ashlynn said, returning her attention to the Mother of Thorns and sipping at the cool, refreshing lemonade. "You said you¡¯ve been expecting me to come back early? Did you feel what happened?" S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Darling," Amahle said with a light laugh. "My webs extend all across the Briar. When you stretched past the lake, it was impossible to miss it. You must have buried yourself in the earth up to your neck to reach so far away, didn¡¯t you? You surprised me, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be so eager to ¡¯take root¡¯ to feel the great web of trees."


    "Great web of trees?" Ashlynn asked as several questions immediately occurred to her. "You mean the feeling that the roots of trees are all interconnected? Is that similar to the web you¡¯ve woven through the Briar?"


    "Slow down, slow down," Amahle said with a smile. "The roots of trees, they¡¯re rarely touching each other, they try to avoid each other more than anything, but they come very close sometimes, close enough for energy to flow from one to the next. You¡¯ve seen the canals in High Fen City."


    "It¡¯s the same with trees," the older witch explained. "Energy moves easily from one to the next as long as there are trees nearby. The further you follow it away from your own body, though, the greater the burden it places on you to make use of it."


    "I met someone else when I reached out over the ¡¯great web of trees,¡¯" Ashlynn said, her hands tightening on her cup as she recalled her encounter with Claire. "She said she was the first human witch and a previous Mother of Trees."


    Strangely, Amahle didn¡¯t seem surprised by what Ashlynn had to say. Instead, the look that passed over her face was one of resignation, as if she had expected this moment to come sooner or later.


    But if that was the case, if Amahle had always known that there had been another human witch who had been the Mother of Trees, why hadn¡¯t she mentioned it until Ashlynn found out for herself? So far, the Mother of Thorns had never given her any reason to suspect that she held hidden motives, but now that Ashlynn made it impossible to keep the secret any longer, would Amahle tell her the truth? Or had she found something that the older witch truly didn¡¯t want her to know?

 Chapter 335: Children of the Heavens

    Chapter 335: Children of the Heavens"Ah, so it¡¯s come to her has it?" Amahle said with a heavy sigh. With a series of clicks as she used her spider-like limbs to stand, Amahle walked across the room to a bookshelf, sorting through some of the least used tomes on the top shelf before retrieving an old and dusty leather-bound book and returning to the table.


    The book itself bore no title and the leather cover on the book looked like it had suffered a number of abuses over the years. From the scars and creases on the cover that had worn smooth with time, Ashlynn guessed that it was more of a notebook than a formal publication of any sort. But to be kept around for so long and from the reverent way that Amahle handled it, it was clearly no ordinary journal.


    "I always intended to tell you about her," Amahle said as she took her seat. "Maybe not as soon as you came back from vacation, but certainly before you could leave the Briar. This isn¡¯t a secret that should be kept from you after all."


    "You can¡¯t escape confronting these things once you return home," the older witch added. "I wouldn¡¯t ask you to, and if I thought that you had any hope of living the rest of your life away from other humans, I would ask you to avoid getting involved in these matters."


    "I know that¡¯s impossible, and unreasonable to ask as well," Amahle said with a heavy sigh. "You have unfinished business in human lands and family there as well. Staying apart from this is impossible, so I will tell you everything I can in the hopes that the knowledge will help to keep you safe when you return."


    "Then, did you know her? The human Mother of Trees?" Ashlynn asked. Amahle had never revealed her age to her, but the Kingdom of Gaal was as nearly the same age as Nyrielle. It had been the First Crusade, launched by Charles the First, that drove Nyrielle¡¯s parents from their homes to seek shelter in the Vale of Mists in the first place. But even though Nyrielle was almost as old as the Kingdom of Gaal, she had yet to be born at the time of Claire du Gaal¡¯s death. If Amahle was even older...


    "I didn¡¯t know her," Amahle said with a shake of her head. "She can be considered my ¡¯big sister¡¯ in the same way that you¡¯re my ¡¯little sister.¡¯ We were both taught by the previous Mother of Storms, but Sister Claire died decades before I was born. It was a long time ago," she said, brushing her fingers across the surface of the ancient book before she opened it to reveal page after page of precise eldritch script in an older dialect than Ashlynn had seen outside of Nyrielle¡¯s library. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ghosts danced among the many pupils in Amahle¡¯s eyes and her gaze grew distant as if she could see the steel-haired woman of the Gull Wing Clan who had patiently tutored her in much the same way that she now tutored Ashlynn.


    She had always found the meticulous precision of her teacher¡¯s methods at odds with the wild, often chaotic energy she commanded but that very contradiction had helped her to understand that as the Mother of Thorns, she could define for herself what it meant to surround herself with sharp, often deadly power. The power didn¡¯t have to define the kind of person that she would become.


    "Tell me," Amahle said quietly, her crimson eyes never leaving the words written in her teacher¡¯s neat, precise hand. "What did you and Claire talk about? If she¡¯s preserved a portion of her spirit and her power, she must have had some purpose in doing so."


    What Claire and Cecile had done was certainly possible for members of Amahle¡¯s coven. Thorns could dig themselves into the earth and take root just as easily as trees, though it was hard for many to endure as long.


    The difficulty, however, was so great and the price was so high that even Amahle couldn¡¯t imagine something that would drive her to use such a dark ritual. For a human raised in the traditions of their Church to do so, knowing that they were binding themselves to a land far from the Heavenly Shores... Surely there must have been a powerful reason to go to such lengths.


    "I don¡¯t know about her purpose," Ashlynn said slowly. "She told me that if I wanted more answers, I would need to find the forest near her family¡¯s lands in the Kingdom of Gaal. She did give me a warning though. About the Church, the Saint, and the people she referred to as ¡¯Oracles.¡¯ Do you, do you know what she was talking about?"


    "So it really was the Church that took her in the end," Amahle said, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. "We thought as much but the Church keeps their secrets close. By the time my teacher learned of Claire¡¯s death, it was both too late and far too dangerous to search for answers in human territory."


    "This book," she said, tracing a finger gently around the edge of the well-worn journal. "It contains all of my teacher¡¯s notes, everything she was able to learn about the Church before she passed the task on to me."


    "The latter half of the book contains my notes," she added, opening her eyes and flipping through the book. "I spent years interrogating a captured Inquisitor before I began to fill in the missing pieces. Lady Nyrielle has brought me the occasional Templar or High Priest over the years as well as part of our bargain. In exchange, I tutored Zedya for a number of years."


    "Nyrielle captured people from the Church and gave them to you for... interrogation?" Ashlynn said, shaken by the concept. The entire time she¡¯d spent with Amahle, she¡¯d taken her for a kind and nurturing older sister who worked hard to keep her coven safe. Now, however, seeing the cold look in the other woman¡¯s crimson eyes, she wondered just what had happened for the Mother of Thorns to harbor so much hostility toward the Church.


    Perhaps it shouldn¡¯t have surprised her. With as much hostility as Amahle¡¯s coven had reason to have toward vampires in general, there must have been some kind of basis for cooperation between them or Zedya would never have studied here and Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t have left Ashlynn alone with Amahle as easily as she had.


    But to think that their relationship had been forged through an exchange of prisoners... It was the kind of cold, calculated move that she expected of the Nyrielle who had ruled over the Vale of Mists through generation after generation of Lothian wars. The Nyrielle who had lost many of the feelings that once gave warmth to her heart could certainly do something so calculated. The Nyrielle that had won her heart, however... Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but wonder if today¡¯s Nyrielle would be capable of making the same decisions.


    "We are called Mothers of the Earth, and we are born as Children of the Earth," Amahle said, pulling Ashlynn¡¯s attention back to the present as she flipped through the book until she found a page that looked like a map of the night sky. "As Mothers of the Earth, we hold the power of Witchcraft. But there are others who hold a different power," she said slowly.


    "In times long past, they were called the Children of the Heavens," Amahle said, her voice growing darker as crimson energy began to flicker along the tips of her spider-like limbs. "They were the Oracles who held the power of Prophecy."

 Chapter 336: Holding Power

    Chapter 336: Holding Power"In times long past, they were called the Children of the Heavens. They were the Oracles who held the power of Prophecy."


    Amahle¡¯s words struck Ashlynn like a bolt of lightning. She had never heard the term ¡¯Oracle¡¯ before, but no one who had been raised within the Church of the Holy Lord of Light was unfamiliar with the term ¡¯Prophecy.¡¯


    "You, you¡¯re talking about Berosus, the Great Prophet of the Holy Lord of Light," Ashlynn whispered in a voice that still held a hint of reverence for one of the most holy figures within the Church. "The Great Prophet who foresaw the rise of mankind and, with his disciples, used the stars to chart humanity¡¯s path to the Heavenly Shores."


    "I suppose I am," Amahle said with a heavy sigh. Her spider-like limbs twitched in agitation but she took several deep breaths and forced her heart to slow, banishing the crimson energy that threatened to rampage as she thought about the human¡¯s ¡¯Church¡¯ and the damage it had done to the natural order of things.


    "In the history known to your Church, there was a time when witches and Eldritch clans walked the lands that humans came from," Amahle said slowly. "Has your church taught you what happened to them?"


    "The Church teaches that the Great Prophet unified mankind against the evils of the land, purging witches and ¡¯demons¡¯ alike," Ashlynn said slowly. "Then, the disciples of the Great Prophet founded the seven nations, ushering in more than a century of peace. There are more than seven nations now, but every king who rules in the old countries claims to be descended from the Great Prophet or his disciples."


    "True enough," Amahle said as she left the table to fetch a bottle of fortified wine and two small wooden cups. Some conversations, it seemed, required something stronger than lemonade in order to wash the bitterness from her tongue. "At least, true enough according to the ones I interrogated. The Inquisitor referred several times to ¡¯sealed histories¡¯, though it seems his access to those records was incomplete."


    "Are you," Ashlynn started before a knot formed in her throat as she struggled to put her turbulent thoughts into words. "Are you saying that the Great Prophet Berosus was like us? That... that he wasn¡¯t an emissary of the Holy Lord of Light, but that he was just a person with strong magic?"


    "Oracles have as much in common with Witches as Witches have in common with Vampires," Amahle said, emptying her cup of wine in a single swallow before pouring another cup and one for Ashlynn as well. "But there is something that should be true of all of us. How is it you came to be the Mother of Trees, Ashlynn? Where did your power come from?"


    "I, I was born with it," Ashlynn said, taking a polite sip of wine before setting the cup farther away from her than the lemonade. She knew her own weakness when it came to strong drink and she wanted to be clearheaded for this. "Nyrielle once said that the world chooses us. She was born a vampire the same way I was born a witch. No one knows why it happens, only that it does."


    For Ashlynn, that had been explanation enough. She wasn¡¯t deeply concerned with ¡¯why¡¯ she had the power she¡¯d been born to. Instead, she directed her focus on how to master the power she¡¯d been given and once she did, what she could do with it. Questions about why were much less important than questions about what she should do.


    "The Vampires believe that they have a role to play in the natural order of things," Amahle said. "Witches believe that we are part of the natural order but that nature holds no desire for how we shape the natural order. Whether either of them is right, who¡¯s to say? But there is one thing that we do know."


    "Whether it is our marks or the nature of our powers," Amahle said as her crimson eyes began to glow with a trace of lurid red energy. "There is only one of us at any given time with dominion over our power. There are many Mothers of the Earth, but for a new Mother of Trees to be born, the old one must die. The power must return to the world before it can find its way to the next person who will bear it. There has never been an instance recorded anywhere of two people holding the same power at the same time."


    "So, if the Great Prophet was an Oracle, then he was the person selected to hold whatever version of an Oracle¡¯s power he held at the time," Ashlynn said as she fit the pieces together in her mind. "And he used that power to establish the Church of the Holy Lord of Light?"


    "Remember when I said that the Oracles were once called ¡¯Children of the Heavens¡¯?" Amahle said, tapping the map of the night sky in the well-worn journal with one of her spider-like limbs. "My teacher and I, we believe that your ¡¯Great Prophet¡¯ was the Oracle of the Sun. He is said to have had a disciple who could read the future in the stars, but we don¡¯t believe that this person was a subordinate Oracle the way Heila is a member of your coven."


    "We think that he was the ¡¯Oracle of the Stars¡¯," Amahle explained. "Why he chose to serve without the recognition given to your ¡¯Great Prophet¡¯, we can only guess. But there is something strange about Oracles ever since the establishment of the Church of the Holy Lord of Light. Within a few hundred years, Oracles stopped being born on this continent. At the same time, according to the histories of the Church, Witches stopped appearing in their lands."


    "You think that the Church did something to prevent witches from challenging their rule in the old countries?" Ashlynn said. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure that such a thing was possible. Rather, she thought that when witches were born in the old countries, they were killed as infants as soon as their marks were seen.


    If any witch survived to grow into their powers, the Inquisition would likely hunt them down and potentially erase any record that they¡¯d ever existed. That felt far more likely to her than the idea that the Church had the power to stop a witch from being born in their lands. After all, if they had that power, then how was it that she was born as a witch in the first place?


    "I think the world is trying to protect us from the Church," Amahle said. "Because the Inquisitor told me something that shouldn¡¯t be possible. When a witch dies, our power returns to the earth. The same is true when a vampire is slain. But when the Saints of the Church grow old and approach death, a successor is chosen to inherit their power."


    "The reason that your predecessor gave you the warning she gave you," Amahle said after taking another deep drink of strong wine. "Is likely because of something else I learned from the Inquisitor I spoke with. If the Inquisition ever captures a witch like Heila or Jacques, they will kill them without hesitation."


    "But if they capture either of us," Amahle added darkly. "They have been ordered to capture us alive at all costs and to bring us before the Saint in their Holy City. Now, just why do you think it is that they would do such a thing?"


    The answer seemed obvious. The way that Amahle had explained everything, there was very little room for doubt in her mind about what had happened to the Oracles. What she struggled with, however, was the way Amahle had framed parts of it.


    To Amahle, the return of a person¡¯s power to the earth was natural and normal. But Ashlynn had grown up in a world where fathers passed their titles and lands to their sons. Even merchants worked hard to pass on more power and wealth to their children than their parents had handed to them.


    So if the Church wanted to pass on the power of an Oracle to a chosen heir, then, didn¡¯t that make sense? After all, the Great Prophet had died long ago, but he had written that there would always be a chosen few who would watch over the children of the Holy Lord of Light, guiding them to reach the Heavenly Shores and protecting them from evil. From the perspective of the Church, this must have felt like something that wasn¡¯t just good and godly, it was necessary.


    But if they wanted to capture witches like her or Amahle alive... if the Church wanted power that had nothing to do with the Holy Lord of Light, then what could their reason be? Did they want to take it for themselves? Or were they trying to keep it out of the hands of others? Perhaps it was both.


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said, refusing to draw the conclusion that Amahle wanted her to reach without a chance to learn more for herself. "But I intend to find out," she added in a voice that held all the strength and resilience of a mighty oak. "And I will not let our covens be subjugated by the Church, no matter what."


    "Good. It¡¯s a good place to start," Amahle said, unknowingly echoing Claire du Gaal¡¯s words. "You¡¯ve only just returned. Tonight, we should have a welcome home feast to celebrate, even though you weren¡¯t gone for long," the Mother of Thorns said as she used her spider-like limbs to stand. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But after that, it¡¯s time to put a sharper edge on your training," she added. "We only have a few months left before you need to return home. Between now and then, I will do everything I can to help you and Heila prepare for what you may face from the Church if they learn the truth of your existence. At the very least, I expect you to handle something as simple as a Giant Thornback Alligator by yourselves before I let you go."


    "I lost an elder sister that I never knew to the Church," she said in a voice almost too soft to hear. "I won¡¯t lose you to them as well."


    "It won¡¯t come to that," Ashlynn said softly, leaving her seat at the table to wrap her arms around Amahle in a gentle hug. "Whatever happens, we¡¯ll get through it together. Your coven and mine, Nyrielle and her progeny too. All of us," she said softly.


    It was a simple promise and one that seemed feeble after everything she¡¯d just heard about the powers that shaped the Church, but she meant it. First, she would return home and deliver her long overdue retribution to Owain. Everything else, she could only face after that, but when the time came, she knew that she wouldn¡¯t face it alone.

 Chapter 337: Entering the Arena

    Chapter 337: Entering the ArenaA chill autumn breeze swept through the streets of High Fen City, dancing over the city¡¯s many canals and tugging at the cloaks of people who hurried to warmer places or at least found shelter away from the wind. In the fields outside the city, workers loaded the last of the fall harvest onto heavy barges bound for the city, piling them high with everything from bright orange pumpkins to dull brown potatoes.


    Inside the city, however, throngs of people clustered together, flowing like water through the canals on their way to the massive arena that served as the city¡¯s beating heart. The towering marble-covered structure had been expanded several times since the establishment of the High Fen, and each time, the collection of larger-than-life marble statues depicting champions of eras long past grew until it resembled not only a grand fighting arena but a temple dedicated to the worship of bloodsport.


    "You really believe it?" a tall, gangly man from the Glass Eyed Clan said, lowering his head to talk to his shorter, serpentine companion. "Yotsun isn¡¯t giving up is he?"


    "It¡¯s only day five," the serpentine man beside him said as he glided effortlessly through the crush of people. "There¡¯s no way that greedy old goat will give up this soon, especially when none of the men he¡¯s sent have been killed. I hear that Yotsun brought in outsiders at great expense to put a stop to this as soon as he can. He doesn¡¯t even care about winning anymore, he¡¯s just terrified of losing."


    "Serves him right," the first man said. "He¡¯s lucky that he hasn¡¯t provoked a slaughter yet, but if you ask me, I¡¯d rather be dead than have an arm torn from its socket. It¡¯s one thing to look down on the Vale of Mists for losing the wealth it had centuries ago, but anyone betting against their strength is a fool who deserves what they get!" S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Elsewhere in the crowd, several eager spectators shouted at the ticket sellers, each vying for opportunities to secure a prized seat.


    "I want to be in the east rose rows," one man shouted, holding up a pouch full of silver tails. "It doesn¡¯t matter how high up it is, as long as I¡¯m on the east side. I¡¯ll pay double for the front seats of East Rose!"


    "Idiot, why do you want to pay extra for the east rose seats?" A man next to him said. "If you can pay that much, pay for the hyacinth seats, or the orchid seats even!"


    "Who¡¯s the idiot," the man sneered as she shouldered his way forward to buy his tickets. "East Rose faces the High Lady¡¯s personal box! I don¡¯t care about the fight, I want to see High Lady Erna and the witch! What¡¯s important about a fight when you could have a chance to gaze down on the most powerful women in all of High Fen?"


    "I¡¯m sorry," a stone-faced serpentine mand said as he looked at the eager customer. "The only seats I have left for you on the upper levels are on Western Rose, above the High Lady¡¯s box. The view of the fight will be just as good, but I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t be able to see into the box."


    "What! That¡¯s not fair! Didn¡¯t you tell the fellow three men ahead of me that there were plenty of seats?"


    "As I said," the serpentine attendant said. "The only tickets I have for YOU are in Western Rose. Do you want the tickets? Or should I move to the next patron?"


    "I, I... I want the tickets," the man said, opening his purse to begin counting out silver tails. "Maybe... maybe I can find someone to trade..."


    Inside the Arena, in a large private box located halfway up one side of the arena, directly in the center, High Lady Erna watched the seats fill with her enthusiastic citizens with a smile on her face that revealed a hint of her venomous fangs.


    Four hearths burned in the private box, giving its occupants the illusion that they were luxuriating in the summer sun rather than finding shelter from the cold autumn wind as they watched a pair of veteran gladiators fighting on the sands below.


    While the private box held many seats for watching the fight below, two gilded thrones occupied the very front of the box, placing Lady Erna and her distinguished guest in full view of the thousands of people rushing to their seats.


    Some of those people stopped and stared once they reached their seat but no one dared to look too long. After all, one of the thrones was occupied by High Lady Erna herself, while the other held the newborn Mother of Trees.


    While some might be bold enough to stare at the blond beauty sitting next to their High Lady, most had heard rumors that she wasn¡¯t only a witch, but the Seneschal of the Blood Princess and that she had already been claimed body and soul by the powerful vampire. A man must be bold in life, but there were limits to how bold he could be, and coveting the Blood Princess¡¯s woman was as good as courting death.


    "Is it me, or are the crowds even larger today?" Ashlynn asked lightly as she sipped at a sparkling apple cider. The beverage was light and crisp, like biting into a tart apple with bubbles that tickled her nose. Most importantly, while it was possible to become intoxicated on the fizzy beverage, it was much, much more difficult than if she tried drinking High Lady Erna¡¯s fortified wine.


    The crowds gathering in the arena weren¡¯t just large, they were staggering. If every seat were filled, with people standing in the galleries and filling the isles the way that High Lady Erna said happened during Nyrielle¡¯s bloody battles in the arena, it could hold more people than the entire population of the Vale of Mists.


    Already, more than ten thousand people had packed into the arena today, and the last arrivals were still making their ways toward their seats. When Ashlynn compared it to the tournaments where knights contested for honors and trophies, the contests she¡¯d witnessed in human lands paled in comparison to this grand spectacle. Perhaps the annual tournament in the Royal Capital could draw such crowds, but outside of that, very little would, and very few common folk would even be allowed to attend.


    Yet here, this grand spectacle was taking place not because it was an annual event or because the local ruler had enticed the people to watch. No, all of this was happening because one old man, the descendant of members of the Horned Clan who fled from the Vale of Mists, had insulted the Vale of Mists in front of Heila at the banquet where she and Ashlynn were welcomed back to the city.


    One stubborn old man who wouldn¡¯t back down from insistence that no one else in the Vale of Mists was worthy of fighting on behalf of the Blood Princess... and one equally stubborn young witch, not more than four feet tall, had created a sensation that consumed High Fen City and drew thousands of people to this arena.


    Some of them came to see a stubborn merchant humbled, others came to see a proud young woman rise, but all of them, every last man woman, and child, had come to see blood on the arena sands.....

 Chapter 338: Can She Win?

    Chapter 338: Can She Win?"Is it me, or are the crowds even larger today?"


    Ashlynn¡¯s simple question prompted several people in the private box to crane their necks, looking out at the gathering crowds and trying to compare them to yesterday. Perhaps the crowd was larger, but in a space so vast, it was hard to say. Perhaps there were another thousand people? Two thousand? No one dared venture a guess, though one person felt it was more likely than not.


    "Tomorrow is a rest day for the field workers," High Lady Erna explained as she sipped on a wine that was such a deep red that it appeared almost purple. "Since they don¡¯t have to work tomorrow, they¡¯re more willing to indulge today. I expect the crowds will be even larger tomorrow."


    "High Lady, you sound very confident that our friend will win again today," a light, feminine voice said from the row of seats behind the thrones. "She¡¯s fought forty men already. Do you really think she can win again today? They say that Yotsun hired some extraordinary mercenaries to fight in today¡¯s battle."


    "Too easy, too easy," Talauia said. Her wings hummed with a faint, high-pitched wine that matched her excitement and she hovered an inch or two above her chair before she realized what she was doing and forced herself to calm down. "Heila won¡¯t lose, she¡¯ll never lose. Not in something like this," the Thistle Witch said confidently.


    "I know she¡¯s already one four times," the serpentine woman said. "But shouldn¡¯t she be getting tired by now? She can¡¯t keep this up forever, can she?" If the first day¡¯s victory could be attributed to people underestimating the diminutive young witch, then the fights from the second day on could only be considered increasingly desperate attempts to break her down and find some weakness that could be exploited.


    The injuries that Heila sustained on the third day were fairly light and she was able to use her own witchcraft to recover from them easily enough. It was yesterday¡¯s bloody battle that combined sorcerers with gladiators to besiege the young witch that seemed to have pushed Heila to the edge, requiring Ashlynn to personally tend to her wounds afterward.


    "There¡¯s too much at stake for Heila to back down now, Nereida," Ashlynn said, addressing the woman that Heila had befriended when Jacques brought her to one of the smaller arenas in High Fen City during their last visit.


    It had surprised Ashlynn a bit to learn that Heila had made good enough friends in such a brief period of time that she insisted on visiting Nereida, Eusebia, and Delmatia the day after their arrival in High Fen City. It turned out that Heila wasn¡¯t only acting out of friendship, there had been some practical purpose to her decision to engage with the women, but the more time Ashlynn spent with the trio of wealthy women from the Scaled Clan, the more she understood why Heila liked them.


    Ashlynn¡¯s first impression of Nereida at the Masquerade Ball had been mild. She struck her as not being very different from the countless wives of wealthy merchants she¡¯d seen in her father¡¯s court in Blackwell County. She was exceptionally well mannered, well educated, and had a refined taste that prized the finer things in life. When she¡¯d met Jacques, the man had instantly dismissed her as a blood-sucking mosquito and tried to keep her away from Ashlynn.


    The more Ashlynn came to know her over the past few days, the more she came to respect the woman. Certainly, when Heila asked for Nereida¡¯s help to find a hatter who could craft traveling hats and a fancier hat for Ashlynn, there had been an element of currying favor in the effort the serpentine woman put into pleasing them. But that kind of social maneuvering was so expected that Ashlynn would have been more hesitant if Nereida didn¡¯t try to take advantage in small ways than if she did.


    But beneath the social climbing habits that seemed like second nature to the wives of many wealthy and well connected men, Ashlynn found a genuine charm and a touching sense of honor and loyalty. It couldn¡¯t have been easy to pick sides between an annoyed Heila and a prickly Sandbox Witch, but when the two had been at odds, Nereida made her decision and stuck by Heila¡¯s side.


    In the end, the whole conflict had been a misunderstanding, one that was mostly Jacques¡¯ fault. But Nereida had no way of knowing that when she chose to accompany Heila and even now, she was risking offending one of her husband¡¯s business rivals just by coming to sit with Ashlynn and watch Heila fight.


    "This would have been fine if that fool hadn¡¯t tried to use Mistress Nyrielle as a way to shame the rest of the Vale of Mists," Ashlynn said, continuing her conversation with the serpentine woman. "But once he claimed that the only way the Vale could rise again would be for Mistress Nyrielle to fight another ten days in the arena to assemble another band of champions from among the warriors here..."


    "Oh?" High Lady Erna said with a teasing smile. "So do you in the Vale look down on our gladiators here in the High Fen?" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "A little bit, yes," Ashlynn admitted directly. She might have tried to put things more tactfully before, but after spending so much time around the Eldritch, she had learned that it was better to challenge power directly rather than to attempt to flatter those with significant strength.


    "Your gladiators are very strong," Ashlynn acknowledged. "But they fight for money and for the entertainment of the crowd. This fight right now," she said, gesturing to the men fighting in the arena below. "They may not have choreographed the fight in advance, but they¡¯re clearly giving each other chances to recover and they¡¯re not attempting fatal blows, even when there¡¯s an opportunity."


    "The strongest people in the High Fen aren¡¯t the gladiators in the arena," Ashlynn said. "Gladiators are entertainers. It may be deadly entertainment at times, but they still fight to entertain. No one in the Vale of Mists fights for entertainment. They aren¡¯t gladiators, they¡¯re soldiers and they fight to win wars. I would be more nervous if Heila was fighting the soldiers of the High Fen, but as long as they¡¯re gladiators, I¡¯m not very worried."


    "Perhaps today there will be some reason to worry," the High Lady said with a wicked smile. "I¡¯ve confirmed the identities of the warriors that Yotsun has hired today."


    "Who are they, who are they?" Talauia said eagerly. "Are they famous from somewhere else? Sorcerers from the High Pass maybe? They can¡¯t be vampires," she said, glancing at the sun high overhead. "So what kind of warriors could they be?"


    "The challenge was that she had to fight ten men, every day, for ten days," High Lady Erna said. "Since the only limit is on the number of men facing her, Yotsun has decided to recruit the most individually powerful men he could find. In this case, he¡¯s hired a Tuscan hunting party to challenge your Willow Witch."


    The moment Erna mentioned Tuscans, Ashlynn¡¯s blood ran cold. Visions of the towering, shaggy men with giant ivory tusks and long flexible trunks thundered through her mind along with the sickening sound of ice cracking beneath their feet. The last time they¡¯d fought Tuscan hunters, one of their group had died, and everyone else only barely survived.


    Now, Heila would have to face ten of them... and she would have to do it alone.

 Chapter 339: Taking the Stage

    Chapter 339: Taking the StageBeneath the arena, Heila settled her hat in place and gave the rest of her tools a cursory examination while she waited for the match before hers to conclude.


    The hat itself had been a project that she could never have completed without help from Jacques. Her ¡¯War Hat¡¯ had been made from the leathery hide of the Giant Thornback Alligator that she and Ashlynn hunted for their ¡¯graduation assignment.¡¯ Not only did the alligator skin give it an imposing look, but Jacques had also used a bit of his own thorny magic to empower a ring of bony thorns around the center cone of the hat, giving the hat¡¯s protective aura a sharp edge.


    At her hip, she wore a long, coiled willow whip on one side, balanced by her wand, and a slender small sword on the other. The sword, named Snow Fang, had been carved from the horn of Elder Paulus, the traitorous Frost Walker who schemed against young lord Hauke, Lady Ashlynn, and everyone else in their group.


    Heila hadn¡¯t had long to practice with the small sword. She¡¯d explained to Artificer Erkembalt when they commissioned the weapon that she didn¡¯t know how to fight with a sword. The eclectic artificer, however, had never intended for the blade¡¯s edge to be its most deadly feature. Instead, he¡¯d preserved as much of Elder Paulus¡¯ sorcery as possible within the horn-blade in the hopes that Heila could eventually learn to challenge it.


    At the time, perhaps only Zedya had expected that Heila would one day become a witch, capable of using it to even greater effect, but she doubted anyone expected that she would be more attuned with water and therefore snow than even Ashlynn was. Because of that, the Snow Fang in her hands was far more dangerous than it would have been in the hands of anyone else in Nyrielle¡¯s household, including the highly skilled Zedya.


    After yesterday¡¯s harrowing battle, Heila wished that Captain Lennart and his men had already arrived so she could borrow an appropriate set of armor from one of the Horned soldiers in his troop. Since she couldn¡¯t, High Lady Erna had indulged her with a tunic made of fine steel scales that made her feel as though she¡¯d temporarily joined the Scaled Clan. The armor protected her every bit as well as a coat of mail from the Vale of Mist would have, and for that, she was deeply thankful. Still, she couldn¡¯t help but feel like she wasn¡¯t representing the Vale well while wearing borrowed armor.


    Suddenly, the crowd began to roar as the ¡¯warm up¡¯ match came to a close. From where she stood behind a massive iron gate, Heila couldn¡¯t see who had won or lost but it hardly mattered. After four days in the arena, she¡¯d become accustomed to the spectacle.


    "If Jacques had come with us, what would he say about me now?" Heila wondered. After the way she¡¯d teased him for using a staged battle in a smaller arena to demonstrate that he was capable of defending Ashlynn, even from the men who were already guarding her... Heila¡¯s opinion of bloodsport had been very low at the time.


    "He¡¯d probably cheer for me," she said with a faint smile on her lips. Jacques wouldn¡¯t hold the old grudge against her. He¡¯d let go of far worse. Perhaps, one day, she¡¯d learn from his example, but right now, as chains began to clank and strain and the iron gates rose, her blood couldn¡¯t help but boil as she recalled the smug face of the rotund merchant who provoked this mess.


    When they arrived in High Fen City, they didn¡¯t resemble important dignitaries at all. After weeks on horseback with nothing more than a pair of pack horses to accompany the mares they rode, they resembled common peddlers more than powerful witches. At the time, after spending the entire summer under the relentless training of the Mother of Thorns, neither Ashlynn nor Heila cared much for appearances.


    When they announced themselves at the gates and requested an escort to the palace, only the presence of Talauia managed to convince the guards they really were the witches they claimed to be. By the time High Lady Erna held a welcoming banquet for them two days later, rumors had already flown across half the city that the Mother of Trees and the Willow Witch were poor beggars from the Vale of Mists, clinging to the fame of the Blood Princess in the hopes of finding some charity in High Fen City. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn ignored it. Her lady was always better at rising above, as if no insult could reach the lofty hearts where her heart dwelled. Heila tried to do her best to do the same until she encountered the detestable Yotsun, praising his great-grandfather¡¯s foresight for abandoning the Vale of Mists when High Lord Torbin fell and Nyrielle was forced to retreat across the mountains to gather allies to retake the Vale. He even boasted that, were it not for Nyrielle¡¯s status as the Blood Princess, he would brave the squalor of the Vale of Mists to bring his distant cousins home to civilized lands.


    One thing led to another, and the next thing Heila knew, she was shouting that she would show the people of High Fen City that Lady Nyrielle wasn¡¯t the only one who could fight for ten days in the arena to find champions to fight against the Vale¡¯s enemies. Perhaps, after this, she would follow Lady Ashlynn¡¯s example and avoid drinking anything that the serpentine High Lady served at her parties unless it was fruit juice. The wine had clearly been a mistake!


    "High Lady Erna baited me into this," Heila muttered, lowering the brim of her War Hat and striding out onto the bright sands of the arena. A sound like thunder rose as she walked calmly towards the center of the arena, the sounds of thousands of feet stomping and tails slapping the ground in excitement.


    "Willow Whip!"


    "Willow Whip!"


    "Willow Whip!"


    The moniker the people had chosen for her wasn¡¯t as grand or fearsome as ¡¯Blood Princess¡¯ but that suited Heila just fine. If anyone had a grand title in this place, it should be the Eldritch Lady of the Vale, and after her, only Ashlynn was deserving of a grand title. For Heila, it was enough to know that people knew she was different from her predecessor.


    Cecile had been a staunch pacifist who believed that the gifts of the Willow Tree were only to be used to treat the sick and heal the wounded. But Heila knew all too well that it took people with the courage to stand up and fight to prevent innocent families from being injured in the first place.


    In the stands, some people whispered and pointed, many of them amazed to see Heila moving so easily and standing so tall and proud at the center of the arena.


    "They carried her out on a stretcher yesterday," one man said to his companion. "I thought it was a hollow victory. You know those thugs nearly crushed her chest yesterday!"


    "She coughed so much blood," a young woman nearby said. Her eyes glittered as she looked down on Heila¡¯s shining figure, resplendent in her scale armor and looking cool and composed in the shade of her wide-brimmed hat. "They must have broken half her ribs, but still..."


    "They say there is no injury that the Mother of Thorns can¡¯t heal, and the Mother of Trees is supposed to be an even greater healer," a third man interjected. "People say she hadn¡¯t awakened to her powers yet when she visited in the spring, but look at her Willow Witch, standing there as good as new..."


    "Do you think that the Mother of Trees would heal my wounds?" A fourth man said, only to draw an immediate punch from his muscular companion.


    "Stop complaining about your ¡¯wounded heart¡¯, it¡¯s dangerous talk," he added, his eyes darting around to make sure they hadn¡¯t drawn the ire of anyone working for the arena. "Just stay away from folk so far above you if you know what¡¯s good for you!"


    Suddenly, as Heila stood in the center of the arena, letting the chants and cheers of the crowd envelop her like the waters of the sea, the gates on the opposite side of the arena began to clank and move.


    The crowd went quiet as the audience turned to stare at the towering figures who lumbered out of the iron gates. Long shaggy hair covered their bodies and gleaming ivory tusks had been studded with polished iron spikes that glittered in the midday sun like deadly jewels.


    Deep rumbles echoed from the long, flexible trunks of the towering giants before all ten men pointed their trunks at the sky and unleashed a mighty trumpet blast.


    -BRRRRUUUUUUMMMMMM-


    The sound shook the arena and people looked on in horror as the shaggy giants arranged themselves into a loose formation. Ten men. Ten men, and each of them stood at least twelve feet tall, arrayed against a single woman standing alone in the center of the arena.


    Angered shouts began to fill the air and some people began to throw food at a private box on the opposite side of the arena from the one where High Lady Erna and the Mother of Trees sat. Wasn¡¯t this too much? Did Yotsun have no shame?


    But suddenly, people noticed movement in the High Lady¡¯s box. A hush fell over the crowd as a dazzling woman with blonde hair wearing an emerald green witch¡¯s hat stood up from her throne and strode to the edge of the box. Everyone collectively leaned in her direction, waiting to hear what the Willow Witch¡¯s master would say about the obviously unfair fight.


    "Heila, my child," Ashlynn said, her emerald eyes flashing with a pale glow as she called on the wind to carry her voice to every seat in the arena. "I only have one question for you..."

 Chapter 340: Very Useful

    Chapter 340: Very Useful"Heila, my child. I have only one question for you..."


    Ashlynn¡¯s calm, clear voice swept over the crowd like a soothing balm, easing troubled hearts who were afraid they were about to witness the merciless killing of a rising champion. Clearly, the Mother of Trees was about to ask if her Willow Witch wanted her to intercede. With a request from on high, it would give Yotsun a dignified means of backing down and everything would end well.


    Truly, this Mother of Trees was both powerful and kind! It was no wonder that she had easily captured the hearts and minds of so many common folk in High Fen City.


    "But first, I have a question for friend Yotsun about these warriors you¡¯ve hired," Ashlynn said, shifting her gaze to the far end of the arena. "Tell me, master Yotsun, since these Tuscan Hunters aren¡¯t gladiators of High Fen City, have they accepted the terms of your wager? When my Willow Witch defeats them, they will serve in the army of the Vale of Mists for two years?"


    At the end, it had been this concession that tipped Heila over the edge. She refused to fight a ¡¯meaningless battle¡¯ in the arena. Lady Nyrielle had fought to bring champions home to reclaim the Vale of Mists from the Lothians. High Lady Erna had been the one to suggest that Yotsun could just hire Heila¡¯s defeated foes for a few years if that was what it took to draw the young witch into the arena, but no one had thought for an instant that Yotsun would leap at the offer.


    "Of course they will!" The voice of the short, pudgy merchant from the Horned Clan didn¡¯t carry nearly as well as Ashlynn¡¯s magically augmented voice did and the gray-haired merchant managed to sound both shrill and hoarse when he tried to make himself heard across the arena but he stood up tall and proud despite the indignity of the situation.


    "If your Willow Witch defeats ten men a day for ten days, then of course I will contract all hundred men to her! Why? You aren¡¯t thinking of withdrawing her from this battle after seeing my newest champions, are you?"


    Yotsun couldn¡¯t hold himself back from throwing out a barb of his own. This whole thing had gone badly out of control, but now that it had started, there was no way out but to see it through to the end. Since that was the case, he refused to be belittled in this arena by an outsider, even if she was a powerful witch.


    "Remember," Yotsun added. "If she fails to obtain her victories, she must serve my household for two years! If you do not wish to see her harmed today, I might be persuaded to reduce that to twenty-two months. It¡¯s a good deal, Your Dominion," he said, giving an almost polite bow. "You should consider it."


    "Heila, my child," Ashlynn said, turning her attention to the seething witch on the arena sands. She hadn¡¯t intended to goad the old goat into provoking Heila but the affect of him talking down to her in any way lit a fire in Heila¡¯s heart that Ashlynn could feel all the way in High Lady Erna¡¯s private box.


    "These men could be useful to us," Ashlynn said with a smile as cold as any that Nyrielle had ever shown. "Can you capture them alive? Or do you need to kill them to secure your victory?"


    Behind her, Talauia¡¯s wings fluttered even faster, filling the air with a high-pitched hum as she realized what Ashlynn intended.


    "Oh my, oh my," she whispered, covering her mouth to hide her delighted grin. For months, she¡¯d watched little Heila pushing herself forward and Ashlynn even more so. Now, looking at her friend¡¯s confident demeanor on the arena sands, she could barely see a trace of the woman who hadn¡¯t been certain that she was worthy of the seed of witchcraft that Ashlynn bestowed on her. Instead, she saw a witch coming into her power who was about to teach these people why they should never underestimate a witch.


    Even Nereida, who had been so concerned about Heila¡¯s stamina moments ago, straightened in her seat, her chest puffing up with pride at the way neither her new friend nor the powerful woman she served was willing to back down from the challenge. Seeing this moment, she knew, knew to the tip of her tail that she¡¯d been right to befriend the diminutive lady-in-waiting even before she became a powerful witch.


    "If Mother wants them," Heila said formally as she offered Ashlynn a deep bow. "How can this child be disobedient? I will take them alive," she said, before turning to face the towering Tuscans. "But if they do not surrender quickly enough, they may be beyond my ability to heal. I hope Mother won¡¯t mind," Heila added with a challenging smile of her own.


    The crowd burst into cheers at Heila¡¯s deliberate provocation. Feet and tails hammered the ground and another chorus of "Willow Whip! Willow Whip!" thundered through the air as everyone realized that not only was Heila refusing to back down from the fight, she welcomed it!


    At the far side of the arena, Ipiktok, the lead Tuscan hunter, frowned as he looked at the diminutive witch glaring at his men with hatred that seemed far too personal for a woman he¡¯d never met.


    He¡¯d heard that witches were powerful with many rivaling the power of Eldritch Lords, but for this little lass to stand against him and his entire hunting band with such a murderous glare... was there something wrong with her?


    "Hunters," Ipiktok shouted, raising a large spear high in the air. "Kill your prey! The man who lands a killing blow may claim her hat as his prize!" S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    -BRRRRUUUUUUMMMMMM-


    The sounds of the Tuscan¡¯s answering trumpet blasts filled the air and shook the walls of the arena. Massive feet thundered across the sun-bleached sands and the ground trembled with the force of their passage as they rushed the diminutive witch. They held their weapons high, chains, mauls, spears and axes glinting in the light like deadly jewels thirsting for blood.


    Heila, however, didn¡¯t move an inch from where she stood. With only seconds to respond, her hand dropped to the ivory hilt of Snow Fang, carved from the tusk of one of the Tuscans who had attacked Ashlynn¡¯s companions in the High Pass. A slow smile spread across Heila¡¯s lips as the weapon began to glow with a brilliant white light, visible even from within its sheath.


    "Ancient peaks of endless snow,


    Let winter¡¯s curtain ¡¯round us flow.


    Through blinding white and arctic gale,


    Let frozen mists my form now veil."


    Suddenly, the temperature in the arena plummeted as Heila¡¯s witchcraft amplified the Frost Walker sorcery bound within the deadly blade. A whirlwind of white energy gathered around her feet before exploding outward in a flurry of snowflakes, momentarily blinding the startled Tuscans and leaving everyone in the audience leaning forward at the edge of their seats.


    The dark fur and considerable bulk of the Tuscans made them easy to pick out, even in the blizzard that had consumed the arena, but... where had Heila gone?

 Chapter 341: Subduing Giants

    Chapter 341: Subduing Giants"Snow Flurry Steps," Heila whispered as soon as the explosion of snow erupted from the small sword at her hip.


    She¡¯d barely had time to practice the technique since coming to High Fen City and receiving the weapon from Artificer Erkembalt but the spell she¡¯d crafted to use with her new weapon wasn¡¯t very different from the Mistwalker Dance used by the vampires of the Vale of Mists. For a moment, Heila was all but weightless as she threw herself into the swirling maelstrom of snow, drifting with the wind and treating the snowflakes like solid ground she could spring off of.


    By the time the Tuscans arrived at the place she had been standing, the Willow Witch had already circled around behind them and begun her next attack. She knew she wouldn¡¯t have much time, but all she needed were a few seconds as she began to speak.


    "By willow¡¯s peace and evening¡¯s sigh,


    Let heavy lids now close each eye.


    Through branches swaying, soft and slow,


    To dreamland¡¯s depths now shall you go."


    The swirling winds of the snowstorm carried her voice like snowflakes on a breeze, wrapping it around the Tuscans like a heavy winter blanket. The Tuscans, however, weren¡¯t fools and they weren¡¯t as disorganized by the snow as many would have been.


    "Hunters, form circle!" Ipiktok shouted, holding his spear high in the air. Instantly, the men around him gathered into a tight formation, standing shoulder to shoulder with their weapons facing outward.


    "Clear the air!" The Tuscan leader roared, raising his trunk in the air and taking a deep breath to gather his energy. Moments later, a loud -BRRRUUUU HUUUUUMMMM PFREEEEEE!- split the air as all ten Tuscan hunters let loose not only a powerful trumpet blast, but powerful sorcery that rippled visibly through the air, stilling the wind and knocking the swirling snowflakes from the air.


    In the stands, the crowd covered their ears and small children broke out in distressed cries as the noise assaulted their ears. Several people shrank back from the haunting sound in fear and a few even tumbled from their seats when they felt the impact of the sound washing over their bodies like a physical blow.


    At the far end of the arena, Heila¡¯s smiling figure was revealed, standing on the ground near the iron gate that the Tuscans had entered from. The Tuscans had succeeded in dispelling her snowstorm, but by using sorcery to do so, they¡¯d weakened themselves, losing much of their ability to resist her spell of sleep.


    One by one, the lumbering giants lowered their trunks as their eyelids grew heavy. Weapons clattered to the ground, falling from fingers too tired to hold them moments before several of the powerful warriors swayed on their feet and crashed face-first onto the snow-covered ground of the arena.


    -THUD- -THUD- -THUD- -THUD- -THUD- -THUD-


    The earth shook and seats in the arena rattled as six powerful Tuscan hunters dropped like felled trees, falling to the ground where they lay snoring loudly into the rapidly melting snow.


    In High Lady Erna¡¯s box, Nereida and her friends whooped with delight, clapping their hands and pointing excitedly at the fallen warriors.


    "Just look at that! Six of them, she defeated six of them in an instant!" Nereida said with a grin so wide that it completely revealed her venomous fangs. "She¡¯ll be done with them before we finish our snacks!"


    "Not that easy, really, really not that easy," Talauia said, perching at the edge of her seat. Her multifaceted amethyst eyes tracked every motion on the arena sands but more than that, they revealed to her just how much energy Heila had used to subdue those six men.


    "But if she got six with one spell," the serpentine woman said, confused by why not only the normally animated Talauia but the supremely confident Mother of Trees looked concerned. "She, she should be able to win easily now, shouldn¡¯t she?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said softly. "The arena is the worst place she could possibly fight. Nothing grows on the sands there. Heila is very strong but she isn¡¯t very versatile. In the Briar or the Vale of Mists, she¡¯d be unstoppable against so few men, but here..."


    "In the arena," High Lady Erna said, leaning forward with a predatory gleam in her eyes. "A person can only rely on their own strength. There is no strength here for a witch to borrow. For her to overcome six men at once, just how much of her energy did she have to expend?"


    "Most of it," Ashlynn said nervously. Heila knew better than to exhaust herself but she was pushing things to use her spell of sleep on all of them. If she¡¯d only attempted to lull five of them to sleep, it would only have taken a third of the energy and she likely would have succeeded on at least four out of five. By pushing for everyone, she had achieved greater results but at a much higher cost.


    "Now is when the real contest begins," Erna said, holding up a squirming rodent and dropping it into her mouth. She took a single bite to release the rich, fatty flavors of the specially prepared rodent before swallowing it whole and returning her attention to the battle below.


    Ipiktok was a disciplined commander and he wasn¡¯t about to let the loss of more than half of his soldiers bring him to an easy defeat, especially when the stunned men were merely asleep. It was obvious, however, that this witch was slippery and a simple charge would be all but useless.


    "Iron shot!" Ipiktok shouted, shouldering his spear and retrieving a long loop of reinforced leather. From a pouch at his waist, he retrieved a smooth iron ball. The iron ball was roughly the size of a plum, and when Ipiktok placed it into his sling and began to spin the weapon through the air it made a terrifyingly loud low-pitched hum. The three men still standing beside him copied his movements and soon the air was filled with the sounds of whirling slings.


    Heila¡¯s confident smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a look of grim determination as she lowered the brim of her War Hat. Her mind worked rapidly as she realized that these men, unlike the bloodthirsty trophy hunters she¡¯d seen in the High Pass, fought more like the professional soldiers of the Vale of Mists than any of the gladiators she¡¯d faced so far.


    These me, she acknowledged privately, were worthy of respect...and that only made it harder to find a way to subdue them without killing them.


    "Don¡¯t let her speak," Ipiktok commanded as he let an iron ball fly toward the Willow Witch at the far end of the arena. The ball of iron split the air with a sound like a crack of thunder before slamming into the stone wall behind Heila, missing her by mere inches. Fragments of shattered stone fell to the ground in a clatter as the iron shot buried itself several inches deep in the arena wall. An instant later, another ball dropped into his sling, and the hum of four slings again filled the air.


    "Advance with me," Ipiktok said, striding forward with slow, lumbering steps that shook the sands of the arena. "Just like hunting rabbits," he added with a dark smile. All they had to do now was keep her boxed in so she couldn¡¯t flee until they were close enough to lay hands on her. Once they were close enough, the witch was all but doomed! Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 342: A Gift From A Friend

    Chapter 342: A Gift From A FriendIn the stands, the crowd shouted and cheered as the Tuscans advanced mercilessly toward the cornered witch.


    Certainly, a majority of the common people wanted to see Heila overcome impossible odds yet again. Already, she had defeated forty men in a series of increasingly lopsided matches that pitted some of the most capable of High Fen City¡¯s gladiators against the witch from the Vale of Mists.


    Only the most revered champions had refused to take to the sands, believing it would stain their honor to participate in a match that was so unfavorable to their opponent, though a few of them had begun to hope that Heila might entertain a proper challenge for single combat if she survived this ordeal.


    A small number of residents in High Fen City had taken the chance to bet against the outsider who had, in their minds, humiliated many of the city¡¯s most famed gladiators. Seeing Ipiktok¡¯s unrelenting advance, they raised their voices and called out for blood!


    "Spill her blood!"


    "Crush the witch!" S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Tuscan! Tuscan! Tuscan!"


    In his private box, sweat poured from Yotsun¡¯s brow as the silver-haired merchant gripped the railing with white knuckles. He had already spent more on these Tuscan warriors than he had spent on everyone else he hired to take down the diminutive witch and seeing six of them fall without so much as swinging a weapon made his blood boil and his stomach churn.


    "What¡¯s the matter, old friend," a serpentine merchant wearing expensive silks said as he slapped the shorter, horned merchant on the shoulder. "It couldn¡¯t be that you think your mercenaries will lose, could it? Weren¡¯t you just boasting to us that you¡¯d treat everyone else in this box to a revitalizing potion brewed by ¡¯your witch¡¯ once these Tuscans defeated her?"


    "Shut up, Beilan," Yotsun spat. "Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t noticed your wife getting cozy with the witches in High Lady Erna¡¯s private box. When I win, there won¡¯t be any potions waiting for you."


    "Ha ha ha ha ha," the serpentine merchant laughed at the dark look on his rival¡¯s face. "I never expected to receive anything from you, old goat. But maybe when this is all over you can..."


    -CRACK-


    An explosive sound split the air interrupting their exchange of barbed pleasantries as the situation in the arena changed yet again.


    Blood flowed in a wide rivulet down Heila¡¯s face, seeping from a wound hidden by the War Hat. Without the hat¡¯s strong defense, protecting her as well as a helmet would have, the impact of the iron shot might have shattered one of her horns and certainly would have knocked her senseless.


    Four other iron balls had already embedded themselves in the stone wall behind her as the advancing Tuscans coordinated their attacks, forcing her into a position where she was off-balance and unable to dodge out of the way.


    "Damn it," she cursed, running a finger along the band of her War Hat and retrieving one of the gifts that Jacques had bestowed on her. The seedpod taken from the Bloody Sandbox Tree was a precious item and not one that could be easily replaced. He¡¯d harvested more than a dozen for her before they left the Briar, bemoaning the fact that he couldn¡¯t accompany them on their journey.


    Heila had intended to save them all for the upcoming war with the Lothians, but now that she found herself all but surrounded by the advancing Tuscans, she reached for her most unlikely friend¡¯s gift without hesitation.


    "A gift from a friend," she taunted the advancing Tuscans as she hurled the palm-sized fruit of the Bloody Sandbox Tree.


    "Cover!" Ipiktok shouted, dropping to one knee and covering his head with his arms as he felt a dangerous surge of magic from the strange cluster of seeds.


    An instant later, while his companions were still in the midst of responding to his orders, dropping their slings to protect themselves, the seed pod tore itself apart in a violent explosion. There was no light or burst of flame, but a lurid red aura spilled from the fruit leaving a dozen crimson streaks hanging in the air as the shrapnel of the seedpod tore through the thick fur of the Tuscans, embedding themselves deep in their flesh.


    Had it been a normal seedpod from a sandbox tree, even one empowered by the notoriously prickly Sandbox Witch, that would have been an end to it. The wounds inflicted were grievous but hardly life-threatening. This seedpod, however, had been taken from a Sandbox tree deep in the Briar, one that had been nurtured by decades of blood offerings, first from the Mother of Thorns and then from the Sandbox Witch who bore one of its seeds as his seed of witchcraft.


    -BRRREEEEEEE-


    The wail of injured Tuscans split the air, once again driving the crowd to cover their ears as the trumpet blast was higher in pitch than any they¡¯d heard from the towering giants before. Ipiktok staggered to his feet, retrieving his spear and glaring at Heila with murderous hatred as he clutched the bloody wound on his side where two of the seeds had embedded themselves in his flesh. A second later, however, that murderous glare trembled, his eyes widening as horror gripped him.


    "What, what did you do to us, witch!" Ipiktok shouted, unable to suppress the tremble in his voice. "What, what was that?"


    "A gift from the Sandbox Witch," Heila said, clutching her head as silvery-green light swirled around her hand, sealing the wound and stopping the flow of blood as she regained her composure.


    "Surrender now," she said, her voice growing loud enough for the crowd in the arena to hear. "Surrender now," she repeated. "And I¡¯ll save your lives. Refuse my offer and you¡¯ll die within the hour."


    "Leader," one of the Tuscans said with a pained look on his face. "That thing... it, it¡¯s moving," he said, clutching at his bleeding leg as his thick fingers poked at the wound, desperate to stop the advance of the burrowing seed.


    "It¡¯s called a Heart Seeker Seed," Heila explained, using a trace of wind energy to carry her voice to the entire arena. "It¡¯s a creation of the Sandbox Witch. The seeds in your flesh will dig deeper and deeper into your body until they can ¡¯plant¡¯ themselves in your heart. When you die, they will use your body as nourishment to grow a new Bloody Sandbox Tree wherever you fall."


    In the stands, a hush had fallen over the crowd as they heard Heila¡¯s description of the terrifying weapon. Several looked at the wounded Tuscans with gazes filled with pity. Perhaps the men were still strong enough to fight. With the wound that the Willow Witch had already suffered, they might even be able to defeat her. But what kind of victory would it be if they died less than an hour later? Even though they could still fight, what was the point if they killed the only person who could heal them?


    "Defeat her!" Yotsun shouted from his private box. His small fists pounded on the railing as strained his voice to make himself heard. "If you defeat her, she must enter my service! I will command her to heal you, so just defeat her now!"


    "You¡¯re a smart man," Heila said, looking up at the leader of the Tuscans. "You could still fight me. You¡¯re not dead yet," she acknowledged. Slowly, she drew the small sword at her hip, filling it with just enough energy for the crystalline blade carved from Frost Walker horn to grow a brilliant white. "But if I have to expend my energy to fight you, will I still have enough left to heal you in time?"


    "Right now, I can remove those seeds from all of you," Heila promised, meeting wide-eyed gazes of each of the wounded Tuscans. "The seeds haven¡¯t burrowed too deeply yet. I still have strength to fight, or to heal. Or you can fight me. Maybe you¡¯ll win," she added, lowering her head enough to hide her eyes from the men under the wide brim of her War Hat. "Maybe you won¡¯t. Either way, if we fight, you¡¯ll probably die."


    "Leader," the man clutching his leg said. "This isn¡¯t how I want to die, but if you order it, I will fight to my last breath."


    "Not every fight is worth winning," Ipiktok said with a shake of his shaggy head. "Perhaps, if we fight for this little witch for a few years, we¡¯ll be even stronger when we return home. A hunter doesn¡¯t die pointless deaths, he consumes his prey to grow stronger and he never fights battles he knows he cannot win."


    "There is no shame in this," the Tuscan said as he bowed his head and touched the tip of his trunk to the ground in an oddly formal gesture of subservience. "We are defeated, Willow Witch. And we wish you victory in the coming days so we may grow stronger under your banner."


    "Damn it, you feckless sell swords!" Yotsun shouted, cursing the Tuscan mercenaries and seven generations of their ancestors while he was at it.


    Unfortunately, the cheers of the arena were so overwhelming that no one, not even the other merchants in the private box with him, could hear his curses. Everyone was too busy cheering the intense battle that marked the Willow Witch¡¯s fifth consecutive victory over ten times as many foes.


    Meanwhile, several people began to look at the fuming merchant with curious gazes, wondering what else he could produce at this point that would pose a threat to the diminutive witch who seemed like an unstoppable force unleashed in the arena.

 Chapter 343: Rumors

    Chapter 343: RumorsFour days since Heila¡¯s crushing victory over the Tuscan warriors, rumors once again swept through High Fen City, this time with even greater fervor than the arrival of the Mother of Trees and her unbeatable Willow Witch.


    By now, everyone had forgotten the rumors that had painted the noble and refined Mother of Trees as a pauper from the impoverished Vale of Mists. It was as clear as the bright blue autumn sky to anyone with eyes in the arena that this human witch was a woman of grace, elegance, and strength that no one could fathom.


    Never before had the people of High Fen City seen the strength of a witch on display in their sacred arena and now they finally knew why. Witches had nothing to fear from the arena¡¯s challenges, rather, there was little there that could challenge them


    With Heila¡¯s final victory feeling increasingly assured, people turned their attention to the latest rumor circulating in the busy markets and the shaded parks. Farmers from the outlying villages had already brought word of a powerful force on the march. Hundreds of soldiers, no, thousands, no, tens of thousands of soldiers, all marching under the banner of an Eldritch Lord that no one recognized.


    "A hundred thousand strong, and not a soldier less," an apple seller confidently told the young women gathered at his stall as he filled a sack for them. "They say it¡¯s just an honor guard for the lord that¡¯s come to challenge High Lady Erna to a duel in the arena. Mark my words, by winter, we may be tithing to a new High Lord, or even a Great Lord!"


    "I heard that the Golden Eyed Clan marches at the head of a great army," an excited voice said in a small cafe elsewhere in the city. "They say that they¡¯re refugees. A motley bunch of refugees who escaped the destruction of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s Tangled Tower. They¡¯re coming here to beg High Lady Erna to take them in."


    "Hush, none of that here," a worried-looking shopkeeper said as he poured fresh mulled cider for the pair of young men gossipping at a small table in the corner of the cafe. "What if it¡¯s true, eh? You think you¡¯re strong enough to fight off High Lord Hamdi¡¯s men if they hear you¡¯ve been talking down on them? Even a starving wolf can kill a rabbit and what are you but a juicy rabbit to the likes of them?"


    "I¡¯m no rabbit," the young man from the clan of painted masks protested. "I¡¯ll be sixteen come spring and I¡¯m already enrolled in the Crimson Blade Academy. I¡¯ll be a gladiator on the sands in two year¡¯s time!"


    "Sure, a gladiator in two years, but a rabbit today," the shopkeeper said. "So mind your tongue. Besides," he added, leaning in close and giving the young man a conspiratorial wink. "Have you forgotten who has been keeping our High Lady Erna company in the arena lately? I hear that Her Dominion Ashlynn has called up the rest of her coven from across the land and she¡¯s just waiting for them to gather here before she returns to the Vale of Mists..."


    Some rumors were more wildly exaggerated than others, and the only people who knew the truth weren¡¯t saying anything, or at least, they weren¡¯t saying anything to the common folk.


    Rumors of an impending attack died almost instantly when soldiers and staff from High Lady Erna¡¯s palace assembled in force near the city¡¯s North Gate and all along the thoroughfares leading from the gate to the palace.


    The streets were swept clean and vendors with carts on the street were ordered to move their business to a side street or close for the day. Velvet ropes in rich, royal purple were hung at intersections, blocking people from entering the larger street and stone-faced soldiers took up positions to keep back the growing crowd as onlookers gathered to see what the fuss was about.


    People still didn¡¯t know who was coming to their city, but one thing was clear. Whoever this esteemed visitor was, they were being welcomed with open arms. The only question in the minds of the more politically savvy people in the city was whether those open arms concealed a knife for the visitor¡¯s back or not.


    After all, just because a person was greeted with great pomp and circumstance didn¡¯t mean they were a welcome visitor, and when you thought about it, what kind of welcome visitor arrived with an entire army at their back?


    When the sun slipped below the western horizon, and still no one had arrived, some people began to mutter, wondering if the esteemed visitor was trying to deliberately snub the people of High Fen City by dragging out their arrival until the last minute. Others, however, remembered the rumors from a day or two prior, when people spoke of the defeated forces of High Lord Hamdi.


    "I heard it from my cousin¡¯s husband who¡¯s a soldier at the east gate," an animated old man said in hushed tones to the disbelieving people around him. "High Lord Hamdi isn¡¯t just part of the Golden Eyed Clan, he¡¯s a vampire who¡¯s ruled the Tangled Wood for centuries. The people who are coming here, they¡¯re his defeated progeny. That¡¯s why they won¡¯t arrive until after dark. They¡¯re vampires!" Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Enough with your vampire stories," a nearby neighbor said with a derisive snort. "You¡¯ve been on and on about vampires ever since the Blood Princess visited at the end of spring. You¡¯ve never been within ten thousand paces of a vampire and you never will!"


    "Oh? Then why do you think they¡¯re getting here so late if they aren¡¯t vampires?" The old man said, using a well-worn cane to prod at his younger companion. "If they were coming tomorrow, High Lady Erna wouldn¡¯t have blocked the road today. So why are they so late if they¡¯re not vampires?"


    "It could be anything," the younger man said, crossing his arms and refusing to back down. "A carriage with a broken axel. A washed-out bridge across one of the canals. There are perfectly ordinary explanations for these things that don¡¯t involve centuries-old vampires risking days of sunlight to travel from their domains to High Fen City."


    "Sure, sure," the old man said. "But then... THEY¡¯RE HERE! THEY¡¯RE HERE!" Whatever he¡¯d been planning to say was forgotten as he cried out in excitement, pointing at a nearby hill to the north.


    From the streets of High Fen City, it looked as if the entire hill had caught fire. The light to the north grew brighter and brighter as members of the Glass Eyed Clan pointed out individual torches and lanterns clustering together before the entire mass of flame began to stretch and flow down the hill toward the North Gate.


    The river of flame seemed endless, stretching for half a league before anyone saw the end of it as it snaked its way to the city. Faintly, those in the crowd with keen senses could hear the clatter of horses hooves on the cobblestone road and mingled with that sound, the deep, steady beat of drums and the steady march of boots.


    Conversation among the people stilled to a whisper as everyone craned their necks out as far as they could, leaning over the velvet ropes and staring toward the North Gate, each of them hoping to be the first to witness the arrival of their mysterious guest...

 Chapter 344: A Show Of Strength (Part One)

    Chapter 344: A Show Of Strength (Part One)The sounds of the approaching army grew louder and louder until everyone in the northern districts of High Fen City could hear the steady beat of drums and the clinking of armor as soldiers marched toward the city. The glow from more than a thousand torches and lanterns lit the sky and dozens of wagons trundled across the canal bridges outside the city gates.


    "Look, look! The Golden Eyed Clan," an excited young man from the Glass Eyed Clan shouted as he strained against the ropes, hoping for a better view of the approaching army. His sinuous neck stretched out far enough that one of the stone-faced soldiers from the palace rapped him on the back of the head with a mailed gauntlet before jerking a thumb in the direction of the side street the boy was standing in.


    "Hey, look," a shorter boy from the Clan of Painted Masks said, tugging at his taller companion¡¯s tunic. "Look at the man leading them, the one with the pure white fur! He must be seven feet tall. Do you think he¡¯s High Lord Hamdi?"


    "High Lords don¡¯t walk when others ride," a wizened, serpentine woman said from behind the young men who were jostling for a better view. She might never have seen another High Lord in person but when had anyone ever seen High Lady Erna slithering along on her own tail while others rode horses or stayed in carriages? The notion was preposterous!


    "But he shouldn¡¯t be anyone weak," she added. "He might even challenge our arena champions."


    After decades of watching fights in the arena, she knew strength when she saw it. More than that, her flickering tongue could all but taste the aura of blood that clung to the white-furred lupine man at the head of a long column of soldiers. Only champions who had slaughtered countless foes in the arena possessed the aura that this man did, so whoever he was, he couldn¡¯t be unimportant.


    At the head of the column, Savis trotted forward briskly, stopping just outside the walls and drawing a deep breath. The words he was about to speak burned in his chest like the flames of the cursed Inquisitor and his tail hung limp with shame but there was nothing he could do about the position he found himself in. Now, he could only do as he¡¯d been ordered to in the hopes that his obedience could purchase salvation for his sire.


    "People of High Fen City," Savis roared in a voice so loud that it could be heard all the way to the palace gates deep within the city. "I am Savis, Eldest Progeny of High Lord Hamdi of the Tangled Wood, Slayer of Garibor and Talshafan, called the White Fang of the Tangled Wood!"


    "What business do you have in High Fen City, Savis of the Tangled Wood?" The answering call from the guardsmen at the gate lacked the strength of Savis¡¯ powerful sorcery but it was still clear and resounding to all the gathered common folk pressing against the ropes.


    "Today, this defeated dog serves as herald for the woman who toppled the Tangled Tower," Savis answered. His fur bristled with barely suppressed rage, but he had little choice in the matter. Lady Nyrielle¡¯s instructions had been clear, and this was hardly the first time she¡¯d sent him out to serve as a visible symbol of the fate that awaited those who thought themselves stronger than the youngest True Vampire.


    "Lady Nyrielle, Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists, called the Blood Princess of the Arena, Her Eternity the Harbinger of Death has come to visit her former student, High Lady Erna of the High Fen, and to secure passage for her army to return to the Vale of Mists," Savis said formally.


    Behind him, Nyrielle¡¯s army continued to advance, showing no sign that they intended to slow for the gates that currently barred their way. Inside the gatehouse, however, several of the workers were too stunned by what they¡¯d heard to notice their leader waving at them to open the gates.


    "Did he say that Lady Nyrielle toppled the Tangled Tower?" one man said as he stared out the narrow windows of the gatehouse at the advancing army. "Then, are these all the men who are left from High Lord Hamdi¡¯s Black Wolf Brigade?"


    "Shush, don¡¯t use her name so casually!" Another man scolded. "You heard what Master Savis called her! She¡¯s ¡¯Her Eternity¡¯ now."


    "She might be ¡¯Her Eternity¡¯ but she¡¯ll always be our Blood Princess," the men¡¯s leader said proudly moments before his hands grabbed both slack-jawed men by the necks and shook them fiercely. "And you lot need to raise the gates to welcome her home!"


    When the gates shuddered open, Savis stood perfectly still for a moment as he stilled his heart and fixed his gaze on the silvery crescent moon hanging high in the sky. Then, with an ear-piercing howl, he vented all of his rage and shame as he called out to the soldiers behind him.


    Immediately, one hundred and sixty howls sounded as one, answering his cry as the men of the Black Wolf Brigade echoed their commander¡¯s outrage. Then, like hounds let loose after straining at the leash, they charged into the city in two neat columns.


    In the streets, some people shrieked in fear, shrinking back from the velvet ropes and falling all over themselves in their desperation to escape the attacking army. The soldiers, however, only rushed a few dozen paces into the city before they began to peel off in pairs every ten paces, taking positions lining either side of the road and kneeling to welcome the remainder of the army.


    The crowd¡¯s initial panic at the howling charge gave way to both respect and a bit of awe as they watched the disciplined movements of the Golden Eyed soldiers. Here and there among the crowd, some children even clapped as though they were watching a performance of gladiators in the arena on a scale the likes of which they¡¯d never seen.


    After all, even when battles between two groups of gladiators took place there were rarely more than thirty or forty warriors on the sands. Yet now, under the watchful golden eyes of their white-furred commander, more than a hundred and fifty soldiers had moved not only with deadly swiftness but perfect harmony as though they were ready to envelop and pounce on any prey unlucky enough to be caught between the two jaws of wolf soldiers. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At the gate itself, Savis knelt with his head bowed, refusing to watch his soldiers execute their orders or the arrival of the people behind him. He had done as he¡¯d been ordered. Now, like the defeated dogs he¡¯d called them, they would yield their position in the vanguard to the people following behind. Only when the remainder of Nyrielle¡¯s army passed by would he be permitted to stand and join the procession once again.


    The group that followed after the Black Wolf Brigade drew an entirely different reaction from the crowd. People cried out in shock and horror at the sight of the men entering the city. Mothers covered their children¡¯s eyes and countless people felt their stomachs churn in revulsion.


    Were people like this really going to be allowed into their city?

 Chapter 345: A Show of Strength (Part Two)

    Chapter 345: A Show of Strength (Part Two)"Merciful Lords and Ladies, what, what are those?" A startled shopkeeper said, pointing at the group of strange, misshapen men who followed after the Golden Eyed Black Wolf Brigade. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They¡¯re Clanless," a swordsmith from the Clan of Painted Masks said as he suppressed his urge to draw back in revulsion from the group of men and women who strode into the city with their heads held higher than they¡¯d ever been and their backs as straight as they could make them.


    Tausau, the vampire at the head of the Mongrel Horde, allowed a predatory aura of menace to seep from his burly body as his eyes swept the crowd, savoring the taste of revulsion and fear in the air. For too long, he¡¯d allowed the judgment of outsiders to wear him and his mongrel progeny down, but since Nyrielle granted him a rebirth, reigniting the passions buried deep in his heart, he¡¯d come to relish in the way his twisted appearance discomforted the more ¡¯proper¡¯ people in the Eldritch world.


    Who among them had the strength to endure a twisted birth and a cursed life? Who among them had worked half as hard as the least among his progeny, simply to survive another day? Rather than accepting the judgment of the common folk, he looked down on them as people too weak to survive what he and his progeny had endured. Now, with the opportunity his grand-niece had presented them, they would teach the world to shudder in fear not at the appearance of the Mongrel Horde, but at their strength!


    "They¡¯re not just Clanless," a grizzled gladiator standing next to the swordsmith said when Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde passed by. "They¡¯re vampires. Thirty, thirty-one if you include the leader... How are there nearly three dozen Clanless Vampires, all in one place?"


    "Atrice," the swordsmith said in very hushed tones. "Are Clanless Vampires as strong as other vampires? Or are they as weak as the Clanless?"


    "I don¡¯t know," the gladiator whispered. "But from where I stand, I wouldn¡¯t want to fight them. At the very least, I¡¯m not confident that I could win without suffering injuries that would end my career in the arena."


    Around him, several people nodded. No one wanted to fight a vampire if they could avoid it. They weren¡¯t considered the ultimate predators for nothing. Perhaps the ill-fated Glimmerwing clan might once have enjoyed an equally fierce reputation, but their complete and utter destruction at the hands of Vampires had cemented the latter¡¯s place in most people¡¯s minds as the most deadly of all Eldritch beings.


    The people breathed more easily after Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde passed, followed closely by dozens of men and women wearing dark silk robes, covered by ancient glyphs and symbols used by some of the oldest traditions of sorcery in Eldritch lands. The people seemed to come from more than a dozen different clans, but all of them carried an air of mystery that drew the attention of countless commoners.


    "Nana," a young boy said, tugging on his grandmother¡¯s dress while his eyes strained to capture every detail of the robed men. "How do they make the writing on their robes glow? I want words on my tunic that glow, can you, can you sew words like that Nana?"


    "You see them as glowing?" the stoop-shouldered tailor said, looking at her grandson in surprise. "Don¡¯t you lie to me about this boy," she said, her voice unexpectedly sharp. "If you see something on the robes of sorcerers..."


    "I see it, I see it, I swear!" the boy insisted. "They shine in blue and purple and gold," he said, pointing at different robed figures with each color he named. "They¡¯re pretty, really pretty and..."


    Behind the young boy and his grandmother, an artificer from the Clan of Painted Masks turned away rather than listen to the young man¡¯s growing excitement. It wasn¡¯t that he blamed the young man. Decades ago, he¡¯d been much the same. But as soon as he recognized the robes worn by the group of sorcerers, he decisively left the crowded street, walking in the direction of the shop he knew he shouldn¡¯t have left.


    "Perhaps I won¡¯t get to see Lady Nyrielle again after all," Artificer Erkembalt said sadly. He¡¯d hoped to get her thoughts about the weapons he¡¯d forged for the Willow Witch and the human boy, but seeing his former associates gathered under Lady Nyrielle¡¯s banner made him question whether or not she would welcome his presence. At the very least, it would complicate matters more than either of them would desire.


    "I suppose if she wants to see me, she knows where I hang my hat," the artificer said with a defeated sigh. "But what in the world did she offer them to entice so many of those dogmatic fools to follow her?"


    The Sorcerers of Sundered Earth weren¡¯t supposed to care for the troubles of the world, which was part of why he¡¯d left in the first place. Yet now, marching in Nyrielle¡¯s army, they were certain to find themselves embroiled in a good many troubles, so what had changed their minds? Without a visit from the vampire herself, it was impossible to know, but the question was sure to gnaw at him for several months if he couldn¡¯t find an answer.


    Behind the robed men came another unit of soldiers with thick, leathery skin that looked almost like armored plates. After them, a clan of people even shorter than the horned clan with pinched, mouselike features followed, many of them dressed in black and wearing deep hoods with slits for their saucer-shaped ears.


    The march lasted for close to twenty minutes before a dark carriage marked by a crimson glyph pulled into view. Driving the carriage were two pale-skinned humans who radiated a strength and power unlike any of the other vampires they¡¯d seen come before. Even Savis couldn¡¯t compare to the quiet, enchanting power that radiated from the amethyst-eyed woman driving the carriage or the slow-burning intensity they felt from the dark-haired man wearing red and gold robes sitting on the carriage next to her.


    "The woman driving is Madame Zedya, she¡¯s one of the Blood Princess¡¯s direct progeny," a well-connected merchant said proudly, strutting off his knowledge to impress the people around him. "I saw her at the masquerade ball when the Blood Princess visited last time."


    "I don¡¯t believe it," the man standing next to him said. "You¡¯re not important enough to attend an event that fancy. There¡¯s no way you had an invitation!"


    "I didn¡¯t say I was invited," the man said in an aggrieved tone. "I just said I saw her there. I, I was delivering ice from the mountains," he added a touch awkwardly.


    "Okay, so if you know so much then who¡¯s the man next to her?"


    "I, I don¡¯t know..." the ice merchant said awkwardly. "I¡¯ve never seen or heard of him before..."


    While common folk pushed and shoved, many of them hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of the famed Blood Princess of the Arena, Lady Nyrielle sat quietly in her carriage. With the curtains drawn and only a single lantern burning, casting its flickering golden light across her perfectly sculpted features, she never for a moment thought about indulging the commoners in their desire to glimpse her beautiful figure.


    It wasn¡¯t that she looked down on them, rather, her slender fingers traced the place where Ashlynn had last sat in the carriage and her mind sank deep into memories of the night they¡¯d met when she rescued Ashlynn in this very carriage.


    "Soon, my darling Ashlynn," she whispered, her midnight blue eyes sparkling with barely restrained eagerness. "Just wait for me a few minutes longer..."

 Chapter 346: Only Eyes For You

    Chapter 346: Only Eyes For YouAt the plaza outside the palace, Ashlynn presented a calm, stately appearance to onlookers as she stood beside High Lady Erna. Inwardly, however, her heart raced, seeming to beat twice as fast as the slow, steady rhythm of the drummers in Nyrielle¡¯s army.


    For tonight¡¯s welcoming event, Ashlynn had dressed in a long green dress that hugged her lush hips and slender waist while a corset of dark lace offered up her full bust like fine melons to be feasted upon. Unlike her last visit, she¡¯d abandoned local fashion, choosing to leave he shoulders and neck bare.


    The attendants who helped prepare her wardrobe for today¡¯s reception looked somewhat scandalized that Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t wear any of the jewelry they offered. Necklaces, chokers, and elaborate chains of silver or gold and precious jewels were all rejected, as were the simplest of bracelets.


    "You don¡¯t understand my Nyrielle," she told the scandalized jeweler. "To her, no gem or jewel could ever compete with the sight of my pulse beating beneath the surface of my skin," she said, tracing a finger over her delicate neck. "And if we must entertain, and I can only offer her something chaste, then she will feast on my naked wrist," Ashlynn added, gesturing to her slender wrist.


    "But, your Dominion," the jeweler protested. "The most prominent people of High Fen City and even the surrounding towns will be present to welcome the Blood Princess back to the city. Even if you don¡¯t dress for her, think of the impression you¡¯ll make on them if you appear so... unadorned. You know what people will say," she hinted, reminding Ashlynn of the rumors that had circulated that she was an impoverished witch from the Vale of Mists, clinging to Nyrielle¡¯s thigh to elevate herself.


    "She doesn¡¯t care," Heila said from the couch she¡¯d been resting on. Her ninth victory in the arena had barely felt like a contest and she wondered if Yotsun was saving something special for the final day. Now, however, she was simply grateful that she had the energy to face tonight¡¯s festivities since she knew that there would be a great deal of work to do once she and Zedya were reunited.


    "If you have to adorn someone to prop up my lady¡¯s station," Heila suggested. "You can layer as many of those jewels on me as you wish. Talauia too," she added, pointing at the excited Thistle Witch. "That should make it clear that my lady¡¯s lack of adornment is a choice and not a necessity."


    "You see?" Ashlynn said with a smile as she looked at the poor jeweler¡¯s crestfallen face. "Every problem has a solution."


    Now, the chill air of an autumn evening swept around Ashlynn¡¯s bare shoulders but she hardly noticed as her eyes tracked the progress of the river of torches entering the city. For months, the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest had grown fainter with distance until she couldn¡¯t notice unless she listened carefully to reassure herself that her lover¡¯s heart still beat. Now, however, that they were only minutes apart, the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heart thundered in her chest like the drums of her army, coming ever nearer.


    "I should say ¡¯As expected of my teacher,¡¯" High Lady Erna said as she waited with Ashlynn for Nyrielle¡¯s arrival. "But I don¡¯t think my teacher of so many decades ago could have assembled an army so vast in just a few month¡¯s time. You¡¯ve changed her, Ashlynn," she said with a broad smile.


    "We¡¯ve changed each other," Ashlynn said, resisting the urge to stand up on her tiptoes to watch the carriage draw closer. Nyrielle had already entered the city, she would be here in mere minutes but the wait felt so much longer than that. "I like to think we¡¯ve both changed for the better."


    "I like to think so," Erna said. In the time since Ashlynn arrived in High Fen City, the two women had spent several hours together every day, not only to observe Heila¡¯s battles in the Arena but sharing a morning or evening meal every day as well. In that time, the serpentine ruler had come to realize that Ashlynn had many more layers to her and was far more complex than the out-of-her-depth young woman she appeared to be just several months ago.


    The Ashlynn that arrived in High Fen City in the spring still struggled with the Eldritch language and relied on Heila, Nyrielle, or others to translate for her when conversations became complex or nuanced. The Mother of Trees that arrived in the Autumn conversed with the same practiced grace that she possessed when speaking her native tongue.


    When a messenger arrived with word of Nyrielle¡¯s impending arrival and limited details about the sizeable force she had assembled in the months since leaving, Ashlynn put herself immediately to work, settling the countless details required to receive the incoming army. From securing lodging for more than a thousand men and horses to arranging the grand entrance to the city, Ashlynn had played her role as Seneschal to the hilt and she¡¯d executed it marvelously.


    Now, as Nyrielle¡¯s dark carriage finally rolled into the plaza, all of that work felt like a dream, quickly forgotten as her emerald eyes locked onto the doors bearing Nyrielle¡¯s glyph. Dimly, she was aware of a strange vampire she¡¯d never met sitting next to Zedya on the driver¡¯s seat, but even his antique Inquisitor¡¯s robes weren¡¯t enough to distract her from her single-minded focus as she awaited Nyrielle¡¯s emergence from the carriage.


    Two very long heartbeats later, the doors opened, revealing a swirl of dark skirts as Nyrielle emerged from the dimly lit interior of the carriage like a creature of shadow and midnight descending to the earth. Her dress, crafted from black silk and velvet, flowed like ink spilled in water, drifting and rippling with every elegant movement, while delicate black lace stretched across her bodice revealing hints of pale, alabaster skin beneath the lace, stretching almost all the way down to her navel.


    The flash of a pale, creamy calf beneath those billowing skirts drew every eye as she descended to the marble pavers, but it was her deep, midnight blue eyes that captured Ashlynn¡¯s gaze and the echo of her lover¡¯s heartbeat within her chest that drowned out every startled gasp or admiring whisper rippling around the plaza.


    In an instant that was too brief for most eyes to follow, Nyrielle appeared before Ashlynn, wrapping her arms around the witch¡¯s slender waist and pulling her close until their bodies pressed together from the tops of their knees all the way up to their chests.


    A brief moment of hunger flashed across Nyrielle¡¯s eyes and her fangs grew longer as Ashlynn¡¯s faint evergreen scent filled her nostrils.


    "Not here," Ashlynn whispered, reaching up to caress Nyrielle¡¯s pale cheek and guiding her lover¡¯s lips to meet her own.


    Time stopped and the entire world fell away from the two women as they savored the taste of their long-absent lover. The briefest prick pierced Ashlynn¡¯s lush, lower lip before a faint metallic taste added a surge of richness and a tingle of primitive danger to their tender kiss. A single drop of blood spilled from their lips, shocking onlookers as they watched one of the most powerful vampires in the world openly feeding on one of the greatest witchers in the land. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    No one said anything. Few people even dared to breathe.


    But Ashlynn and Nyrielle paid the onlookers no mind. As they held each other tight beneath the moonlight, they only had eyes for each other.

 Chapter 347: Important Matters (Part One)

    Chapter 347: Important Matters (Part One)For several intense moments, nothing existed for Ashlynn beyond the feel of Nyrielle¡¯s lithe body pressed up against her own, the press of their lips and the dance of their tongues. The faint scent of Nyrielle¡¯s lavender soap filled her nose and the soft texture of silk lace beneath her fingertips reassured her that, even as her mind drifted on waves of pleasure that pulsed all the way down to the most sensitive of places between her thighs, this moment, this touch, this woman in her arms... was real.


    The dream they¡¯d shared months ago felt like a dim, pale imitation for the love of her life that teased and tantalized every sense as they held each other beneath the moonlight. No dream, not even a mystical vision that connected them across a distance of hundreds of leagues, could ever compare to the reality of the person their hearts most desired.


    But no moment, no matter how intense, could last forever. Slowly, with great reluctance, the two lovers began to relax as their deep, sensual kiss melted into a string of soft pecks on the lips, as if they were promising each other that there was more to come before this night could end.


    "I¡¯ve missed you," Ashlynn said softly as she blinked away the moisture filling the corners of her emerald eyes. "My life has never felt so incomplete as it has since you went so far away."


    "I waited centuries to find you, my darling," Nyrielle whispered, sliding her fingers beneath the band of Ashlynn¡¯s silky green witch hat to run her fingers through her lover¡¯s soft blonde hair. Briefly, her tongue traced over the stray drop of blood that had spilled down her lip, as if she was savoring the rarest, most precious flavor she¡¯d tasted in hundreds of years of life. "But waiting even an hour longer felt like an eternity."


    "You made an impressive entrance," Ashlynn said, her face heating slightly as she began to feel the stares of more than a hundred guests and dignitaries fixed on her and Nyrielle.


    "And are you impressed, my darling?" Nyrielle teased lightly. "If not, I can have them do it all over again."


    "Don¡¯t, don¡¯t you dare," Ashlynn giggled. "Look, we¡¯re being rude to our host," she said, stepping back and gesturing for High Lady Erna to join them.


    "I¡¯m sure that Little Snake doesn¡¯t mind if I greet the most important person present first," Nyrielle said, turning to give Erna a rare and gentle smile. "Thank you, for watching over my Ashlynn since she arrived," she said with a slight bow of her head.


    "Teacher, if it were anyone else you¡¯d ignored me for, I might have been hurt," Erna said with a fang baring smile of her own. "But since it¡¯s Ashlynn, I can hardly complain."


    Around the edges of the plaza, several people stared with wide eyes and slack jaws as the fearsome Harbinger of Death teased and flirted with her lover before chatting idly with the powerful High Lady who ruled over one of the lushest, wealthiest territories in what had become the easternmost Eldritch lands.


    Savis didn¡¯t know what to make of this kind, gentle woman who made resembled a young woman in her twenties just discovering love more than the terrifying vampire ruler who had imprisoned his sire and subjugated the entire Tangled Wood in a matter of hours.


    It wasn¡¯t like he hadn¡¯t seen her outside of battle either. While she showed a bit of kindness and affection to her progeny, that was to be expected from most vampires. She didn¡¯t seem as indulgent as the twisted mongrel Tausau was with his progeny and in many ways her treatment of Zedya and Ignatious reminded him of the way Hamdi had treated him in the first century after he became a vampire.


    But this gentleness and lovestruck expression... how could a vampire as old as Nyrielle was ever display such deep and tender emotions, much less the woman who had brought his entire world crashing to its knees?


    The reaction from Ignatious was even more exaggerated. In the months since their reunion, Nyrielle had worked to help rebuild his strength and confidence and the image he had of the terrifying demon who plunged him into a world of darkness but seeing this almost girlish affection from his Mistress left him wondering if someone had taken her place on the carriage ride over.


    "I told you that Lady Ashlynn was special," Zedya said softly. "Mistress would never have gone so far for you if not for the gift she received from her bond with Lady Ashlynn. When you have the opportunity, make sure you give her your thanks."


    "I will," the former Inquisitor nodded numbly, still taken in by how much Nyrielle seemed to have changed as soon as she laid eyes on her Seneschal.


    "Madame Zedya," Heila said, joining the two vampires and offering a polite curtsey followed by a wide, unguarded grin. "Thank you. If not for your words that night, I might never have had the chance to follow Ashlynn to the Briar..."


    "I told you that there was an opportunity for you in the Briar," Zedya said, her amethyst eyes twinkling in delight as she looked at the diminutive witch in her silvery-green hat and dress, adorned with an intricate net of silver chains and glittering peridot. "I hear you¡¯ve become the Willow Witch," she added with a gentle smile. "Congratulations."


    "She has, she has," Talauia gushed happily. "Thank you, Zedya, for sending her to us. My little brother was wrong to try to keep her away! But now, look at her, she¡¯s amazing, amazingly strong. She¡¯s been fighting in the arena for days and..."


    "All right, all right," Heila said, her face heating in embarrassment. "I came over for more than just saying hello. I know the most important thing is to get all of you settled," she said, nodding in the direction of Tausau and his Mongrel Horde.


    With so many people staring at Ashlynn and Nyrielle¡¯s tender moment, Heila wanted nothing more than to shoo the gathered spectators out of the plaza, but doing so would have been incredibly impolite. Since she couldn¡¯t form a screen of fog around Ashlynn and Nyrielle without making things even more awkward and she couldn¡¯t simply tell the onlookers to leave, she focused on the people with the greatest practical needs and gestured for them to join her so she could get them in motion and in so doing, make it easier for Ashlynn and Nyrielle to make their eventual exit.


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 Chapter 348: Important Matters (Part Two)

    Chapter 348: Important Matters (Part Two)Tausau had a stupidly happy grin on his face as he watched his grand-niece with her lover and it didn¡¯t seem like he had a care in the world, but seeing the diminutive witch gesturing at him and the other vampires, he turned his attention away from the lovebirds. After all, there were practical matters to attend to and as the leader of the Mongrel Hord, there was a limit to how much time he could indulge himself in his identity as Nyrielle¡¯s grand-uncle.


    "You must be Sir Tausau," Heila said, welcoming the Clanless vampire. "Lady Ashlynn has made arrangements for you and your progeny to dwell in the cellars of the palace for the duration of our stay. I¡¯m afraid it won¡¯t be comfortable, but it will be more secure than placing you somewhere in the city."


    "I see," the portly vampire said as he pulled his gaze away from the young lovers. "Lead the way, Madame Witch," he said. "But once things are settled in, tell me, what hunting rights have you secured for us? Will we be feeding on willing donors as Her Eternity spoke of in the Vale of Mists, or must we hunt among the common folk?"


    "Neither," Heila said firmly before a dangerous-looking grin spread on her lips. "Lady Ashlynn was told that you wouldn¡¯t need to feed the night you arrived so we¡¯ve prepared something special for tomorrow night. Even Sir Savis should enjoy the evening¡¯s festivities then."


    "I¡¯ve been to the banquets of the High Fen before," the white-furred vampire growled. "What makes you think I¡¯d enjoy this one?"


    "Because Lady Ashlynn has heard of the traditions of His Eternity Bardas¡¯s lineage," Heila said simply. "And she understands the traditions of High Fen City as well. So, tomorrow, there will be a grand spectacle in the arena. As a prelude to the night¡¯s final fight, you may fight and feed to your heart¡¯s content."


    A ripple of mixed reactions spread through the gathered vampires. Savis¡¯s golden eyes gleamed with barely suppressed eagerness and his lips curled back in a silent snarl, revealing his wickedly pointed fangs. For months, he had been forced to bow and scrape, to serve as a herald while Nyrielle steadily built her army of borrowed soldiers. While his fearsome reputation was mentioned frequently, he was never allowed to demonstrate his prowess, leaving many to wonder if the vaunted strength of the White Fang of the Tangled Wood had been greatly exaggerated.


    The arena would give him a chance to put those rumors to rest. Few opponents could truly challenge the strongest vampires, and he promised himself that he would use this opportunity to show the world that being Nyrielle¡¯s captive hadn¡¯t diminished his strength or dulled his claws.


    Behind him, several of his soldiers straightened their backs, already anticipating the chance to witness the greatest of their master¡¯s progeny displaying his might before the weak and unenlightened masses of High Fen City.


    Not far from the grinning lupine vampire, Tausau¡¯s broad face split in a fierce grin. Ever since Nyrielle rekindled the passions in his heart, he¡¯d been looking forward to a chance to show the world that he and his progeny weren¡¯t mutts to look down on but savage mongrels who would tear the faces off their foes if given the chance. This opportunity that Lady Ashlynn had arranged gave him yet another reason to be thankful to the Seneschal who had transformed Nyrielle¡¯s life.


    The reactions among his Mongrel Horde, however, were far more subdued. Some of his progeny drew closer together, forming small clusters as though seeking safety in numbers. While a few of the stronger members looked forward to the challenge, many bore the marks of their mixed heritage in ways that made combat difficult. Some suffered from twisted limbs, impaired vision, or other physical deformities that had forced them to rely on their brethren for survival even after making the arduous journey to reach Tausau¡¯s haven for the Clanless and surviving the frequently fatal transformation from broken mortal to undying vampire.


    "Your Lady is generous," one of Tausau¡¯s older progeny said. Her posture was bent and crooked and it was difficult for her manner to appear as anything other than subservient but she stood up as straight as she could and spoke out for her companions nonetheless. "But perhaps some of us might serve better as attendants for the evening¡¯s festivities?"


    "The arena is vast," Heila assured them, understanding their concern. "And there will be many ways to participate. Lady Ashlynn has arranged for some prisoners condemned for violent crimes to be released into the arena. The strongest among you may hunt them directly, while others might prefer to help corner prey or guard the exits. There will be a role for everyone who wishes to join the hunt."


    "Remember," Heila added with an odd hint of pride that even she wouldn¡¯t have expected to feel just two weeks ago. "Events in the arena are more than just battles, they¡¯re spectacles for the entertainment of others. Opening matches often pit younger, less experienced gladiators against savage beasts or condemned criminals as a way to ¡¯warm up¡¯ the crowd. But once you step foot on those sands, the blood that flows belongs to you and the crowd will cheer for every drop you spill. Savor both the moment and the blood and your victory will taste all the sweeter," she said confidently.


    The tension among the Mongrel Horde eased visibly at this explanation. Even those who couldn¡¯t fight directly could still contribute to the group¡¯s success, just as they had always done under Tausau¡¯s protection, and there would be no shame in being one of the first to fight against weaker foes.


    "Final event?" Zedya asked, raising an eyebrow at the diminutive witch as she listened to Heila¡¯s explanation. Clearly, there had been many more changes in her diminutive friend than she¡¯d expected after leaving the young woman to follow Ashlynn into the briar. The softness and fear that had once lurked in the corner of her eyes was nowhere to be seen and now there was a flexible, adaptable strength that seemed to suggest that nothing could shake her, not even the famous arena of High Fen City.


    "It¡¯s a surprise," Heila said with a twinkle in her eyes. "For now, I should take everyone to their quarters."


    Meanwhile, Ashlynn and Nyrielle were making similar statements to High Lady Erna.


    "Since you¡¯ve made such a fuss with your arrival, it¡¯s impossible for me to let you off without a few days of feasts, celebrations, and events," the High Lady was explaining. "I know you¡¯ll want to cross the pass before the heavy snows arrive so I won¡¯t hold you long, but you must give me at least three nights."


    "I¡¯ll give you five if you wish it," Nyrielle said. "Just not all in a row, and no more this night. This night," she said as she wrapped an arm around Ashlynn¡¯s slender waist and pulled the other woman close enough that she could feel every contour of Ashlynn¡¯s body. "This night belongs to us."


    "Of course," Erna said, turning to leave the lovers alone. "Your Seneschal seems to know you even better than I do so I¡¯ll leave you in her more than capable hands."


    "We have the same rooms as before," Ashlynn said, stretching up to whisper in Nyrielle¡¯s ears. "Carry me there, like you used to carry me in the Vale?"


    "For you, my darling," Nyrielle whispered back, pricking the tip of Ashlynn¡¯s ear lightly with a fang. "I¡¯d do anything you


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 Chapter 349: A Firm Hand (Part One)

    Chapter 349: A Firm Hand (Part One)Darkness swirled around Nyrielle as she took Ashlynn in her arms, scooping the young noblewoman up like a princess and carrying her away to the luxurious wing of the palace reserved for visiting dignitaries.


    Inside Ashlynn¡¯s bedchamber, a fire crackled in the massive hearth, filling the room with soft golden light and dancing shadows that caressed the gilded furnishings of the room like with the lightest of touches as though the shadows were afraid to linger too long and spoil the view.


    The scent of burning cedar filled the air, mingling with Ashlynn¡¯s evergreen scent and Nyrielle¡¯s own lavender to create a fragrance that felt as familiar as a night in the Vale of Mists even though they were on the opposite side of the mountains from the place they called home.


    "You¡¯ve been planning things," Nyrielle said with a slow smile when she spotted an assortment of items laid out on a table beside the hearth. "What sort of naughty thoughts have filled my Ashlynn¡¯s head in these few months that you would need to prepare so much?"


    "I¡¯ve learned more than just witchcraft," Ashlynn said. She leaned in close, giving Nyrielle the briefest of pecks on the cheek before she slid out of the other woman¡¯s arms and walked over to the table beside the hearth. "When I heard about the army you raised, I knew you must have pushed yourself hard," she added softly as her fingers traced over several different bottles of scented oils and herbal infusions.


    "Tonight, before you feed, let me pamper you the way you once pampered me," Ashlynn said, setting down a bottle and turning to face Nyrielle. "The night¡¯s are longer now," she added as a light blush spread across her face. "We can take our time."


    "What if I don¡¯t want to wait," Nyrielle said, vanishing from where she stood and appearing beside Ashlynn in the blink of an eye. One hand cupped Ashlynn¡¯s face and her star filled midnight eyes loomed large in Ashlynn¡¯s vision as Nyrielle leaned in to plunder from her lover¡¯s lips. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For a moment, Ashlynn melted into Nyrielle¡¯s kiss. Her knees went week and only the hand that Nyrielle wrapped around her waist supported her asall thought was driven from her mind by the intense wave of pleasure that washed over her body at the vampire¡¯s touch.


    The next moment, Ashlynn collected herself, pushing Nyrielle back and pinning the vampire against one of the bedposts. Ashlynn¡¯s hands roamed over the lace and silk of Nyrielle¡¯s dress, finding the fastenings one by one as she pulled her lover into an even deeper kiss.


    "It¡¯s not so easy to have your way with me," Ashlynn whispered when she pulled back to draw a shuddering breath. "If you can¡¯t wait, then take me now," she said, tilting her head and pulling her long, blonde hair back to reveal her slender neck. "But you know that when you take me, the night will end," she said. "And I don¡¯t want our night to end so soon."


    "My darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said softly, leaning in to brush her lips ever so faintly across the tender skin of Ashlynn¡¯s neck. Within her chest she could feel the echo of the young witch¡¯s heartbeat, beating in time with the pulse jumping in her neck, just a hairsbreadth away from her fangs. "Always willful and having your way."


    "Didn¡¯t you say that you¡¯d do anything I ask?" Ashlynn asked, turning back to face the vampire wand winding her arms around the other woman¡¯s neck, pulling her close enough for their foreheads to touch and their eyelashes to brush against each other when Ashlynn blinked. "So do this for me. Let me spoil you the way only I can..."


    "If it¡¯s what my darling desires," Nyrielle said, relaxing into Ashlynn¡¯s embrace. "Then how can I refuse?"


    "Then let me finish unlacing you," Ashlynn said, tracing her fingers down Nyrielle¡¯s lithe body until she found the laces of the other woman¡¯s corset. The sound of soft satin ribbon whispering through the eyelets of the corset filled the air, matching with the sound of their breathing and the gentle crackle of the fireplace to create an intimate symphony that seemed loud in the quiet, isolated wing of the palace.


    For a moment, when Nyrielle¡¯s dark silk and lace dress fell away from her perfect, alabaster body, Ashlynn stood motionless, holding the silk ribbon loosely in her hands as she gazed at the perfect proportions of her lover.


    No dream could compare to the sight of flickering golden light dancing across the trim, sculpted physique that seemed to have been carved from immaculate marble. Reaching out with hands that trembled, as if afraid that she would shatter a moment of perfection, Ashlynn traced her fingers over Nyrielle¡¯s icy, cool skin, caressing her way up from slender thighs to the crest of her lover¡¯s hip bones before wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in close, as though she was desperate to share the warmth of her body with the icy vampire.


    "We can lie in front of the hearth, if you¡¯d like?" Nyrielle offered. "Unless you¡¯ve had a bath prepared..."


    "No," Ashlynn said, pulling back from Nyrielle as her face heated in embarrassment. Nyrielle had always been so thoughtful about keeping herself warm before they were intimate that she¡¯d almost forgotten how cold the vampire¡¯s skin could be, especially on a chill night like tonight. "I have something we can use," she said, slipping away from Nyrielle before returning with a soft black fur blanket.


    "I wanted to use this in the carriage when we go through the High Pass," she said sheepishly. She¡¯d meant for the blanket to be a surprise, along with several other things she¡¯d acquired since returning to High Fen City, but it wouldn¡¯t hurt to reveal one of her surprises a little bit early.


    "I thought it would be good to keep warm with you. But we can use it for this as well," she said, stretching the fur out in front of the hearth where Nyrielle could soak in its warmth. "Now, sit down here, and let me take care of you..."

 Chapter 350: A Firm Hand (Part Two)

    Chapter 350: A Firm Hand (Part Two)Before Ashlynn touched the scented oils and herbal infusions she¡¯d prepared, she fetched a silver hairbrush and the dark silk ribbon from Nyrielle¡¯s corset.


    "I love your hair," Ashlynn whispered from behind her lover as she ran her fingers gently though Nyrielle¡¯s long, dark tresses. Despite the days of hard travel, Nyrielle¡¯s hair always felt smooth and satiny in her hands, as though it refused to be stained by the dirt of the world. "But I don¡¯t want it to get in the way tonight," she added. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Gently, working with slow, unhurried strokes, Ashlynn started by brushing Nyrielle¡¯s hair. Her fingers wandered as she worked, dancing briefly across the vampire¡¯s pale shoulders whenever she gathered another section of her lover¡¯s dark tresses before returning to her work.


    "Since you are my queen, let me treat you like one," Ashlynn said as she retrieved the silk ribbon. "This braid," she explained as her fingers wove the ribbon into Nyrielle¡¯s hair. "It¡¯s meant for the wives of dukes and kings. It circles your head like a crown and it¡¯s supposed to be able to support the weight of one."


    "And would you have me wear a crown for you, my darling?" Nyrielle teased as she soaked up the warmth of the crackling fire and Ashlynn¡¯s gentle touch. "Or am I your queen alone?"


    "You could be a queen," Ashlynn said, pausing to rest her head against Nyrielle¡¯s naked back. "But, right now, I want to be selfish," she whispered as tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. "I want you all to myself before I have to share you with the world."


    "You never have to share me with anyone, my love," Nyrielle whispered, turning on the dark fur blanket to face Ashlynn. "You and I, together. Always."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, wiping away the moisture from her eyes and returning to her braiding. "Tonight is just about right now, about you and I," she promised softly. "The rest can wait until tomorrow."


    "Mmm," Nyrielle agreed, stretching herself out on the furs once Ashlynn finished her braiding.


    For a moment, the sounds of soft, rustling fabric filled the air followed by the sound of Ashlynn draping her dress and hat across the back of a chair. A few heartbeats later she knelt beside Nyrielle, tracing her hands across the vampire¡¯s slender back, feeling the faint ridges in the other woman¡¯s skin that marked the place her wings would unfurl from.


    Slowly, Ashlynn curled around Nyrielle, holding her close and feeling the warmth of the fire enveloping them. Neither woman said anything, simply soaking in the heat of the fire and feeling the each other¡¯s shallow breathing and steady heartbeets through their skin as if they were drinking in the feeling of having nothing between them.


    "Now relax," Ashlynn whispered as she returned to the table and retrieved a bottle of oil that smelled of fresh bergamot and lavender. Pouring a few drops of oil into her hands, she started from Nyrielle¡¯s feet, pressing her strong thumbs deep into the soles of of the vampire¡¯s delicately arched feet before pulling toward her slender, dextrous toes.


    Travel, whether in a carriage or on a horseback, was hard on the body and even though Nyrielle enjoyed the comforts of a luxurious carriage, nothing could stop days spent being jostled and shaken in the carriage from straining her muscles and building tension in her joints.


    Now, Ashlynn used the same techniques on her lover that the Ancient Clan had used on her, loosening her muscles with long, slow strokes and easing her joints with steady, practiced movements. A month after her first visit to Crystal Lake City, Ashlynn had returned to rest but also to learn from the Ancient Clan and it had been for this moment that she invested so much of her time in studying with Jacque¡¯s cousin.


    From slender, arched feet to smooth, supple calves and toned, trim thighs, Ashlynn worked her way higher, her fingers kneading every inch of Nyrielle¡¯s alabaster flesh with a tenderness and reverence that bordered on worship.


    "Mmmhhhh." A soft moan escaped Nyrielle¡¯s lips when Ashlynn¡¯s hands reached the small of her back, applying a firm, gentle pressure that made her body melt like putty in the witch¡¯s hands.


    The longer Ashlynn worked, the more Nyrielle felt the tension fading from her body. Even the hunger that burned within her seemed to die down as if it had been lulled to sleep, allowing her to enjoy the combination of the crackling hearth and her lover¡¯s soothing touch.


    For a moment, Nyrielle felt herself drifting on the edge of falling asleep. For the first time in more years than she cared to remember, she felt so calm and at peace that even in the depths of the night when the moon still hung high overhead, she felt she could drift off to sleep and dwell in the memories that awaited her there.


    Only the feeling of Ashlynn¡¯s steady pulse in her hands and the evergreen scent of her lover that blended with the lavender and bergamot oil kept her anchored enough in the present to resist the pull of relaxation and sleep.


    "Now," Ashlynn whispered into her drowsy lover¡¯s ears. "Roll over and rest your head on my chest," she said, taking a seat on the dark fur blanket next to Nyrielle. "Just close your eyes and use me like a pillow," she added, resting Nyrielle¡¯s head on her full bust as her fingers sank into the other woman¡¯s hair and began to massage her scalp.


    This time, it wasn¡¯t the scent of lavender and bergamot that filled the air, but an herbal infusion of rosemary oil and a trace of Ashlynn¡¯s own wood energy that melted not only the tension in Nyrielle¡¯s scalp but dulled the worries that plagued her mind and made them feel distant and unimportant when she was here in Ashlynn¡¯s embrace.


    "You¡¯re using witchcraft on me," Nyrielle observed softly. Though she commented on it, she put up no resistance, basking in the feeling of gentle reassurance that flowed from Ashlynn¡¯s touch into her innermost being.


    "Just as you used sorcery to ease my hurts the night we met," Ashlynn whispered, her mind flashing back to the way that Nyrielle had banished the pain she felt after Owain¡¯s savage beating. "So little can hurt your body, but so much can hurt your heart," she said softly. "Let me wipe those hurts away, even if it¡¯s just for a little while..."

 Chapter 351: Feather Light (Part One)

    Chapter 351: Feather Light (Part One)Soft golden firelight flickered across Ashlynn and Nyrielle¡¯s entangled bodies as they lay on a dark fur blanket, luxruiating in the warmth of the fire and the feeling of their skin sliding over each other with a faint oily slickness after Nyrielle¡¯s massage.


    "My darling," Nyrielle whispered after several moment of quiet, comfortable touch. "You¡¯ve left me feeling as light as a feather, but I hunger for more. Now that you¡¯ve worked your witchcraft on me," she teased. "Will you submit to my whims?"


    "Of course," Ashlynn said. "I will always submit to your will," she added, gently caressing Nyrielle¡¯s cheek with the back of a finger. "It¡¯s you who allows me to be so willful," she teased, turning Nyrielle¡¯s head toward her so she could bestow a gentle, chaste kiss on her lover¡¯s lips.


    "Then indulge me in a game," Nyrielle said as she scooped Ashlynn up and carried her toward the large, four poster bed that dominated one wall in the room. "You worked hard to sharpen your senses, didn¡¯t you, my love?" Nyrielle asked as she set Ashlynn down atop the satin bedspread. "How much do you trust your them?"


    "I can hear an insect hunting more than a thousand paces away," Ashlynn boasted playfully. "And I can smell one stalk of tymme in a basketfull of rosemary. Why, do you want to test me?"


    "Yes, I do," Nyrielle said playfully before she sauntered across the room to retrieve a few items from a pouch she wore with her dress. The first was a dark, midnight blue silk handkerchief and the second...


    "That¡¯s not one of your feathers, is it?" Ashlynn asked when she saw the long, slender feather in Nyrielle¡¯s hands. The feather was so long, in fact, that it had to be curled back on itself just to fit in the small pouch.


    "No, I wouldn¡¯t dream of using one of my feathers on you like this," Nyrielle said as she returned to the bedside. "But, if it pleases you, you can pretend that it is. Now, are you ready to play a game?" Nyrielle asked with a glint of challenge in her eyes.


    "For you, I¡¯m willing to do anything," Ashlynn replied, echoing Nyrielle¡¯s earlier promise.


    "It¡¯s simple," Nyrielle said as she began folding the handkerchief into a makeshift blindfold. "I¡¯m going to blindfold you and then we¡¯re going to play a game of Fangs or Feather," she said. "It¡¯s better if I can tie you to the bed but I will not push you if you aren¡¯t willing. I know that you have been hurt before and..."


    "You would never hurt me," Ashlynn said firmly, locking eyes with Nyrielle so the other woman could see the strength of her conviction. "But you have to explain to me why it would be better if you can tie me to the bed," she added, her face turning a bright shade of red. "You haven¡¯t ever done this with someone before, have you?" Ashlynn said, suddenly horrified at the thought.


    Of the many things she had discussed with Nyrielle, Ashlynn had been very open about her past with Owain. They had courted for two years with the intention to marry and though Ashlynn had shared only a single kiss with him during their wedding ceremony, she¡¯d been very open about how she felt about the man she thought she loved enough to marry.


    But never once had Nyrielle mentioned loving someone the way Ashlynn thought she loved Owain. She¡¯d mentioned being courted by the other True Vampires but she claimed to have rejected them all before. So just who exactly could Nyrielle have played a game of ¡¯Fangs and Feathers¡¯ with? S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Of course, I¡¯ve never done this with anyone," Nyrielle said solemnly. "But I was inspired by our last evening in this palace," she said with a naughty grin. "As to how I know it would be better if I could tie you up," she teased as she leaned in closer to her anxious lover.


    "It¡¯s because, I happen to know that my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said as her hand blurred and the feather she held traced ever so lightly across the back of Ashlynn¡¯s knee. The young witch jumped immediately, pulling her leg back and looking at the vampire with an aggrieved look. "Is ticklish," Nyrielle finished with a light laugh. "If I bind you and your body betrays you, you won¡¯t spoil the game."


    "You still haven¡¯t explained the whole game," Ashlynn said with a slight pout. "What is it that you¡¯ll be doing with your Fangs or Feather?"


    "It¡¯s simple," Nyrielle said. "Once you¡¯re bound and blindfolded, I¡¯ll touch you... somewhere. You have to guess whether I touched you with my fangs or the feather. Simple enough, isn¡¯t it?"


    "What do I get if I get it right?" Ashlynn asked. "Will you kiss me?"


    "If you wish," Nyrielle said slyly. "But if you get it wrong then I¡¯ll nibble on you."


    "Just a nibble?"


    "Just a nibble," Nyrielle said. "The game ends if you can endure longer than I can resist my hunger, or if you break down and beg for my bite," she added, running her tongue over her lush lips and pointed fangs. "So, what say you, my darling? Are you willing to play?"


    "You spent some time thinking about this, didn¡¯t you?" Ashlynn said, stretching herself out on the bedspread and putting on an act of looking helpless. "When you ask like that, and give me so many opportunities to say no, how could I refuse?"


    A few minutes later, Nyrielle had repurposed a spare set of sheets to use as bindings and secured Ashlynn to the bed posts before gently tying the blindfold across her eyes.


    For a moment, she stood still, much as Ashlynn had, admiring the figure of the woman who had brought more warmth and joy into her life than she¡¯d thought it was possible for her heart to contain.


    Where Nyrielle¡¯s body was lithe and lean, Ashlynn¡¯s was curvy and lush. From her petite feet to her full thighs, Ashlynn¡¯s legs all but begged for Nyrielle to rest her head in the other woman¡¯s lap and sleep the night away. Her curvy hips and trim waist drew Nyrielle¡¯s eyes ever upward until they came to rest on her lover¡¯s generous bosom and once again felt the desire to fall into Ashlynn¡¯s soft embrace and rest until the end of days.


    When Ashlynn arrived in the Vale of Mists, she¡¯d been soft and delicate but that had slowly begun to change during her blossoming period as she undertook rigorous training to make the most of Nyrielle¡¯s vampiric gifts. Now, after months of training in the depths of the Briar, her body had transformed even further.


    Before, her figure and been soft and tender like a perfectly ripe peach, but now, there was a core of strength beneath the softness. The faintest lines of defined muscles could be seen on Ashlynn¡¯s trim waist as she lie there trembling in anticipation and the muscles in her arms quivered against her restraints as she strained her senses for the slightest touch.


    For Nyrielle, who¡¯s body had experienced few changes in the past century, the subtle transformation was its own kind of magic, revealing her lover¡¯s drive and dedication in every sculpted line and straining muscle. Perhaps she would continue to change in the years to come and Nyrielle would enjoy each subtle variation so long as it was a manifestation of her lover¡¯s desires.


    And if anyone ever marked that perfect, pristine body again, if anyone ever harmed her the way Owain Lothain once had... For a moment, darkness swirled in the vampire¡¯s eyes and she nearly crushed the delicate feather in her hand before she caught sight of the mark of the witch on Ashlynn¡¯s hip, the ash tree that had first drawn her to this remarkable woman.


    The sight of that mark served as a potent reminder of the power it represented and helped ground her racing thoughts. Ashlynn wasn¡¯t the same vulnerable noblewoman she¡¯d rescued that night. She had grown into her power, fighting back against the people who dared to threaten her, and while Nyrielle would always protect her, she no longer needed to dwell on past hurts or future threats. When the time came, they would face their enemies together, as a vampire and a witch bound together with bonds of blood and love that no force in the world could shatter.


    But right now, at this moment, the woman who mattered more to her than anything else in the world lay quivering with anticipation, biting her lower lip and squirming slightly as she waited for Nyrielle to make the first move.


    A slow smile spread on Nyrielle¡¯s lips and her fangs grew longer as she prepared to do exactly that...

 Chapter 352: Feather Light (Part Two)

    Chapter 352: Feather Light (Part Two)The fire had burned low and the moon had begun its inexorable journey toward the horizon by the time Nyrielle and Ashlynn began their game of Fangs and Feather. The few moments that Nyrielle spent appreciating her lover¡¯s beauty left Ashlynn squirming in anticipation as every sense strained to feel the slightest touch.


    Goosebumps rose on her skin as the faintest whisper of a breeze from the shuttered windows drifted through the room. The muscles of her abdomen clenched as she tensed for a faint touch that never came. No sooner had she begun to relax, however, than Nyrielle climbed into the bed. The movement tugged at the bedspread beneath her, triggering Ashlynn¡¯s sensitive body yet again as she tensed, waiting for Nyrielle to make her move.


    Slowly, like a great cat stalking its prey, Nyrielle crawled across the bed, hovering just above Ashlynn¡¯s tender sides. Slowly, moving with a combination of grace and precision that would be impossible for most humans, she reached out with the tip of the feather¡¯s quill, lightly prodding her with a faint, sharp pressure.


    "Fangs," Ashlynn said confidently as her body shivered at Nyrielle¡¯s touch. She¡¯d imagined she could at least feel the vampire¡¯s breath on her skin before a fang made contact but she¡¯d forgotten that, if she didn¡¯t wish to, Nyrielle didn¡¯t need to breathe at all. It was only due to years of habit that the vampire did so, but now that very habit had turned into a surprising advantage!


    "Wrong," Nyrielle said with a wicked smile. Leaning in close, she brushed her lips across Ashlynn¡¯s side before pricking her skin ever so lightly with her fangs. The instant she did, a wave of pleasure rippled through Ashlynn¡¯s body, pulling a startled gasp from her lips before she bit her lower lip and allowed the sensation to consume her until she felt Nyrielle¡¯s tongue lapping up a few drops of blood like a kitten lapping up cream.


    "Let¡¯s try again," Nyrielle said, shifting on the bed to approach Ashlynn¡¯s opposite side, this time, hovering just above her mark of the witch. While she wouldn¡¯t risk biting into the mark itself, the smooth, creamy thigh beneath the mark offered a perfect target for the tip of her fang.


    "That was a fang," Ashlynn said, clutching at the sheets that bound her wrists to stop from flinching away from Nyrielle¡¯s feather-light touch. "This time, that really was a fang."


    "Oh?" Nyrielle said in a slow, languid tone. "How do you know?"


    "When you pricked me with the quill, I felt the faintest brush of the soft strands at the base of the feather," she said proudly. She hadn¡¯t noticed it at first, but now that she had something to compare it to, she was certain that she¡¯d noticed something different from the first time. "I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I? Fangs?"


    "My darling Ashlynn is very clever," Nyrielle said, moving further up to brush her lips and the point of a fang ever so gently beneath the swell of Ashlynn¡¯s breast. "And that time?"


    "I, I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said, her body trembling in the wake of the light, delicate touch. "Feather?"


    "Not this time," Nyrielle said, her midnight blue eyes swirling with hunger as she lowered her lips again to prick Ashlynn¡¯s skin with her fangs. This time, Ashlynn¡¯s entire body shook as the feeling of Nyrielle¡¯s bite coursed through her. The wooden posts of the bed groaned as Ashlynn pulled against her restraints and Nyrielle felt her fingernails lengthening into claws as the sweet, earthy flavor unique to Ashlynn¡¯s blood filled her mouth.


    A moment later, when Nyrielle pulled back, both women were trembling with a mixture of carnal desire and decadent fulfillment that left them craving more. Licking the last drop of Ashlynn¡¯s blood from her lips, Nyrielle began to suspect that her lover¡¯s blood had become even richer with the energy of life after training under the Mother of Thorns and the intoxicating taste clouded her mind with a desire to drink much, much deeper than she had.


    "Ashlynn, my darling," Nyrielle said in a voice that had grown hoarse with desire. "Are you still willing to keep playing?"


    "No," Ashlynn said with a contented smile spreading across her lips. Nyrielle wasn¡¯t begging to feed on her but it didn¡¯t matter. She could hear her victory in the other woman¡¯s voice. Nyrielle¡¯s pride wouldn¡¯t let her admit defeat so soon but Ashlynn had no desire to push her lover to her limits. Nyrielle¡¯s hunger was dangerous enough and they were already playing with fire.


    "Bite me, my love," Ashlynn said, flicking her wrist to free herself from the bedsheet that bound her and beckoning for Nyrielle to join her. "All of me is yours to feast upon," she added, gesturing to her voluptuous curves.


    "Then prepare yourself, my darling," Nyrielle said as she dropped the feather to descend on Ashlynn¡¯s body like a bird of prey falling on her prey.


    Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue eyes seemed to swell in Ashlynn¡¯s vision until they became liquid pools of the night sky reflecting only the woman that completely consumed Nyrielle¡¯s heart. With carefully restrained strength, Nyrielle wrapped her arms around Ashlynn¡¯s body, pulling her close enough that they could feel each other¡¯s heartbeats through their chests.


    Then, gently, delicately, with as much restraint as she could manage, Nyrielle sank her fangs into Ashlynn¡¯s neck, drinking deeply for the first time in several days as she savored the flavor of her one and only love.


    Ashlynn¡¯s body trembled as wave after wave of pleasure spread from her neck to her toes, enveloping her in a haze that felt warm and comforting at the same time as it was intense and stimulating. The sound of wood snapping echoed in the luxurious room as Ashlynn pulled her other arm free of the binding, shattering a bedpost in the process as she wrapped her arms around Nyrielle, clutching at the other woman¡¯s back with enough strength to crack the bones of an ordinary person. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Both women trembled as hot, metallic blood slid down Nyrielle¡¯s eager throat. Her tongue danced across Ashlynn¡¯s neck, savoring a taste that was as sharp as a knife and as smooth as honey.


    Several heartbeats later, both women felt themselves falling toward a dark abyss that lay deep within Nyrielle¡¯s heart, but this time, brilliant emerald energy surged from Ashlynn¡¯s hands as she pushed back against the darkness.


    "Enough, my love," Ashlynn said as her act of resistance took the last of the strength remaining in her body. "I can¡¯t take much more," she whispered.


    Slowly and with great tenderness, Nyrielle pulled back from her lover¡¯s neck, licking the wound until it sealed, and not a trace of blood remained to mar the perfect, pristine beauty of Ashlynn¡¯s tender neck.


    "You¡¯ve grown so much stronger, my darling," Nyrielle said as a swirl of emerald green energy danced within her eyes before it was devoured by the midnight blue depths of her gaze. "Before long, I¡¯ll pose no threat to you."


    "You could never threaten me," Ashlynn said, raising a hand weakly to cup Nyrielle¡¯s face. "You would never choose to harm me, and one day, I¡¯ll catch up to where you are..." she said, her voice growing quieter and quieter until she lost the strength to keep her eyes open and her hand slipped from Nyrielle¡¯s face.


    "One day, not long from now," Nyrielle agreed, wrapping herself around her sleeping lover and holding her close. The darkness within her still threatened to consume them, but perhaps, one day, they truly would have nothing to fear and could surrender themselves to the pleasure they both craved. One day when there was nothing in the world that could threaten them and all they needed was each other...


    Outside, there were still several hours left before dawn, but just as Ashlynn had warned, once Nyrielle fed, certain things would have to end. For Nrielle, however, the hours she spent holding Ashlynn¡¯s sleeping figure were just as precious as the moments they spent locked in the bliss of her bite. They¡¯d been apart for far too long and her body craved far more from Ashlynn than just her lover¡¯s blood.


    "Soon, my love," Nyrielle whispered as she gently stroked Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "Soon, your enemies will fall and we can wipe away one of your worries, the way you¡¯ve wiped away so many of mine..."

 Chapter 353: Smaller Reunions

    Chapter 353: Smaller ReunionsFor Ashlynn, the night passed with the most blissful, relaxed sleep she¡¯d enjoyed in months. In time, she became accustomed to the hammock in her small hut in the Briar, but no matter how comfortable it was or how welcoming Amahle tried to be, the Briar never felt like home.


    The High Fen wasn¡¯t home either. Ashlynn had been here for close to two weeks and she had yet to rest as peacefully as she had the night before. It wasn¡¯t about the soft, pillowy mattress on the oversized bed or the warm crackling hearth that kept the evening chill at bay. Those were certainly more familiar things than dangling from the ceiling in the middle of a swamp, but they couldn¡¯t make a place feel like home.


    Nyrielle¡¯s arrival had changed everything for Ashlynn. Her lover¡¯s presence provided more than just a sense of physical safety and security, or the soft comfort of intimacy. Now, she had someone she could share her burdens with. She didn¡¯t have to be the imposing and strong Mother of Trees around Nyrielle the way she was when she toured High Fen City. She didn¡¯t have to carry the weight of planning for their return to the Vale of Mists... at least, she didn¡¯t have to carry those things alone.


    She didn¡¯t want to be rescued from those burdens. Owain might have thought that it was his duty as the husband to relieve her of all burdens but that wasn¡¯t the kind of woman Ashlynn wanted to be at all. She had no desire to be a beautiful songbird in a gilded cage, kept for the enjoyment of a select few. She wanted to share her burdens with Nyrielle and for Nyrielle to share them with her.


    With that in mind, when Ashlynn rose in the late afternoon, she asked Heila to bring company to share a late lunch with her. Unlike her previous visit, this time she¡¯d made sure that the palace staff understood her need to replenish herself after Nyrielle fed on her and by the time she had washed and dressed, not only had her oversized meal arrived, but her guests had as well.


    "Captain Lennart," Ashlynn said with a welcoming smile that faltered when she saw the ragged scar that distorted the bearish man¡¯s face. "Things must have been hard for you since we last saw each other," she said simply.


    Her hand twitched at her side and it took every ounce of restraint she possessed to keep it there. After months under Amahle¡¯s tutelage, her first reflex had been to offer to heal the old wound, fading or even erasing the scar. But for most Eldritch clans, including the Clan of the Great Claw, scars were either badges of honor or marks of deep shame, depending on how they were received.


    In either case, erasing them was taboo, and offering to do so would only offend the man who had guarded Nyrielle this whole time. And so, rather than comment further, Ashlynn turned to the other warrior who entered the room, giving her a wide smile when she saw no obvious signs of injuries, whether they were honorable ones or not.


    "Virve, it¡¯s good to see you again," Ashlynn said before gesturing at the small table in her sitting room. "Please, join me. Take as much as you¡¯d like, there¡¯s no way I¡¯ll eat all this, even after Mistress Nyrielle drank her fill last night."


    The food on the table consisted of several dishes of spiced and roasted meats, sliced thin, and served alongside a large pile of flatbread and nearly a dozen small bowls of dipping sauces. For a moment, both soldiers looked uncomfortable with the casual atmosphere.


    After months of formal negotiations with more than a dozen clans and almost as many Eldritch Lords, the relaxed, comfortable relationships they¡¯d previously enjoyed with Lady Nyrielle and her progeny felt like memories of a different time. Too many times, they¡¯d been reminded of their stations while Nyrielle pushed forward ruthlessly to secure what she needed to defend the Vale. Neither soldier blamed her for that, but the way Ashlynn acted as if nothing had changed caught both of them off guard.


    "We¡¯re all family here," Heila said, reaching out to add a few pieces of rich, herb-crusted pork belly to the pile of vegetables on her flatbread. "I told cousin Talauia that this was time just for us from the Vale, so you don¡¯t have to act like there are outsiders watching," she said with a smile.


    "In that case," Virve said, leaning forward eagerly to pile succulent beef that smelled of warm cinnamon and hot peppers onto her flatbread before slathering it with a bright green sauce so spicy that Heila¡¯s nose twitched at the mere thought of eating it.


    "To family," Virve said with a smile before taking a hearty bite, flashing Heila a challenging look before licking a stray bit of green sauce from her lips.


    "I wish you could have stayed with us, Virve," Ashlynn said between bites of her own sweet and spicy pork. "I think you would have enjoyed some of the sights in the Briar."


    "It wasn¡¯t a bother, was it my lady?" the bearish woman asked. Both Ashlynn and Heila seemed to be in high spirits, but she couldn¡¯t help but notice when she saw them the night before that the Sandbox Witch was missing and the Thistle Witch, Talauia, had appeared in his place. "That leather-skinned brute didn¡¯t do anything inappropriate, did he?"


    "Jacques was fine," Ashlynn said, giving Heila a knowing look. "He¡¯s just a bit awkward. There were misunderstandings between us when we first met but those have long since become water under the bridge."


    "He¡¯s really not that bad," Heilla added with a warm smile of her own. "He stood guard over Lady Ashlynn while she prepared my seed of witchcraft, and he stood guard over me while I faced my trail to master it."


    "He¡¯s a good man," Heila added a touch wistfully. Despite everything that had been rough and the ways he could occasionally be infuriating, she¡¯d come to find a strange sort of comfort inside the prickly bubble he surrounded himself and his loved ones whenever he felt that there might be a threat to a person he had resolved himself to protect. Now that he¡¯d stayed behind in the Briar, she found that she missed his reassuring presence more than she expected to.


    "But he didn¡¯t accompany you?" Captain Lennart said with a raised brow as he tried to understand the implications behind Heila¡¯s description of the Sandbox Witch as a ¡¯good man.¡¯ "Did something happen?" Lennart asked as he finished adding sauces to the plate he balanced in his large hand.


    Unlike everyone else, the bearish captain had filled his plate with what seemed like one or two pieces of every dish on the table along with a spoonful of every dipping sauce and he was slowly working his way through the combinations of flavors in a way that made Ashlynn wonder if he and the chef Georg were somehow related.


    "It¡¯s nothing complicated," Ashlynn said lightly. "The Rose Witch and Blackberry Witch are each away on business of their own. We¡¯d hoped that one of them could have returned before we left, but we couldn¡¯t wait any longer if we wanted to ensure that we could cross the mountains before the pass became blocked with snow. Someone had to stay behind with big sister Amahle and since Taluia came with us..."


    "I¡¯ve heard the Thistle Witch only leaves the Briar when someone has offended the Mother of Thorns so greatly that they have to be killed no matter where they¡¯re hiding," Lennart added moments after his face contorted around a particularly sour combination of vinegared grouse and a pale yellow sauce that glistened like honey but tasted like lemons and ginger. "She¡¯s not here on some business of the Mother of Thorns, is she?"


    "Talauia will be accompanying us back to the Vale of Mists," Ashlynn said carefully. "We believe it might be wise to put some additional distance between her and certain individuals who wish to capture her. The Briar is a safe place most of the time, but even big sister Amahle has limits."


    "I see..." Lennart said delicately. "Is there anything I should do to prepare defenses for her while we travel?" he asked, instantly regaining a measure of his professional demeanor.


    "No, I think we should be fine between myself, Mistress Nyrielle, and everyone else you¡¯ve brought along," Ashlynn said confidently. "But, on the subject of the people who have come with you," she said slowly. "Can you tell me what happened that you came to possess such a large army? I knew that Mistress Nyrielle was looking for allies but this... this was a bit more than I think any of us expected."


    "It may take a while to explain," Lennart said carefully. "And Lady Nyrielle will likely be able to provide you with many details that I can¡¯t. If you¡¯d like to hear the general shape of things, I think I can tell you that much at least."


    "Please," Ashlynn said, leaning forward eagerly in her chair. For months, she¡¯d had almost no news of how her lover had faired in her mission. She only had the faint echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest to reassure her that her love was still alive and that her heartbeat was strong and vigorous.


    But beyond alive and healthy, she knew almost nothing, and now, she wanted to hear as much as she could about the victories that Nyrielle must have won to return with such an impressive fighting force.


    "Anything you can tell me will be welcome, Captain," Ashlynn said, a touch more formally than she had been now that the topic had become more serious. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "In that case," Lennart said smoothly as his demeanor shifted to match Ashlynn¡¯s tone. "I think I should start with what happened at the Tangled Tower..."

 Chapter 354: Alliance of the Broken

    Chapter 354: Alliance of the BrokenHeila and Ashlynn had to remind themselves on more than one occasion to continue eating as Captain Lennart and Virve narrated the intense battle to capture the Tangled Tower. While neither of them had been present for the confrontation between Nyrielle and High Lord Hamdi, Inquisitor Ignatious had been very forthcoming with Nyrielle¡¯s inner circle of loyal soldiers and servants from the Vale of Mists about what happened.


    "I¡¯m still struggling with this bit," Ashlynn said at one point during the narration. "Lady Nyrielle took an Inquisitor as one of her progeny and he¡¯s been living in exile this whole time?"


    She knew, intellectually at least, that Nyrielle had been at her coldest and most cruel in the years following the death of her parents but she never imagined that Nyrielle would take a member of the Inquisition as one of her progeny, just to inflict immortal suffering on him as retribution for what he had done to one of her first forty-seven progeny.


    "I spoke with Inquisitor Ignatious last night, my lady," Heila added. "He¡¯s quiet and he defers to Madame Zedya in all things, but he seems to have a genuine reverence for Lady Nyrielle."


    "I¡¯m told it wasn¡¯t always that way," Captain Lennart said. "Evidently, he destroyed the south tower of the fortress in the Vale in a fit of rage when he discovered what Lady Nyrielle had done to him. Now, it seems like he¡¯s a different man, and Lady Nyrielle said that he used his Holy Flames to burn High Lord Hamdi¡¯s flesh all the way to the bone."


    "I see," Ashlynn said, pausing as she wrestled with the implications of taking one of the Church¡¯s holy inquisitors captive. Or rather, turning him into a strange sort of ally. "I¡¯ll speak with him myself in the coming nights," she finally said. While she had many questions, including how a vampire could call down Holy Fire on another vampire, Captain Lennart couldn¡¯t answer any of them and her curiosity would have to wait.


    "After the battle, Lady Nyrielle arranged a summit of local Eldritch Lords and notable figures," Virve said, taking over the explanation so her captain could finish his meal. "From comments she made, I gather that she expected any other vampires we reached out to would resist us in much the same way that High Lord Hamdi did."


    "Isn¡¯t Hamdi the sire of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s grand-sire, High Lord Torbin?" Heila said, blinking in confusion. "I thought they were on good terms. She wanted to bring him to visit High Lord Torbin¡¯s tomb..."


    "I think the reasons are something you¡¯ll need to hear from Lady Nyrielle," Virve said helplessly as she licked a few stray drops of sauce from her claws. "But after the battle at the Tangled Tower, our plans changed. Lady Nyrielle asked us to show visitors how she¡¯d imprisoned Hamdi at the top of the tower where the sun could penetrate the cracks between boards of the pine box she trapped him in."


    "Everyone understood the message," Captain Lennart said. "None of them had the power to fight back against High Lord Hamdi if he set his sights on their domains, so seeing him fall to such a wretched state made it clear that Lady Nyrielle couldn¡¯t be resisted."


    "So she demanded a tribute of soldiers?" Ashlynn asked. When Nyrielle had left, Captain Lennart had less than twenty soldiers under his command, but when they returned, Nyrielle¡¯s army had swelled to more than a thousand soldiers and likely just as many servants and skilled tradesmen.


    "Not exactly," Virve said in a tone that was as awkward as the expression on her face. "She offered to solve their problems for them. She demanded the right to hunt rebels or rivals for their thrones within their territory."


    "The people in our army," Captain Lennart said. "With the exception of the soldiers taken from High Lord Hamdi¡¯s territory, they¡¯re the rebels, misfits, and traitors that were too strong for the local Eldritch Lords to eradicate and too weak to overthrow their local lords."


    "Those men," Lennart said, his eyes growing distant as he recalled the look on those men¡¯s vases when they fell into Nyrielle¡¯s hands. "Something died within them when Lady Nyrielle put her hands on them. Something about them is horribly broken now."


    "Lady Nyrielle snuffed out the spark of rebellion in them," Virve said, shuddering as she recalled the blank, lifeless stare she¡¯d seen on the faces of men who had been proud, arrogant, and defiant only moments before Lady Nyrielle whispered in their ears.


    "She hasn¡¯t done it to all of them," Lennart added. "Just enough to bring them under control. Now, they obediently follow orders and they¡¯re generally fairly competent but..."


    "They¡¯re no longer capable of taking initiative," Virve said. "We¡¯ve trained with them, many times. The warriors are strong enough and they fight with skill, especially when they¡¯re pressed to the edge of life and death. But they fight mechanically most of the time, and they don¡¯t offer up any ideas."


    "So she¡¯s gained an army of foot soldiers," Ashlynn said as she suppressed a shudder of fear at the way the two bearish soldiers described the men who had fallen prey to the sorcery of the Harbinger of Death. Nyrielle had explained in the past that she could destroy a man¡¯s soul, snuffing out the fires of ambition and desire like the flames of a candle. She¡¯d even felt the power when Nyrielle demonstrated it for her, but hearing about it put to use like this... sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And Mistress Nyrielle did this to every group she conquered?" Ashlynn asked hesitantly. "Was no one able to resist her?"


    "There are a few special cases," Lennart explained. "The soldiers taken from the Tangled Wood have submitted willingly. If they rebel against Lady Nyrielle, she¡¯ll kill the greatest progeny that Hamdi has ever made. You should have seen him yesterday, Lady Ashlynn, the white-furred vampire called Savis."


    "I don¡¯t recall," Ashlynn admitted, lowering her head and fidgeting with her hands as her face turned a deep shade of crimson. Last night, once she¡¯d seen Nyrielle exit her carriage in a swirl of flowing black silks and delicate lace, she¡¯d completely lost track of everything else occurring around her.


    "Well, Sir Savis has been well-behaved," Virve said, leaning back casually in her chair now that she¡¯d eaten her fill and then some. "He keeps his men under control, I think because he¡¯s afraid that Lady Nyrielle will do to him what she¡¯s done to so many others. And Sir Tausau can be considered a brother of High Lord Torbin," she added.


    "He¡¯s been nothing but loyal since Lady Nyrielle offered a place for him and his Mongrel Horde to fight against the humans," Virve explained in a tone that was uniquely devoid of revulsion for the twisted men born of forbidden unions. Rather, she seemed to have built up a bit of respect for the misshapen vampire and his unique progeny. "He wants to prove that there is strength to be found among the Clanless."


    "There is another exception," Captain Lennart added. "Since you¡¯ve been studying with the Mother of Thorns, you might already have some knowledge of them. Tell me, my lady, have you ever heard of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth?"

 Chapter 355: Unclear Motives

    Chapter 355: Unclear MotivesThe Sorcerers of Sundered Earth.


    Very little was known about the secretive organization that hid themselves away at the bottom of a canyon in a region the Eldritch called the ¡¯Forsaken Lands.¡¯ It was an area of desolation where the sun baked the earth to brick during the day and froze what little water could be found at night. The land was criss-crossed with deep canyons that looked like they had been gouged into the earth by a being of tremendous size.


    No Eldritch Lord laid claim to the Forsaken Lands and no one saw any reason to fight for them. However, some groups, like the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth, found the isolation offered by the brutal, unforgiving environment to be worth the heavy toll the climate took on any settlement that established itself there.


    "I don¡¯t know much," Ashlynn admitted when Captain Lennart asked about them. "Big sister only told me that, if I ever wanted to study the oldest sorcery in the Eldritch world, I should visit the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth. She said they had libraries that could rival Philosar¡¯s and that even the Gnawing Death coveted some items in their collection."


    "It goes a bit beyond just having a vast library," Lennart said. "These sorcerers see themselves as custodians of sorcery and learning. They seek out information about lost and fallen clans, they rescue people from clans on the brink of destruction and they horde relics of fallen nations."


    "That sounds... nice?" Heila said, cocking her head to the side as she considered the mission these strange sorcerers seemed to be on. "It¡¯s good that knowledge isn¡¯t lost. But, aren¡¯t the Forsaken Lands far to the west? They shouldn¡¯t have been close enough to respond to Lady Nyrielle¡¯s summit invitation."


    "That¡¯s just the thing," Virve said, straightening in her chair. She paused for a moment to delicately work a bit of meat from between her teeth with a claw, earning a disapproving look from Captain Lennart. The bearish woman either didn¡¯t notice or chose to ignore his reaction as she continued, acting almost as if this was a family dinner and not a working meal shared with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and a powerful new witch.


    "They weren¡¯t invited, my lady," Virve said as she flicked the piece of gristle onto her plate. "I don¡¯t think Lady Nyrielle intended to exclude them, but the day before the summit, they just... showed up. Creepiest thing. They didn¡¯t seem to know what was happening, but they came for the ¡¯important gathering¡¯ and said they¡¯d been traveling for weeks in order to make it on time."


    Lennart¡¯s stern expression softened as he watched Ashlynn hide a smile at Virve¡¯s casual manner. Ever since that desperate battle on the ice in the High Pass, Lady Ashlynn had treated Virve with a particular warmth that went beyond simple appreciation for a capable soldier. While part of him still wanted to enforce discipline, in Virve¡¯s case, he needed to make himself let go. If the Seneschal herself wasn¡¯t bothered by it, then he was in no place to make a fuss.


    "As near as I could find out," Lennart added, pulling his mind away from Virve to focus on the conversation at hand. "They left the Forsaken Lands the day after the Tangled Tower fell to Lady Nyrielle and they headed straight to the tower. I tried asking a few of them how they knew where to go to reach the ¡¯important gathering¡¯ but the answer everyone gave me was useless."


    "Don¡¯t tell me," Ashlynn said. "They threw a feather into the air and followed the wind," she said, making fun of an old sailor¡¯s superstition for men who were lost at sea. It was said that the lost could always find land if they followed feathers on the wind but most people who understood traveling by sea knew the saying meant to look for birds. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Yet somehow, there was an image among people who lived inland of sailors as mystic navigators who literally threw feathers into the air and set their course by the way it blew on the wind!


    "No," Lennart said, scratching his head at the reference. "They said that their leader has a map. His name is Aspakos, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be meeting him soon," the bearish soldier said. "But he makes even less sense than his followers. I asked him why they came and he said ¡¯Because a wedding shouldn¡¯t be a funeral," and left it at that."


    "That is bizarre," Heila said, giving Ashlynn a strange look. If anyone¡¯s wedding should have been a funeral, Ashlynn¡¯s marriage to Owain certainly counted. She¡¯d been extremely lucky to survive Owain¡¯s assault and if not for Lady Nyrielle¡¯s timely rescue, Ashlynn would likely have died that night, even if she escaped the shallow grave Owain¡¯s knights buried her in.


    "What did Mistress Nyrielle say about them?" Ashlynn asked. She understood her lover well enough to know that Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t just accept the help of strangers without having a reason to trust them. Clearly, she¡¯d used her powers to cow several rebels into submission, but what had she done to gain the loyalty of these sorcerers?


    "Almost nothing," Lennart said with a frustrated sigh. "Only that they may not be useful in a confrontation with the Lothians, but they will be welcome in the battles that follow. For now, our orders are to treat them as auxiliaries within the army. They are to be given no orders and no responsibilities. If we have need of them, we are allowed to make requests for their services but they¡¯re permitted to refuse."


    "That sounds... very permissive," Ashlynn said. Arrangements like these weren¡¯t unknown in human traditions. If she had to compare it to something, it sounded very similar to traveling with a company of Templars or other orders within the Church.


    A captain might take men of the Church onto his vessel, even fighting men, but even if they were besieged by pirates, he could never order to the Templars to fight. A captain might be the highest authority after the Holy Lord of Light aboard his vessel, but the Church answered to no secular authority and so everything was a request rather than an order, even if the Templars did as the captain asked.


    For Nyrielle to offer the same treatment to these sorcerers was beyond strange. Perhaps there were things in this world that even Nyrielle felt the need to bow down before. They¡¯d only just begun to discuss the other True Vampires before they parted and there was still much that Ashlynn didn¡¯t know.


    "I¡¯ll ask Mistress Nyrielle about it when she wakes," Ashlynn finally said. "I may not be able to share what I learn if there are secrets that must be kept, but knowing this much will help me to ask the question. Is there anything else strange that I should know before tonight¡¯s festivities begin?"


    "Not exactly something strange," Lennart said with a knowing gleam in his eye. "But Lady Nyrielle asked me to reassign someone from my unit on a more permanent basis. With the way things have been going, she wants you to take on a personal guard."


    "I see," Ashlynn said with a warm smile. "Virve, I assume that congratulations are in order?"


    "If you¡¯ll have me, my lady," the bearish veteran said. Moving with more grace than someone of her age and size would be expected to possess, she stood up from her chair before kneeling in front of Ashlynn.


    "These claws of mine are weak and growing old," she said, holding up her palms in front of her chest. "But there¡¯s strength enough in them to fight for several more years. If you accept me, I¡¯ll take command of your personal guard when we return to the Vale of Mists. I promise to recruit only the most capable to ensure your safety."


    "I couldn¡¯t ask for anyone better," Ashlynn said, placing a hand over her heart and feeling the faint pulse of the seed she nurtured beneath her skin. The seed of witchcraft she currently carried was intended for someone else, but perhaps, once her coven had accepted its second witch, she would begin to nurture a seed for Virve.


    Heila¡¯s eyes widened slightly in surprise at Ashlynn¡¯s seemingly casual gesture. The soldiers in the room might not know what lay beneath Ashlynn¡¯s skin, but as the recipient of the first seed of witchcraft that Ashlynn had grown, it was impossible for Heila to miss the significance of the gesture.


    But, seeing the way that Virve acted so casually around them, sharing a meal with them in much the same way they¡¯d shared meals with Amahle¡¯s coven in the Briar, Heila couldn¡¯t help but give a small nod of approval in Ashlynn¡¯s direction.


    The woman had more than proven herself in their battle on the ice against the Tuscans. After hearing the story of the battle against High Lord Hamdi¡¯s forces, it was clear that she had proven herself capable enough for Nyrielle to entrust Ashlynn to her care.


    Ashlynn knew that there was still a bit of time before she would be able to nurture another seed, this wasn¡¯t a decision that she needed to make on the spot. She also wasn¡¯t certain that it would be right to bring a member of her personal guard into her coven but she firmly planted the idea in her mind. Now that she had, she would see how things progressed with Virve before she made her decision. Whether the idea sprouted and grew or died without blossoming would be up to Virve¡¯s actions in the next few months.


    "So, since you¡¯re to be my new personal guard," Ashlynn said with a warm smile as she placed her hands on the woman¡¯s outstretched claws, formally accepting her service. "Let me tell you about what¡¯s going to happen tonight. Since I won¡¯t have Heila with me, I¡¯ll be counting on you to stay at my side..."

 Chapter 356: Final Preparations

    Chapter 356: Final PreparationsAt the arena, a veritable army of servants had labored almost non-stop since Heila¡¯s ninth victory on the bloody sands. The work had paused only briefly when Nyrielle¡¯s army appeared and marched into the city like a snake made of flame with the torches they carried to march in the darkness. Once the spectacle had ended, however, frantic supervisors had urged their staff back to work in order to transform the mighty stadium in time for the following evening¡¯s festivities.


    Outside the arena, every marble statue had been cleaned and polished. In honor of a visit from the famed Blood Princess of the Arena, every fountain surrounding the arena as well as those within its more opulent spaces had been drained, scrubbed, and refilled with water and copious amounts of red coloring that made it appear as though the fountains had been filled with blood.


    Inside the arena, the lowest level had undergone a startling transformation. Where common folk normally stood shoulder to shoulder, jostling for the best view of blood spilled on the sands above, now elegant tables draped in deep crimson linens formed intimate circles throughout the space. Ice sculptures of famous arena champions towered over the gathering, their crystalline forms catching and scattering the light from hundreds of oil lamps that had been hung to illuminate the normally shadowy space.


    Common benches had been cleared away, replaced by elegant chairs and luxurious sofas that ringed the arena, offering the best view of the bloody battles below to the powerful and prestigious guests who would fill this space tonight.


    Normally, the lowest level of the arena could accommodate nearly two thousand people, and as many as five hundred more were known to crowd into the space when popular champions met for the most anticipated battles of the year. Now, however, after arranging personal invitations for a small, select group of people, a mere four hundred tickets had been auctioned off to those wealthy enough or influential enough to rub elbows with the visiting dignitaries.


    In High Lady Erna¡¯s private box, Ashlynn stood with Heila and her newly appointed personal guard Virve as they watched the final preparations being made. Overhead, the sun had already sunk low enough in the sky that it couldn¡¯t be seen from within the arena and the sky itself had turned a brilliant shade of pale orange with rosy highlights on the few wispy clouds that dotted the sky.


    "I wish Nyrielle could watch sunsets like this," Ashlynn said softly as she looked out across the arena. Though the shade wasn¡¯t quite the same as the sunrise she¡¯d watched with Nyrielle in the dream they shared, it was close enough to the vampire¡¯s favorite color that Ashlynn briefly wished she¡¯d made arrangements to create a shadowed corner that was dark enough for her lover to emerge early, just to witness the sight together in person instead of in dreams.


    "I¡¯m told that, in the winter, there is a tower that she uses to watch the sunrise on days that the mist is thick enough to shield her from the early light," Virve said softly. "According to Captain Lennart, whenever she does, we have to block off all the hallways between her tower and her chambers so no one delays her when she returns to her bed to sleep away the day."


    "I suppose I¡¯ll have to look forward to it this winter then," Ashlynn said with a soft, wistful smile. This winter she also intended to travel back to Blackwell County with Nyrielle. If something like what Virve mentioned could be arranged in the Vale of Mists, perhaps they could find a way to do something similar in the place where she¡¯d watched the sunrise in their dream.


    "You should slip down there and steal a bite to eat while you can, Heila," Ashlynn added, changing the topic and pointing to the tables on the lowest level that were heaped with food.


    The richness of the autumn harvest was on full display, as was High Fen City¡¯s incredible access to rare spices and ingredients from all across Eldritch lands. The scents of roasted meats, fresh baked bread and heady alcohol reached all the way up to High Lady Erna¡¯s private box and the aromas were sure to be much more tantalizing once someone entered the level on the arena where they were being served.


    "I can¡¯t," Heila said, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. "My stomach is too full of butterflies. It¡¯s been like that before every fight in the arena. The lunch we had was big enough for me," she added, placing a hand on Ashlynn¡¯s wrist to reassure her. "As long as everything goes well, I¡¯ll eat a big meal after the battle."


    "Young soldiers are the same way," Virve said, placing a hand of her own on Heila¡¯s shoulder. "Captain Lennart has to scold them to eat so they don¡¯t fall faint when they stand their first night watches on the walls."


    "I¡¯m not that bad!" Heila protested. "It¡¯s just... this time, Lady Nyrielle will be watching, along with all the soldiers and leaders she brought with her. I can¡¯t shame Lady Ashlynn in front of them by falling short tonight."


    "Have you been able to learn what Yotsun has prepared tonight?" Ashlynn asked. "I can¡¯t imagine he¡¯s given up on defeating you, even if the past few days have been fairly mild compared to the day he sent Tuscans after you."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Heila said as she watched the servants bustling about below. Several kegs of fine ale had just been wheeled into place and a staggering number of smaller wine casks had been placed next to collections of expensive crystal goblets, ready to serve the refined palettes of the most notable patrons who would visit the arena tonight.


    "Whatever Yotsun has in mind, there are still things he hasn¡¯t seen from me yet," the diminutive witch said confidently. "When the time comes, I promise, I¡¯ll deliver a victory that will make Lady Nyrielle proud."


    "You don¡¯t need to do anything to make her proud," Ashlynn whispered. Moving slowly, she knelt on the ground next to Heila and wrapped her arms around the diminutive witch who was currently the only member of her tiny coven. "You don¡¯t have to do anything more to make me proud either. Whatever that slimy merchant has in store for you tonight, so long as you survive it, nothing else matters."


    "I know," Heila said, burying her face in Ashlynn¡¯s chest as she embraced the woman who felt just as close to her as her own mother. She knew that Ashlynn never demanded victory from her and that he love wasn¡¯t contingent on whether she performed well or not.


    But that was why it mattered even more to Heila that she achieved something tonight. Lady Nyrielle had returned with an army of more than a thousand soldiers, many of them elite warriors from their nations or clans. Now, if Heila could defeat the opponents that Yotsun had selected for their final confrontation, she¡¯d be able to add one hundred champions from the arena to that force.


    In the end, it all came down to tonight¡¯s final battle... S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 357: Ashlynn’s Efforts

    Chapter 357: Ashlynn¡¯s EffortsAfter leaving Heila to prepare for the evening¡¯s main event, Ashlynn returned to High Lady Erna¡¯s palace to prepare herself for the grand spectacle of Nyrielle¡¯s reception. Unlike her previous visit to High Fen City, this time Ashlynn had several days in advance to make her arrangements and there wasn¡¯t a single detail that she neglected.


    She started with a green dress several shades darker than her usual emerald tones, opting for something in a stately hue similar to the great pine trees that covered the mountain slopes between the High Fen and High Pass. She paired it with spills of delicate black silk lace and a cutout panel across the bodice in the same black lace that emphasised the fullness of her pale bosom. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Tonight, while she was the Mother of Thorns, she was also Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and she wanted to send a strong message that they stood together. Last night, she¡¯d dressed for Nyrielle, wearing a sleeveless dress that bared her shoulders and neck to arouse her lover¡¯s hunger. Now, on the high collar of her full-sleeved gown, she wore a string of blood-red garnets spilling from one side of her neck to make her allegiance clear to everyone who looked.


    Even her hat was something she¡¯d had prepared just for occasions when she attended grand events with Nyrielle. The dark green fabric paired with her dress but in place of black lace, she¡¯d adorned it with long, slender, black feathers that held a hint of blue or green depending on how the light struck them.


    "You look stunning, my lady," Virve said with genuine praise as Ashlynn settled her wide-brimmed hat in place. "Even more so than you did on our first visit."


    To the newly elevated soldier, Ashlynn seemed almost as otherworldly as Lady Nyrielle. Seeing them together the night before, she¡¯d glimpsed a hint of it, but she¡¯d been too embarrassed at the very public display of affection to look too closely. Now that she had a chance to see Lady Ashlynn up close, however, she had to admit that the transformation her lady had undergone went far beyond the physical.


    If Virve were to put on a fancy dress, she might pass for modestly charming but no one would use words like ¡¯beautiful¡¯ or ¡¯enchanting¡¯ to refer to her, even if she were a decade or two younger. She knew that she was a soldier with a soldier¡¯s strong build and there was little that people found conventionally attractive about that kind of power no matter how you dressed it up.


    When Ashlynn donned her gown for the evening, however, the impression she gave was very similar to the aura Virve radiated when she donned her armor and weapons. The evening ahead would be a different kind of battlefield, one that Ashlynn had studied as a young woman but had far too little experience fighting on. Now, however, it seemed as though she¡¯d taken a significant step forward as she prepared to play host to the elite of High Lady Erna¡¯s nation.


    "Stunning doesn¡¯t begin to describe it," Nyrielle said as she swept into the room. "My darling looks as though she¡¯s ready to conquer in my name, whether I attend or not," she said with an amused smile.


    After several months of either feeding on the unwilling or only taking the bare minimum offerings from her own people, Nyrielle had looked increasingly inhuman over the past several months. Among the vampires and the Eldritch, no one would comment, but those who knew her best knew that she had been holding herself back for quite a while.


    Now, after a night with Ashlynn, her alabaster skin seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance that stood out like soft white clouds against the midnight blue of her evening gown. Here again, Ashlynn had applied her skills, requesting a dress that made Nyrielle¡¯s complex identity clear.


    When they¡¯d visited before, Nyrielle accepted gifts befitting her status as the ¡¯Blood Princess of the Arena¡¯, but now, Ashlynn wanted to diminish that title as much as she could while presenting the powerful Harbinger of Death. To that end, Nyrielle wore a figure-hugging bodice in deep midnight blue silk, accented spills of soft, gossamer fabric intended to remind people of the omnipresent mists in her home.


    Much like Ashlynn¡¯s hat, the loose, flowing skirt she¡¯d selected for Nyrielle had been accentuated with a spill of dark feathers that trailed from her slender hips all the way to the floor. Intermixed with those dark feathers were occasional accents of bright red plumage, marking the only concession Ashlynn made to Nyrielle¡¯s title as ¡¯Blood Princess.¡¯


    For too long, the people of the High Fen had come to look down on the Vale of Mists. They¡¯d been dismissed as impoverished and weak, unable to recover while under the constant threat of their enemies. The Eldritch people who had never in their lives faced the might of the human armies or the powerful sorcerers of the Church had no idea why the border nations continued to struggle, but as long as danger remained far away, their minds were unlikely to change.


    Ever since her return to High Fen City, Ashlynn had been pushing back against that narrative. Heila¡¯s string of victories in the arena, echoing and honoring Nyrielle¡¯s own famed ten-day stand in the arena, were just one part of Ashlynn¡¯s campaign.


    Nyrielle¡¯s arrival with a powerful army, including the subjugated forces plundered from High Lord Hamdi, made for another point in favor of the Vale of Mists. But just these two things were far from enough to reshape how people thought about the Vale. To gain the support they would need, not just for the next Lothian attack but for everything that was sure to follow, Ashlynn needed to do much, much more.


    "If I¡¯m going to conquer," Ashlynn said, taking her place next to Nyrielle and snaking her arm around the other woman¡¯s. "Then I will conquer in your name. But wherever I conquer, whether you are there or not, people should always see the shadow of your wings hovering behind me," she added, stretching up on her tiptoes to give Nyrielle a chaste kiss.


    "This was your doing?" Nyrielle asked, gesturing at the elegantly tailored dress she wore. "It doesn¡¯t seem like the sort of thing that Little Snake¡¯s people would have prepared for me. How long have you been making arrangements for tonight?"


    "Since a few days after I arrived," Ashlynn said as they began to walk to the waiting carriage. "The outfits and the venue are just preparing the stage," she explained. "There are already whispers about the rise of the Vale of Mists. Tonight, I intend to turn those whispers into shouts that can be heard in the hills. The people on this side of the mountains need to use the winter to prepare themselves to seize opportunity in the spring."


    "Opportunities? To join the battle against the Lothians?" Nyrielle said with a raised eyebrow. She¡¯d already gathered more soldiers than she ever expected to after crushing Hamdi in the Tangled Wood. But it seemed like her lover wasn¡¯t content with this much strength.


    "Tell me, my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle asked. "I¡¯ve never managed to convince the warriors of the High Fen to come fight in any of our wars against the Lothians, no matter how dire the circumstances were, unless I defeated them individually in the Arena. Just what is it you¡¯ve done to make these men fight for us?"

 Chapter 358: Mercantile Power Struggles

    Chapter 358: Mercantile Power Struggles"I haven¡¯t pulled them along that far, they won¡¯t fight for us yet," Ashlynn said with a sad shake of her head. "It doesn¡¯t matter to them whether the Vale rises or falls. It¡¯s too far away and nothing is at stake. The few who still trade with us only trade in meager quantities. It¡¯s not enough to fight a war to defend."


    "The Vale of Mists was once a gateway to trade between the eastern lowlands and the western highlands," Ashlynn continued. "Blackwell County is the same. It¡¯s one of three gateways between the Kingdom of Gaal and old countries across the sea. People will pledge soldiers to protect their wealth," she said firmly. "We just need to give enough people on this side of the mountains a reason to tie their wealth up in the Vale of Mists."


    "This is a human way of conducting business," Nyrielle said, shaking her head at her young Seneschal. "The Eldritch bow down to strength. Strength is what gained me the army that will march home with us and strength is the only language that the people of this arena mad nation will speak." S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯re wrong, my love," Ashlynn said, giving Nyrielle a gentle poke. Behind her, Virve nearly stumbled as they walked along when she heard the casual way that Ashlynn told Lady Nyrielle that she was wrong in such a blunt way, but Nyrielle only seemed curious, cocking her head slightly as she listened to Ashlynn¡¯s explanation.


    "High Lady Erna¡¯s family has ruled for too long," Ashlynn said. "Their strength has become unassailable. It¡¯s the same in the Kingdom of Gaal, especially in the eastern lands like Blackwell County."


    "In the Frontier, places like Lothian March, humans are fighting to conquer new land," Ashlynn explained. "They want to use strength to seize opportunities they¡¯re denied anywhere else. In a way, the humans along the Frontier are the most similar to the Eldritch traditions that you¡¯re familiar with."


    "I don¡¯t entirely approve of that comparison," Nyrielle said, frowning at Ashlynn. At the moment, there was no one around them as they walked through the portion of the palace that had been reserved almost exclusively for their use, and she was willing to indulge Ashlynn¡¯s choice of phrases but a time would come not long from now when they would need to be united in both words and actions. "But go on..."


    "The Eldritch people in the High Fen have more in common with Blackwell County than they do with Lothian March," Ashlynn said confidently. "There are three paths to power in the High Fen. A person can amass great personal strength and challenge High Lady Erna and her family for the rule of the High Fen. Fewer than one in one hundred thousand people have that kind of strength so no one even thinks about that anymore."


    "The more open path is in the arenas scattered across the High Fen. The arenas in High Fen City are the greatest, but there are other small towns that still have their own arenas, and even the most humble villager with dreams of greatness can find themselves on a road that leads to the great arena in High Fen City."


    "As I said," Nyrielle said, giving Ashlynn¡¯s hand a gentle squeeze. "The High Fen is arena-mad. They value the strength they see proven on the sands. That¡¯s why I needed to take to the sands myself to win over the champions I needed to retake the Vale."


    "But there¡¯s a third contest that is every bit as vicious as the one between gladiators on the sands," Ashlynn pointed out. "In fact, it even influences the battles in the arena. The High Fen is still a tremendous hub for trade flowing up and down the length of the mountains, or heading from anywhere along the mountains to the western interior. That¡¯s given rise to merchants who are no less calculating or ambitious than the Guild Masters I knew in Blackwell County."


    "The merchants here share the same frustrations I saw in Blackwell County," Ashlynn added. "In Blackwell, even the wealthiest merchant can¡¯t hope to become a knight unless one of the existing noble families falls from grace or dies without heirs. All the good land was carved up generations ago, and what little remains isn¡¯t enough to support a proper noble title."


    "And that¡¯s why your father was so eager to marry you to that vile man?" Nyrielle said, her expression darkening as a trace of dark, shadowy energy flickered across her eyes. "He risked his eldest daughter for a chance to raise his station because he couldn¡¯t do it himself in Blackwell County?"


    "That, that isn¡¯t quite it," Ashlynn said quickly. Now that everything had happened, it was easy to blame her father for the arrangement he had brokered with Bors Lothian but in the end, Ashlynn had volunteered so long as she felt that she could trust Owain after a few years of courtship. Much of the blame for what happened next belonged to her and she didn¡¯t want Nyrielle to judge her father unfairly before she even met him.


    "My father was suffering a different pressure," Ashlynn explained. "He didn¡¯t have an heir. But the Lothians haven¡¯t had difficulty siring multiple sons in every generation," she said. "Bors Lothian offered that, so long as my firstborn son could inherit the Lothian throne, my second born could return to Blackwell County to inherit my father¡¯s title."


    "It still seems foolish to me," Nyrielle said, her expression softening as she felt Ashlynn¡¯s heart quicken when she raced to defend her father. "All of that time spent waiting for someone who can claim a blood relationship and to what end? Not every descendant is fit to rule. The people of Blackwell County would be better off if your father invested his time in training a successor who isn¡¯t related to him, but instead, he¡¯s sold you off in the hopes that you could deliver him a child to thrust upon his throne."


    "That..." Ashlynn began awkwardly. "That¡¯s something that humans see differently. But the desire to enter the nobility, or to preserve one¡¯s position as a member of the aristocracy, is a powerful motivator. That¡¯s why, when I wrote to Master Isabell and the other guild masters in Blackwell County, I encouraged them to press Owain for titles and lands. By making them believe he could offer those concessions, they should be willing to put aside their differences with each other to cooperate on an opportunity that is unlikely to occur again in their lifetimes."


    "And you say that these human merchants, who squabble among each other for wealth, are similar to the merchants in the High Fen?" Nyrielle asked, not entirely sure she believed Ashlynn. "Since when did the people of the High Fen care so much about wealth when they should be seeking glory in the arenas?"


    "You know," Ashlynn said, shifting her approach slightly. "Heila¡¯s battles in the arena aren¡¯t being fought between her and the champions of the arena. Not really, though a few have stood forth to meet her on the sands," Ashlynn said. "The person that Heila is really fighting against is the spice merchant Yotsun. In fact, the first groups of men that Yotsun sent after her were all gladiators who had their training funded by Yotsun and his shipping company."


    "You¡¯re saying that the people without the ability to fight for themselves will use piles of gold and jewels to dictate the actions of those with the strength to fight?" Nyrielle asked, giving Ashlynn a quizzical look.


    "More or less," Ashlynn agreed. "Fighting men are expensive. Weapons, armor, food, lodging, training, salaries, death benefits... All of it adds up. The merchants of the High Fen are competing to control the strongest gladiators, but it goes further than that. Countless gladiators, raised and trained by these merchants, retire from the sands to take up positions in the mercenary forces these merchants rely on to protect their caravans of goods."


    "So winning the battle to develop the greatest champions means gaining the strongest protection for their business," Nyrielle said with a slow nod. Because she possessed the strength to not only dominate the arena but to challenge High Lady Erna if she wished, she¡¯d never concerned herself with the ¡¯lesser¡¯ struggles for power within the High Fen but now that Ashlynn laid it out for her, she could see the way that the web of interests could distort the struggle for real strength.


    "And you¡¯ve been waging war with these merchants since you arrived?" Nyrielle asked. "You seem to have developed a very deep understanding of them in a very short period of time."


    "I told you, didn¡¯t I?" Ashlynn said with an impish look as if she¡¯d been caught at some piece of mischief. "These people are very similar to the merchants in Blackwell County. Once I understood the game they were playing, it was easy enough to join them."


    "Tonight, I¡¯ve picked the very best seeds to present to you," Ashlynn said. "None of them will bring us soldiers in the fall, and even if we plant them carefully and shower them with attention for the next year, they may not sprout. For some, it could be two or three years before they bear fruit. But I promise you, my love," she said with deep, genuine feeling.


    "If you trust me tonight, and you trust the value of the people I¡¯ve gathered," Ashlynn said. "Then the Vale of Mists will reap a harvest like none it¡¯s seen since the Lothians built their temple."

 Chapter 359: Not Our People?

    Chapter 359: Not Our People?By the time they reached the carriage, Nyrielle had a much better understanding of Ashlynn¡¯s intentions. More than that, she began to wonder if she knew the Eldritch people as well as she had once believed.


    For more than a century, the Vale of Mists had very little to do with Eldritch nations other than their immediate neighbors. Moreover, when Nyrielle dealt with other Eldritch Lords, she most often dealt with the extremely long-lived vampire lords that could be considered relics of an era that was beginning to fade. Now, it seemed like wealth and commerce were becoming as important to the Eldritch people as the raw strength to defend them from their enemies.


    "When we met, I said that I believed you would help me break the stalemate with the Lothians," Nyrielle said as they settled into her carriage. "At the time, it was because I believed in the strength you would wield as a witch once you came to understand your powers. Now, however, I¡¯m coming to realize that even if you were a powerless human, you would be an extraordinary agent of change."


    "Strength still forms the best support," Ashlynn said, summoning a faint swirl of emerald energy that danced around her palm like leaves blown in the wind, filling the carriage with the rich scent of new growth. "If I wasn¡¯t the Mother of Trees, how many merchants would have met with me? If I couldn¡¯t offer them things they couldn¡¯t receive from anyone else, how many would be willing to discuss a deal?"


    "If I wasn¡¯t a witch, if I hadn¡¯t been strengthened by my bond with you," Ashlynn said, dismissing her magic and reaching out to hold Nyrielle¡¯s hands. "This wouldn¡¯t have been possible at all."


    "I still don¡¯t know if any of your seeds will bear fruit," Nyrielle said, hoping to temper Ashlynn¡¯s optimism. "Or even if there will be time for them to do so. But so long as you believe, I¡¯m willing to give new things a try."


    "That¡¯s all I could ever ask and more," Ashlynn said, snuggling up to Nyrielle in the comforting darkness of the carriage. The single oil lamp cast soft shadows over both women, creating the illusion that they blended into each other as they enjoyed the moment of peace and solitude before plunging into the crowds that would surround them when they reached the arena.


    Outside the massive structure, crowds filled the plaza, pressing up against barriers and straining for a glimpse of the arriving dignitaries. Shouts of adoration and pleas for attention could be heard from innumerable throats as everyone from famous champions of the previous generation to the wealthiest merchants emerged from their stately carriages and made their way to the converted first floor of the arena. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As soon as one carriage arrived, however, the crowds went completely silent. Everyone pressed forward and the lightly armored guards dispatched from both the arena and the palace had to press people back behind barriers lest someone find themselves trampled beneath the crowd.


    Drums sounded from the entrance of the arena, accompanied by the triumphant peels of trumpet blasts.


    "We welcome the Blood Princess of the Arena!" A barrel-chested man from the clan of the great claw shouted from the top of the steps. "We welcome the Harbinger of Death!"


    "We welcome the Blood Princess," the crowd echoed loudly. "We welcome the Harbinger of Death!"


    "It seems I¡¯ve been forgotten already," Ashlynn teased as she prepared to proceed Nyrielle out of the carriage.


    "Should I give them a reminder?" Nyrielle asked in a tone that was light but held a sharper edge than Ashlynn expected. "No one should disrespect my darling Ashlynn, especially not when I¡¯m present."


    "No need, my love," Ashlynn said, her face heating slightly as she felt Nyrielle¡¯s protective fierceness echoing within her chest alongside the echo of her lover¡¯s heartbeat. "They¡¯ve already seen me and they know me. Tonight, they¡¯ve gathered to welcome you."


    The women¡¯s emergence from the carriage created a stir among the people and several bowed or knelt where they stood. As soon as she exited the carriage, Nyrielle unfurled her black, feathered wings, stretching them out wide for a moment as the crowd collectively gasped before wrapping one wing protectively around Ashlynn as the women ascended the stairs.


    "All of this is your doing too?" Nyrielle asked quietly, gesturing at the crowds of people. Compared to her previous visit when the only crowds present at the theater where they watched the opera were other attendees, this seemed somewhat... excessive.


    "They will talk about seeing you tonight for years to come," Ashlynn said lightly. "Look, see the children riding their parent¡¯s shoulders? That¡¯s how much your legend means to them. Those children should be in bed by now, but look at the proud looks on their parent¡¯s faces. They were able to see you tonight, even if they couldn¡¯t afford a ticket to be in the arena. They want to remember this, and they want their children to remember you as well."


    "And this too, you¡¯ve done for a reason? You court the wealthy for the power of their purses," Nyrielle observed. "But why is it that you¡¯re courting the common folk of the High Fen? These aren¡¯t our people. If they aren¡¯t swayed by Little Snake¡¯s strength or the coins of the merchants, what will sway them?"


    "Stories are powerful, my love," Ashlynn whispered. "Stories of courage, hope... love. They¡¯re very powerful. Even more so when they¡¯re true. Inviting them to see a legend in the flesh may not achieve much at the moment, but what do you think would happen if we returned in the spring, seeking people to help us strengthen the Vale of Mists?"


    "To the people of the High Fen, you¡¯re one of theirs, a champion of the arena," Ashlynn explained. "But I want them to see you as you are, as the Lady of the Vale. Right now, they yearn for you to return to the arena. But look out there," Ashlynn said, pausing to point outside now that they weren¡¯t as easily observed by the people in the crowd.


    "Notice how many of them are from the Horned Clan, or the Clan of the Great Claw," Ashlynn said, leaning close enough to whisper in Nyrielle¡¯s ear.


    Near the front of the crowd, a cluster of children from the Horned Clan, so young that their horns were only small nubs barely visible through their hair, had already begun to play in the plaza under the watchful eyes of their parents. One waved a stick in one hand and held a coil of thin rope in the other, clearly imitating the new rising star of the arena.


    Another young girl, with eyes that were as bright and shining as the stars, wrapped a cloak around her arms and flapped it like vast wings, even going so far as to wrap one arm around a younger sibling before declaring that she would defend her little brother, no matter the cost!


    "They might not be your people right now, but they were once," Ashlynn continued, subtly directing Nyrielle¡¯s attention to where a grizzled veteran from the Clan of the Great Claw stood at rigid attention.


    The man¡¯s scarred face and minimal armor marked him as a former arena champion who had likely donned his old armor to pay respects to a fellow champion. But the look in his eyes when he saw Virve following closely behind Ashlynn and Nyrielle betrayed a deeply suppressed desire to protect people who meant far more to him than the warehouse full of grain he guarded for his current employer.


    "And seeing you, and the splendor around you," Ashlynn said softly. "Perhaps some of them will wish to rejoin their long-lost kin within the Vale."


    "I doubt you¡¯ll succeed, my darling," Nyrielle said, turning away from the crowds outside to face the considerably more sophisticated crowd that had gathered within the arena. "But I¡¯m always willing to let you try," she said in a voice that contained more yearning than she¡¯d thought she could feel over the descendants of people who had abandoned her more than a hundred years ago.


    But... if those descendants wanted to return... even if they didn¡¯t choose to fight in the wars to come, Nyrielle made up her mind on the spot that she wouldn¡¯t reject them. Whatever resentments she might have for their unwillingness to return once she sacrificed so much to retake the Vale of Mists...


    None of that could compare to the feeling of having her people return, especially if they returned because Ashlynn encouraged them to do so.

 Chapter 360: New Partners

    Chapter 360: New PartnersOn the first floor of the arena, the small crowd of influential locals gave much more restrained applause when Nyrielle and Ashlynn made their entrance. There was a round of soft applause and a scattering of shouts from former champions of the arena, but there were no spontaneous acts of kneeling or other demonstrations of subservience from this crowd.


    "Teacher, our reunion last night was too brief," High Lady Erna said as she slid gracefully across the stone floor to greet Nyrielle.


    "Little Snake, you don¡¯t need to call me teacher anymore," the powerful vampire said, momentarily leaving Ashlynn¡¯s side to embrace her former student. "We¡¯re old friends now, each with our own territories to rule."


    The gesture was simple and the embrace didn¡¯t last long, but the wave of whispers it set off couldn¡¯t have been louder if one of the women had slapped the other. Less than six months ago, when Nyrielle had passed through the High Fen, they hadn¡¯t been so close and companionable and the only event they¡¯d held was a masquerade ball in the palace. It could be said that High Lady Erna had paid proper respects to a visiting Eldritch Lady and her former teacher but nothing more.


    Yet now, on what was supposed to be the first of many nights of celebration, they embraced so readily... None of the people gathered here were simple but if you asked them to speculate about what the apparent closeness between these two powerful rulers meant for the future of the High Fen, none of them could say for certain.


    "The entertainment will begin soon," Erna said as Ashlynn joined them. "I¡¯m sure your seneschal has arranged for several people to bend your ears tonight so I won¡¯t delay you. We can watch the final match of the evening from my private box when the time comes."


    "This feeling of being passed from one thing to the next, like a puppet on a string," Nyrielle said with a wry smile on her face. "I can¡¯t help but wonder if the Mother of Thorns taught you how to bind people in webs with the way you¡¯re doing this to me, darling."


    "Don¡¯t blame her too much for that," Erna said with a light, musical laugh. "My first minister does the same to me. At times, you would almost think he had usurped my throne!"


    "I could never usurp Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s throne," Ashlynn protested with a light laugh of her own. "What¡¯s hers is hers and will always be hers, me included," she added as she stepped close enough to Nyrielle for the other woman to wrap an arm around her.


    "All right, enough, you two," the esteemed High Lady said, shaking her head at the youthful displays of affection between the two. "You make me feel like I¡¯m the old one when you do that, and I¡¯m still far too young to feel old in this company."


    Ashlynn, she could understand, but the more time she watched Nyrielle with the young witch, the more the image in her mind of her wise and powerful teacher crumbled, replaced with a woman who wasn¡¯t all that different from herself. Though, perhaps that had been Nyrielle¡¯s point when she said they were old friends now.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, tugging slightly on Nyrielle¡¯s arm to lead her toward a group of waiting tradesmen. "There are a few men I¡¯d like to introduce you to who have agreed to accompany us back to the Vale of Mists when we leave. If you¡¯ll entertain them?"


    "Ha ha, it seems my Seneschal has everything well in hand," Nyrielle laughed. "Little Snake, we¡¯ll meet again later tonight. My darling, it seems that tonight, I¡¯m in your capable hands."


    "In that case," she said, gesturing to a trio of men standing anxiously nearby. "Let¡¯s begin with Master Benouet, Master Wimund, and Master Aubin," Ashlynn said, pointing first to a short, dignified fellow from the Clan of Painted Masks who resembled a more refined and well-to-do version of the Artificer Erkembalt.


    Next to him stood Master Wimund, a towering fellow from the Clan of the Great Claw who, despite his luxurious tunic, kept his well-muscled arms bare, making it clear he wasn¡¯t above doing some manual labor himself. Finally, Master Aubin of the Glass Eyed Clan looked like the most delighted of the three when he saw Ashlynn¡¯s approach, his long, flexible neck nearly turning in a complete circle as he watched her approach.


    Nearby, at one of the elegantly laid tables that Ashlynn and Nyrielle directly bypassed, a distinguished master whose family had controlled the silk trade along the mountain passes for three generations, watched with barely concealed irritation as Ashlynn guided Nyrielle toward three decidedly less distinguished merchants.


    "A ditch digger," he muttered to his companions, recognizing Master Benouet¡¯s silver spectacles and the practical boots the man wore even to a gathering as important as this. "The Blood Princess returns to High Fen City after months away, and the first person they present to her is a man who builds ditches for a living."


    "And that oaf Wimund," said an elegant woman from the Scaled Clan who wore more jewels across her smooth chest than Ashlynn had in any of her public appearances. Her tongue flickered in distaste and she had to force herself to look away before Lady Nyrielle caught the unsightly expression on her face.


    "My cousin commissioned stone for a statue from his quarry last year," she said quietly to her fellow guests as they wallowed in the feeling of being snubbed. "The man smelled of stone dust even at the contract signing." She coiled her serpentine form higher, cocking her head slightly and straining her ears as if trying to catch what could possibly be so important about these three that warranted such immediate attention.


    The whispers spread through the gathering as other notable guests, whether they were arena champions, wealthy merchants, or even the mayors of nearby villages, found themselves pushed aside in favor of what appeared to be a thoroughly middling trio.


    "Masters," Nyrielle said politely. "Of everyone present, my darling Ashlynn seems to feel like you three are the most important for me to spend time with before I greet anyone else," she said, her midnight blue eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as she watched an invisible pressure descend on the poor tradesmen. "I¡¯m curious, what is it exactly about you three that has so thoroughly captivated my darling?"


    "Airgead mountain," Aubin blurted after a heavy, unconscious gulp. "Her, her Dominion, that is to say, that we have an idea and, together if we can..."


    Though Nyrielle hadn¡¯t done anything to apply extra pressure to the long-legged fellow, just standing in her presence made his knees want to buckle and when her eyes sharpened at the mention of Airgead Mountain, he felt like his knees had turned to soft mud, barely holding him upright as he struggled to articulate anything at all.


    Meanwhile, those few who were in earshot shook their heads and sipped at their wine, waiting for the spectacle to unfold. Perhaps it was for the best that they hadn¡¯t gone first. With this fool to set the tone, anything they had to say would look a thousand times better by comparison. A few of them only hoped that Aubin wouldn¡¯t make such an exaggerated mess of things that the Blood Princess claimed his head for wasting her time.


    Others, however, held the opposite hope. They didn¡¯t expect to gain much from this event to begin with, but a chance to see the Blood Princess smite someone for making a fool out of her... that would be well worth the ticket price! Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 361: Ambitious Engineering

    Chapter 361: Ambitious Engineering"Aubin," the bearish Master Wimund said, clapping the flustered man heavily on the shoulder. "Let Benouet explain, it¡¯s his plan, he should be the one to unfold it. You and I, we just need to answer questions if Her Eternity has any questions for us. Apologies," the burly master said, turning to look at Ashlynn and Nyrielle a touch sheepishly. "My friend here isn¡¯t accustomed to working for such important clients."


    "And you are?" Nyrielle said with a raised eyebrow.


    "Mistress might be interested to know that Master Wimund trades in stone. The statue of you that stands in the plaza was sourced from his marble quarry when his grandfather ran the family business," Ashlynn added helpfully. "Though he trades in far more than just marble."


    "Your Eternity," Master Benouet said, adjusting his silver-rimmed spectacles as he stepped forward. "I know your time tonight is very valuable, and Lady Ashlynn has already spoken with us at great length about this venture. If you¡¯re willing, I can present the essential outline and we can speak more on the journey, if you approve." Seeing the vampire¡¯s slight nod, the tradesman didn¡¯t hesitate to launch into a description of the wild notion that he and Ashlynn had put together over the past week.


    "Lady Ashlynn was very impressed by the canals that serve the High Fen, not just in High Fen City, but the ones that transport the harvest from the fields," he explained.


    "We used barges that carried grain downriver to the harbor in Blackwell County," Ashlynn explained. "But wagons still have to bring everything a considerable distance over land before it reaches the river. The High Fen seemed much more efficient and I wondered if we could bring this kind of efficiency to the Vale of Mists."


    "That seems unlikely," Nyrielle said. "The Vale is steep-sided with many creeks and streams that feed the River Luath. The High Fen is virtually flat. Besides, the villages in the Vale of Mists don¡¯t produce much to trade beyond their own needs. What little is sent to trade in the fortress town is best transported over trails by hand cart, or just carried on the backs of men of the Horned Clan."


    "Yes, yes, we talked about this problem at length," Master Benouet said eagerly. "I don¡¯t think that canals between your villages are impossible, but they aren¡¯t necessary. Not yet at least," he said, glancing briefly at Ashlynn who shook her head so slightly that it was almost imperceptible. Their discussions had covered considerably more than what he was about to present but clearly, Lady Ashlynn wanted to keep things focused on the most immediate proposal.


    "Instead," the spectacled master continued. "I showed Lady Ashlynn a special set of canals we¡¯ve constructed in the foothills of the mountains that service the silver and copper mines."


    "That¡¯s why you brought up Airgead Mountain," Nyrielle said, nodding along as she understood the logic. "So you want me to act as an intermediary with the Lord Jalal of Airgead Mountain to help him extract the minerals there? He may not be interested. Most of the mines have been closed for generations, in part to make it harder for the Lothians to raid them."


    "The issue," Ashlynn said, stepping into the conversation. "Is that Lord Jalal has little ability to refine what he mines. From what I have been able to learn, much of that work was done at the base of the mountain in territory that has now fallen under the control of Baron Hanrahan. Lord Jalal and his clan have treated Airgead Mountain as their personal hunting preserve and they refuse to allow smelting or the processing of ore on their sacred mountain."


    "I don¡¯t know that I¡¯d call it sacred," Nyrielle said. "But it¡¯s true that his clan values their forests and their hunting much more than they value the rich mineral deposits under the earth."


    "The problem with getting at the minerals of Airgead mountain, from our perspective," Ashlynn said. "Is that the terrain is much too challenging. The best route would be to leave the vale and travel across the lowlands, through Baron Hanrahan¡¯s territory before approaching Airgead Mountain. Doing so is all but impossible, and so is transporting heavy ore all the way from Airgead."


    "But," Master Benouet interjected. "It¡¯s very, very easy to move ore by boat. Master Aubin is the man who designed boats for my canals in the foothills. We use either strong men or mules walking alongside the canal to pull them, but compared to using wagons, it¡¯s much, much easier."


    "And just where would this canal go?" Nyrielle said as she tried to envision the enormity of this plan. Her love certainly hadn¡¯t started small!


    "Orava Village," Ashlynn said, mentioning the village that stood at the edge of Nyrielle¡¯s territory closest to the High Pass. "The forest thins there, which leaves ample room for creating smelting pits, but there is still plentiful wood to burn. Even better, once we¡¯ve refined ore, it can either be passed downhill to the fortress town, or traded directly across the High Pass."


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, puffing her chest up with pride. "The Lothians have made Airgead Mountain their priority in the upcoming offensive. They¡¯re going to exert considerable pressure on Lord Jalal. You and High Lord Dirar in the Southern Step have been helping him to hold on, but he needs reinforcements and supplies."


    "If we can construct a canal that will allow him to sell his gold, silver, and jewels to the markets of the High Fen and beyond, it could be the difference between his nation standing tall or falling to human greed," Ashlynn explained.


    Of course, she had reasons beyond that one. Building a conduit to trade ore was only the beginning of the plan that had taken root in her mind. But this step, if they did nothing else, would still be incredibly important. And if they were able to go further, then the sooner they could take this step and deliver results, the easier the steps that followed would be.


    "No doubt this wouldn¡¯t be easy," Nyrielle said, looking at the three men. "But you¡¯re each willing to pack up your lives and visit the Vale of Mists to see if it¡¯s possible? I can¡¯t even promise you that Lord Jalal will agree to this plan you know."


    "Your Eternity," Master Wimund said, placing a clawed hand on his solid, muscular chest. "My grandfather could have returned to the Vale of Mists after you reclaimed it. No doubt he would have been able to help to rebuild your fortress and your walls. Instead, he struck out on his own in the hills of the High Fen and he never once spoke of going home."


    "I¡¯m a proud man, Your Eternity," he said, lowering his head in deep respect. "My family¡¯s quarries have supplied the greatest artisans of the past five decades. Countless champions have been immortalized in our stone. But I¡¯ve been watching Lady Heila in the arena these past few days. When today¡¯s fight ends, someone will likely commission a statue in her honor, maybe even High Lady Erna herself will commission the statue, but whoever makes it, I¡¯ll likely sell them the stone."


    "But that¡¯s as close to Lady Heila¡¯s saga as I¡¯ll ever come," he added, looking up to meet Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue eyes with an unflinching gaze. "You don¡¯t need statues in the Vale of Mists. You need walls that can¡¯t be breached, towers that can see for leagues, and right now, a canal to open a source of wealth that can secure all the other things you need to fight your enemies."


    "I can¡¯t fight in a war," the bearish man said. "My strength is meant for other things. But for once, I¡¯d rather help someone win a battle than wait until it¡¯s over so I can help commemorate it."


    "I appreciate your honesty, Master Wimund," Nyrielle said, extending a hand to shake the bearish man¡¯s meaty paw. "Since you¡¯re willing to make the trip, I¡¯ll do what I can to help it succeed."


    Before she could comment further or say anything to the other masters, however, a youthful, excited voice from closer to the railings shouted in excitement.


    "Look! They¡¯re starting, they¡¯re starting!" an excited teenager from the scaled clan said, bobbing up and down on his tail and clutching the railings in excitement as he pointed to the gates of the arena. "But what... what are those," he said, suddenly going still as he watched the misshapen forms of Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde making their way onto the sands. "Are they, are they here to be executed?"


    "No," Nyrielle said with a dark smile forming on her lips as she pulled Ashlynn toward the rail overlooking the arena.


    "They¡¯re here to feed." sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 362: Rallying the Weak

    Chapter 362: Rallying the WeakIn a waiting chamber within the arena, several members of Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde milled before the large iron gate, waiting for their turn to enter the arena to fight and feed. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Remember everyone," Heila told the anxious-looking, misshapen vampires. "Even though the people you will encounter in the arena have been given weapons to fight for their lives, they have been sentenced to die here for their crimes."


    At first, Heila had been uncomfortable with the tradition practiced in High Fen City. Executions in the arena weren¡¯t common, but they weren¡¯t uncommon either. Once a month, the arena would serve as a convict¡¯s last hope of saving their own life, but the arena always chose the opponents of these convicts carefully. Upsets, where a convict won their freedom, were so rare that they were talked about for years.


    The entire situation struck her as a farce, a show of pretend mercy while the truth was that criminals were executed in a slow, cruel manner for the entertainment of the crowd. When High Lady Erna discussed offering up this batch of convicts to Nyrielle to feed the vampires who had come under her banner, Heila¡¯s first reaction had been to reject the notion, fearing that it would upset Lady Nyrielle and Ashlynn as well.


    It wasn¡¯t until High Lady provided a list of crimes that Heila lost her hesitation about the manner in which these beasts parading as people would be made to die.


    "Are they, are they strong fighters?" the timid voice of a woman named Laya asked from among the vampires. "Master Tausau and the stronger vampires of the horde used to hunt bandits and raiders to bring back to the weaker members of the Horde," she explained, gesturing at herself and the other vampires around her. "But we could never take down such violent men by ourselves."


    The woman who spoke wasn¡¯t much taller than Heila and her deformities were particularly severe. She possessed the elongated jaw and stocky build of the Ancient Clan but her scales were light and delicate, like the scales of a newborn member of the Scaled Clan, and from the look of her, she¡¯d never shed the soft scales she was born with.


    She was thinner than any member of the Ancient Clan that Heila had ever seen and would likely be overpowered by children from the powerfully built clan who were little more than a dozen summers old. Her glittering golden eyes, however, seemed to hold a deeper intelligence born of the years of suffering that she must have endured to reach Tausau¡¯s sanctuary for the Clanless.


    "Not everyone who deserves to die is guilty of crimes that only a strong warrior could commit," Heila said gently, placing a hand on the trembling vampire¡¯s shoulder. "One of the men standing against you preyed on children. I won¡¯t speak of the things he did to them, but he was most fond of tender young boys," she said in a tone that was fierce and dark.


    "Another man was caught using the lifeblood of women to perform his sorcery," Heila explained as she turned to the other vampires. "He hired women for a night of companionship before consuming their flesh and making totems from their bones in an attempt to regain his lost youth."


    "Each of the people you¡¯re about to face tonight is guilty of the most unspeakable crimes," Heila said loudly. "Their deaths tonight are a warning that some things will never be tolerated. They are a reminder that those who relish in the suffering of others will die suffering for the entertainment of the crowd."


    "They will fight back," Tausau said from a corner of the room before striding out in front of his people. "But they will be untrained and feeble warriors. Kill them however you wish, but do not play with your food," he cautioned. "Even a starved rat can still bite. Protect each other," he added with a firm look that swept over all of his people.


    "Lady Nyrielle is giving us a chance to tear down the human invaders who almost destroyed my brother Torbin¡¯s nation," Tausau said with freshly awakened rage smoldering in his eyes. "Don¡¯t die on these sands. Tonight, these people aren¡¯t your enemies," he reminded them. "They¡¯re your food!"


    "Tonight, you feast," Heila told them as the gate began to rise. "Take whatever weapons you wish," she added, gesturing to a rack of well-worn weapons. "Or use your own claws and fangs. Whatever you do tonight, I promise you, the people will learn that the Mongrel Horde should never be pitied, only feared!"


    Heila¡¯s words served as a rallying cry for the quartet of vampires who were preparing to rush out in the first wave of battles. Some grabbed swords or axes, but Laya knew nothing about using any of those weapons. Instead, she grabbed a heavy flagged mace as she strode out onto the bright sands of the arena.


    Heila¡¯s words had sparked something in Laya¡¯s chest. It wasn¡¯t quite courage, but more of a a desperate need to prove the diminutive witch right. The heavy flanged mace she selected felt awkward in her grip, but its weight promised to make up for her lack of strength and it didn¡¯t take much skill to hit someone with a weapon that was effectively a heavy metal club.


    Torches and oil lamps burned everywhere, transforming the nighttime scene into one that felt as bright as day and for several moments, the vampires of the Mongrel Horde stood blinking in the bright lights, uncertain about what they should do.


    "Mommy, mommy, what are those? Those aren¡¯t people are they?"


    "This is cruel, isn¡¯t it? Executing the Clanless for sport in front of everyone?"


    "Won¡¯t it offend the Blood Princess to see such weaklings in the arena? Why are these freaks even here?"


    The words spoken by the crowd were hushed, though a few children were quite a bit louder with their unguarded words. None of that mattered to the sensitive ears of the vampires on the sands. As Tausau¡¯s progeny, no one in the Tangled Wood or any of the territories it controlled dared to speak those words in the presence of the Mongrel Horde and it had been decades since any of his progeny had felt themselves subjected to the all too familiar ridicule of their childhoods.


    That ridicule lit a fire deep in Laya¡¯s heart, a heart she¡¯d felt had grown too small over the years to feel such abject humiliation and anger. That fire only grew hotter when the iron gates on the far side of the arena opened to admit the convicts who had come here to die.


    There were eight of them all told, from the Horned Clan, the Clan of Painted Masks, the Glass Eyed Clan, and more. Some of them looked worse for wear after spending close to a month in captivity while others looked relatively fresh, wearing white tunics and dark trousers that wouldn¡¯t draw much attention if you were to pass them on the street.


    It wasn¡¯t the men themselves that lit Laya¡¯s heart ablaze. It was the cheers that accompanied their arrival. The audience didn¡¯t know who the heroes were or that the villains, men guilty of unspeakable crimes, were the ones they were cheering for!


    How twisted and unfair did life have to be for the crowd to cheer these beasts masquerading as people over the vampires of the Mongrel Horde who had come to execute them? She wouldn¡¯t stand for it!

 Chapter 363: Unleashing the Horde

    Chapter 363: Unleashing the Horde"Death to the murderers!" Laya shouted as the rage in her heart boiled over. Before she knew it, she was sprinting across the sands as fast as her disproportionately short legs would carry her. Heila¡¯s voice seemed to echo in her mind as she let loose another blood-curdling scream. "Make them fear the Mongrel Horde!"


    "Fear the Horde!" her companions shouted from behind her as they too let loose all of the anger and humiliation they had stored up inside, some of them for decades since they first became one of Tausau¡¯s progeny.


    In the stands, people who had been cheering for the criminals just moments ago went still in shock. Mouths hung agape and a few people even dropped the delicate morsel of one delicacy of another that they were about to eat as they stared, wide-eyed, at the eruption of power from what should have been a group of feeble Clanless mutts.


    "They, they¡¯re vampires!" someone on the first floor said in shock, turning to look at Lady Nyrielle and seeing a predatory grin on the woman¡¯s face. "But, but if they¡¯re the vampires, then, those other people..."


    All eyes in the arena turned to the convicts, seeing them with fresh eyes now that they realized the Clanless vampires were the ones who stood forth to execute the criminals who had just entered the arena. Normally, there would have been cheers for the executioners or slurs and insults hurled at the condemned men facing execution.


    Now, however, they weren¡¯t sure whether they should be cheering or not. The Clanless were hunted almost everywhere they went and their parents were put to death for the crime of giving birth to one of the ill-fated offspring. Yet now, these pitiable figures were sprinting across the sands of the arena with the ferocity of future champions. Were vampires this strong? So strong that even one of the Clanless could pose a threat?


    On the sands of the arena, Laya cared nothing for the confused stares of the crowd or the lack of cheers. In her eyes, the world had narrowed to just one man. He was short, like her, though he was a member of the Horned Clan. There was a look of mockery on his face when he raised a short sword and took a simple, amateurish fighting stance as if to meet her charge.


    Laya didn¡¯t know what this man¡¯s crime was. Had he been the one preying on small boys? The one sacrificing ladies of the night to his dark sorcery? She didn¡¯t know and she didn¡¯t care. That smugly superior look on his face was all she needed to decide that this man would be the first one to die tonight!


    "Hunter¡¯s leap," she whispered, using what little sorcery she was capable of to launch herself into the air, soaring above the horned man¡¯s outstretched blade before falling on him with all of her weight, the heavy head of her mace leading the way.


    The man had only a moment to panic, realizing that he¡¯d badly underestimated the Clanless vampire before his right horn exploded in a shower of horn, bone, and blood from a blow so forceful that it knocked him to the ground.


    "No one mocks the Mongrel Horde!" Laya snarled, reaching down to drag the man back to his feet. As soon as she had a hold of him, the mace fell again, slamming into his handsome face with a sickening crunch and splattering blood across Laya¡¯s chest and torso.


    In the stands, the audience watched in shock as the vampires of the Mongrel Horde descended on their prey. No criminal died a quick or painless death as even the strongest of the Horde required several blows before the light faded from their victim¡¯s eyes.


    That shock turned to horror when the thin-scaled woman who had led the charge lifted up the body of her victim, bringing his battered, bloody face close enough to hers to kiss. For a moment, the audience thought she might have some final words for the man, some kind of condemnation for whatever crimes had brought him here...


    Instead, she moved with the speed of a striking snake, twisting his head to the side and sinking her fangs deep into his neck as she began to feed.


    It had been more than a decade since Laya became one of Tausau¡¯s progeny. She had long grown accustomed to the hot, metallic taste of another person¡¯s blood as she drank the only thing that sustained her life.


    But it wasn¡¯t until now, until this moment as she feasted for the first time on someone that she¡¯d hunted herself, that she thought that this beast masquerading as a man possessed blood that was... sweet. For several moments, there was nothing in her world but the rich, almost intoxicating taste of sweet blood and the faint sounds of her brethren taking hold of their own meals next to her.


    "What is this?" A clear, musical voice said from the edge of the first level of the arena, pulling Laya out of her momentary trance as she realized who was speaking. "Does the arena no longer cheer for it¡¯s champions?" Nyrielle asked as she cast her midnight gaze around the crowd of spectators.


    Most in the audience were staring in shock at the spectacle that had unfolded before them and many weren¡¯t sure whether they were supposed to applaud or not. Several were quietly whispering that the Clanless vampires would likely be forced to fight until they died in the arena, giving Nyrielle an opportunity to rid herself of the shameful creatures while preserving some honor for their power as vampires but... perhaps this wasn¡¯t the case?


    "These are the progeny of my grandsire¡¯s brother," Nyrielle said loudly in a voice filled with pride. "They are Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde and they can be considered my younger aunts and uncles. Surely the arena won¡¯t withhold its applause for my family?"


    Shock rippled through the crowd, followed moments later by scattered applause as a few people moved mechanically in response to Nyrielle¡¯s request. It wasn¡¯t until a young gladiator on one of the levels above stepped forward to give his cry that people truly processed what they had witnessed.


    "Death to the wicked!" the young gladiator shouted. "And glory to their executioners!"


    His words seemed to shake people free from their confusion, reminding everyone that these had been very wicked men who died upon the sands and the people who carried out their execution carried literal swords of justice. Soon, shouts and cheers of ¡¯Death to the wicked¡¯ and ¡¯Glory to the executioners¡¯ exploded from the crowd as spectators leaped to their feet.


    Only when they¡¯d broken free of their shock did they realize that they¡¯d nearly slighted the people that the famed Blood Princess recognized as family. As soon as they did, new cries began to fill the arena as people rushed to ensure that the Blood Princess didn¡¯t feel like her ¡¯younger aunts and uncles¡¯ had been slighted. S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "To the Mongrel Horde!"


    "The Mongrel Horde and the Blood Princess, Champions of the Arena!"


    "Death to the murderers! Glory to their executioners!"


    The cheers and exclamations of the crowd washed over Laya and her fellows like soft, cleansing rain, but the short, misshapen vampire didn¡¯t care what the common people thought or said... not anymore.


    Lady Nyrielle, Her Eternity the Harbinger of Death had spoken up for them and called her, the discarded girl who barely survived being born, an aunt. Her own birth parents wouldn¡¯t recognize her as family and both of her clans would kill her on sight to cleanse the shame brought by her mere existence but this woman, this powerful Eldritch Lady who brought the entire city out to honor her... This impossibly strong existence had just declared her family.


    As far as Laya was concerned, even the sweetness of her first kill couldn¡¯t compare to the warmth she felt when Her Eternity Nyrielle spoke up for the Mongrel Horde. She¡¯d wondered, all throughout the long journey to come here, if it was worth leaving behind everything she knew to risk her life fighting someone else¡¯s war.


    Now she knew. Tausau hadn¡¯t lied to them when he called it the opportunity of a lifetime and after tonight, she finally felt like she could seize that opportunity. To do anything less would be letting her family down and if there was one desire in her chest that burned as hot as her desire to keep living... it was the fervent desire to never, ever, give Lady Nyrielle a reason to regret her words tonight.

 Chapter 364: Changing Together

    Chapter 364: Changing Together"I¡¯m surprised, my darling," Nyrielle said as staff from the arena cleared away the bodies once Laya and the other Clanless vampires had finished feeding. "I didn¡¯t think you would be so calm around such a bloody spectacle. You were much less comfortable when we left the Vale," she added.


    Ashlynn had stood next to Nyrielle for the entire battle, gently holding her lover with one hand around her waist while the other hand gripped the rail. All through the fight, Nyrielle had listened carefully to the beat of her lover¡¯s heart and watched her hand on the rail, but Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat never faltered and her grip on the rail remained loose and comfortable, as if she wasn¡¯t disturbed in the slightest. S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯ve come to the arena every day for the past ten days while Heila has faced challengers sent by the merchant Yotsun," Ashlynn said mildly. "I may have been uncomfortable at first, particularly when High Lady Erna suggested ¡¯feeding¡¯ the condemned criminals to Tausau¡¯s progeny but..."


    "But?" Nyrielle asked, picking up the slight hesitation in Ashlynn¡¯s voice. "What changed your mind?"


    "Hearing about the crimes those men committed," Ashlynn said, pointing as she spoke to the next group of condemned men being led into the arena. This time, they were violent criminals who would be fighting the stronger members of the Mongrel Horde, but Ashlynn had no intention of paying much attention to the battle. "I¡¯d be lying if I said that I hadn¡¯t dreamed once or twice about hauling Owain into the arena so he could face me for what he did to me. Part of me," Ashlynn said, her voice growing quiet as she turned to look into her lover¡¯s midnight-blue eyes.


    "Part of me wants to toy with him on the sands," she said softly. "To watch him realize that the crowds are cheering for his death and that all his strength means nothing in front of the power of nature," she said, clutching the rail tightly as she imagined planting one of Jacques¡¯s Heart Seeker seeds in the Lothian heir¡¯s chest only to fuel it¡¯s growth and watch a bloody sapling burst from his heart.


    "I still have nightmares," Ashlynn whispered, leaning her head against Nyrielle¡¯s shoulder. "I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll stop until he¡¯s dead. I didn¡¯t know what that meant on the night he nearly killed me, but I understand now."


    "There¡¯s nothing wrong with wishing for his death, or for wishing for that death to be as brutal and humiliating as the one he attempted to bestow on you," Nyrielle said, raising her wings to shield them from the eyes of others. She might not care for the thoughts of the strangers gathered here, but her darling Ashlynn had labored ever since she arrived to befriend and propose alliances with them and Nyrielle refused to allow a moment of vulnerability to spoil her darling¡¯s work.


    Gently, she pulled Ashlynn close and gently kissed the young witch¡¯s forehead, ignoring the surprised looks from any onlookers who happened to see before her wings blocked their view.


    "If you wish to kill him here, then I will have little snake announce his execution to the whole of the High Fen so everyone can witness his cowardice before the woman who was so, so much better than he ever deserved," Nyrielle whispered fiercely. For a moment, her wings trembled with quickly suppressed rage as she recalled Ashlynn¡¯s bruised and battered appearance on the night they met.


    "And when it¡¯s over, I will still be here, and I will still welcome you home," Nyrielle said as gently as she could as she forced the pent-up hatred back into the depths of her heart where she kept it. She had promised Ashlynn that she could take her revenge with her own hands, but at times like this, when she saw her lover struggling, it was very, very difficult to resist the temptation to fly to Lothian March and drag the man before her Ashlynn now, just to soothe her lover¡¯s heart.


    "I know, I know you¡¯ll never leave me," Ashlynn said, looking up at Nyrielle with a complicated expression. A trace of a smile clung to her bow-shaped lips and her eyes were soft and gentle despite the dark topic. "Sometimes, I wonder if I¡¯m still me, or if I¡¯ve become someone else," she said, unconsciously shifting as one hand traced against the soft sating of her dress directly over the witch¡¯s mark on her hip.


    "Someone who doesn¡¯t flinch at the sight of violence and doesn¡¯t hesitate to stain her own hands anymore," she added softly, clutching at her loose skirts as if to hide her hand away from view.


    "You are still you," Nyrielle said softly, placing the tips of her fingers on Ashlynn¡¯s chest, just above her heart. Unlike the night before, Nyrielle¡¯s touch was warm, her body filled with the energy of Ashlynn¡¯s blood and in this moment, she felt more... human than Ashlynn had ever felt her to be before.


    "You¡¯ve changed," Nyrielle added softly. "I¡¯ve changed too. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s our bond or our lives, but you aren¡¯t wrong if you feel like you¡¯ve grown colder, or harder. Those things come with growing stronger."


    "But you¡¯re the opposite," Ashlynn said, gently wrapping her fingers around Nyrielle¡¯s slender fingers. "You¡¯ve grown warmer, and softer, but you aren¡¯t growing weaker," she said, pulling Nyrielle¡¯s hand closer and pressing her cheek softly against the back of her lover¡¯s hand. "If anything, you¡¯re even stronger now than you were when we met."


    "I know," Nyrielle said. "But even if we¡¯re changing, you¡¯re still the woman you¡¯ve always been. Intelligent, compassionate, loving, and as kind as the world will allow you to be. None of the important things have changed."


    "And you?" Ashlynn asked, looking up at Nyrielle through eyelashes that glistened with moisture. "Are you still the same woman you were?"


    "Perhaps," Nyrielle said gently. She¡¯d spent many nights over the past several months examining herself and the memories she had of the past hundred years... and the hundred years before that. "I¡¯m different from the woman I was when we met. And I¡¯m different from the woman I was before my parents died."


    "I thought that the younger me was dead and gone along with Mother and Father," Nyrielle said softly. "But you seem to have breathed life into a ghost I thought long gone. Now, I¡¯m finding my way between the two."


    "I¡¯ll stay with you," Ashlynn promised. "For as long as it takes to find your way, and forever after too."


    On the sands of the arena, the intense battle between violent criminals and the stronger members of the Mongrel Horde had reached its inevitable conclusion. This time, the crowd needed no prompting to rise from their seats and cheer for the victorious vampires.


    Behind Ashlynn and Nyrielle, a wide grin formed on Virve¡¯s face as she imagined that the cheers were directed not at the victors on the arena sands, but at the witch she¡¯d sworn to protect and the vampire she¡¯d dedicated her life to serving.


    Nearby, Zedya shared a knowing look with Ignatious before she reentered the crowd of distinguished guests. Her eyes glowed with the faintest hint of amethyst radiance as she nudged people ever so slightly out of the space surrounding Nyrielle and Ashlynn.


    Politics would intrude eventually. Ashlynn and Heila had clearly worked hard to set the stage for a number of important conversations and the small group of merchants that they¡¯d met so far were only the beginning of what promised to be a long night of first meetings. But for now, such things could wait, and if anyone was fool enough to disturb Lady Nyrielle¡¯s private moment... Zedya was more than happy to hand them over to the Inquisitor¡¯s tender mercies for committing an unspeakable

 Chapter 365: Brothers in Chains

    Chapter 365: Brothers in ChainsThe sounds of chains clanking and low growls filled the waiting area under the arena where Savis glowered at the diminutive young witch who seemed to be in charge of the spectacle that was being made of their need to feed.


    "I have never in my life been bound in chains," the white-furred vampire snarled, glaring at Heila and shaking the thick, heavy chain that bound his left arm. "This is an insult to the dignity of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s line!"


    "No one cares, big brother Savis," Tausau said, hefting his end of the chain and feeling its weight with his disproportionately small arms. "And besides, chaining you to me is an honor for you and a mark of respect for your strength. If they weren¡¯t worried that we¡¯d destroy these fallen champions in an instant, they would never shackle us like this."


    "Sir Tausau is correct, Sir Savis," Heila said as she strode toward the powerfully built men with another set of shackles and chains, this time intended for their ankles.


    The two men were so different from each other that for a moment, Heila struggled to believe that they were both the progeny of the same vampire. Savis was tall and regal, with a body that was perfectly proportioned. From his broad shoulders and powerful arms to his trim waist and sprinter¡¯s legs, the light coat of white fur on his body did nothing to hide the perfection of his physique. In all the world, if there was a more perfect member of the Golden Eyed Clan, she couldn¡¯t imagine how they could possibly be superior to the eldest of Hamdi¡¯s progeny.


    Tausau, on the other hand, embodied the many problems that plagued the Clanless. He was taller than his older sibling by a full head and possessed a barrel-chested physique common to many from the Clan of the Great Claw. Unfortunately, for all the strength and power of his core, he lacked the long, powerful arms of his father¡¯s clan and instead possessed almost comically thin limbs that matched with the delicately striped features on his face, both serving as clear markers for his mother¡¯s Clan of Painted Masks.


    "In the Tangled Wood, vampires are addressed as ¡¯Master¡¯, little girl," Savis snarled as Heila secured a shackle to his left ankle. "You should..."


    "I should what?" Heila said, her voice sounding in the stone chamber like the sharp crack of a whip. "Cower before you? Respect my elders?"


    "You are the servant of a servant," Savis growled. His fur bristled at the feeling of being chained and this little girl who wasn¡¯t even a tenth of his age only made the humiliation worse. In a single movement, he could reduce her to a lifeless corpse, draining the blood from her body before anyone could move to protect her, but she acted like he was a harmless pup!


    "I am the first witch of the Mother of Trees," Heila said, securing a heavy shackle to Tausau¡¯s leg. The younger vampire gave her a soft, apologetic smile but did nothing to defend her while his elder brother vented his ire on the diminutive witch. "You are the first progeny of a High Lord. If nothing else were true, that would at least make us equals," she said firmly.


    It took an incredible amount of willpower for her to stand up to a vampire. Growing up in the Vale of Mists, vampires had stood at the very pinnacle of her world. The most revered Eldritch Lady of the Vale was a vampire and the previous High Lord of the Vale had been a vampire as well. Even the most powerful, revered members of Nyrielle¡¯s inner circle were her own progeny.


    To be selected to become a vampire was an honor that no one born in the Vale had ever earned since the death of High Lord Torbin but that didn¡¯t mean that the people of the Vale forgot what it meant to strive to be worthy of the ultimate honor. So when she squared off against the powerful Golden Eyed vampire, the eldest progeny of High Lord Hamdi, it took every bit of strength that Heila had honed under the watchful eyes of the Mother of Thorns to stand up straight and speak to him as if he was her equal.


    "Tonight, you hold a place of honor," Heila continued, refusing to back down from the towering lupine¡¯s golden-eyed stare. "You and Sir Tausau represent the greatest strength of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s forces. Your soldiers have been given places on the second level so they may watch your battle. You and Sir Tausau will be chained to each other, hand and foot, because even though you will face off against three times your number, hobbling you like this will only barely give your opponents a chance."


    The more she spoke, the closer Heila came to the sulking vampire until she stepped up onto a bench to look the tall man directly in the eyes from inches away. From up close, Heila could feel the chill of the grave that clung to his powerful body and the scent of blood that radiated from him with every exhale of cold breath.


    And yet, when she compared him to Sir Thane or Madame Zedya, somehow, he came up short, lacking the otherworldly menace that Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny possessed. That feeling, more than anything else, gave her the strength to hammer home her last points. Savis was powerful, to be sure, but she wasn¡¯t weak either and she refused to let Ashlynn down by cowering in front of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s defeated foe! sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "All of this honor is given to you, according to the traditions of the place we stand," Heila said. "Despite the fact that you are Her Eternity¡¯s prisoner," she said, hoping that a reminder of Nyrielle¡¯s status would get through to him when kinder words hadn¡¯t. "Tonight is Lady Nyrielle¡¯s grand welcome, and on this night, only the two of you are granted the honor to display your strength before the crowds. Madame Zedya has not received this honor, nor has Sir Ignatious."


    "Lady Heila is right, big brother Savis," Tausau said at last, standing next to the white-furred vampire and placing a hand on the man¡¯s shoulder. "Our grand-niece has seen fit to acknowledge us as family, despite the actions of our sire. She¡¯s honoring us, and she¡¯s honoring High Lady Erna¡¯s traditions by requiring us to feed in a way that is acceptable in her territory. Surely you understand how accommodating she¡¯s being for all parties involved."


    "The politics of accommodation are tools for the weak," Savis snapped at Tausau almost reflexively. "Or the magnanimous," he added reluctantly. "You¡¯re made of sterner stuff than I thought, little Lady Heila," he added, turning his gaze back to Heila. "The number of people who would dare to chastise me can be counted on two hands. I did not expect you to be one of them."


    "But if I am to be bound to this mongrel," he added, tugging on the chain that bound his left arm and pulling Tausau off balance. "At least give me a spear so I can fight without becoming entangled with this awkward oaf."


    "You have your claws," Heila said with a shake of her head. "And Sir Tausau will have a shield and a net to help defend your flank and trap your prey. That should be enough to let you have your hunt and give the crowd their show."


    "It will be fine, Big Brother," Tausau said as he stretched to reach the shield and net Heila mentioned. Between the short chain binding his leg to Savis¡¯s and the longer one binding their arms, he could barely reach far enough without pulling the smaller man along with him, but he managed.


    "Now, what say you Big Brother?" Tausau asked, the fire of challenge flickering to life in his eyes. "Shall we show these men why the progeny of High Lord Hamdi should never be underestimated?"


    "Since when are you this bold, Little Brother?" Savis said, looking at the misshapen vampire with a raised brow. "You¡¯ve been like this ever since Her Eternity summoned you."


    "Perhaps, one day, she¡¯ll do for you what she has done for me," Tausau said, nodding his head at Heila in silent thanks. While he didn¡¯t know how Nyrielle had managed to rekindle the emotions he¡¯d thought long burned away, he was certain that her association with witches had something to do with it. He would never give voice to that speculation but that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t give thanks where thanks was due.


    "For now, put it out of your mind and focus on the fight to come," Tausau said with a smile that revealed his long, sharp fangs. Inwardly, he wished that Nyrielle had rekindled the fires that once burned in his eldest brother¡¯s heart. Hundreds of years ago, what a force they¡¯d been when they charged out from the Tangled Wood and slaughtered anyone who thought themselves mighty enough to resist. Now, even though Savis was stronger, his thirst for battle was a shadow of its former self.


    "Tonight," Tausau said, hoping to rally at least a remnant of his elder sibling¡¯s fighting will. "We fight and then, we feast!"

 Chapter 366: What the Vale Lacks

    Chapter 366: What the Vale LacksOn the first level of the arena, Ashlynn and Nyrielle had returned to the crowd of people after the second battle between condemned men and the Mongrel Horde. Tausau had brought so many of his progeny that there would be a total of six battles before they had all received an opportunity to fight and feed.


    Not all of the opponents for the later matches were condemned criminals. There existed a few brave souls who were willing to risk their lives for the opportunity to claim victory over a powerful vampire. Perhaps some of them understood how slim their odds truly were, but many who had come thought that the ¡¯weaker¡¯ vampires of Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde represented an opportunity to claim a once-in-a-lifetime victory.


    Within a year, people would remember that they had slain a vampire, but the ¡¯mongrel¡¯ nature of the vampire would be long forgotten. By the time they realized that the members of the Mongrel Horde who would fight trained gladiators were among the strongest of the horde, it was too late for regrets.


    Rather than watch these tragic battles play out, Ashlynn took the opportunity to progress her own plans for the evening. As much as she would have been content to spend the entire evening at the railing, sheltered from the press of people by Nyrielle¡¯s wings, she¡¯d put too much work into tonight to let go of her plans now.


    The crowd¡¯s excitement over the Mongrel Horde¡¯s victories had created the perfect atmosphere for introducing potential allies to Nyrielle, and she¡¯d arranged for several of her most promising contacts to be readily available.


    Little would be truly concluded tonight, but Nyrielle¡¯s impressions of the people she introduced her to and the plans they proposed would determine who they would meet with in the following days to form more formal agreements. With a gentle touch to Nyrielle¡¯s arm, she guided her lover toward a group of wealthy people from the Scaled Clan who had become increasingly familiar over the past several days.


    "Nereida," Ashlynn said warmly as she greeted the woman that Heila had befriended on their first trip to High Fen City. "I know that you¡¯ll be joining us in High Lady Erna¡¯s box when it¡¯s Heila¡¯s turn to fight, but I wanted to introduce you and your husband Beilan to Mistress Nyrielle," she said smoothly.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn continued. "Nereida is a good friend of Heila¡¯s from our first visit and she¡¯s been very welcoming since we arrived. She even helped to find someone to make my hat," she added, tugging at the brim of her emerald green witch¡¯s hat. "And her husband Beilan is someone else who may become a valuable partner for the Vale of Mists. He trades mostly in rare and luxury items from all across the continent."


    "Your Eternity," Beilan said, bowing deeply for a moment before the tip of his tail twitched in surprise when his wife didn¡¯t imitate his gesture. Instead, she reached out and took Ashlynn¡¯s hands in her own, clasping each other¡¯s wrists as though they were old friends.


    "It seems that my Nereida has left me far behind," the serpentine merchant said, chuckling as he straightened up. "When she told me that she¡¯d befriended a ¡¯lady-in-waiting¡¯ of the next Mother of Trees, I wasn¡¯t certain that I believed it, and yet, here we stand. I¡¯ve been completely eclipsed by my wife¡¯s radiance these days."


    "Your wife has excellent taste in companions," Nyrielle said lightly.


    "You won¡¯t find me arguing that!" Beilan said with a hearty laugh. Reaching out, he fetched a goblet of wine from a passing servant and raised it in a toast to Nyrielle. "To the companions who brighten our lives."


    "Flatterer," Nereida said softly as she thumped lightly on his tail with the tip of her own tail. "Please don¡¯t mind him, praise falls from his lips like leaves from a tree in autumn. After so many years of buttering up his customers, I¡¯m afraid the only words that can be trusted from his mouth are insults."


    "I haven¡¯t found him to be that bad," Ashlynn said, stepping in before the couple could say something that Nyrielle might misinterpret. While it was true that Beilan was a consummate salesman, he was also a frank and honest businessman when it came to the balancing of scales and the exchange of interests. "Master Beilan, perhaps you can explain to Lady Nyrielle the problem you were discussing with me the other day about a lack of industry in the Vale of Mists."


    "This, um," the serpentine merchant said, hesitating to broach the topic of the Vale¡¯s shortcomings in front of its powerful and imposing ruler. When he arrived at the arena tonight, he¡¯d been full of confidence and his tail swung in wide arcs as he claimed the space around himself, distancing others until he could have his turn with the powerful Blood Princess. But now that he stood in the shadow of her dark wings, he found it very difficult to begin the proposal he¡¯d spent days preparing.


    On the floor of the arena, the iron gates opened yet again, this time to admit the chained figures of Savis and Tausau. Cheers erupted from the audience as they beheld the perfection of Savis¡¯s muscular physique, glittering like the moon under the lights of the arena.


    From the floor above, deep-throated howls rose from the section of the arena where the Black Wolf Brigade had been seated. Though some were furious to see their commander shackled to the sire of the Mongrel Horde, others shouted their approval.


    "This is how men should fight!" one Golden Eyed soldier shouted. "The younger brother may be weaker but he can still carry a shield for his older brother!"


    "One to kill and rend, the other to catch and defend!"


    Who said it first was impossible to say but the chant caught on quickly with the crowd, soon echoing across the arena as the brothers walked toward the center to prepare themselves for the appearance of their opponents.


    "You don¡¯t need to worry, Master Beilan," Nyrielle said with a teasing smile, pulling the serpentine merchant¡¯s attention back from the interruption of the crowd and the spectacle that was about to begin in the arena.


    "I won¡¯t bite. I¡¯ve already fed," Nyrielle added, tracing a finger along Ashlynn¡¯s tender neck and sending a shiver down the young witch¡¯s spine. "I know the Vale of Mists lacks many things that it once had. Tell me what you see as our challenge and how you think we should address it."


    "Since, since you¡¯ve asked," Beilan said, his tail twitching nervously.


    On the arena floor, the second iron gate shuddered open, revealing six strong champions wearing gleaming, ornate armor and carrying a wide variety of weapons. They seemed to come from every local clan, whether they represented the Scaled Clan, Clan of Painted Masks... even the toad-like Muckin¡¯s seemed to possess a toxic champion carrying a powerful bow and a quiver full of arrows that were certain to be tipped in the man¡¯s own venom. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    None of these men had been condemned to die but all of them had reached a frustrating point in their careers. Their fame echoed through the city for days after a victory only to fade to whispers when the next champion delivered a victory that was just as stunning. Now, they¡¯d come here to gamble their lives against the chance to achieve a victory like no other or to die at the hands of the greatest opponents they would ever face.


    "Just tell her," Nereida said, wrapping her tail around his and giving her husband a reassuring squeeze. "You¡¯ve spoken with Lady Ashlynn already and she brought you here. If she didn¡¯t value your words, you would have been forced to bid instead of receiving an invitation."


    "Well, when you put it like that," the serpentine merchant said, raising himself up a few inches higher. He¡¯d spent days discussing this matter with Ashlynn. If it weren¡¯t for the friendship that his wife had nurtured with the Willow Witch, Heila, she might never have trusted him enough to develop a proposal this bold.


    There was a saver proposal that he¡¯d prepared, one that carried much lower risks, both in terms of business and a much lower risk of offending the powerful Harbinger of Death. But... glancing at the six men walking out onto the sands to face near-certain death for a chance of everlasting glory, Beilan redoubled his resolve and prepared to make the boldest pitch of his life.

 Chapter 367: Unique Treasures

    Chapter 367: Unique Treasures"The Vale of Mists was once like the High Fen," Beilan began. "It was valuable because of its location. The river flows all the way to the sea and goods from across the lowlands flowed through the Vale to reach customers west of the mountains. But the Vale of Mists itself produced very little of value. Now that it is no longer a path for the flow of treasures from afar, it has little to offer the rest of the Eldritch world."


    "In the short term," he continued. "It¡¯s possible that you could profit off the refining and shipment of goods from Airgead Mountain. I have already proposed a trade in jewels through the Vale of Mists that should be sustainable even if Lady Ashlynn¡¯s plan for an ore canal doesn¡¯t work out."


    "It¡¯s much easier for a courier to slip through the wilderness with a bag of jewels than it is to transport tons of ore," Nyrielle acknowledged. "Marcell has proposed doing so in the past, but the results haven¡¯t been spectacular."


    In fact, the Vale of Mists regularly received a trickle of gemstones from Airgead Mountain as part of the agreement Nyrielle had forged to help defend the valuable mountain from Lothian raids. Those gemstones paid for everything from Darksteel weapons to shipments of cotton or salt from the lands west of the mountains. But the prices the jewels fetched were only enough to fill the gaps in the Vale¡¯s needs, and treasures that could finance widespread reconstruction were once a decade rarities.


    "This problem is likely because you lack artisans who can turn raw jewels into rare treasures," Beilan said confidently. "I am connected with a few masters who may be willing to send an apprentice to do rough cutting work that could significantly increase the value of anything you can retrieve from Airgead Mountain. But in my opinion, relying on the wealth you can extract from Airgead Mountain is only a short term solution to the lack of trade that keeps the Vale from returning to its former glory."


    Before he could elaborate further, a roar from the crowd drew their attention to the arena below. People leapt to their feet, many pointing and shouting as the battle between the vampires and champions began with an explosive display of power and cunning. Facing off against six veteran champions, Savis and Tausau displayed cold, ruthless efficiency in eliminating their opponents. Shackled together at the wrists or ankles, it should have been impossible for the vampires to move with their usual speed.


    The gladiators clearly planned to utilize that handicap as they slowly advanced under the cover of the Muckin archer. They never expected, however, that the Vampires would refuse to let their chains constrain their movements. Rather than taking slow, hobbled steps around the arena, Savis pounced directly on Tausau¡¯s back, riding upon his shoulders while the Clanless vampire hunkered behind his shield and charged the archer like a maddened battering ram!


    Arrow after poisoned arrow slammed into Tausau¡¯s shield but it did nothing to stop the charge that directly bypassed the remaining gladiators in order to slam into the Muckin archer with enough force to send the man sailing through the air like a broken doll, crashing limply into the sand of the arena more than thirty feet away.


    "Yes, Little Brother!" Savis snarled as he hopped down from the towering vampire¡¯s broad shoulders. The skin of the Muckin was far too toxic to risk attacking with his claws, but now that the only warrior he couldn¡¯t shred had been crushed by Tausau¡¯s claws, he felt truly free to tear into the remaining warriors. "Stay close to me now and watch my back as I tear them limb from limb!"


    "Just like the old days, Big Brother," Tausau said, grinning as the years of distance between them fell away and they returned to an earlier era when they had been called Hamdi¡¯s Claws. If only their brother Torbin and sister Birsu were here to fight with them, that would have been even better.


    It wasn¡¯t perfect, but after Torbin¡¯s death at Lothian hands, and with Birsu taking up the mantle of ruling the Tangled Wood until their master was free from his punishment, it was the best that Tausau could hope for in terms of a reunion. Now, as he charged across the sands, side by side with Savis, he only hoped the remaining champions could last longer than the Muckin archer had, to give him even more time to relish in fighting beside his brother once again.


    "Then what do you see as a long term solution?" Nyrielle asked Master Beilan. The sight of her great-uncles fighting together brought a smile on her lips and made it easier to keep her tone light with the serpentine merchant, but her gaze was still sharp as she pressed him for solutions to the problems he presented. "We are unlikely to have many trading partners, even if we are able to extend a secure trade channel all the way down to the Southern Steppe," she added.


    This was a problem that had plagued the Vale of Mists ever since she retook it from the Lothians. For several decades, she hadn¡¯t cared. As long as she was able to protect the people who acknowledged her rule and everyone was able to live a comfortable enough life, there was no reason to push for change.


    In hindsight, she¡¯d been wrong to accept the status quo for so long. She¡¯d truly underestimated what generations of continued failure would do to the Lothians and their thirst for conquest, and she had never fully understood what it would mean for the Vale if the humans launched another one of their Crusades.


    It had been her mistake for not learning more from Ignatious when she had the chance, but now that Ashlynn had helped to fill in the gaps in her understanding, she was eager to make up for lost time before it was too late.


    On the arena sands below, both sides had come to feel that they¡¯d overestimated themselves, or underestimated their opponents. Two powerful fighters from the Clan of the Great Claw bled from wounds so numerous that their fur had been dyed red with their own blood, but despite the severity of their injuries, they swung their two-handed swords with precision, battering Tausau¡¯s shield aside to land blows of their own on the pair of vampires.


    Tausau had already lost his net and the time it gained them allowed Savis to tear the throat from the spry member of the Horned Clan who seemed like the only threat who could approach his speed, but with two heavy warriors pinning Tausau down, he was left to square off against the spearman from the Scaled Clan and the Glass Eyed warrior wielding a halberd with deadly accuracy.


    Both men held such a strong advantage in reach that by the time Savis had knocked aside one man¡¯s defenses to strike, the other was able to land at least a glancing blow, covering Savis¡¯s pristine white fur with nearly a dozen small injuries that stood out sharply against his pale body.


    "Witchwood, your Eternity," Beilan said, pulling his eyes away from the fight in the arena. He knew he couldn¡¯t compare to the brave gladiators on the sands, but at the moment, he felt like he needed just as much courage to say the word ¡¯Witchwood¡¯ as those men must have needed to set foot in the arena with a pair of vampires. Holding himself as rigidly upright as he could and exchanging a brief look with Ashlynn to make sure she was still willing before he plunged ahead with his radical proposal.


    "If her Dominion is willing to plant a stand of trees to be harvested as a trade good instead of receiving the worship reserved for Ancient trees," the serpentine merchant explained. He said it like it was a simple thing, but the previous Mother of Trees had planted fewer than one hundred Witchwood trees her entire life, or at least, fewer than one hundred of them had ever been found. Privately, he expected that there must be a reason why such trees were both scattered and rare, but Ashlynn had assured him that she could manage this feat.


    "With an entire forest of Witchwood trees," he said, "then the Vale of Mists would become the source of wood that is as valuable as its weight in gold." sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, absolutely not," Nyrielle said, her wings fluttering protectively around Ashlynn as she cast a disapproving stare at the serpentine merchant. "I trade in Blood Vitality Crystals when I need to make deals with other Eldritch Lords. No lesser demand could force me to trade in magic that¡¯s so powerful."


    "That kind of sorcery carries a cost," Nyrielle said, her eyes growing darker and her nails lengthening into claws as she imagined her Ashlynn turning into a withered husk to create trees that would be felled for something as common as lumber. "I will not have my darling¡¯s magic treated the way men treat lumps of precious stone, dug out of the earth and carved into pieces like ornaments that are only valuable when they¡¯ve been shaped into what some hoarder of wealth desires."


    "I thought my Ashlynn had found the very best of those who dealt in the power of wealth instead of finding true strength," Nyrielle said. The light around her dimmed and the people nearby were so startled that they looked away from the fight below to see who had provoked the ire of the Harbinger of death.


    "But if you are an example of the people I have yet to meet," Nyrielle said, her face becoming blank and expressionless as a mask as all the warmth that had filled her seemed to drain away. "Then perhaps I should cleanse this floor of the vultures who would only pick at her flesh until there was nothing left of the woman I love!"

 Chapter 368: What Only I Can Do

    Chapter 368: What Only I Can DoOn the second floor of the arena, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade howled and cheered for their commander and his brother as they faced off against opponents who seemed to directly counter them. Blood flowed from wounds on both the vampires¡¯ bodies and the gladiators alike. More than once, Savis had been thwarted in his attempts to kill one of the remaining man when his lunch stopped short and the chains binding him to Tausau pulled taut, allowing his prey to slip away.


    "We won¡¯t win like this, Brother," the white furred vampire snarled. His voice was low and barely audible but the ears of a vampire had no difficulty understanding his words, even over the din of the crowd and the clank of chains as they moved.


    "I can buy you an opportunity," Tausau said in an equally quiet tone. His arm ached from repeated heavy blows rained down on the shield he carried and the leather-wrapped wooden shield itself had cracked and splintered in more than one place. "Polearm or spear?"


    "Polearm," Savis said decisively. The thrusts of the serpentine gladiator wielding the spear were powerful and swift but the halbered weilded by the Glass Eyed warrior was several times more difficult to deal with, hooking his chains and always landing its blows more precisely than he would have thought possible for someone without an extraordinary gift like the one he had received from Hamdi.


    "Now," Savis roared, lunging toward the spear wielding gladiator.


    "Raaaarrrr!" Tausau roared, using his stunted arms to flip the failing shield through the air and sending it careening at the face of a bearish swordsman with enough force to knocke the man off his feet. The move looked desperate at best, foolish at worse, but it created half an opening for the Clanless vampire to lunge at the halberd wielding gladiator.


    But even as Tausau lunged toward his target and Savis rushed beside him, aiming for the serpentine spearman, the final remaining swordsman was left completely unimpeded. With a roar of his own, his heavy two-handed sword came down in a brutal arc, slicing across Tausau¡¯s back from one shoulder to the opposite hip, spilling vampire blood across the sands to the excited roar of the crowd.


    On the first level of the arena, in a pocket of growing darkness surrounding Nyrielle, however, everyone had ceased paying attention to the battle below as the negotiation between the terrifying Harbinger of Death and the humble purveyer of luxury goods took a turn for the worse that no one had imagined.


    "Perhaps I should cleanse this floor of the vultures who would only pick at her flesh until there was nothing left of the woman I love!" S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Nyrielle¡¯s words sliced through the idle chatter and even the people who had begun to speculate about Beilan¡¯s impending fall from grace felt their blood go cold. Just what was it that this careless merchant had said to doom not only himself but all of them who gathered here today for the opportunity to befriend the woman who conquered the Tangled Wood in a day? Didn¡¯t he know that such powerful lords could never be offended?


    "It¡¯s not like that, my love," Ashlynn said, stepping between Nyrielle and Beilan and placing a hand on her lover¡¯s chest. "There is a cost, yes, but I don¡¯t need to bear it alone. I¡¯ll have a larger coven soon," she said, lightly touching her own chest directly above the seed she¡¯d been nurturing since before she left the Briar. "We can do this in a way that doesn¡¯t overburden anyone."


    "Please," Ashlynn said, stepping close to Nyrielle and looking up at her with pleading eyes. "You have built the walls that defend our home. You¡¯ve resurrected the fortress town and the villages from the ashes. You¡¯ve kept the Vale of Mists alive when many would have given it up for dead."


    "When I needed it, the Vale gave me safety, shelter, and the love of my life," Ashlynn said softly. She had spent more time in the Briar than she had in the Vale of Mists, but she had always been a guest in Amahle¡¯s swamp.


    When she thought of ¡¯home¡¯ she thought of Georg¡¯s delicate pastries, or Thane calling her ¡¯little sister¡¯ and spending just as much time listening to her troubles as he did helping her to develop her new abilities as a vampire¡¯s Seneschal. Now, though she ached to see her sister and her parents again, she ached even more for the place that had given her a new life when the world she came from nearly dragged her to her death.


    "Let me give something back to the Vale and its people," Ashlynn whispered. "Let me do something no one else can do."


    All around them, the assembled crowd waited with baited breath. A few with sharper senses had heard some of what Ashlynn had said, but most hadn¡¯t heard a word after she spoke of Nyrielle¡¯s rebuilding of the Vale of Mists. Only Beilan and his wife Nereida were close enough to hear Ashlynn¡¯s heartfelt plea, but neither of them felt strong enough in the face of Nryielle¡¯s dark fury to add their pleas to Ashlynn¡¯s. For the moment, they could only wait and put their faith in the woman who had placed herself directly in the path of that fury and hope that Lady Nyrielle wouldn¡¯t simply sweep her aside to kill them for offending her.


    "Aren¡¯t you already doing enough?" Nyrielle whispered. Slowly, her claws withdrew as she wrapped one arm around Ashlynn¡¯s waist and gently stroked her lover¡¯s cheek with the other hand. "Why must you push yourself this hard?"


    "I¡¯ve seen how the Vale falls if we fail to transform it," Ashlynn said, her emerald eyes flickering with the ghosts of her visions in the trail of the Ancient Willow. "Without allies, we are overrun by the Lothians and the Church. Without the resources to take the war to them, our walls will crumble, and that¡¯s just the battle against Owain and the forces he can assemble. A Crusade will be much, much worse," she said as a tear spilled down her cheek.


    "I nearly lost everything to Owain Lothian," Ashlynn said, stepping back and wiping the moisture from her eyes. "I didn¡¯t know how to fight back then. And now, someone is threatening my everything again and I have much, much more to lose."


    "But I refuse," Ashlynn said, turning to look at Nereida and Beilan. "Master Beilan can find a way to trade in more than just Witchwood. There are other things that only witches can make. The Mother of Thorns showed me the way," she explained. Making potions to trade in Crystal Lake City had been a lesson in more ways than one, and Ashlynn had learned even more in the months since her first visit to the oldest city of the Ancient Clan.


    "So you intend to treat my darling Ashlynn like another mine full of unique treasures," Nyrielle said, her face returning to a cold, impassive mask as she looked over Ashlynn¡¯s head to meet the gaze of the serpentine merchant. A trace of power flowed along with her words, giving everyone who heard her speak the impression that she spoke from a place beyond the grave...


    And that she might drag them to that place if the answers she heard displeased her.

 Chapter 369: Two Victories

    Chapter 369: Two Victories"So you intend to treat my darling Ashlynn like another mine full of unique treasures."


    Nyrielle¡¯s words exploded among the onlookers like a crack from Heila¡¯s whip, shocking them to silence and bringing even the nearby servants to a halt. Could Beilan truly have been that audacious? Some shook their heads while others turned away, afraid to see the moment of a friend or business partner¡¯s gruesome death at the hands of one of the most powerful vampires to walk the earth.


    "Never!" Beilan said with more heat than he¡¯d intended. "The wonders that her Dominion can create are not just treasures, they¡¯re living manifestations of her love for her home and her desire to protect it," he said. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and a thin rivulet of blood trickled from one fist where his nail had pierced the soft scales of his palm.


    Ashlynn hadn¡¯t just described the treasures she could create when he met with her. Because of Nereida and everything she had done to help the pair of witches when they arrived in High Fen City, Ashlynn had taken out a bottle of Thornback Egg Paste. As a man and a husband who had always asked his wife to wait ¡¯one more year¡¯ while he secured one business deal or another, the look on his wife¡¯s face when that bottle appeared told him that his days without children of his own were about to come to an end.


    But when he¡¯d asked Ashlynn the price for such a life changing elixir, she¡¯d shaken her head and asked only that he lend the might of his business empire to her cause whenever he could. What she¡¯d asked for hardly seemed like sufficient repayment for the boon his yet hatch children would reap, but now that he stood before the cold and ruthless Nyrielle he realized why Ashlynn might feel the need to compensate him so well. The things she would ask of him would not be easy, but if he couldn¡¯t succeed here, at this very first hurdle, then he had no business calling himself her ally and working on her behalf.


    "I will not trade such treasures for gold or jewels," he swore. Holding out the hand he¡¯d accidently pierced with his sharpened nails he squeezed his fist and let blood drip to the stone floor, breaking the tense silence with the steady splat of falling drops of blood. "I swear to you, there is no price that could match up to the value of these things, and I will never dishonor the gifts that her Dominion is willing to entrust to me. For every wonder she sees fit to birth, I will return something that could not be obtained with lesser means or I will return to her what she entrusted to me."


    "My husband knows many powerful people," Nereida said quickly, slithering up beside her husband and holding tightly to his other arm arm. "What he¡¯s offering to do is to give you and Lady Ashlynn access to his network of those people and to broker the kind of support from them that normal money can¡¯t buy."


    "And, and if you demand it," Nereida said a touch awkwardly, feeling like she had to match up to her husband¡¯s grand gesture. "Then I will remain at Lady Ashlynn¡¯s side, as servant and hostage to ensure my husband never breaks his oath."


    "Nereida," Ashlynn said softly with a complicated expression on her face. She understood that Heila¡¯s friend was attempting to offer herself up as a hostage, but she¡¯d been an aggressive social climber for far too long and her habits had betrayed her. Perhaps Nyrielle would hear the offer to become a hostage for what it was, but it was more likely that she would see it as an attempt to insert herself more permanently into Ashlynn¡¯s growing inner circle.


    "Ashlynn, my darling," Nyrielle said, softening her tone and turning to look at her anxious lover. She could feel the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heart racing within her chest and she knew that despite the way she¡¯d reacted, Ashlynn both wanted to protect this merchant and wanted to continue her plan. "You¡¯re being willful again," she said with a soft smile.


    "I know," Ashlynn said, stepping close and wrapping her arms around Nyrielle so she could look up into the other woman¡¯s midnight gaze from inches away. "So indulge me this time."


    Suddenly, thunderous applause broke out across the arena on the floors above and anywhere on the first floor that was far enough away from Nyrielle to avoid getting caught up in the frigid darkness of her anger.


    On the arena sands, Savis and Tausau stood proudly, covered in blood and victory. Their victory alone, however, wasn¡¯t enough to stir the fervor of the crowd. Instead, it was the sight of the two vampires lifting the final surviving combatants to their feet. One was a swordsman from the Clan of the Great Claw and the other was the halberd weilder from the Glass Eyed Clan.


    "These men," Savis roared in a voice so loud it could be heard even over the cheering of the crowd. "Fought to the last, like true champions should! Tonight, we not only spare their lives... we offer them a place!"


    "Join us, champions," Tausau said in a voice almost as loud as his elder brother¡¯s. "Take a place in my brother¡¯s Black Wolf Brigade and fight to cover yourselves in more glory than this arena can ever offer you."


    "Join us," Savis echoed. "And one day, you may earn the right to become our progeny!"


    Both gladiators stood in stunned silence while the audience erupted in shouts and mutters. Some chanted loudly that the honored warriors should accept the offer while others begged that they stay to bring even more glory to the arena. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Both men shared a single look, each one understanding that the opportunity they obtained had been won with equal parts luck and skill. If Tausau had thrown his shield at the other man, or if Savis had targeted the man with a halberd instead of the one with a spear, the outcome would have been entirely different.


    Now, if they stayed, the crowd¡¯s expectations of them might be greater than they could ever fulfill, but if they came under the command of the men who gave them this opportunity, who surely knew that they obtained this chance through no small measure of luck... The look they shared lasted for the briefest of moments before both men knelt before the powerful vampires who spared their lives.


    "We pledge our lives to serve!"


    On the first floor of the arena, Nyrielle turned away from the spectacle and gave the serpentine merchant and his wife a deep, evaluating stare that made the couple feel as though the vampire could see through their very scales. And who knew, perhaps she could. It was said that the Harbinger of Death could destroy a person¡¯s soul, so who was to say what she was looking at when she stared at them like a judge pondering whether or not they should be executed.


    "My darling told me that merchants must have courage similar to warriors," Nyrielle said slowly. "And that the wars you wage are no less dangerous than the battles fought on the sands. I still don¡¯t know that I believe her," the vampire said in a very cold tone before her voice softened and she withdrew the last of the dark energy that pooled around her.


    "But today, I have seen a man who fights for wealth stand before me with courage and conviction great enough to rival the men who just fought my great-uncles on the sands," Nyrielle said with a gentle smile. "So I will accept your sincerity, and your company when the Willow Witch takes to the stands in the evening¡¯s final battle."


    "I¡¯m not yet convinced that this plan of yours is a good idea, my love," Nyrielle said as she wrapped one wing around Ashlynn, leading her away from the crowd and gesturing for Beilan and Nereida to follow. "But I¡¯m willing to give these two a chance. If nothing else, I will accept their aid for the lesser challenge of improving our returns on what we obtain from Airgead Mountain. Does that satisfy you, my love?"


    "A chance is all that I would ever ask for," Ashlynn said sweetly as they headed toward High Lady Erna¡¯s private box. The other arrangements she had in mind would need to wait until the days to come, but if the cannal project had been the most ambitious, this one had been the riskiest. Having gained at least some support for both, Ashlynn considered this to be her own victory for the evening.


    Now, all that remained was for Heila to triumph over Yotsun¡¯s challengers and the night would be a complete success...

 Chapter 370: Turning Up The Heat

    Chapter 370: Turning Up The HeatUnderneath the arena, a short, horned merchant paced back and forth nervously in one of the many preparatory chambers reserved for champions of the arena. In the ten days since Yotsun¡¯s unintentional feud with the Willow Witch had begun, his salt and pepper hair had turned even more gray and he swore that the bald spot at the crown of his head had doubled in size from all the stress that piled up on him is the pressure mounted.


    At first, he¡¯d thought little of the diminutive witch¡¯s claim that she could do as the Blood Princess had done, standing for ten days in the arena and fighting at least ten men a day. He had never expected that High Lady Erna would be standing near enough to overhear their increasingly boastful spat or that she would step up to act as a witness to their wager.


    The morning after the banquet, though he quickly assembled a team of arena regulars, Yotsun was prepared to laugh the whole thing off as a joke once he taught the little girl from the Vale of Mists why his ancestors had never once considered returning to a place filled with weaklings and cowards that sheltered under the wings of the Blood Princess.


    While the men he hired were by no means famous champions in High Fen City, they were capable enough to fight in the largest arena in the entire High Fen rather than being relegated to the smaller venues within the city or worse, the much smaller dueling grounds that were common in the outlying towns and villages. They should have been more than sufficient to put the newly born ¡¯Willow Witch¡¯ in her place.


    After that, Yotsun intended to make a great show of being the bigger man. He would disregard their wager or perhaps ask for a single favor. Either way, he would remind everyone watching that both he and the young witch had consumed a great deal of alcohol and that he, as the older and wiser party, wouldn¡¯t hold the rash words of youth against a promising young witch.


    The old merchant expected that such a grand display of magnanimity would raise his stature in the eyes of many of his peers and his act of mercy might even earn him additional rewards from the new Mother of Trees. In the end, it should have taken a single day in the arena to conclude this entire affair.


    Yet now, ten days later, he¡¯d pulled his hair in frustration so often that he knew he would be bald within a year from the stress of this disaster alone. If the first defeat could be forgiven for using a random collection of common fighters, then everything that happened from the second day on could only be considered an exercise in throwing good money after bad.


    Now, ten men in dark crimson and black robes stood before him as they awaited the signal that they could enter the arena. The sounds of battle had faded long ago, yet for some reason, they had yet to be allowed to take to the sands, leaving Yotsun to fret about what might be happening on the floors above.


    "Sit, little man," a slender figure in dark robes growled. The man¡¯s voice was hoarse and rough, and when he spoke, he sounded like each word had been pulled through a throat that refused to let more words escape than was absolutely necessary.


    "I hired you, Ropati," Yotsun snapped, glaring at the leader of the strange cult he¡¯d brought here at considerable expense. "Don¡¯t tell me what to do!"


    "Then calm yourself," the robed man said with a shrug. Reaching into one of the pockets in his robes, he withdrew a long, slender cigar the thickness of his first finger and twice as long before biting off one end and spitting it onto the stone floor. Pursing lips together that had long been scarred by horrific burns, the man blew gently on the opposite end of the cigar until a brilliant, glowing ember formed and the room began to smell of pungent tobacco smoke.


    "Try one," Ropati said, pulling out a second cigar and holding it out toward the fretting merchant. "Calmer that way," he added as he placed his own cigar between his burned lips and drew a deep breath until he filled his lungs with the pungent smoke.


    For a moment, he held his breath, savoring the feeling of warmth that suffused him along with the gentle, calming sensation that permeated through his body as the smoke clung to his lungs before finally exhaling in a long stream of smoke that coiled around his head and seeped into the fibers of his robes. For a moment, he felt a deep kinship with the smoldering crater he called home but that sensation faded all too quickly.


    Standing just a few feet away from him, Yotsun hesitated to step close enough to the dangerous man to retrieve the offering but... given the choice between coming close enough to touch Ropati¡¯s burned, scarred flesh and the possibility of offending his temporary employee, the balding merchant crossed the gap in two quick strides to retrieve the offered cigar.


    Every time Yotsun looked at Ropati or any of the men he¡¯d brought with him, he wished he knew which clan they¡¯d come from so he could understand how he should treat them. For a businessman who prided himself on knowing the customs and rituals of more than fifty clans, it was unnerving to confront men who hid most of their features behind robes, gloves, and even dark leather masks.


    Only Ropati revealed his mutilated, burned visage, showing the world proof that he had seared away his affiliations to his nation and clan when he joined the Cauldron of Flame.


    Yotsun knew little about the reclusive cult who dwelled near the summit of a broken, hollowed-out mountain to the north other than that they worshiped the Volcano Witch as a near deity and that they had been searching for the successor to their god for more than two hundred years.


    Most people considered them lunatics who mutilated themselves in search of understanding the ¡¯primordial flames of the earth.¡¯ But those who dismissed them as mere madmen overlooked an uncomfortable truth about the origin of their power. These weren¡¯t ordinary sorcerers, rather, they were the last remnants of an order who once served the Father of Calamities, a witch whose connection to nature¡¯s destructive forces rivaled the power that witches like the Mother of Trees held over nature¡¯s growth.


    Even after two centuries without their master, the cult¡¯s magic retained a smoldering ember of that terrifying, cataclysmic power. Yotsun had thought that the only way to stop a witch might be to send another witch after her, but witches were far too rare and the closest ones all seemed to be her allies. Without the ability to call on the children of the Mother of Storms or the even more distant Mother of Tides, Yotsun had turned to the next best thing; the deranged worshipers of the Volcano Witch.


    "Mast- COUGH - Master Ropati," Yotsun said, nearly choking after taking a single puff from the cigar the cultist handed him. "Master Ropati, about your terms of payment," the balding merchant said as sweat broke out on his brow. "The Harbinger of Death has arrived, so, it may be, may be difficult to send her away with you when you leave. If, if I could retain her until, until the vampires have left then..."


    "Do not change our deal, little man," Ropati said roughly, his gravely voice growing stern as he blew a stream of smoke in Yotsun¡¯s face. "Your wager is that the Willow Witch serves you for two years if we defeat her."


    "Yes, that¡¯s it exactly," Yotsun said. "She¡¯s expected to serve me, so sending her away with you as soon as she¡¯s entered my service. It may be, may be a bit unexpected, and..." And how could he say that he worried that the diminutive Willow Witch might not survive a visit to the harsh, broken mountain these men called home? It was said that molten rock spilled from the crater where the mountain¡¯s top once stood, searing anything that stood in its path. To bring a Child of Trees there... "It, it may appear to them that I¡¯ve sold off one of the important servants of the Mother of Trees, and..."


    "Not my problem," the cultist interrupted, directing a dark, smoldering look at the short, horned merchant. "She serves you. You send her with us. This is our deal."


    "Then, then how long will it be before you send her back to me?" Yotsun worked up the courage to ask. Dealing with these men, he was afraid that the Willow Witch would be traumatized from her stay with them. If he had to leave her with them for the entire two years, then by the time he sent her back to the Mother of Trees, the powerful witch and her even more powerful vampire lover might return for his head.


    "The Child of Trees is nothing but kindling before the Primordial Flames of the Earth," Ropati said after taking a deep drag on his cigar. Smoke curled around his lips as he spoke, filling the air with not only the pungent aroma of tobacco but a sharper, more acrid scent of burning flesh when he spoke. "If there is any kindling left after two years, we will return what remains to you."


    "But do not hold your breath, little man," the cultist said. A dark, eager gleam flickered across his eyes as his scarred lips pulled into a tight smile. "This ¡¯Willow Witch¡¯ will be an offering for the return of an even greater witch. It is an insult to the divine to ask for an offering back once it¡¯s been given, don¡¯t you think?"


    All around him, the other men in dark red and black robes chuckled, filling the room with the sounds of their twisted, distorted voices and the oppressive heat of their eagerness to obtain a worthy sacrifice. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Soon, they thought. Soon they would shake their long-dormant volcano back to life, calling forth the Father of Calamaty and proving that this time, one of them was worthy of bathing in the Primordial Flames to become the first Volcano Witch in hundreds of years.


    All they lacked was a bit of kindling to stoke the flames....

 Chapter 371: Arena of Trees (Part One)

    Chapter 371: Arena of Trees (Part One)In the arena above, iron gates thundered open all around the arena floor. Not just one or two of them, but every single entrance at once. The sound of dozens of rolling wagons and clanking chains filled the air as an army of workers poured onto the sands. Tuscans, their towering forms making even fully grown men look like children beside them, followed close behind while hauling massive carts piled high with rich, dark soil. Behind them came scores of arena servants pushing wheelbarrows laden with young trees and sacks of seed.


    "Weren¡¯t these men defeated by the Willow Whip days ago?" One person in the crowd asked. "What are they doing here now?"


    "Look, they¡¯re acting like laborers," another man said, pointing to the group of ferocious soldiers who had given up their weapons and armor in exchange for simple tunics and gardener¡¯s tools. "Is this because they were defeated in the battle against the Willow Witch?"


    Under the wide eyes of the crowd, the arena began to undergo a rapid transformation into something entirely new. Some in the crowd wondered if this was intended as an odd sort of decoration for the final battle, but if that was the case, the scale of the work being done was grander than any ¡¯decoration¡¯ they¡¯d ever seen for a single battle.


    Whatever these servants were doing, it had clearly been planned with military precision. Each worker knew their exact role and duty. Some rushed about, scattering soil while others tamped it down, creating a foundation that would support what was to come. Arena staff who normally cleared away fallen fighters now carefully measured distances between saplings, calling out positions in voices that echoed off the arena walls.


    Meanwhile, the Tuscan giants worked with surprising delicacy despite their massive size. Once they had finished digging deep holes in the sands with oversized shovels, their trunks carefully lifted precious young willows from their pots and settled them into the freshly dug holes with the precision of practiced gardeners.


    What should have taken days of preparation was being accomplished in a matter of minutes through the coordinated efforts of nearly a hundred workers. The audience, who had been eagerly awaiting another bloody spectacle, found themselves watching an entirely different kind of performance as the arena was transformed before their eyes.


    Seeing the scale of activity, many arena veterans were already anticipating that the scale of the final battle would be one unrivaled by any other fought in the arena this year if not this decade.


    "For the final battle, ten tails, gold, on the Willow Whip!" one man shouted as his heart pounded in his chest. "No, make that twenty!"


    "Twenty," his wife hissed next to him, her tail slapping nervously against the ground. "At least wait until we see the opponents and the bookmen announce the odds! How can you be so confident when you don¡¯t even know the odds?"


    "Because," the man said while rooting around in his purse for several pieces of gold. "Those are willow trees down there," he whispered in his wife¡¯s ear. "There¡¯s no way the Willow Whip would lose when she has the strength of her own trees to call on!"


    On the sands of the arena, Ipiktok supervised his men and dozens of servants employed by the arena as they rapidly changed the landscape before Heila¡¯s final battle could begin. From time to time as he worked, his long, flexible trunk retrieved a roll of parchment and held it up for him to inspect as he shouted orders, ensuring that everything was placed exactly as Lady Ashlynn had specified.


    Technically, Ipiktok¡¯s agreement to serve Heila for two years following his defeat hadn¡¯t come into effect yet. If Yotsun¡¯s final champions defeated the Willow Witch today, then he and his Tuscan mercenaries would be free to go about their business. Ipiktok, however, believed in repaying his debts and the debt he owed Lady Heila for sparing not only his life but the lives of his men at the end of their battle was far more important to him than the debt he¡¯d assume because of his agreement with the horned merchant.


    When he¡¯d presented himself at the palace to place his soldiers under Lady Heila¡¯s command, the Mother of Trees herself had asked for his help in preparing for her final battle. Ever since then, while the work that he and his men did wasn¡¯t glamorous, they all took a measure of pride in knowing that the days of back-breaking labor would allow the Willow Witch to stand on the greatest stage when she fought her final battle in the arena.


    In High Lady Erna¡¯s private box, Ashlynn smiled as she saw the horde of workers transforming the arena. The preparations for this moment extended far beyond what was taking place on the surface, and that applied to the audience within the private box as well as the actions of the small army of people preparing the arena for what was to come.


    Just as when Ashlynn had attended, two gilded thrones dominated the box, but this time, Nyrielle occupied the throne next to High Lady Erna while Ashlynn had taken a smaller, though still grand seat to Nyrielle¡¯s left. On High Lady Erna¡¯s side, they¡¯d been joined by Erna¡¯s two surviving siblings, each occupying similarly grand chairs.


    General Aleser looked like a larger version of his older sister, though some of that was due to his decision to attend tonight¡¯s battle in grand, ceremonial armor befitting his place not only as the commander of both the palace guard and the city¡¯s soldiers but as a champion of the arena as well. The long scar that passed through a milky white eye, however, made it abundantly clear that his sister had ended his days as a gladiator when she ended his participation in the competition for the throne.


    Next to him, the delicate Nenet had looked vaguely uncomfortable for much of the evening as blood was shed in the arena, but now she seemed fascinated by the actions of the servants and laborers below. As the youngest of High Lady Erna¡¯s siblings, she¡¯d removed herself from the battle for succession early on and instead focused on her interests in agriculture, eventually taking a position as one of Erna¡¯s chief ministers overseeing the farmers and ranchers of the High Fen.


    "Why are they planting trees?" Nenet asked, turning to raise a brow at Ashlynn. "If they¡¯re worried about them being knocked over, they could just place them in heavy pots with iron rings. There¡¯s no need to bury them now, is there?"


    "You¡¯ll see in a few moments, Minister Nenet," Ashlynn said with a mysterious smile on her lips. She¡¯d told Ipiktok that he would only be given at most thirty minutes to complete the work while the audience enjoyed an intermission before the final fight, and now, it looked like his men were close to completing their work.


    "My love," Ashlynn whispered, leaning close to Nyrielle. "Do you remember the night you taught me sorcery? When you used a trace of my power to give life to the raven you conjured from the mist?"


    "How could I forget?" Nyrielle said, licking the point of a fang as she remembered the evening they¡¯d spent together. It had been shortly after Ashlynn arrived in the Vale of Mists and it hadn¡¯t just been the first night she taught Ashlynn sorcery, it had been a night of many other firsts that defined the shape their relationship would take as their bond drew them closer together. "It was the first time I had a true taste of you," she added with a soft, affectionate smile.


    "Yes, well," Ashlynn said awkwardly, her face heating as she remembered the feeling of Nyrielle¡¯s hands roving under her blouse, tracing along her skin as she helped Ashlynn to feel the flow of energy within her body. "What I meant is that I¡¯d like your help doing something similar now," she said, forcing the memories of Nyrielle¡¯s gentle touch to the back of her mind so she could focus on the moment.


    "I need to borrow a trace of your power," Ashlynn said, interlacing her fingers with Nyrielle¡¯s. "Will you help me?"


    "Now?" Nyrielle asked in confusion. From the look of the work underway on the arena floor, what Ashlynn needed right now was a source of life, not death, so why would she turn to a vampire for help? "What do you need of me?"


    "Just stand beside me," Ashlynn said with an eager smile and a twinkle forming in her emerald eyes. "Our bond is already enough for what I need from you. I just need to keep you close," she said, squeezing Nyrielle¡¯s hand and pulling her toward the railing of the private box.


    What she was about to attempt would be a spectacle on a grander scale than any she¡¯d undertaken before. In principle, it was no different than a chore she¡¯d done countless times in Amahle¡¯s gardens when they were preparing another family meal. In practice, however, she would be stretching her hand across the entirety of High Fen City to complete her ritual tonight and she would need Nyrielle¡¯s help to ensure that nothing was wasted in the process.


    Now, she gave the arena one last glance, ensuring that the trees, soil, seeds, and even channels for water were all in the right places, forming a grand design that would serve as an anchor and a guide for the witchcraft that she was about to begin. Then, when she was confident that everything was in place, she drew a deep breath to address the crowd.


    S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 372: Arena of Trees (Part Two)

    Chapter 372: Arena of Trees (Part Two)Behind her, High Lady Erna sat up straighter on her gilded throne, eager to see the demonstration of the Mother of Trees¡¯ power. If Ashlynn could do as she¡¯d claimed, the value of maintaining an alliance with the Vale of Mists would become even more obvious to the ministers who constantly pressured her to either bring her teacher to the High Fen or limit the protections she extended to the few merchants who reached the High Fen from the Vale of Mists each year.


    "People of the High Fen," Ashlynn said, her voice rippling with the power of the wind to carry it to every corner of the arena as she spoke. "Honored guests," she added. "Tonight, my child Heila, the Willow Witch, will take to the sands for a final time. To honor the Blood Princess of the Arena, she has fought for nine days and defeated ninety men. Tonight, she will face her greatest challenge!" S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In response to Ashlynn¡¯s words, several people broke out in cheers and a few scattered chants rippled across the crowd.


    "For the Blood Princess!"


    "Willow Whip! Willow Whip! Willow Whip!"


    "But people," Ashlynn added, holding her hands up high to still the crowd. "You have not seen my Heila at her best. The arena sands are dry and dusty, soaked only in blood," Ashlynn said, lowering her head as though she was apologizing for Heila¡¯s poor showing. "Tonight, with help from my love, the Blood Princess of the Arena herself, you will have a chance to see the true power of a witch!"


    "Were you always this good at addressing crowds, my darling?" Nyrielle whispered as she watched the people surge to their feet, cheering for Ashlynn¡¯s words.


    "I¡¯ve gained some practice here," Ashlynn admitted. "Mostly, I¡¯m imitating my father. He was always good with crowds. Now, relax, and open yourself to me," she instructed as she drew herself up to her full height and gathered emerald energy to her palms. "I¡¯ll do the rest."


    Drawing a deep breath, Ashlynn looked out across the arena floor, ensuring that all of the servants and even the Tuscans had left before she began to speak in a steady, even cadence that echoed across the arena.


    "By autumn¡¯s crown and winter¡¯s night,


    Through shadows deep and fading light,


    In every fallen, withered reed,


    In every scattered, broken seed,


    I claim the strength of seasons past,


    Until their power is mine at last."


    As she spoke, Ashlynn cast her senses as far as she could extend them, reaching out across the entirety of High Fen City and to the nearest edges of the farmland beyond.


    The harvest had all but come to an end and all across the High Fen, countless fallen plants had been heaped in piles to rot away after stripping their fruits, vegetables, and seeds. Within the city, in every park and garden, blankets of scattered leaves lay in piles where the wind blew them, some even falling into the canals and forming drifting clumps of leaves and twigs that threatened to clog drains and flood streets.


    All of these things were fallen and had served their purpose in life, but they had yet to surrender the last of the energy they held. Over the winter and the rainy months, most would rot away, but now, Ashlynn fed those withering, dying leaves husks a trace of Nyrielle¡¯s dark, deadly energy, reaping what little life was left and gathering that energy to her hands.


    At the moment, Ashlynn still lacked the strength to envelop the farmland surrounding the city, but that was precisely why she¡¯d put Ipiktok and his men to work, gathering up the detritus of the harvest and storing it in the vast chambers under the arena for her use in this ritual. Now, as she gathered up the tiniest traces of energy from tens of thousands of fallen plants, brilliant emerald energy blazed around her like the flames of a torch, shining in the night and casting a green glow over the entire arena.


    "Through mists of time and witch¡¯s ways,


    By ancient bonds of endless days,


    Let willows rise from barren ground,


    Let years flow swift in time unbound,


    While death and life together dance,


    To give these trees their swift advance."


    Nyrielle¡¯s eyes glowed a deep, midnight blue as Ashlynn wove traces of her power through the much greater volume of lush, emerald energy that spilled from her hands, enveloping the trees and soil of the arena.


    The crowd fell silent and some even knelt in awe as they watched the power of the Mother of Trees transform the arena from a dusty, barren land that held only a scattering of hastily placed saplings into something else entirely, right before their eyes.


    The earth churned and shook and two of the tanks of water used to flood the arena for battles on shallow boats spilled their contents across the rippling soil. The willow trees sent their roots plunging into the earth, drinking deeply of the water and the energy of life that Ashlynn spilled across the arena like glowing rain.


    Moments later, the trees shook before they stretched upwards. Dozens of branches formed on each tree as it stretched ever higher until they began to droop and sway in a breeze felt only by the leaves and branches of the trees. Across the ground, grass seeds scattered by servants sprouted, growing several inches tall in less time than it took for the stunned crowd to draw a breath.


    From start to finish, Ashlynn¡¯s witchcraft took less than fifteen minutes to completely transform the arena. Where there had once been only dusty, bloody sand, now stood a lush meadow dotted with nearly two dozen willow trees. Each of those willow trees stretched between twenty and thirty feet tall, some even reaching heights that allowed the people closest to the railing on the first floor of the arena to reach out and touch them!


    "Now, Little Sister," High Lady Erna said quietly, leaning across her brother to speak to her slack-jawed younger sister. "You see why I insisted you leave the harvest to watch tonight? This is the power of the Mother of Trees."


    "This, this shouldn¡¯t be possible!" Nenet exclaimed. "No sorcery can grow a tree like that, and if it could, it would nearly kill the sorcerer who made the attempt. At the very least, a single tree would leave them withered and aged!"


    "Now," Erna said quietly. "Think back on the drought seven years ago. We finally got rains late in the summer but it was far too late to salvage crops that had withered on the vine. Can you imagine what would have happened if we¡¯d been able to call on Lady Ashlynn¡¯s help at a time like that?"


    "Sister," Nenet gasped. "You, are you saying that she can do this with things that aren¡¯t even trees? She could do this with wheat and millet?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Erna said, looking at the emerald energy swirling around Ashlynn with eyes that held a great deal of respect and the slightest trace of wonder. "But think of all the things that are trees. The apple, pear, and plum orchards in the hills for one. When bellies are empty, anything that offers sustenance is worthy, even if we¡¯d usually reserve it for cider, win,e and sweets."


    "And this is why you want me to prepare a contingent of soldiers to march with Lady Nyrielle when they leave for the Vale of Mists?" Alesar asked, never once taking his unblinking eye off the powerful witch and vampire standing at the railing. "You want to call on her support in times of crisis?"


    "I want to call on their support more than just in times of crisis, Little Brother," Erna said, returning to her seat with a smile on her lips that fully revealed her venomous fangs. "The Vale of Mists hasn¡¯t looked like much for more than a hundred years, but its time of dormancy is coming to an end."


    "Before it can rise," she continued, "the Vale of Mists must survive a crisis of its own, and I for one don¡¯t intend to stand idly by and hope that it does. The High Fen will stand with the Vale of Mists," she said firmly. "And tonight, those who have doubts will learn at least a portion of the reason why."


    "Look! In the center of the arena!" A member of the audience shouted, snapping out of their dazed sense of awe when they noticed that the arena was no longer empty of people. The startled cry quickly gathered the attention of others who turned away from the wondrous trees to look at what could have drawn such a reaction after the miracle they¡¯d just witnessed.


    There, in the center of the arena, a single diminutive figure stood, looking like the guardian of a sacred grove. Her horns were hidden by her well-worn War Hat, but everyone recognized her for who she was as soon as they saw her on the floor of the arena.


    This time, however, she had abandoned her borrowed coat of scale armor and replaced it with the signature midnight blue padded gambeson and chainmail of the Vale of Mists. On one hip she wore both her willow wand and glittering Snow Fang while the other held a coiled willow whip that had quickly become her signature weapon.


    "Heila, my child," Ashlynn said in a voice that resounded off the walls of the arena. "Tonight, the stage is truly yours. Show them the real power of the Willow Witch!"

 Chapter 373: Yotsun’s Plea

    Chapter 373: Yotsun¡¯s PleaHeila stood on the floor of the arena, allowing the cheers of the crowd to wash over her like the sound of distant rain as she soaked in the far more intimate feeling of Ashlynn¡¯s magic. She had known that Ashlynn was planning something, but once again, her lady had surprised her with a gesture so deeply touching that she struggled to find the words to respond when she heard Ashlynn¡¯s voice calling out to her to show them what she was truly capable of.


    "Though I am small and unworthy," Heila said after a brief pause. Her voice was clear and echoed off the arena walls as she faced Ashlynn and Nyrielle¡¯s figures in High Lady Erna¡¯s private box, showing no sign of the turmoil she felt within her heart. "I dedicate my victory to the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees, long may you rule!"


    "Long may you rule!" the crowd echoed, taking up Heila¡¯s resonant cry. "Long may you rule!"


    Just as the crowd¡¯s cheers began to subside, a lone, diminutive figure strode out into a private box on the opposite side of the arena from High Lady Erna¡¯s box. Though his hair was slightly out of place and he looked like he hadn¡¯t slept in several days, Yotsun still cut an impressive figure in his elaborately embroidered tunic. Standing with his hand clutching at the collar of his tunic while he puffed out his chest, it was impossible for the audience to miss the heavy golden chain hanging around his neck or the half dozen rings glittering from his fingers as he prepared to address the crowd.


    "Willow Witch Heila," Yotsun began, his voice pitched to carry across the arena even if he lacked the strength of sorcery to amplify his words. "I was wrong to think that the Vale of Mists lacked the strength to fight as the Blood Princess did all those years ago," he admitted, lowering his head humbly before the gathered audience.


    "You have delivered clear and decisive defeats to everyone who has stood against you," he continued. "Tonight, I¡¯m sure that everyone expects to see your heroism on full display! The Mother of Trees herself has blessed you with the greatest stage ever seen in this arena," he added, bowing in the direction of Ashlynn¡¯s figure in the opposite box. "I¡¯m sure you would not wish to disappoint her."


    "But, Lady Heila," Yotsun added as he felt the enthusiasm and excitement of the crowd begin to grow. "My final champions, they are not ordinary men. Before they enter the arena, it isn¡¯t too late. Some injuries are impossible to heal from, even with the support of the Mother of Trees herself. I do not wish to see you maimed," he said.


    To the audience perhaps he appeared magnanimous, or perhaps he appeared arrogant and condescending. At the moment, he didn¡¯t care how he appeared. Sweat soaked his brow and if he were to pull his hands away from where they tightly clutched his tunic, he was certain that the wet handprints of his sweat-soaked palms would be clearly visible. This was his last chance, the very last opportunity he had to prevent disaster, and no matter what the people in the crowd thought of him, he had to try.


    "Lady Heila," Yotsun pleaded. "Won¡¯t you consider surrendering this round before we begin? A record of ninety men defeated in nine days is still a legend that will echo throughout the ages. I will personally commission a statue to your glory if you can concede now without a fight. There is no shame in taking this offer to preserve your life," he said. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In the private boxes belonging to Yotsun¡¯s competitors, the lord mayors of outlying towns and even young socialites spluging on a night of fun, people muttered darkly at Yotsun¡¯s condescending words.


    "If that was my man," a young woman from the Glass Eyed clan said sharply. "I¡¯d pack up my jewels and flee the nest before he could drag his sorry self home tonight."


    "Maybe he¡¯s trying to be merciful?" a shorter young woman from the Horned Clan said as she looked at the way Yotsun¡¯s horns seemed to quiver as he spoke. For his body to tremble so much that it was visible in his horns, his heart must be aching, but he had already lost nine out of ten nights... could losing one more really move his heart so much.


    "If this is him being merciful," a scathing voice added as a third woman joined the conversation. "I don¡¯t want to see how he treats his woman. She¡¯s probably locked up in their manor, wasting away while this fool does whatever he thinks is best for her, even when he insults her to her face."


    Elsewhere, similar conversations rippled through the crowd. Many speculated, trying to understand why someone like Yotsun, who stood at the end of nine days of losses, could believe he was even capable of demanding surrender. Most dismissed him as a fool, trying to salvage a measure of pride at this last moment before the battle, but a few began to wonder what exactly lay behind the heavy iron door to give Yotsun the confidence to make this strange demand.


    The thoughts of the crowd and the rumors that were beginning to spread as a result of his speech were the least of Yotsun¡¯s worries. As far as he was concerned there were very few outcomes that favored Heila. The worst possible thing would be for her to suffer a defeat in the arena that left her alive, only to be taken as ¡¯kindling¡¯ for the Cauldron of Flame. Compared to that fate, a defeat in the arena that cost the young witch her life was a relative blessing.


    In Yotsun¡¯s mind, facing off against the scarred and self-mutilated men of the Cauldron of Flame, even a victory here in the arena could cost the young witch so much that she would curse this day for the rest of her life. If the wounds were too serious, she might even long for death and wish that she had died.


    But if she would accept his offer... if she could retreat from the ledge they both perched on, then perhaps there was a chance that things could be resolved peacefully. If the men from the Cauldron of Flame never fought in the arena, then Yotsun could claim they weren¡¯t entitled to any spoils that resulted from Heila¡¯s surrender. He could keep her out of their clutches and still find a way to play the ¡¯bigger man¡¯ in front of the people.


    All of those hopes and fantasies burned away like dry autumn leaves in a bonfire the instant Heila opened her mouth to respond to his offer.

 Chapter 374: Descendants of Cataclysm

    Chapter 374: Descendants of Cataclysm"The people of the Vale of Mists are not cowards, Mister Yotsun," Heila said proudly from the arena floor. "We have faced unbeatable foes before and even if we lost a battle, we never lost the war."


    Heila had no idea what Yotsun was playing at by talking of surrender or attempting to alter their wager at this late stage. They had both come much too far to back down now that what felt like half the population of High Fen City had gathered to witness this historic battle. Did he really think that she would back down and surrender just because he asked her to without even revealing his final champions?


    "I respect trying to resolve this without bloodshed," Heila said slowly from the floor of the arena. Her words shocked many in the crowd but she held up a hand to still their tongues before the noise could overwhelm their conversation. "The tradition of the Willow Witch has always been one that includes healing and care for others. As my lady¡¯s Willow Witch, I should deliver her victory, but if I can do so with less suffering, isn¡¯t that always better?


    "So I return your offer to you, Mister Yotsun," Heila said in a tone that was both respectful and challenging. "Withdraw your final champions and I will excuse them from our wager. They will not need to travel to the Vale of Mists with me when we depart and they will not be compelled to fight in our war against the Lothians and their Church. This is the greatest kindness I can offer, Mister Yotsun," she added with a pointed stare. "If you are concerned about your champions, you should take it."


    "Willow Whip!"


    "Willow Whip!"


    "Willow Whip!" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The crowd thundered in approval, applauding at Heila¡¯s refusal to surrender for any reason. Some even began to whisper about taking a trip to see the Vale of Mists. After watching this diminutive witch stand taller than so many champions of the arena, they wondered... were the rumors about the weakness of the Vale really true?


    A few of them, particularly the young men and women who were approaching the age when they could enter an academy to be trained as gladiators, began to wonder if they might receive even better training in the Vale of Mists than they could close at home. After all, if such a place produced not only the Blood Princess but also the Willow Whip... then what could they become if they learned to fight in the way the people of the Vale did?


    "You don¡¯t understand," Yotsun said in a voice too soft for anyone outside the box to hear over the roars of the crowd. He wanted to do something, anything to avoid unleashing the men he¡¯d been foolish enough to entangle himself with but now, there was nothing he could do except continue as he¡¯d begun. "I can¡¯t surrender on their behalf. They¡¯d never let me. And if you won¡¯t surrender..."


    "My champions will not surrender, Lady Heila," the merchant continued. His voice, though loud enough for the arena to hear, seemed oddly resigned leaving many to feel like he was already admitting defeat but unable to back down from putting up some form of token resistance. "May you find eternal glory on the sands today," he shouted before turning decisively away from the railing and returning to his seat to watch the tragedy that was about to unfold.


    The silence that followed his retreat felt heavier than any that had come before during the past nine nights of combat. Even the bookmakers, who normally shouted odds until the moment combat began, seemed hesitant to call out their predictions. The strange tension in Yotsun¡¯s voice and his bizarre attempt at mercy left everyone uncertain about what was about to happen when his champions entered the arena.


    That silence stretched for a handful of deeply uncomfortable moments before it shattered like glass when the heavy iron gate beneath Yotsun¡¯s box began to clank and rumble, slowly opening to reveal ten men wearing crimson and black hooded robes. The leather masks that covered their faces were gruesome and twisted, each in their own unique way. Some featured blackened and charred fangs at unnatural angles, while others resembled a face made of wax that had melted until it flowed into a distorted mockery of a once graceful visage.


    All of them carried a scent of sulfur, charred wood and flesh, and the air of a funeral pyre. In their black-gloved hands, they carried long staves made of burnt, blackened wood. Each staff held a number of shards of dark, glittering volcanic glass, sometimes hanging from cords wrapped around the staff or in other cases, shaped like a blade and mounted to the head of the staff like a spear.


    "Greetings, Willow Witch," Ropati said, lowering his cowl and removing his leather mask to reveal the twisted mass of scars that covered his face. "In the name of the Volcano Witch, the Cauldron of Flame welcomes you to your final battle," he shouted, throwing up his arms and unleashing a torrent of flame that soared high into the night sky, erupting into a giant fireball that momentarily lit the arena as brightly as the sun.


    In the stands around the arena, children cried out in fear, burying their heads in their father¡¯s shoulders and mother¡¯s skirts. Several men who thought themselves to be strong of heart trembled in fear, feeling that a cataclysmic ball of flame was about to descend upon them, consuming every life in the arena like kindling for the hearth.


    On the highest levels, where some of the poorest people had taken the only seats they could afford, people cried out in more than fear as they felt the intense heat of the ball of flame on their flesh. Members of the Horned Clan, the Clan of the Great Claw, and any other clan with fur felt the tips of the fine hairs of their fur begin to smoke and smolder.


    Others, particularly young children with tender skin or scales that were still soft and developing, cried in pain as the heat of the fireball caressed their flesh leaving behind the kinds of burns a person would suffer after spending an entire summer day toiling under the hot sun.


    The fireball lasted for less time than it took to draw a breath but the after-effects rippled through the crowd like a wave of fear and pain. People who had looked directly at the explosion blinked rapidly, trying to clear the afterimages that felt burned into their eyes as they checked on loved ones or random strangers they happened to sit next to, worried that someone might have been seriously injured by the blaze.


    In High Lady Erna¡¯s private box, the color drained from Ashlynn¡¯s face as she watched the energy flowing not only from the unmasked man leading his cultists but from each of his followers as well.


    These men weren¡¯t ordinary sorcerers... rather, they drew on power from each other in exactly the same way that Ashlynn and Heila drew on the power of trees. These men weren¡¯t like any sorcerer she¡¯d ever seen... if anything, they were much more like witches... and there were 10 of them while Heila stood alone.

 Chapter 375: Smoldering Tempers

    Chapter 375: Smoldering TempersThe crowd was still blinking their eyes and reaching out to check on their neighbors when an explosion of fury and energy surged from High Lady Erna¡¯s private box.


    "Scaly strength, entrap, entwine!" High Lady Erna shouted, unleashing a wave of scintillating, iridescent serpents that shot across the willow grove of the arena before coiling around members of the Cauldron of Flame, binding them in place with constricting restraints that not only restricted their movement, but completely bound their magic.


    "You dare to harm the innocent," Nyrielle snarled, leaping to her feet as dark energy surged from her fully opened wings, coalescing into several deadly feathers formed of shadows so dark they seemed to devour the light.


    On the arena floor, Heila had already drawn her wand, an invocation on her lips when she heard Ashlynn¡¯s voice from above.


    "Save your strength, Heila," Ashlynn said as she strode forward, drawing her own gnarled wand carved from the branch of the Ancient Oak. "I will tend to the wounded."


    "Through nature¡¯s heart and healer¡¯s grace,


    Let soothing waters find their place,


    Let healing waters wash away


    The scars of fire¡¯s cruel display,


    Till every child stands whole again, Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Beneath this sweet and gentle rain."


    Beneath the light of the moon and the twinkling stars, faintly glowing emerald clouds formed, swirling around the arena as Ashlynn turned her wand in a slow, lazy circle, gathering up the moisture in the air and infusing it with the pure, healing energy of living, growing things. Seconds later, the clouds dissolved into a gentle rain of faintly glowing water droplets.


    Where the rain fell, burns melted away as though they¡¯d been painted on, leaving behind fresh, tender skin and scales. Even singed fur healed and recovered under the gentle wave of healing light that soothed not only the flesh but quieted fears and eased troubled hearts.


    "How dare you," High Lady Erna spat as she slid up to the railing of her private box. "To harm the audience by losing control of your sorcery during a fierce battle is already a grave crime, but to strike the innocent simply to demonstrate your might... do you think the people of the High Fen are fangless babes? Name yourself, knave. Who are you to behave so calously in my presence?"


    "Forgive me, High Lady Erna," Ropati said with a dark smile on his twisted lips as though he wasn¡¯t bothered by her confining magic at all. "I am Ropati, Second Ember of the Cauldron of Flame. I didn¡¯t realize that your people were so weak that they couldn¡¯t endure a little light show," he added.


    "I promise you, our battle will not harm even the weakest, most infirm of your citizens who have gathered on the lowest floor of this arena," he said with a pointed look at the wealthy merchants and powerful champions who had earned the privilege of mingling with the guests of honor earlier in the evening.


    "Merchant Yotsun," High Lady Erna said, shifting her attention to the opposite private box where a pair of guardsman had just arrived. "By law and tradition, you are responsible for the actions of your champions when they fight on your behalf. You will suffer alongside them for the harm they¡¯ve already caused. Are you certain that you wish to allow them to continue representing you?"


    Sweat poured from the balding merchant¡¯s brow and he had to clutch firmly at his tunic to resist the desire to tug even more at the hair he had left. That fool Ropati had just cost him thousands of tails of silver in reparations to be paid to the families injured on the upper floor, what was the fool thinking? If it had been anyone else, at any other time, he wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to yank such an unruly warrior back and take his losses out of the other man¡¯s hide.


    But these men... if he backed out of his deal with them now, they¡¯d have their retribution whether this whole mess was their fault or not. Yotsun was certain that they would wait, these men worshiped volcanos that simmered for centuries before erupting with cataclysmic force. They¡¯d wait, and then one day, he¡¯d return from a trading expedition to find his home and everything he owned burned to a smoldering heap, perhaps with his family trapped inside.


    "For-forgive me, High Lady," Yotsun said, kneeling on the floor of his luxurious private box and bowing his head low. "My champion is a stranger to our city, he only wanted to establish his own prestige after witnessing the glory and power of the Mother of Trees and her Willow Witch. His display was excessive, but he means no harm."


    "Very well," Erna said, waving a hand and releasing the sorcery that bound the men on the arena floor. "Mister Ropati, there are consequences for harming others outside of the arena, even if the Mother of Trees has done you the favor of healing the wounded. You should thank her for that, but when this battle is over, my men will come for you. An accounting is still due for your crimes."


    "Don¡¯t bother," Nyrielle said as she stepped back from the railing and withdrew her dark, shadowy energy. "Lady Heila," she said loudly. "You have fought hard for the Vale of Mists, and you have secured many champions to join our fight. But these men, I could not trust them to fight beside us. They would kill our allies along with our enemies without care or concern for who they hurt."


    "So, Lady Heila," Nyrielle said in a voice that was colder than the Frost Walker blade at Heila¡¯s hip. "You need not spare their lives tonight."


    On the floor of the arena, Heila took only a moment to glance at Ashlynn for a confirming nod before bowing deeply to the woman who was the highest authority within the Vale of Mists. Her battle hadn¡¯t even started yet and already things were spiralling out of control, but seeing the faces of children on the upper levels as they clutched their parents and cried out for someone to protect them from the horrifying ball of flames... there wasn¡¯t any part of her that disagreed with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s judgment.


    "As you command, Lady Nyrielle," she said, formally acknowledging the commands she¡¯d been given before turning to face Ropati and his men. "Prepare yourselves," Heila said, drawing Snow Fang and taking a fighting stance with the icy blade in one hand and her willow wand in the other.


    "Three points, three times," Ropati growled, his voice sounding rough and strained as he commanded his men into a formation. His nine companions quickly divided themselves into groups of three, each one forming a triangle, one in front of their leader and one to either side, as though they were preparing to protect him from any direction that Heila could attack from.


    Seeing both parties in position, High Lady Erna wasted no time, holding her hand up high as she sat in her gilded throne. Already, she was worried about things spiraling out of control because of Yotsun¡¯s desperation to salvage victory at the end.


    She should have offered to cover the cost of champions she selected herself, ensuring a spectacle and preventing this disaster but she felt it would have tarnished Heila¡¯s victories and insulted her teacher in the process. Now, like everyone else embroiled in this fiasco, she could only allow things to play out.


    "Tonight, we honor the Blood Princess of the Arena with glorious battle," High Lady Erna said, her voice resounding in every corner of the massive coliseum. "Let this battle begin!"

 Chapter 376: Incendiary Confrontation

    Chapter 376: Incendiary ConfrontationThe instant High Lady Erna gave the word, chaos erupted in the arena as everyone seemed to move at once.


    The first group of sorcerers, standing behind Ropati and to his left side snapped off a terse chant in rough, strained voices that overlapped with each other so well that they could be mistaken as a single, dark entity speaking from three throats at once.


    "Sacred ash of calamity¡¯s throne,


    Rise and make this grove our own!"


    Three obsidian-tipped staves pointed toward the sky, glowing with a deep red glow that seemed shrouded by smoke and shadow. With an explosive -CRACK- flames surged from the bases of their staves, incinerating the gently waving grasses at their feet to produce a billowing cloud of ash several times larger than should have been possible. All around the trio, a rotten, sulfurous wind began to blow with a stench so pungent that anyone seated on the lower levels of the arena immediately covered their mouths and noses in an attempt to block out the horrible smell.


    Ash billowed and flowed, carried by the wind in a dirty, dusty cloud that made it difficult for Heila to see the actions of the remaining sorcerers as she dashed to the side, putting as much distance between herself and these men as she could while she sought an opportunity to go on the offensive. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Half a breath after the first trio began chanting, the second trio, standing to Ropati¡¯s right side, pointed their staves at Heila and snapped out an invocation of their own.


    "Sacred glass from mountain¡¯s heart,


    Rend the air, tear flesh apart!"


    A sound like breaking glass filled the air when their staves struck the ground, cracking the recently scorched earth and lifting several shards of wickedly gleaming obsidian from the earth. In the blink of an eye, those shards of dark volcanic glass shot toward Heila¡¯s fleeing figure like two dozen arrows fired from an archer¡¯s bow.


    "Willow¡¯s whips, guardian boughs,


    Strike like steel, protect me now!"


    Heila¡¯s counter fell from her lips almost before the men could complete their invocation as she dodged behind the trunk of one of the towering willow trees. Instantly, the tree shook and swayed, it¡¯s branches striking like whips with unerring accuracy that shattered the oncoming storm of obsidian shards.


    The third and final group, however, had been waiting for just this moment to unleash a spell of their own. Lurid red energy crawled over their robes like flames burning on oil before flowing through their staves and into the ground.


    "By mountain¡¯s rage and volcano¡¯s might,


    Split earth¡¯s flesh, let flames ignite!"


    A resounding -CRUNCH- filled the air as the earth crumbled in a long, jagged line that stretched from the trio of cultists in front of Ropati all the way to the willow tree with whipping branches that stood as Heila¡¯s guardian. Dirty, sooty, and sulfurous flames followed an instant later, filling the narrow casm with blistering heat, feeding off the tender grasses of the willow grove and belching even more dark ash into the air, giving the entire grove the feeling that it had been plunged into a fiery abyss.


    "Perfect," Ropati said as a twisted smile formed on his burned, scarred lips. "Run little witch, or perish with your tree!" Raising his own staff high, he pointed the obsidian-tipped weapon at the flames licking at the willow tree¡¯s roots and letting loose with a darker, crueler invocation than any used so far.


    "Through volcano¡¯s breath and burning wrath,


    Reduce this tree to naught but ash!"


    Intense heat exploded from the base of the tree, blazing with enough intensity that the crowd standing against the railing of the first level took several steps back before they could suffer the same injuries that the people on the highest level had when this dark cultist first unleashed his magic.


    "Father, father, what¡¯s happening to her?" A young girl on the first level said. The lurid red-orange glow of the burning willow tree filled her soft hazel eyes and her hands clutched a short chain whip, purchased from one of the street vendors outside the arena after Heila¡¯s third victory.


    "Don¡¯t worry, Emmie," her barrel-chested father said as he reached out to stroke his daughter¡¯s half-grown horns. At barely twelve summers old, she was far too young to follow in her father¡¯s footsteps and dedicate her life to the arena, but seeing the Willow Whip¡¯s performance day after day ignited a passion within the small horned girl the likes of which her father had never seen, even after his own heroic battles.


    "Look there," he said, pointing at a flurry of glittering white snowflakes melting rapidly in the ashen heat that had enveloped the arena. "Just like she did against the Tuscans, she¡¯s biding her time, hiding from them and looking for an opening to exploit."


    "But why father?" Emmie said, looking away from the crackling, burning tree to meet her father¡¯s steady gaze. Her eyes brimmed with moisture and her hands brought the delicate whip she clutched to her chest as she sought some kind of explanation for what was happening. "She¡¯s brave and strong, but why? Why is she running away?"


    "She¡¯s brave and strong, yes," her father said, raising his voice as he noticed several nearby merchants straining their ears to overhear a genuine gladiator¡¯s thoughts on the battle. "But she¡¯s at a disadvantage. She¡¯s spent nine days in the arena, showing all of us the things she¡¯s capable of, but what does she know of her opponent¡¯s sorcery?"


    "You mean, she¡¯s at a disadvantage because she doesn¡¯t know how they will fight?" Emmie asked. "But why didn¡¯t she study them? You always study people before you fight them. She should have at least talked to someone who fought them before," she said in a voice thick with frustration.


    The Willow Whip was her hero, the first woman of the Horned Clan she¡¯d ever seen fight people outside their clan on the arena floor, but why did it seem like she¡¯d forgotten how to be a champion all of a sudden? Why hadn¡¯t she whipped at least one of these men into submission yet so they could understand how mighty she was?

 Chapter 377: Icy Retaliation

    Chapter 377: Icy Retaliation"It¡¯s not that easy, little hayseed," her father said, gently ruffling her hair while his eyes remained fixed on the battle below. "These men are strangers here, but look how well they know her. They covered the arena in dark ash so her white snow would instantly give away her position and stop her from hiding. They¡¯re attacking the trees she could rely on as allies and they haven¡¯t taken one step toward her, forcing her to leave the protection of her trees to come to them."


    On the arena floor, there was no sign of Heila at all, leaving the audience craning their necks and peering through the smoke as they searched for a sign of the missing witch. Her opponents, however, seemed like they were in no hurry to approach the trees and search for her.


    Instead, wave after wave of obsidian shards swept across the arena, shredding the bark of willow trees and snapping several of their branches that hung limply in the air, awaiting commands that never came.


    Several new cracks split the earth, belching forth sooty, sulfurous flames until the air on the floor of the arena became difficult to breathe.


    "Calamities are inevitable, Willow Witch," Ropati snarled after destroying a second willow tree with a burst of flames. "We will burn everything in our path until you have no place left to hide, so why drag things out? Take the sniveling merchant¡¯s advice," he said, pulling a fresh cigar from his robes and tearing off one end with his teeth. "Surrender while you still can."


    For a moment, his men paused in their relentless assault, watching as their leader lit his cigar and took a deep breath of pungent smoke while he glared into the ash-filled air, looking for any sign of the Willow Witch.


    That sign came a moment later when Heila¡¯s voice echoed out, not just from one place, but from six different willow trees as she wove her witchcraft through the delicate network of roots that had formed when Ashlynn guided the growth of every tree in the grove.


    "Through morning mist and willow leaf,


    Let water gather swift and brief,


    Till every branch bears winter¡¯s crown,


    Of crystal ice now weighted down."


    Even in the scorching heat of the arena under the assault of the Cauldron of Flame, the rich, moist soil that Ashlynn had prepared still had plenty of water to offer up to Heila¡¯s command. In mere moments, a layer of dew collected on each of the six trees that seemed to speak with Heila¡¯s voice before freezing in an instant as the dew grew into long, wicked icicles.


    "Now willow branches crack and sway,


    Let frozen shards take wing and flay,


    Through flesh and bone let winter bite, Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As ice and wood bring death tonight!"


    "No!" Ropati shouted as he realized too late what the insidious witch intended to do. "Shield us, now!"


    "Through burning air and molten stone,


    Let flames rise up to ..."


    Too late, the trio of sorcerers charged with protecting the group realized they¡¯d become complacent while the other trios hurled their flames and obsidian shards in a futile search for the cunning witch. Now that they tried to raise a curtain of flame that could melt the flying icicles, it was too late.


    Blood spilled from dozens of wounds as the hail of deadly icicles tore through all three trios, but not a single drop of blood fell from those wounds. The ice summoned by Heila was no ordinary ice, rather, it contained a cold so intense that it penetrated their bodies all the way to the bones, freezing their flesh along with any blood that spilled from the wounds.


    That same torrent of icy shards would have torn into Ropati as well if not for his quick thinking. With a sharp slashing gesture, he used his cigar like a wand, leaving a glowing arc of fire in the air before him as he unleashed even greater flames to burn away the few icicles that slipped past the trio standing between him and the attacking trees.


    It wasn¡¯t a perfect defense, two icicles still tore through his robes, embedding themselves in his shoulder and thigh, but compared to his companions his wounds were much, much lighter. Still, the attack had achieved its purpose and then some.


    The coordinated formations of his followers lay broken, their precise triangular positions scattered as each man struggled with wounds that burned with cold that felt like it had been borrowed from the peaks of the tallest mountains around their home. Worse, the bindings of energy that tied them together flickered and faded as each man fought his own private battle against the wounds, transforming them from three mighty triads into nine struggling individuals.


    For several long moments, silence fell across the arena. The cultists¡¯ flames still crackled, consuming what remained of the willow trees they¡¯d lit ablaze, but the relentless barrage of obsidian shards had ceased. Even the sulfurous wind died down as the wounded men struggled to maintain their sorcery through their pain. Ropati¡¯s eyes darted from tree to tree, trying to guess which one truly concealed his opponent.


    "Didn¡¯t you hear," Heila¡¯s voice echoed from every remaining tree in the small willow grove. "The Vale of Mists does not surrender. We have no need of the word, especially not for people like you who can only bully children and the elderly."


    Soft footfalls crunched over grass that had grown stiff with frost as Heila emerged from behind one of the towering willow trees. Blood flowed from several small wounds on her arms and legs, and she looked like she¡¯d been forced to heal at least one serious injury along her ribs, but she moved with the same spry grace that she always had when she stepped out into the open.


    "I return your words to you, Ropati of the Cauldron of Flame," she said, pointing her willow wand at the injured sorcerers. "Surrender, while you still can!"

 Chapter 378: At All Costs

    Chapter 378: At All CostsIn High Lady Erna¡¯s luxurious private box, Nyrielle leaned back on her gilded throne, turning to look behind her at the other guests and waving one of them forward.


    "Ignatious," Nyrielle said, her voice crisp and free from worry despite the inferno engulfing the arena below. "These men, how do they compare to members of your Inquisition? Do their flames approach the ones you wielded in your war against the Vale?"


    "Their flames are strange, Mistress Nyrielle," the red and golden-robed vampire said as he moved to the private box¡¯s rail to get a better look. Behind him, Ashlynn glanced briefly at Nyrielle, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Though she had been briefly introduced to the former Inquisitor, she knew very little about the man and she was curious why Nyrielle had asked for his opinion now.


    "Strange how," Nyrielle prompted, hoping to draw more out of him while she had the opportunity. She had her own opinion after fighting several Inquisitors and Templars over the years, but people in the private box like Erna¡¯s brother, General Aleser, had no such experience. "Strange in a way that makes them more dangerous than yours?"


    "They¡¯re impure," Ignatious said, frowning at the dark, smoldering embers where the ground had split and burned or the cloud of dark smoke that poured from one of the willow trees still burned. "Their flames are mixed and muddied. Whether that makes them weaker or not, I cannot say until I¡¯ve stood against them."


    "They¡¯re flames of the earth," Ashlynn added, though her eyes never left the arena as Heila revealed herself to counterattack. "They form more complete devastation. The Inquisition is famed for Holy Fire that will burn anything to ash. These flames won¡¯t just burn you. The sulfer will choke you even if you can survive the heat burning your flesh and they¡¯ve turned the smoke, soot, and ash into weapons of their own."


    "Then you think that human Inquisitors are just as deadly as these men," General Aleser asked, rising to the bait that Nyrielle had laid before him. "But in different ways?"


    "I¡¯m not entirely sure," Ashlynn said, glancing at the former Inquisitor. "I¡¯ve never fought an Inquisitor and the only demonstrations I¡¯ve seen of their flames were from a time that I was too young to understand what I was seeing," she said, carefully concealing the fact that even a year ago, she wouldn¡¯t have understood the magic Inquisitors used.


    "But I feel like the danger these men represent is their ability to share strength with each other," Ashlynn added. Her emerald eyes glowed faintly as she watched Heila¡¯s icy retaliation tear through the bonds that connected each trio to each other.


    She had no idea how they established those bonds, but it was clear that Heila had recognized them as well, particularly when she watched Heila¡¯s icy magic form a frozen barrier over those very connections, preventing the men from drawing on each other¡¯s strength.


    "Watch now," Ashlynn added, leaning forward with a smile on her face that resembled the predatory grin that Nyrielle so often wore. "Heila has just torn their connections apart. Now, we will see how strong they are as individuals."


    In the stands, it seemed like everyone was on their feet. The cheers that echoed across the arena when Heila unleashed her storm of ice faded away into an eager, anticipatory silence as she demanded that the men from the Cauldron of Flame surrender while they still could.


    "You¡¯re a bold one, Willow Witch," Ropati said, taking a long drag on his cigar and exhaling a fat plume of smoke. "One strike and you think we¡¯re defeated?"


    "One strike to realize the difference between us," Heila said, her voice ringing off the arena walls. "Fighting a witch is already an achievement to boast of for years. All of these people," she added, gesturing to the thousands of people packed into the stands. "They bear witness to your strength. Isn¡¯t that enough?"


    "We didn¡¯t come here to demonstrate our strength," Ropati sneered. "We came to capture a prize and we will not leave without you!"


    Without... her? They hadn¡¯t come to fight on Yotsun¡¯s behalf, to earn fame, glory, or even gold, but rather, they came to capture the Willow Witch herself? Angry mutters spread through the crowd and several people began to boo and jeer at the arrogance of these cultists, but a few had a different reaction entirely.


    "They can¡¯t do that, can they, father?" Emmie asked, clutching her chain whip and tugging on her father¡¯s tunic. The moment Heila¡¯s storm of ice tore through the members of the Cauldron of Flame, she¡¯d cheered louder than anyone around them and her voice still felt hoarse from her screams of triumph and joy. But now, doubt swam in her eyes mixed with fury that someone would take away her hero.


    "I doubt it, little hayseed," her father said, gently stroking his daughter¡¯s hair. "Just watch."


    On the arena floor, Ropati took a last, deep drag on his cigar before throwing the stub to the ground where flames consumed what little remained of it.


    "She¡¯s sealed your power," he said in a low voice that only his companions could hear. "You cannot share it with each other, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t give it to me. Without your aid, we will be slaughtered like sheep. Brothers, I will inscribe your names on my flesh to remember your sacrifice and carry them until calamity descends."


    "Until calamity descends," the group echoed solemnly.


    "I have failed to protect my brothers," one of the men from the triad who had failed to raise a barrier against Heila¡¯s icy assault said. "Succeed where I have failed. May the name Uksel adorn the flesh of the next Volcano Witch," he said as he strode forward, holding his staff high overhead.


    "Through sacrifice of flesh and bone,


    Let searing ash be yours to own.


    My power bound in burning breath,


    Ignites your strength through willing death."


    A hundred paces away, Heila tightened her grip on her wand and Snow Fang, preparing an eddy of snowflakes that swirled around the Frost Walker blade, ready to respond to the cultist¡¯s next move in an instant. But no matter what she did, nothing could prepare her for the horror that unfolded when the man called Uksel completed his spell.


    With a violent jerk, Uksel brought his staff down across his knee, decisively snapping the well-worn weapon in two. The moment he did, flames erupted from each shattered half, flowing up his arms and engulfing his body in flames that burned almost as brightly as Ropati¡¯s fireball before their battle began.


    It took only seconds for the flames to reduce Uksel¡¯s body to motes of glowing ash, dancing in the still air of the arena. In the stands, people watched in horror as Ropati stepped forward, spreading his arms wide and taking a deep breath, inhaling the still glowing embers that were all that remained of the once powerful sorcerer. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I too have failed my brothers," a second man from Uksel¡¯s trio said, stepping forward and raising his staff high overhead. "May the name Pavea adorn the flesh of the next Volcano Witch..."

 Chapter 379: Uncontrollable Calamaty

    Chapter 379: Uncontrollable CalamatyWhile parents shielded the eyes of their children from the gruesome display that bore no resemblance to honorable combat, a deeper horror rippled through those members of the audience who had enough training in sorcery to understand what was going on.


    Ropati hadn¡¯t suddenly become twice as strong, though he had gained at least half of the fallen Uksel¡¯s power. Like burning embers, that power would fade over time until Ropati was left little different than he was now. Any gains he harvested from his companion¡¯s death would only last for a single battle.


    Captain Lennart and others from the Vale of Mists could see a familiar, fatalistic honor in such a sacrifice. In war against the Lothians, many of the Vale¡¯s soldiers felt that they could use such desparate magic if it allowed them to protect their homes and loved ones. But to see it used by people intent on capturing one of the newest protectors of the home they loved...


    Words couldn¡¯t describe the palpable wave of anger and hatred that radiated from Lennart, Virve and any of their companions watching from outside of High Lady Erna¡¯s private box, but anyone standing within a few feet of them quickly moved aside lest they find themselves an accidental target of that explosive rage.


    On the first floor of the arena, several guards stepped forward, tugging at the sleeves of their patrons and encouraging them to pull back from the rail and take seets towards the back of the venue if they insisted on staying to watch.


    "I don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing, master," one loyal servant wearing ornate but highly functional armor told the visiting lord mayor of a nearby town. "But if it¡¯s like the fireball from the beginning, there¡¯s a chance the people here could be badly wounded."


    "I¡¯m not a coward, Vestil," the mayor snapped, raising up on his serpentine tail and turning his dark, unblinking eyes on his bearish guardian. "I won¡¯t be seen cowering from these animals who profane the arena with their fanaticism!"


    "Not cowering, master," his guard pleaded. "But remembering to preserve your own life so that you may continue to fight for your town and protect your people. Look, Lord Mayor Teague has already withdrawn to the refreshment tables. Perhaps you could join him there?"


    "You¡¯re serious, aren¡¯t you Vestil?" The serpentine mayor said with a dark frown. "Very well, since Mayor Teague has already stepped aside, then I can join him for a cup of wine..."


    Heila also recognized the nature of the cultist¡¯s sacrifice, but unlike the sorcerers in the audience, she knew what someone like the Mother of Thorns, Ashlynn or even Jacques and Talauia could do with the amount of magical energy Ropati would have at his command if all nine of his companions succeeded in their suicidal madness.


    "Don¡¯t think I¡¯ll let you," Heila muttered as she tucked her wand away and drew the coiled whip at her hip. While flames engulfed the second cultist, Heila prepared to deal with the rest.


    "By power bound in willow¡¯s heart,


    Let supple branches weave and dart.


    Nine tongues of wood to strike and bind,


    Hurl rituals of ash far behind!"


    A brilliant silvery-green light surrounded her whip as she lashed out at the remaining cultists. That energy twisted and grew until the single willow whip now sported nine distinct branches, each twisting and writhing with the grace of a striking adder.


    In the stands, members of the scaled clan roared with pride, their tails thumping excitedly against the ground.


    "Look, look," an enthusiastic man on one of the upper levels, holding his son up high so he could see over the crowd. "It looks just like High Lady Erna¡¯s spell when she bound those wicked men! The Willow Witch sees the strength of the Scaled Clan!"


    The tendrils of Heila¡¯s nine tailed whip shot unerringly at the staves held by the seven remaining cultists while two others attempted to bind Ropati before he could do anything further.


    -SNAP- -CRACK-


    The sound of Heila¡¯s striking whip rolled across the arena like thunder and of the seven tails aimed at the staves of the cultists, six wrapped themselves around the dark, twisted weapons, wrenching them out of the hands of the cultists and hurling them over the arena wall, into the stands among the spectators who reached out with eager hands, catching them as if they were prizes offered by the Willow Witch herself.


    Only Ropati and the final man from Uksel¡¯s trio escaped with their weapons in hand, lashing out with gouts of flame that seared away three of the whip¡¯s nine tails.


    "Niave," Ropati spat. "Merciful, weak and naive."


    "Into the mountain¡¯s hungering maw,


    Your bodies fall, your spirits raw.


    Through flame and ash you¡¯ll serve my need, S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As power flows from those who bleed!"


    Flames erupted around the leader of the cultists forming a ring of fire that resembled the gaping maw of an apocalyptic beast, poised to swallow his fellow cultists whole. The earth cracked, belching forth noxious, sulferous clouds that coiled around the remaining cultists, leeching their life and power from their bodies with every breath they took. And at the center of it all, Ropati stood, his arms held wide open while his eyes began to smolder with a hunted, infernal blaze.


    In her private box, High Lady Erna slid off of her gilded throne, gathering iridescent energy to her hands as she prepared to intervene. Already, this battle had violated several traditions of the arena and only Heila¡¯s calm, capable handling of the situation along with Ashlynn and Nyrielle¡¯s reassuring presences had given her reason to allow this to play out.


    But now, seeing the dark, gaping maw formed by a ring of noxious flames and feeling the power flowing toward the leader of these madmen, she felt that if she did not act, she would loose the only chance she had.


    "Wait, please," Ashlynn said, leaving her own gilded seat to join High Lady Erna at the railing. "This moment is important for Heila," she said, looking down at her diminutive friend with a complicated gaze.


    Thus far, Heila had won all of her victories without killing any of her opponents, and while she had been forced to kill many times in the corrupted trial she faced from the Ancient Willow and her predecessor Cecile, there was a difference between killing a person in a vision and taking a life in reality.


    It was a cruel lesson, but one that Ashlynn had been forced to learn herself when she confronted Sir Kaefin at Owain¡¯s summer villa. Now, it was Heila¡¯s turn to face this dark right of passage, but at least she had made preparations to take this step. Ashlynn didn¡¯t know how it would affect Heila if they swooped in now to resolve matters on her behalf, but she was afraid that it would form a scar that could haunt Heila for years to come.


    "Mistress Nyrielle and I will help safeguard the people if it is necessary," Ashlynn promised. "But right now, this is Heila¡¯s fight and I still believe that she can resolve it."


    "You¡¯ve already healed my people once tonight," Erna said, lowering her hands and dismissing the iridescent energy. "But she had better resolve this soon... I don¡¯t know how much longer we can give her before that man becomes an uncontrollable calamity."

 Chapter 380: Medicine and Poison

    Chapter 380: Medicine and Poison"Please, please be fast enough," Heila whispered as she released her whip and pulled a vial of concentrated willow bark tea from a loop on her war hat. There wasn¡¯t enough here to serve as more than emergency medicine for a single person or to dull pain for half a dozen people with minor injuries, but she didn¡¯t intend to force the dark, bitter liquid down her opponent¡¯s throat. She only needed it to serve as a guide for what would come next.


    "With power stored in willow¡¯s veins,


    Where nature¡¯s mercy soothes all pains,


    Let every branch pour forth its heart,


    Till gentle cures tear flesh apart,


    Let healing¡¯s flood rise swift and strong,


    Till peace becomes death¡¯s endless song."


    Despite the dire nature of her current circumstances and the deadly threat posed by Ropati and his men, moisture gathered in Heila¡¯s eyes as she used magic that she¡¯d told Amahle she hated learning.


    "It¡¯s wrong to use healing this way," Heila had protested when Amahle demonstrated the difference between a using a few small drops of numbing tincture on a feral rat after diluting them in water and the heart-stopping effect of giving the rat twices as much of the pure, undiluted medicine.


    "Dead is dead, sugar," the older witch said, using her spider-like limbs to remove the deceased rat so she could focus her attention on Heila. "There is a line between cruelty and mercy, and it should rarely be crossed, but a man who dies of an arrow to the heart does not envy the man who died from the blow of an ax. Dead is dead."


    "But if I use a healer¡¯s arts to kill," Heila protested. "Then who will trust me when I come to heal them? How... how can I grant mercy to my enemies when they don¡¯t need to die if they see me use my healer¡¯s arts as a weapon?"


    "One day, you will be a great witch, little Heila," Amahle reassured her. "Your deeds will be known, among your allies and your enemies alike. But so long as you prepare to fight the humans and their Church, I doubt they will pay attention to anything beyond the horns on your head and the hooves on your feet. So pay them no mind and do what you desire. Their thoughts do not bind your hands."


    At the time, she wasn¡¯t sure whether she believed Amahle or not, but she was at least willing to learn, even if she privately thought she would never use such magic. The difference between medicine and poison could be very, very slight and often times, it was simply a matter of dosage that determined whether something would bring about a healing miracle or a deadly curse.


    Now, the willow trees in the grove shook, swaying their branches and offering up thousands of tiny glittering motes of energy as she gathered up more than one hundred times the amount of healing essense a man could endure and blew it on a gentle breeze toward the burning cultist.


    Defeating a spell like this, for a trained sorcerer, and particularly a sorcerer with the power of wind or flames, would be far too easy. And yet, because Ropati had opened himself up to the flow of energy from his dying underlings, he was left vulnerable, unable to filter out the toxic overdose that flowed into his pores and smoke scarred lungs along with the energy he received from the minions he¡¯d callously sacrificed.


    Ropati had always imagined that when death found him, it would be accompanied by the searing pain of volcanic flames as he offered his body to the primordial flames of the earth, deep within their mountain home. Yet now that death finally found him, it wasn¡¯t pain he felt, but a calming, blissful numbness that enveloped his body and mind like a warm, cotton blanket on a cold winter¡¯s night.


    Power surged and flared, running rampantly out of control as soon as the cultist leader lost consciousness. The ground beneath his feet seethed and boiled as the soft earth of the willow grove dried out and crumbled away, revealing bubbling, boiling sands of the arena floor, now hot enough to melt and fuse. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Flames engulfed Ropati¡¯s body as he collapsed, his charred remains trapped in the rapidly cooling liquid glass beneath him. For several heartbeats, the arena held its collective breath, watching as the infernal energies he¡¯d stolen from his companions raged out of control, seeking new vessels to contain them.


    Two of his companions, already grievously wounded by Heila¡¯s icy barrage, offered no resistance as that wild energy coursed through their bodies. The combination of their frozen wounds and their leader¡¯s final betrayal proved too much to endure. They collapsed where they stood, their bodies withering like leaves on the autumn wind as the last of their life force drifted away like smoke from a snuffed flame.


    The remaining five cultists fared better, though none escaped unscathed. As the stolen power dissipated into the night air, each man slumped to the ground, their skin growing sallow and wrinkled as though they¡¯d aged several years in mere moments. Their chests still rose and fell with shallow breaths, but the price of surviving their leader¡¯s betrayal had been etched into their flesh, aging them far beyond their years and leaving them too weak to practice more than basic sorcery for the remainder of their lives.


    On the first floor, Emmie jumped up and down excitedly while the audience erupted into cheers. "Father, father," she said, tugging fiercely on his tunic. "Can I get another whip? One with nine tailes, like the Willow Whip¡¯s lash. Please father, please, I won¡¯t ask for anything else all year!"


    Inwardly, the veteran gladiator groaned. He had faced down countless champions on the sands of this very arena, but against this foe, he felt as helpless as a hornless kit, completely unable to defend himself against thos soft, pleading eyes.


    "We¡¯ll see what father can find," he said, reaching out to ruffle his daughter¡¯s hair. He was certain that within a day or two, the vendors outside the arena would have new replicas to sell. But maybe... maybe this time he would have to find something less impressive than the chain whip he¡¯d bought his daughter the first time.


    Nine tails looked impressive, but without any kind of witchcraft to guide them, it felt like a disaster waiting to happen and he couldn¡¯t bear to see his little hayseed injured while she struggled to learn such a difficult weapon.


    "But wouldn¡¯t it be better," he said as he spotted a trio of merchants cheering nearby. They were the first people that Lady Nyrielle had met with yet they hadn¡¯t been invited to High Lady Erna¡¯s private box to watch the fight from the best seats in the arena which should mean that they hadn¡¯t been elevated beyond his means to approach.


    "Wouldn¡¯t it be better if father could find a way for you to meet the Willow Whip?" He said, giving his daughter a confident look.


    "Can you? Can you really?" Emmie asked, bouncing up and down enough that she was able to meet his eyes directly at the apex of her jumps. "Father, please, please, I¡¯ll do anything, I¡¯ll even..."


    "Hush now," he said as he scooped her up into his arms. "Wait until I have results before you offer up something. Come, let me see if these fellows would be willing to make an introduction..."

 Chapter 381: The Weight of Victory (Part One)

    Chapter 381: The Weight of Victory (Part One)Time passed, though Heila wasn¡¯t entirely sure how much. Everything after she unleashed her killing spell on Ropati felt blurry and indistinct, leaving her unsure what had been a dream and what really happened. She had vague memories of Ashlynn descending directly from High Lady Erna¡¯s private box to the arena below, walking on a stairway made of drifting willow leaves, but perhaps her mind had been playing tricks on her at that point and she¡¯d already lost consciousness.


    All she knew was that she¡¯d won, and more importantly, she stopped the men from the Cauldron of Flame before they could unleash any truly devastating magic that threatened the lives of everyone in the arena that night. That realization had been enough for her to slip into a deep slumber filled with hazy, half remembered dreams for the past... well, she wasn¡¯t sure how long had passed.


    When her pale, grass-green eyes fluttered open, she found herself lying in an ornate bed that seemed to stretch forever in all directions, its luxurious size making her diminutive form appear even smaller amid the sea of silk sheets and plush pillows. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warmth keeping the brisk autumn day at bay while heavy curtains had been drawn tight against the bright midday sun. Near the fire, Ashlynn sat at a small writing desk, her quill moving steadily across several important-looking letters until she noticed Heila stirring.


    Heila¡¯s body felt stiff, like she¡¯d been in the oversized bed for more than just eight to ten hours since the conclusion of her battle in the arena and the dry feeling in her throat made it even more apparent that she¡¯d been asleep for quite some time. All of which suggested that this wasn¡¯t the day after her fight in the arena, but, perhaps the day after that? Had she really worn her self out so much that she¡¯d slept an entire day away?


    "Good morning," Ashlynn said gently, setting down her pen and leaving the small writing desk in Heila¡¯s chambers to come to her friend¡¯s side. "Here," she said after pouring a small cup of weak herbal tea. "It¡¯s not hot, but it¡¯s one of Amahle¡¯s blends to restore strength after a long rest."


    "How long of a rest?" Heila asked after drinking almost the entire cup of tea at once. Now that she was awake, her memories of her final moments in the arena came back in a flood, pulling another, far more pressing question from her lips.


    "Those men, the ones Ropati tried to... harvest. Was I able to...?" Heila¡¯s voice trailed off as she couldn¡¯t bring herself to ask the words. In her final moments before she lost consciousness, she¡¯d done her best to ensure that Ropati¡¯s horrific ritual was completely dispersed and that it couldn¡¯t claim the lives of his companions but she had no idea whether or not she¡¯d succeeded.


    "They survived," Ashlymm said gently while she refilled Heila¡¯s cup with more tea. "They will never recover what that man took from them, and their lives will be much shorter because of it. They are lucky to have had you for an opponent," Ashlynn added.


    Her hands trembled slightly as she set down the pitcher, remembering how she¡¯d found Heila after the battle. Heila lay where she¡¯d collapsed on the arena sands, her face pale as milk while silvery-green energy still flowed from her fingertips as she tried desperately to heal the surviving cultists.


    Even at the edge of unconsciousness, Heila continued reaching out with her magic until Ashlynn wrapped her in a tender embrace and smoothly took over Heila¡¯s connection to the wounded men. Restoring what they had lost was impossible, and even if it was possible, Ashlynn had learned how painfully high the price could be for healing truly grevious wounds when she¡¯d been confronted by visions of Ollie losing an arm in the Ancient Willow¡¯s trial.


    Now, she was willing to do what was necessary to preserve these men¡¯s lives, since Heila wished to do so, but there were limits to how far she would attempt to go, and it seemed that Heila had yet to learn where those limits lay for her.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said in a voice that held firmness she rarely used with her close loved ones. "I don¡¯t mind that you tried to heal them after the battle was ended. You wouldn¡¯t be the woman I know if you hadn¡¯t. But I need you to be more cautious when you do. Ask me for help. Have them brought away to a place where they can be treated and take some time to tend to your own wounds first," she said, taking Heila¡¯s small hand in her own and holding it tight.


    "You¡¯ve been asleep for three days because you pushed yourself when you had very little left within you," Ashlynn explained. "I won¡¯t ever tell you not to show mercy, but please, please ask yourself whether or not you can afford to before you do."


    For a few moments, Heila said nothing there as she pondered Ashlynn¡¯s words. Part of her wanted to argue. The longer a wound was left to fester, the more difficult it was to heal. Acting immediately might be the only chance she would have. But, Ashlynn was right that she could have asked for help. If she¡¯d turned to her friend and asked that those men¡¯s lives be spared, the result might have been exactly the same. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Heila said after thinking for several minutes more. "I, I think I wanted to do it myself... to, to make up for hurting them. If, if they died fighting," she said with tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "That would have been one thing. But what was done to them, that was far too cruel, and if it wasn¡¯t for me interrupting their first ritual then maybe..."


    "No, none of that," Ashlynn said. Gently, she pulled back the blankets and slid into bed next to Heila, gathering the diminutive witch into a tender embrace. "You aren¡¯t the one who used that cruel ritual on them, so don¡¯t blame yourself for that. You fought openly in a clear match of strength. That night, you embodied what the people of the High Fen expect a Champion of the Arena to be, so you have nothing to feel shame over, all right?"


    For several moments, Ashlynn gazed deeply into Heila¡¯s grass green eyes. She knew that this battle, particularly with Nyrielle¡¯s instruction that she didn¡¯t need to leave these men alive, had been a heavy challenge for the first member of her coven.


    Now, as she watched a whirlpool of complex emotions swirling in her younger friend¡¯s eyes, she only hoped that she hadn¡¯t pushed her too far when she stopped High Lady Erna from interfering in the fight. This battle had been a test for Heila in more ways than one, and Ashlynn held her breath as she waited to see if her friend could learn what she needed to. Otherwise, the price of victory would be far, far higher than anything that they had gained from it and Ashlynn would blame herself forever for breaking the heart of her closest friend.

 Chapter 382: The Weight of Victory (Part Two)

    Chapter 382: The Weight of Victory (Part Two)"I know," Heila said, closing her eyes and snuggling into Ashlynn¡¯s warm, comforting embrace. "I used healing magic to kill a man," she said, opening her eyes and looking briefly at her petite, delicate hands. "I filled him so full of healing magic that his body failed him, and I just, I just wanted to..."


    "It¡¯s all right," Ashlynn said softly as sobs shook her friend¡¯s petite figure. "I understand wanting to use your hands to do something good after doing something that felt so bad."


    "It wasn¡¯t like in the visions," Heila sniffed. "In the visions, no matter how real it felt, I knew it wasn¡¯t real. So I just, I just wanted to do whatever it would take to make the visions stop. But this time I felt... I felt like I was connected to him while he died. I could feel the energy flowing through him, destroying him bit by bit. Because of me. Because I was doing it to him."


    "And?" Ashlynn asked gently as she stroked her friend¡¯s horns in long, slow strokes from the base of the horn all the way to the tip, just the way Heila said her parents once had whenever she felt sad or lonely. "Do you think you made the right decision?" S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Mmmm," Heila said with a slight nod. "If I didn¡¯t stop him then, he might have done something far worse. He might have hurt the spectators again or lashed out at you or... or something even worse."


    "But it still bothers you, doesn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn asked.


    "It does," the diminutive witch reluctantly admitted. "Did it bother you? When you fought Owain¡¯s knights or the Tuscans on the lake?"


    "It did," Ashlynn said. "Time helps. Memories fade with time. The feelings aren¡¯t as sharp. You gain perspective too. I thought a lot about what happened between me and Sir Kaefin at the Summer Villa, and about what happened between me and Sir Broll when we fought afterward."


    "There are other things I might have done at the time, if I¡¯d thought of them," Ashlynn admitted. "In hindsight, I wasn¡¯t a very good spy, even if I thought I was being very clever. I wasn¡¯t a very good warrior on the lake either."


    "But you did your best," Heila protested, squirming in Ashlynn¡¯s embrace until she could turn around and face her friend. "You protected me and Hauke and even Virve in the end. You saved us from them."


    "And you saved countless people in the arena that night," Ashlynn pointed out. "Because of you, the children in the audience weren¡¯t harmed. In fact, there¡¯s one that would very much like to meet with you. I told her that when you¡¯re feeling better, then if you¡¯d like, she can join us for a meal at one of the smaller arenas. She said that you¡¯re her hero."


    "Me?" Heila asked, confused that someone would want to meet her and that they would consider her worthy of being a hero. "Why does she want to meet me so badly?"


    "Because she¡¯s a young girl whose horns haven¡¯t grown in yet," Ashlynn said with a smile. "And you¡¯re the first woman from the Horned Clan that she¡¯s ever seen fight so many strong men in the arena. She even pressured her father into buying her a chain whip so she could practice with your signature weapon," Ashlynn teased lightly.


    "So, it¡¯s all right if you feel different things about your battle," Ashlynn said gently as she tousled Heila¡¯s soft curls. "You can feel bad that you had to use healing arts as a weapon, and that your opponent had to die to bring things to an end. You can feel glad that you protected a little girl and her smile. You can feel sad for the men who had their life and sorcery stripped away from them. You can feel all of those things and more," she said. "Because those are all feelings that flow from your heart, and you wouldn¡¯t be you if your heart couldn¡¯t feel all those things."


    "Thank you, Mother," Heila said, settling back into Ashlynn¡¯s tender embrace. "Did you learn all this from Aunt Amahle? You feel even more like a second mother to me than when I first received my seed from you."


    "Some of it," Ashlynn admitted. "Big Sister Amahle had many things to teach me about leading a coven of my own, and taking care of all of my ¡¯children¡¯ is part of it, even if you¡¯re not that much younger than me," she said with a soft smile.


    "But much of what I¡¯ve learned about killing," she added. "That comes from long conversations with Nyrielle. If it would help you, you can talk to her about this as well."


    Heila¡¯s first thought was to refuse immediately. Growing up, Lady Nyrielle had been the highest, most important, most unapproachable existence in the Vale of Mists. Even after becoming Ashlynn¡¯s personal servant and then her lady-in-waiting, she¡¯d spent most of her time in Lady Nyrielle¡¯s presence standing or sitting quietly with Zedya, ready to serve in whatever way might be required.


    But now, as the Willow Witch and a member of Ashlynn¡¯s family, the gap between her and Lady Nyrielle wasn¡¯t quite so large. In which case...


    "I think I¡¯d like that," Heila said. "But, I don¡¯t need to rush. We¡¯ll have time together on the road home, won¡¯t we? I can talk to her then."


    "I think that¡¯s a very wise decision," Ashlynn replied, giving Heila a final squeeze before she slipped out of bed. "Plenty of time once you¡¯ve had a chance to sort out your own thoughts first. For now, even though I¡¯ve given you some rich broth the past few days, I think you¡¯d feel much, much better after a bath and a meal, don¡¯t you?"


    "I would," Heila said, pulling the blanket up all the way to her nose as she tried to hide her embarrassment under the blankets. She hadn¡¯t washed for three days while lying in bed! And her lady had slipped under the blankets to comfort her even then. Her face burned with embarrassment and she wanted nothing more than to hide before she could embarrass herself more, but Ashlynn ruthlessly pulled back the blankets and tugged Heila out of bed.


    "Come, we can both wash up," she said with a bright smile. "And then we can have a nice, big meal. You want to hear about everything else that¡¯s happened while you were asleep, don¡¯t you?"


    "Has a lot happened?" Heila asked, firmly pushing down her embarrassment as she followed Ashlynn to wash up. "What have I missed?"


    "Well, where should I begin?" Ashlynn asked with a mischievous glimmer in her emerald eyes as they walked side by side into the marble-tiled washroom. "You know, Zedya..."

 Chapter 383: Night Off

    Chapter 383: Night OffThe night following Heila¡¯s victory, Captain Lennart roused himself from an afternoon nap and prepared to greet the setting sun before a long night of work began. Last night¡¯s events at the arena had left the men from the Vale of Mists on edge, each of them recalling the suicidal madness in the eyes of the cultists who willingly sacrificed themselves for the chance that one of their members could defeat Heila and bring her under their control.


    The High Fen had always been welcoming for Lady Nyrielle and after the grand welcome they received on their first night, both he and his men had begun to relax. After months of travel, fighting, and assembling Nyrielle¡¯s ragtag army of defeated zealots and cryptic devotees, they were just weeks away from home.


    Tonight, according to the agenda that Heila had provided him with, he hoped that things would be quieter. Nyrielle and Ashlynn were due to dine with High Lady Erna and several lord mayors of the High Fen in what should be an evening far removed from the danger of places where powerful champions gathered.


    Still, he wasn¡¯t comfortable until he¡¯d donned a light coat of mail and secured his fighting gauntlets in place at his hips. He hoped that he wouldn¡¯t need either, but if violence broke out at what was supposed to be a dinnertime negotiation, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time it happened on this trip.


    When he presented himself at Nyrielle¡¯s chambers, however, he was surprised to find Zedya waiting outside Nyrielle¡¯s door wearing an elegant fur coat over a modestly cut dress in deep, rich purple silk and crimson lace, looking like she was prepared for a night outdoors.


    "Hello, Lenny," the amethyst eyed vampire said. Her voice was warm and gentle and her pale skin held the healthy glow that said she¡¯d fed the night before, but even a recent feeding couldn¡¯t account for the... softness he felt from her tonight.


    "Has there been a change in plans tonight, Madame Zedya?"


    "There has," Zedya teased, placing a finger underneath the bearish man¡¯s chin and leading him back the way he¡¯d come. "You won¡¯t need your armor tonight, or your weapons. Tonight, you¡¯ll accompany me. Come," she said with a smile that lit up her plain features as though the moon had appeared from behind clouds just to shine on her. "You should get changed."


    "Where are we going, Madame Zedya?" Lennart asked as he fell in comfortably behind and to Zedya¡¯s left side, taking a position to protect her vulnerable side even if she had little need of his protection. "Should I dress for the cold?" he added, hoping to get some details from her.


    "A warm coat would be a good idea," she acknowledged. "But please, Mistress Nyrielle isn¡¯t here. It¡¯s fine if it¡¯s just ¡¯Zedya¡¯ tonight. Unless you¡¯d prefer I call you ¡¯Captain¡¯ all night long?" S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Zedya then," he said, still puzzled by what she was up to this evening. If Lady Nyrielle had sent Madame Zedya on an important errand tonight, he could understand why he was being sent with her, especially if they would be retrieving something valuable from one of the merchants that Nyrielle had met with the night before. But if that was the case, why tell him to change out of his armor?


    Fifteen minutes later, as Zedya led him into one of the small carriages reserved for guests of the palace, he was no closer to understanding her intentions. She¡¯d nodded approvingly at his choice of midnight blue tunic and the long-waisted, fur-trimmed coat he wore over it, but she¡¯d given him no other hints about where they were going or why.


    "You can relax, Lenny," Zedya said as she relaxed into the cushions of her seat in the carriage, watching the flicker of warm golden lamplight and cooler moonlight spill across Lennart¡¯s features as the carriage navigated its way through the busy nightlife of High Fen City.


    "Lady Ashlynn and the Thistle Witch are taking turns watching over little Heila," Zedya explained. "Brother Ignatious is watching over Lady Nyrielle tonight and Captain Virve agreed to take your place since Lady Ashlynn has no need of her while she¡¯s tending to Heila. Tonight, you and I have been given the evening off to enjoy ourselves in High Fen City."


    As their carriage turned onto one of the broad avenues leading away from the palace, they passed a smaller arena that catered to those patrons who were wealthy enough to recruit champions from outside of High Fen City. At the moment, several members of the Black Wolf Brigade surrounded two of their companions, egging them on and all but shoving them toward the reception counter to register themselves as fighters for the evening.


    "Do it, do it! Coward! Show these city folk that Master Savis isn¡¯t the only strength the Black Wolf Brigade possesses," one man said, poking his companion¡¯s large, muscular arms. "Didn¡¯t you say that you were the strongest in the squad? Prove it!"


    "Come on, boss," another Golden Eyed soldier said, his tail standing straight up as he joined the dogpile on his nominal superior. "Show us young bloods how it¡¯s done!"


    "But, we¡¯ve only just arrived," Lennart protested as the carriage rolled far enough away that the boisterous soldiers were no longer in earshot. Some people might be able to enjoy a night off so soon after arriving, but when he thought of the number of things that Lady Nyrielle needed to accomplish during their short stay, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of guilt at rushing off to some kind of recreation while others were still working so hard. "There are still so many things that need doing, even if we¡¯re not tending to Lady Nyrielle then..."


    "Lenny," Zedya interrupted, leaning across the gap between the carriage seets to place a hand on his shoulder as her amethyst eyes softened. "How long have you served Lady Nyrielle now? How long have you gone wherever she goes, barely sleeping so you can protect us while we sleep and then standing by all through the night."

 Chapter 384: Years of Service

    Chapter 384: Years of Service"It¡¯s not as bad as you make it sound, Mada-, er, Zedya," Lennart said, waving it off as though it was only a minor inconvenience. "When I was a young man, twenty years ago or so, all I ever had to do was stand where Captain Bassinger told me to, before he became the Commander of the Vale. Once it was my turn to tell the young ones where to stand, I only need to spend a few hours during the day attending to matters so that I can be at My Lady¡¯s side all night."


    "Twenty years you¡¯ve done this," Zedya said, a complicated expression flickering across her face as she watched the sights of the city passing by outside the windows. Their carriage slowed as it navigated through a busy market square. Children from the Clan of Painted Masks darted between stalls, wielding toy whips as they reenacted Heila¡¯s victories. One small girl had even painted her face with markings meant to look like the Willow Witch¡¯s horns.


    "In all that time," Zedya said softly. "You¡¯ve never married. You have no children at home waiting for your return, no lover writing you letters or looking after your home... you¡¯ve given all of those things up so you can remain at Lady Nyrielle¡¯s side."


    "The Vale of Mists would have been lost without her long ago," Lennart said with a gentle shake of his head. "Every time she travels, whether it¡¯s to Airgead Mountain and the Southern Step or here across the mountains, it¡¯s because she needs to obtain something for the Vale that will help keep our people safe from the humans and their constant thirst for conquest."


    "Some of us have to take up this burden, supporting her while she does so much to care for us," he said, placing a large paw over Zedya¡¯s hand on his shoulder. "I may have given up things that most men would want, but in return, I¡¯ve seen more of the world than almost anyone born in the Vale in more than a century. There are wonders out here that my childhood friends have never seen and could barely understand. It hasn¡¯t been a bad trade."


    "But how much longer can you do it," Zedya said softly, pulling her hand out from under his to trace it along the still tender scar on his face from the battle at the Tangled Tower. "How many more times will you venture across the mountains with Lady Nyrielle and I? How many more chances will you have to take a night off in a city like High Fen City?"


    "Did Virve tell you?" Lennart asked as he felt like he was starting to understand what Zedya was up to. "This is likely the last time I¡¯ll ever visit High Fen City," he acknowledged. "If I survive the coming war, then it will be time to name a successor and retire. I still have a few good years left in me," he added, flexing a powerful arm that was only slightly softer than it had been five years ago when he entered his thirties.


    "But even if Commander Bassinger retires after this war, I won¡¯t be the one to succeed him," he said. "The Vale of Mists is changing now that Lady Ashlynn has joined us. Nothing will be as it was. Lady Nyrielle and her Seneschal can select the new leaders they¡¯ll need after we finish this war. I know it¡¯s different for you," he said, gently taking her hand between his two large paws.


    "But this is the way life is for people like me. It might be too late to find a wife and start a family by the time it¡¯s all said and done, but there¡¯s still plenty of time to choose a village, build a cottage while away my days on more idle pursuits," he said.


    His voice caught at the end as he tried to imagine being content with ¡¯idle pursuits¡¯ like fishing or keeping a garden, but he was certain that by the time the day arrived, he¡¯d be ready to hang up his claws and enjoy a rest. Assuming the coming war didn¡¯t claim his life before he got there at least. But then, that might not be a bad way for his story to end. To spend his life in battle after so many years as a soldier... a man couldn¡¯t ask for a better ending than that, could he? Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But is that, is that really what you want?" Zedya asked. Her amethyst eyes studied him intently as she listened to the subtle changes in his heartbeat. At times, it faltered slightly and the arteries in his neck jumped when he realized she¡¯d heard about his upcoming retirement. Other times, when his eyes grew distant, she felt a stillness settle over him as he contemplated a future he wouldn¡¯t put into words.


    Even if he wouldn¡¯t say it, she¡¯d known him for far too long to miss the fate that must be running through his mind when he glanced out the window at the radiant, silvery moon hanging in the cloudless night sky. They both knew that, as a soldier on the frontlines of the coming war, he might not survive to enjoy those ¡¯idle pursuits¡¯ he mentioned and from the way his fur twitched and quickly settled down, the notion didn¡¯t seem entirely uncomfortable to him.


    "What if..." she hesitated, briefly uncertain about what she had brought him out tonight to say. He seemed comfortable with the places his life might take him in the end but... that didn¡¯t mean she was comfortable with them. There were some things, however, that were taboo for any person of the Vale of Mists to ever ask a vampire and after so many years, she knew that Lennart would never ask what he shouldn¡¯t. That meant that if she didn¡¯t broach the topic, no one else ever would.


    "What if there was another option?" Zedya asked, staring directly into her bearish friend¡¯s eyes and watching them tremble as his mind began to process what she was saying. "What if... what if it didn¡¯t have to end that way?"

 Chapter 385: Small Bites

    Chapter 385: Small Bites"What if it didn¡¯t have to end that way?"


    Zedya¡¯s words hung heavily in the carriage and for what felt like several minutes, Lennart forgot to breathe, uncertain if he was hearing the offer he thought he was. His mind raced, conjuring images of Savis, Tausau and the misshapen Clanless progeny he¡¯d created. Despite their defects and deformities, Lennart only dared to face off against the weakest among those vampires, to say nothing of someone like Savis. But, was that really what Zedya was implying?


    Before he could open his mouth to ask, the carriage clattered to a stop outside of a well lit, upscale establishment.


    "We can speak inside," Zedya said as she smoothly exited the carriage with a fluid grace that left Lennart feeling momentarily awkward, as though he had grown a size too large for the delicate palace carriage that clearly hadn¡¯t been designed for people with frames as large as members of the Clan of the Great Claw.


    "Madame Zedya," he said, trying to recover his composure as he held out an arm to escort her through the artistically coiled, wrought-iron gate. The entire establishment, despite it¡¯s location in one of the busier districts of High Fen City, was ringed by well tended gardens and at this time of year, the leaves of several ornamental trees seemed to have draped themselves in the colors of flame from deep yellow to brilliant orange and even dark crimson.


    "As beautiful as the gardens are at night," Zedya said as she allowed Lennart to escort her inside. "I think it would be better for us to dine inside tonight. They¡¯ve prepared a private room for us," she added when they stepped inside the building.


    Polished wooden floors paired with long swaths of soft fabric hanging from the ceiling to give the restaurant a sense of warmth and closeness. Despite the number of patrons occupying the tables, the sounds of conversation were dull and indistinct, broken only by occasional outbursts of laughter or delight as well dressed servants moved about, delivering platters heaped with tasty delights from all corners of the Eldritch world.


    The private room that Zedya requested for them was decorated with simple, refined taste. The oil lamps that hung above the table were dim, casting a circle of gently dancing golden light over the small table for two while leaving the rest of the dining space in shadow. Plants in the corners gave the room a hint of life, as though they¡¯d brought the gardens inside to escape the cold evening breeze to enjoy the comfort of each other¡¯s company.


    "I visited here once with Lady Nyrielle," Zedya mentioned. "The owner retired some years ago, but her daughter assured me that even if the menu isn¡¯t the same as it once was, their standards haven¡¯t fallen from where they were. I hope you don¡¯t mind an evening of tastings with me," she said with a gentle smile.


    "Of course I don¡¯t mind," Lennart said almost automatically as he took his seat. "But, Zedya, what you said in the carriage..."


    "Hush, Lenny," Zedya said with a smile as she relaxed into the soft, overstuffed armchair. "At least until we¡¯ve had our first taste of tonight¡¯s delights," she said, hoping to give him some time to sit with the idea before she made it more real than it had been in the carriage. In truth, she needed some time to steady herself as well. She¡¯d meant to wait to broach the topic until they¡¯d at least sampled a few cups of wine but with the flow of conversation in the carriage, she¡¯d gotten ahead of herself.


    "That¡¯s not fair," Lennart protested with a wounded expression on his face. His ears twitched awkwardly as he tried to sort out the storm of feelings sweeping through his heart while they waited for a servant to arrive with their first course. "At least tell me what prompted this. After all these years, why now when Lady Nyrielle hasn¡¯t taken any Eldritch progeny since the fall of her forty-seven champions?"


    "You said it yourself, Lenny," Zedya said, pausing as the door opened to admit a servant carrying a tray with nearly two dozen small cups. Half of the cups contained a small measure of wine, little more than a single swallow, while the other half held artfully arranged morsels of fresh autumn vegetables, cooked in half a dozen different ways and placed in a way that made it clear that each morsel was to be enjoyed with a specific cup of wine.


    "The Vale is changing now that Lady Ashlynn has arrived," Zedya said as she helped herself to a spoonful of soft parsnip puree followed by a sip of bright, fruity white wine. The puree itself was sweet and nutty with a hint of pepper that clung to the tongue until the fresh, fruity wine cleansed her palette, leaving her wanting more. But tonight, there would be no more of anything as the chef served only a single bite of each dish. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The Vale is changing and some things that feel like they¡¯ve ¡¯always been that way¡¯ will be that way no longer," Zedya continued, her eyes shining in delight as she caught Lennart becoming momentarily distracted by the explosion of flavors on his tongue when he sampled the second dish, a delicate piece of roasted squash rolled in honey, walnuts and savory spices.


    "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed how Lady Nyrielle is changing," Zedya added after savoring her own portion of squash and the sharp, almost citrus-like wine that had been paired with it. "Lady Ashlynn has brought priceless gifts to all of us and as long as she is at Lady Nyrielle¡¯s side, nothing will be as it has been for the past hundred years."


    "Ha ha," Lennart chuckled with a warm smile. "So love really does change a person. I¡¯m happy for Lady Nyrielle. She¡¯s been more, alive I suppose, than I¡¯ve seen her before. But that¡¯s all the more reason to admit when my time has passed," he said with a heavy sigh.


    "The future they build will belong to the heroes of the next war and people like you," he concluded, taking a sip of a rich, chocolaty red wine that seemed to suit the bitterness that accompanied the statement. "If Lady Nyrielle is going to offer a chance to become one of her progeny to any of us, it should be one of the younger up-and-coming soldiers like Harrod who stayed behind to defend young Ollie."


    "Lenny," Zedya said, reaching out and taking his free hand before he could reach for another bite of food. "This isn¡¯t about Mistress Nyrielle. Truthfully, I don¡¯t know if she¡¯ll ever take another person as her progeny unless one of us falls. But Lenny," she said, her amethyst eyes growing moist as she clutched his large paw with both her hands. "Mistress Nyrielle isn¡¯t the only one changing because of Lady Ashlynn¡¯s gifts."


    "And... Mistress Nyrielle isn¡¯t the only vampire who can create progeny of their own," she added in a voice that was so soft, that Lennart almost asked her to repeat herself.


    For as long as Lady Nyrielle had ruled the Vale of Mists, her progeny had occupied almost all of the positions of leadership in the Vale, but not once had any of her progeny given rise to progeny of their own. There were always rumors. Some said that Lady Nyrielle had forbidden it, others speculated that, because her progeny were originally human rather than Eldritch, they weren¡¯t capable of making progeny of their own.


    But now, Lennart realized, Zedya was talking about breaking with more than a century of tradition and taking someone as her first progeny. And the person she¡¯d chosen, was him!

 Chapter 386: Confession

    Chapter 386: Confession"Madame Zedya, I, I don¡¯t, I mean, why, but..." Lennart stammered as he looked into the vampire¡¯s shimmering amethyst eyes. Two desires welled up in his heart, one born of years of service, all but screaming that he should kneel before immediately rejecting the honor that he knew himself to be unworthy of.


    But another desire, one he¡¯d long suppressed when engaging with Lady Nyrielle, Madame Zedya, or any of the rulers of the Vale of Mists, came roaring up even stronger. Slowly, with a paw that trembled slightly at the audacity of the gesture he was about to make, he reached out and gently brushed a tear away from the corner of her eye. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Zedya might stand far above him, but tonight, she¡¯d reminded him in more ways than one that she didn¡¯t want to be ¡¯Madame Zedya¡¯ she wanted to be ¡¯Zedya.¡¯ She took his arm when they walked into the restaurant and walked beside him, not in front of him. And now, they ate together in a way that was more like, old friends, than superior and subordinate.


    "Zedya," he said gently, forcing himself to discard her title even as he desperately wanted to cling to the comfortable distance that formality brought with it. Quickly, he organized his thoughts and mustered the courage to say what needed to be said.


    "Lady Nyrielle chooses people for their unique skills. Sir Thane is a capable knight and commander, Sir Marcell has a vast network of contacts in the human dark market, Sir Ignatious," his voice trailed off as he released a heavy sigh.


    "Zedya, I¡¯m a common soldier," Lennart said, hanging his head low. "A common soldier who is past his prime and will soon be irrelevant. I have more experience than the younger soldiers under my command but anyone you bestow your favor on will rapidly accumulate that kind of experience. So, why? Why choose me?"


    "Not because of what you can do," Zedya said, looking down at the table and taking a drink from a random cup of wine to distract herself before she continued, though her watery amethyst eyes remained firmly on the remaining artistic morsels on the table. "I¡¯m asking you because everything is changing, but, there¡¯s something that I don¡¯t want to change."


    "I would miss you," she said, blinking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her whenever she thought of continuing their travels without Lennart¡¯s steady, reassuring presence beside her. Her heart had nearly exploded in her chest during the battle for the Tangled Tower when she saw a Golden Eyed soldier¡¯s knife barely miss Lennart¡¯s neck, skittering across his jawbone instead. An inch lower and he might have bled out before anyone could reach him to preserve his life, especially after she¡¯d been so badly wounded in her first clash with Savis.


    Memories of that night had haunted her more than once during the trip, and every new conflict, every minor scuffle with a local Eldritch Lord and their elite guards only added to her fears that one day soon, this man would be torn from her world.


    "You¡¯d miss me?" Lennart said, cocking his head in confusion. "I still don¡¯t understand. Before me, you traveled with Commander Bassinger and I¡¯m sure there were others before him as well. You¡¯ve seen at least a dozen men like me come and go, so... why do this now? Why me?"


    "You don¡¯t understand what time does to us," Zedya said. Carefully, she selected a morsel of lightly pickled cucumber that had been cut into a ribbon and then shaped like a flower beginning to bloom. "Eat this," she said, reaching out with her delicate fingers to offer up the bite directly.


    "I, all right," Lennart said, taking a bite and savoring the complex interplay of sweet cucumber, sour vinegar, and a hint of something spicy that tingled across his tongue.


    "Now, keep chewing," Zedya commanded. "Don¡¯t swallow, just keep chewing."


    "Mmm?" Odd as it was, he did as he asked, chewing on the cucumber until it was little more than a wet paste that rapidly lost all of the brilliance and complexity of flavor it had when he took his first bite.


    "I can see it on your face," Zedya said with a sad smile. "You can swallow, you should understand now. For years, our lives were like that. Time wore us down. Everything we felt became dull and faded. Only a few things could still reach the distant places our hearts retreated to in those long years."


    "I didn¡¯t know," Lennart said softly, reaching out to take her hands again. Everyone understood that vampires were cool, distant, and rarely expressed emotion, but he hadn¡¯t realized what it must have felt like to have been as vibrant and... alive as the sweet, sour, spicy flavors of the cucumber had felt and then to slowly see that fade away. "It, it must have been hard."


    "Sometimes, you don¡¯t notice until something is gone," Zedya said. "When you realize that nothing will ever taste like it used to or that your heart will never beat as loudly. But you always reached me," she said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.


    "Remember when we first met? When you were just a young cub, lost in the dark tunnels of the castle?" Zedya asked. "You were worried because you were lost, you were even scared of being in trouble if you got home too late, but you were never once afraid of me."


    "How could I be afraid of you?" Lennart said. "Your eyes were the most beautiful thing I¡¯d ever seen, and they still are. You stepped out of the darkness like a guardian and showed me the way to get home. My parents were so honored that you visited that they told me I¡¯d have to earn a position in Lady Nyrielle¡¯s guard, just to pay you back for the kindness you showed me back then."


    "You didn¡¯t need to," Zedya protested. "I would have done it for anyone who was lost near Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s chambers, but especially for someone who has never once looked at me with the fear that others do. You know," she added, lowering her head again and looking anywhere but at the warm, gentle eyes that seemed so anxious for her from across the table.


    "After the battle at the Tangled Tower, there are soldiers and drivers who give me that look," she said. "The look that says ¡¯I¡¯m glad she¡¯s on our side¡¯ or ¡¯I hope I never upset her.¡¯ After seeing me fight, just once, they don¡¯t see me as Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s handmaiden anymore. They won¡¯t even meet my gaze," she said, looking back up at her bearish companion. "It¡¯s like, they¡¯re afraid that I¡¯ll mesmerize them the way I mesmerized the soldiers of the Black Wolf Brigade."


    "But you would never do that," Lennart said. With one large paw, he held her hands while the other reached across the table to gently caress her cheek, wiping away another tear that threatened to spill from moist eyes. "You¡¯d never hurt the people of the Vale. I¡¯ve seen how much you do for Lady Nyrielle and the people of the Vale. If people think you would hurt them then I¡¯ll..."


    "Hush, Lenny," she said, placing a slender finger on his lips. "Let them say what they will. They aren¡¯t the ones who are important to me. You are. You, who have never looked at me with fear. You, who have given up your chance to be with any women from your clan so you can do as I have done, and dedicate your life to serving Mistress Nyrielle. You who have tirelessly protected me while you¡¯ve been protecting her."


    "Lenny, you have to promise me something," she said, pulling her hands back and growing very stern and very serious. "The secret I¡¯m about to share with you is very, very dangerous. But... you need to know, or you won¡¯t understand... so can you promise for me? Promise that you¡¯ll keep this secret?"

 Chapter 387: An Answer

    Chapter 387: An Answer"Promise that you¡¯ll keep this secret?"


    "You have my word," Lennart said, without the slightest moment of hesitation. "On blood oath if you require it," he added, pullin his hands back to place a sharp claw directly over his own wrist.


    "No, no blood oath," Zedya said quickly, taking his paws in her hands before he could make a move. Right now, as much as she¡¯s stirred up long dormant feelings, she didn¡¯t entirely trust herself if Lennart were to spill blood in front of her. "I trust you, just like I¡¯ve trusted you all these years to watch over us when we sleep. Just understand that this secret isn¡¯t dangerous to me, but to Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn if anyone were to hear of it," she said.


    "Then, should we go somewhere else?" Lennart asked, looking around the private dining room. Between the soft fabric wall hangings and the thick walls, the privacy here felt very good but if the secret were truly dangerous then perhaps they should return to the palace.


    "I¡¯ll hear anyone who comes close enough to overhear," Zedya said, though she still stood up from her chair, her silk skirts whispering as she crossed the small dining room to stand next to Lennart. Warmth radiated off his body, and for a moment, she placed a hand on his strong, muscular shoulder just to steady herself as she inhaled the complex scents that clung to him. His fur smelled soft and warm and standing so close to him felt momentarily like the days long past, when she¡¯d been able to laze about in the tall grass under the sun on days she wasn¡¯t working in the Baron¡¯s castle. Underneath that warmth, he carried the sharper, metallic scent of his armor while the faint scent of the oil he used to maintain his equipment clung to him like an echo of the duty he¡¯d carried for so many years.


    Standing this close to him, she was almost the same height standing as he was sitting down, and her entire torso pressed against his sculpted, muscular arm as she leaned in close enough to brush her lips across the light fur covering his round ears.


    "It isn¡¯t Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s love of Ashlynn that¡¯s responsible for her change," Zedya whispered. "It¡¯s the act of feeding on the blood of such a powerful witch that has restored Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s ability to feel... and she¡¯s discovered how to share that gift with other vampires. I was the first one that she shared Lady Ashlynn¡¯s gift with," she said quietly before returning to her seat. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That¡¯s why I¡¯m saying this now," Zedya explained. "Because, even though you¡¯ve been one of the most precious people to me for the longest time, I couldn¡¯t feel anything strongly enough to break out of our separate roles. I was always going to be a handmaiden, you would be a soldier and we would live out the lives that fate had given us."


    "But now, you don¡¯t feel that way anymore?" Lennart said as he took Zedya¡¯s hands back in his own. "And that¡¯s why you want to take me as your first progeny?"


    "My only progeny," Zedya said with a slight shake of her head. "I don¡¯t intend to be like Tausau or Hamdi. I don¡¯t need to build a whole new family. But when this happened," she added, reaching up to gently trace the tender scar along his jaw. "I started to worry that something would snatch you away from me. I feel like, all of the sudden, I¡¯m running out of time. And with the war coming," she said, her voice trailing off as she looked deep into Lennart¡¯s warm, soft eyes.


    "I want you to have a chance to be as strong as I am, or even stronger," Zedya said. "I want to do everything I can so you and I both get through everything that¡¯s about to happen. And then, when Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn rebuild the Vale, I want to share that with you, how ever far in the future it is. I, I don¡¯t want to miss you," she finished in a voice that had grown as quiet as a whisper.


    For several minutes, Lennart sat there quietly, holding Zedya¡¯s hands and wrestling with everything she had told him. After twenty years, from the time he was a fresh recruit until now, he had served near Lady Nyrielle and he knew Zedya and the other vampires of the Vale fairly well. He¡¯d even become acquainted with other vampires outside the Vale and so he had noticed the changes in Nyielle months ago.


    But it was one thing to notice changes, it was something else entirely to understand them. Especially understanding that the changes had occurred because Lady Nyrielle had fed on the blood of a powerful witch.


    Before he could put any of his thoughts into words, a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of another flight of small dishes, accompanied by even more small cups of wine. This time, it looked like a flight of small meat dishes, some of which were entirely raw while others gave off a rich, fatty aroma after having been slow cooked until the meat was tender enough to fall apart on the tongue.


    "These changes," Lennart asked after savoring a spoonful of chilled beef tartar that felt so rich on his tongue that he wasn¡¯t sure he could have eaten a second bite if there had been one available. "Will they fade with time? If something happens to Lady Ashlynn..."


    "Likely," Zedya said, poking at her own tartar before taking a bite. While the flavors were good, she never found herself able to enjoy raw dishes the way Lennart seemed to enjoy this one. Something about raw meat was close enough to feeding that it felt somehow lacking. If she truly wanted raw, she would sink her fangs directly into someone¡¯s flesh and savor the sweet richness of their blood. But perhaps this was as close as someone could get to understanding what it was like for vampires to sink their fangs into the flesh of someone still alive.


    "Nothing is truly eternal," Zedya said. "Even we can be killed and die. We may need to receive regular infusions of her gift in order to keep feeling the way I do now. Perhaps every year, or decade. We don¡¯t know yet."


    "And if I become one of your progeny, this will work on me?" Lennart asked hesitantly, trying to cover the awkwardness of the conversation by focusing on which dish to try next.


    "It worked on Tausau," Zedya said confidently. "There¡¯s no reason it wouldn¡¯t work for you."


    "Do you need an answer tonight?" Lennart asked, scooping up a spoonful of succulent pork belly in a sticky red sauce that melted as soon as it touched his tongue.


    "I wouldn¡¯t accept any answer you gave me," Zedya said, shaking her head vigorously enough to send her light brown tresses dancing. "If you said no, I would ask you to spend a few days thinking and then, I¡¯d talk to you again to see if I could respond to your doubts. If you said yes, I would ask you to spend a few days thinking, to see if any doubts appeared, and then we would discuss those too."


    "So either way, you won¡¯t take any answer from me tonight," Lennart said with a belly shaking laugh. "You¡¯ve always been the wise one I can turn to for advice, and taking time to think it over sounds wise. But if I become your progeny, what does that make us? Will you be a wise old councilor for the rest of our days?"


    "Right now, you¡¯ll be my very best and dearest friend," Zedya said with the same radiant smile she¡¯d displayed when Lennart first arrived outside her door. "You¡¯ll be the first person I trusted with my whole heart and the only one I want to spend the rest of my days with, no matter how many days the future holds."


    "But, if you say yes, I don¡¯t think things will stay the same between us forever," Zedya added with a mischievous grin. "I¡¯ve seen how a bond of blood has drawn Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn together much more quickly than most couples form. Maybe you and I, we¡¯d be the same," she said in a tone that felt teasing, but held a core of genuine feeling beneath that.


    "Time to think about it," Lennart said after nearly choking on a piece of pepper crusted beef when he heard Zedya¡¯s answer. "But, if we were closer," he said after taking a swallow of wine. "I think that would make me very happy, whether I was one of your progeny or not."

 Chapter 388: Comfortable Companions

    Chapter 388: Comfortable CompanionsAfter the intense conversation, both Zedya and Lennart pulled back a little, enjoying the small bites of their meal until they were once again interrupted by a knock at the door and the return of their server, this time bearing a flight of artfully prepared fruits and small cups of ale and cider.


    "Master Lennart," the servant said, offering a deep bow. "Of all the dishes you sampled in the previous flight, the chef would like to know which was your favorite?"


    "Just me?" Lennart said, blinking in surprise. "Perhaps you should ask Madame Zedya first," he said, feeling a touch uncomfortable with the attention. Zedya had made the arrangements, and given the level of luxury and service here, he was certain that they understood which of them was more important, so why start with him?


    "It¡¯s fine, Lenny," Zedya said with a light, musical laugh. "I asked them to serve things out of order for us tonight so you could pick a favorite meat dish. The chef will prepare a full portion of that dish for you as a main. I might be fine with single bites," she said with a smile that revealed a hint of her fangs. "But this isn¡¯t an ideal menu for you. So choose what you like and I¡¯ll keep you company during the next course. Then we can have desserts together."


    "Oh," Lennart said with a hearty, belly-shaking laugh. "In that case, the pepper-crusted steak was perfect. But are you really fine just sitting there and watching me eat?"


    "I¡¯m fine spending time with my friend," Zedya said, reaching across the table to briefly hold his hand. "And I¡¯ll sip on a full cup of something rich, full-bodied, and red," she added with a wink at the servant.


    Once the servant departed, the two fell into a quiet, comfortable conversation as they worked their way from a dish of thin-sliced apples served with goat cheese and sweet syrup to a miniature plum tart shaped to resemble a plum blossom and several other delicate arrangements that blended sweet, tart autumn fruits with rich, savory herbs or sharp, funky cheeses. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By the time Lennart¡¯s pepper-crusted steak arrived, they¡¯d fallen into a more comfortable rhythm of conversation. Sometimes they chatted about the food, picking favorites and reminiscing about childhoods long past when one flavor or another felt nostalgic. At times, the conversation turned more serious as moments of nostalgia provoked worries about the days to come.


    Though they had known each other for close to thirty years, during that entire time, they¡¯d remained rigidly locked in the roles that defined their relationship. Some things, they came to know about each other in passing while others were heard only through rumors overheard by others.


    "So what is it that you occupy your free time with?" Lennart asked, leaning back and resting a hand on a belly that felt very, very full after the flight of six decadent confections that followed his hearty portion of steak. "I¡¯ve seen Lady Nyrielle¡¯s paintings hanging a few places in the castle, and I¡¯ve been told that Sir Thane writes poetry, but I¡¯ve never heard a whisper of how you pass the idle time in the long years."


    "You¡¯ll laugh," Zedya said, hiding her smile behind her cup of wine. "It¡¯s nothing impressive like Thane or Marcell or any of the others."


    "I still want to know," Lennart protested. Digging in a pouch at his hip, he pulled out a half-carved wooden pipe. The bowl of the pipe had been roughly shaped to resemble an oak leaf curling around an acorn, though the stem of the pipe was still very, very rough in form. "This is what I keep busy with on the wagons during the day," he said, passing the pipe over to Zedya.


    "I¡¯m nowhere near as clever about wood carving as the folks from the Heartwood Clan," he said. "I can¡¯t manage that kind of detail with just my claws, but there¡¯s something soothing about needing to put all your focus on the knife in your hand so you don¡¯t cut yourself or ruin the piece while the wagon is jostling about. I can shut out the world for a little while when it¡¯s not my turn to watch the horizon."


    "This is lovely," Zedya said as she carefully inspected the pipe before handing it back. "You might have seen a few of my pieces. Every year, I collect a small tribute of wool from each village that herds sheep. I spend the year making baby blankets for them to give back the following year to any expecting mothers in the village. The way the Horned Clan is, there¡¯s usually at least one expecting mother in the village every year," she said with a light laugh.


    "How is it that I¡¯ve never heard of you making blankets for children?" Lennart said, looking shocked that something could have gone unnoticed for so many years. "Someone would have said something to me by now, surely."


    "Oh, no one knows that I¡¯m the one doing the knitting," she said, looking wistfully at the last dregs of wine in her cup. "I told them once, but then I found out that receiving a blanket knitted by one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny was akin to receiving a family heirloom. They hung them on walls and talked about passing them down to their descendants, but they never gave them to the poor little babes."


    "So after a few years, I told the villages that my duties had grown and I couldn¡¯t knit the blankets myself anymore, but that I would still take the tribute and I would have someone else knit them for me," she explained. "Now, they¡¯re precious, but not so precious that they go unused."


    "That sounds... lonely," Lennart said. "No wonder you," he started to say only to cut himself short and get up from his seat instead. Crossing the small dining room in two quick strides, he knelt next to Zedya and wrapped her in the gentlest bear hug that he could manage. Her slender figure felt cool against his chest as he pulled her close, even though she¡¯d fed the night before, it seemed like borrowed warmth never lasted long.


    Almost unconsciously, Zedya shifted slightly in his embrace, pressing closer as though seeking the warmth that radiated from his body. Even though his formal coat and her silk dress, the warmth held close by his soft fur made him feel like a living blanket taken fresh from the fireside to bundle her up against the cold.


    "I¡¯ll stay with you," he whispered as he tucked her head under his chin, enveloping her in a soft, fluffy embrace. His heart thundered in his chest, and he was certain that she could hear every beat. "As long as you want me to. I¡¯ll be your friend who¡¯s never afraid of you, and if I ever treat you like you¡¯re too far above me to accept a gift from, then you go ahead and beat me for it until I come to my senses," he teased lightly. "Because I know you can."


    "Thank you," Zedya said, closing her eyes and sinking deeper into Lennart¡¯s warm embrace. She pressed her ear against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his slow, even breaths wash over her like music. The heat from his body seemed to seep into her very bones, making her feel more alive than she had in countless years. "That¡¯s all I wanted."

 Chapter 389: Other News

    Chapter 389: Other News"So Madame Zedya is really going to take Captain Lennart as her first progeny?" Heila said, grinning from ear to ear when Ashlynn finished recounting the story.


    Once Heila had a chance to clean up after several days in bed, it was her turn to experience one of the giant meals the staff had learned to prepare for whenever Nyrielle fed on Ashlynn. Though the magical exhaustion she felt wasn¡¯t the same as the anemia that plagued Ashlynn after Nyrielle fed on her, the simple act of sleeping for several days while Ashlynn gave her thin broth was enough to leave her ravenous.


    Now, after nearly an hour of eating and stretching as Ashlynn relied on the techniques she¡¯d learned from the Ancient Clan to help work the aches and stiffness out of her diminutive friend¡¯s body, the two women sat comfortably in Heila¡¯s sitting room while nibbling on the sweet pastries the staff served after their meal.


    "Probably," Ashlynn said. "I¡¯ve only gotten the details second hand when Captain Lennart discussed it with Virve. Evidently, the two of them were out till nearly dawn, taking a boat ride through the canals to admire the city lights and strolling through the shops. They¡¯ve been spending their idle time together ever since, and I understand that Captain Lennart spent several hours during the day looking for unique yarns for her."


    "But Zedya is holding firm on her rule that he takes the time to think about it," Ashlynn added. "It¡¯s a big decision and we¡¯re not home yet. From what I¡¯ve heard, if Captain Lennart is still willing when we return to the Vale of Mists, then Zedya will take him as her progeny."


    "We should think about a gift for them," Heila said, already running through a list of possibilities in her mind. "It¡¯s probably going to be a really big deal when it happens. The whole Vale might turn up to join the celebration."


    "Why do you say that?" Ashlyn asked, surprised that it would be something that attracted the attention of the entire Vale of Mists. "There weren¡¯t any big celebrations when I became Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal. Was there a big celebration for Nyrielle¡¯s other progeny?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Heila said, frowning slightly as she tried to recall what she¡¯d heard about the year that Marcell, the youngest of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, had become a vampire, but even that had occurred years before she was born. "But Captain Lennart would be the first vampire from the Clan of the Great Claw in the Vale of Mists since High Lord Torbin fell. It will mean the world to all of them." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ah," Ashlynn said as the pieces fit together. "I¡¯m still struggling with the overlap between the pride of a clan and the pride of a nation," she admitted. "It feels like the latter is more important most of the time, and I forget that a person¡¯s sense of belonging to their clan doesn¡¯t just escape the borders of their nation and tie them to the rest of their clan, it also echoes within their nation as a different form of pride."


    "For someone who couldn¡¯t even speak the language a year ago, I think you¡¯re doing really well keeping it all straight," Heila praised. In truth, when she thought of everything Ashlynn had been through and how far she had come in such a short time, it made her own accomplishments look much smaller, even though she knew that she¡¯d done more than anyone would ever have imagined she could.


    "I had really good help," Ashlynn said as she wrapped an arm around her diminutive friend and pulled her into a brief embrace. "I imagine that your parents are going to be very proud of you when you get home. Have you written to them since we reached the High Fen?"


    "No," Heila said, shaking her head. "I want to make it a surprise. Besides, the letter would only arrive a week or two before we do, and hiring someone to carry anything across the mountains is still too expensive. But maybe it won¡¯t be that way for much longer. Is there any news from the merchants? Did Lady Nyrielle agree to their terms?"


    "There are some matters we still need to settle, but for the most part, yes," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. "Also, I have a surprise for you," she said, standing from her seat and walking across the room to retrieve a long, slender, cloth-wrapped bundle from its place near the hearth.


    "Well, two surprises really," Ashlynn said once she¡¯d set the bundle on the table in front of Heila. "I didn¡¯t want the other one kept in your room though. Of the seven surviving staves used by Ropati¡¯s men, you hurled six into the crowd, but one fell to the ground when he attacked his men. I declared it your trophy rather than returning it to the man who owned it. Even if he could use it again, High Lady Erna is in agreement that we shouldn¡¯t let those men return to their cult unless the cult is prepared to pay reparations for the insult and the injuries they caused."


    "I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want that staff in my room," Heila said, pulling her hand back from the cloth bundle on the table. It was long and slender and for a moment, she worried that it held one of the broken staves but given what Ashlynn had said, that didn¡¯t seem right. "The staff can be broken or disposed of. I don¡¯t need it."


    "You might want to rethink that," Ashlynn cautioned. "You don¡¯t have to keep it near you, but it might be useful when displayed on the right wall among other trophies. You may not value the achievement, but there may come a time when you need to impress others with your strength, and displaying the trophies of your defeated foes seems to be a tradition that both humans and Eldritch clans have in common."


    "Then I¡¯ll give it to you," Heila said resolutely. "And you can decide what to do with it."


    "That¡¯s fair enough," Ashlynn said with a smile, rubbing her hands together in anticipation as she looked at the gift waiting on the table for Heila. They¡¯d brought very little with them from the Briar, mostly focusing on practical matters like their cauldrons, books, and other tools. Many of the things they had made in practice, or the momentos they gathered in the Briar remained there, waiting in their huts should they ever visit their ¡¯second home¡¯ under Amahle¡¯s thorny protection.


    "Now, open that," Ashlynn said eagerly. "And let me explain why it¡¯s here."

 Chapter 390: Truly Unique

    Chapter 390: Truly UniqueSlowly, like a child on midsummer¡¯s day, Heila pulled the bundle into her lap and began untying the laces that held the fabric in place. Once the fabric fell away, her breath caught in her chest as she looked at a piece of heartwood taken from a young willow tree. The piece wasn¡¯t large when compared to a twenty or thirty-foot tall willow tree, it was only four feet long and barely thicker than Heila¡¯s arm, but it was warm in her hands and felt much lighter than it should.


    Her fingers trembled slightly as she cradled the wood, her eyes growing distant as she remembered the magic of that night. The willow trees had fought alongside her, no different than when she and Ashlynn faced off together against the dangerous beasts in the Briar. They danced at her command, their branches striking like whips to protect her from obsidian shards, their roots intertwining to fill the arena with her magic without giving the cultists a chance to discover where she hid.


    These trees had fought beside her, had protected her, had helped her save countless lives in the arena when it became clear that the Cauldron of Flame would stop at nothing to take her captive, even if it meant unleashing suicidal, sacrificial sorcery to do so. And now, a piece of them lay here, in her hands, still holding echoes of that battle.


    "Is this..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she traced her fingers along the wood grain. Each loop and whorl seemed to pulse with familiar energies, whether it was Ashlynn¡¯s emerald power that had given the trees life, the soft, snowy chill from Snow Fang¡¯s frost magic, or her own silvery-green shimmer that pulsed silently in time with her heartbeat, echoing her connection to the willows. And all of that was trapped within the willow tree¡¯s heartwood, like memories preserved in amber.


    The wood felt alive under her touch, not in the way a growing tree was alive, but like an echo of that vitality, preserved at the moment when their magic had been strongest and carrying the very faintest desire to resist the cataclysmic flames and devastation wrought by her enemies. It was something special, uniquely created in that moment that could never be made again.


    "The trees I grew for your battle would never have survived for more than a week, even if we¡¯d done everything possible to sustain them," Ashlynn said. "They were grown to participate in the battle, they protected you and fought alongside you and I couldn¡¯t have asked for more from them."


    "Is this, is this all that¡¯s left?" Heila asked as she traced her fingers gently along the loops and whorls of the wood grain. There had been a dozen trees that night and while two of them had burned to ash under the relentless assault of the Cauldron of Flame and the others had suffered their own share of damage from uncontrolled flames and wild sprays of obsidian shards, she would have expected more to have survived than this small piece.


    "Just this?" Heila asked, her eyes turning misty at the thought that so little remained of the mighty willow trees Ashlynn had raised to help her in the most difficult battle she¡¯d ever faced.


    "No, there was much, much more than that," Ashlynn said. "I spoke with Nyrielle about it and we gave it to Master Beilan as a test to see if he could effectively leverage such a treasure and if he could do it in a way that respected everything that went into it. But that piece was the best of what remained when the trees were cleared from the arena and I wanted to give it to you."


    "Another trophy?" Heila said, raising a brow in curiosity. The captured staff she could understand, but this wood felt both precious in a way an enemy¡¯s weapon never would and... in a way, too useful to waste leaving it as it was.


    "I expect you¡¯ll find a use for it," Ashlynn said with a smile. "Which brings me to another piece of news. I didn¡¯t get a chance to speak with him while we were at the arena, but I¡¯m told that Artificer Erkembalt accepted my invitation to meet with us here at the palace. Nyrielle was impressed with the blade he made for you, and the one he made for Ollie is just as good."


    "Now, the question is," Ashlynn said with a slow smile forming on her face. "Can we entice him into leaving his workshop in High Fen City behind to help us build weapons to fight the Lothians with, and more importantly..."


    "You want to see if he can make a counter to the Holy Swords of the Templars," Heila realized as she thought about the strange swords she¡¯d seen in the visions she faced during her trial. "A blade of ice or snow like mine could be a perfect weapon against the church but... can he make something like that without the use of a Frost Walker horn?" Heila asked.


    After what she had been through in the High Pass, it didn¡¯t bother her to use a weapon made from the horn of the treacherous Elder Paulus. He and his grandson had deserved their punishment as far as she was concerned. But if they had to harvest horns from other Frost Walkers...


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said. "If the only way is to use Frost Walker horns then that¡¯s a line I¡¯m unwilling to cross. Hauke and his people are our friends and allies," she added firmly. "I won¡¯t risk that over a few enchanted blades. But, if you¡¯re feeling up to it, you can join us for dinner tonight when we discuss it. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to hear what you have to say about his work."


    "Mmm." Heila said, happy to hear that Ashlynn shared her sentiments on how they should treat the Frost Walkers. She expected nothing less from the kind, compassionate Mother of Trees that Ashlynn was growing into, but it still felt reassuring to hear. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I hope he¡¯ll come with us," Heila said. "If things are as bad as what we saw in our visions," she added, her expression growing grave and her voice becoming somber. "We¡¯ll need all the help we can get."

 Chapter 391: An Unexpected Old Friend

    Chapter 391: An Unexpected Old FriendIn a quiet business district of High Fen City, inside a shop bearing a sign that read ¡¯Things Made, Curses Broken,¡¯ an aging member of the Clan of painted masks hunched over his workbench, barely breathing as he used a small brass hammer to gently tap on a fine pointed engraver. His focus was so great that he¡¯d placed a dark eyepatch over his left eye and wore a series of brass-rimmed lenses over his right eye, making the delicate silver butterfly wing under the tip of his engraver appear as though it were the size of his palm when in fact, it was only a quarter that size.


    The sounds of bells ringing and the -CREAK- of rusty hinges complaining as his front door opened pulled his attention momentarily away from his work, though the only move he made was to step back from the delicate piece and let out a slow, shuddering breath before shouting at the door.


    "If it¡¯s about the Willow Whip¡¯s blade, the answer is ¡¯no¡¯," Erkembalt shouted, not bothering to look up at the person who had entered his cluttered shop. By Heila¡¯s third day in the arena, it seemed like one out of every five people walking through his doors were asking about the Snow Fang he¡¯d crafted for her, and by the end of her fifth day, when she felled the Tuscan mercenaries, that number had become one in three.


    Now, in the days since her triumph over the Cauldron of Flame, it seemed like the only people entering his shop were in search of the famed artificer who created the frosty weapon, each one more desperate to obtain one than the last.


    "If you people keep asking, I¡¯ll close up shop and move to Sapphire Depths on the coast," he said grumpily. "That way, at least you have to cross half a continent to hear me tell you ¡¯no.¡¯ I won¡¯t touch Frost Walker horn again for five years or more, so save your breath asking."


    At this point, more often than not, the bells on his door would ring again, announcing that the starry-eyed young gladiator or grizzled veteran mercenary knew better than to press their luck and left his shop empty-handed. This time, however, the sound of quiet footsteps filled the air, preceding a voice that Erkembalt hadn¡¯t heard in more than thirty years.


    "I see you¡¯re keeping busy, old friend," his visitor said as they strolled casually among the cluttered shelves, pausing every few steps to examine one curiosity or the other. "Your recent work is quite impressive." sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Aspakos, weren¡¯t you supposed to keep away from me?" Erkembalt asked, looking up for the first time since the person had entered his shop and pulling off both his magnifying eyepiece and the eyepatch that blocked his other eye before replacing them with more ordinary-appearing spectacles.


    The man before him wore stately blue robes, trimmed in glittering gold and covered in glyphs of power that were older than most of the current Eldritch nations. The dark feathers of his plumage still looked as inky and black as the day it had when Erkembalt left the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth and the man¡¯s cracked beak still bore the same vein of gold that welded the broken shard of his beak firmly back in place. In every way a person with ordinary vision could see, the old man of the Dark Feathered Clan hadn¡¯t changed at all since the day they last saw each other.


    To Erkembalt¡¯s eyes, however, his former colleague had changed greatly. The aura of frequent use of sorcery that clung to the man had shifted from a brilliant, blazing halo of pale azure and soft green to one of dark purple with whorls of shadowy black that clustered around his heart and eyes. His taloned hands dripped with dark crimson energy and the smell of death clung to him in a way that Erkembalt had only seen from men who had so much blood on their hands that nothing could wash it away.


    "Merciful Sovereign," Erkembalt whispered once he got a good look at his old friend. "What happened to you?" His hands trembled slightly as he pushed back from his workbench, the scrape of his chair against the wooden floor sounding unnaturally loud in the shop that felt like it had become two sizes too small to contain whatever had brought his dark visitor here.


    Moving with deliberate care despite his racing heartbeat, Erkembalt crossed to the nearest window. Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the dusty windows and for a moment, he was struck by how ordinary everyone walking by outside looked, like they had no idea what kind of person had just walked into his workshop or what his presence in this city might mean for them.


    But then, it was better that they didn¡¯t know, he thought as he sharply pulled the shades down, plunging the workshop into a dim gloom with only a few oil lamps burning near his workbench. When he reached the door, his fingers moved mechanically, turning not less than six locks on the heavy wooden door, ensuring that no one could intrude while he and his visitor spoke.


    "Don¡¯t tell me that Lady Nyrielle did this to you," Erkembalt said as he finally turned back to his old friend. "No," he added, shaking his head. "There¡¯s no way she could do this to you in such a short period of time. So what in the Sovereign¡¯s name happened to you?"


    "So you do still care about us," Aspakos said without bothering to answer the artificer¡¯s question. "Do you have anything worth drinking? My flask ran empty weeks ago," he said, reaching into his robes to hold up a worn metal flask with a simple cork stopper.


    "That depends on your definition of ¡¯worth drinking,¡¯" Erkembalt said, returning to his workbench and gesturing for the feathered sorcerer to take a seat across the table from him. After several minutes of rummaging in the back of a cupboard, he returned with an old, dusty bottle and two simple metal cups.


    "It tastes a bit of licorice," he said, pulling out the stopper and pouring two small measures of the potent liquor. "And I don¡¯t have space for barrels to age it, so it¡¯s a bit harsh, but the kick is there."


    "Good enough," Aspakos said, clinking his cup against his friend¡¯s. "The stars above," he toasted.


    "The stars above," Erkembalt answered as both men knocked back the heady liquor, savoring the burning sensation as it slid down their throats and the warmth that spread from their bellies a moment later.


    "All right," Erkembalt said, firmly placing a stopper back in the bottle. Looking closely at the dark aura that clung to his friend, he placed an elbow on the worktable and leaned forward, adjusting his spectacles as if to make sure that he was truly seeing what he thought he was. "One shot is a polite enough greeting for old time¡¯s sake, but more than that requires an answer. What happened to you, Aspakos? And is that why you¡¯ve come all the way out here following another vampire?"


    "You¡¯ve grown cruel," the feathered sorcerer said, snatching the bottle off the table and yanking out the stopper to pour two fresh cups. "Asking a man to speak when his tongue is dry."


    "I had three little ones," Erkembalt protested. "Korine forbid me from keeping anything stronger than watered wine in the house until the boys were old enough to drink. And you¡¯re changing the topic, don¡¯t think I¡¯ll let you distract me."


    "Fine, fine, I¡¯ll explain. But before I do," Aspakos said, holding up a sharp talon. "Answer me this. I see what you¡¯re dabbling in on the surface here. But have you kept your oath since you left? This," he added, holding up the cup of clear moonshine and draining it in a gulp. "It¡¯s not bad, but were you really able to do this the old-fashioned way?"


    "I swore it when I left," Erkembalt said, thumping the table with a fist and sending half a dozen scraps of paper and small metal parts jumping into the air with the force of his blow. "Not once have I employed forbidden arts. No engine that powers itself, nor sail that flies without the wind, no weapon with its own power to kill or art to enslave another. Each of those and all the others," he said firmly, looking into the other man¡¯s dark eyes with an intense stare, as if daring the other man to doubt his word.


    "It¡¯s good that you have, my friend," Aspakos said. "Though the time for such things may be coming to an end. The lock on the vaults has turned, Erkembalt," he said, pouring himself a third cup and staring deeply into the reflection dancing on the surface of the potent liquor. "Soon, the vaults may open and the world will come to know what we¡¯ve kept hidden."

 Chapter 392: Forbidden Arts

    Chapter 392: Forbidden Arts"Hmpf," Erkembalt snorted, snatching the bottle from his friend and pouring another cup for himself. "You don¡¯t know what¡¯s in the vaults. No one does. Once something is lowered into the vault, all records of it are destroyed. For all we know, it¡¯s the same five ideas, locked away every time someone discovers them and we all panic."


    "I might have agreed with you once," Aspakos said. "But things haven¡¯t been the same for more than fifteen years now. The first tumblers all fell together, just as the records said, and the second tumblers are moving much faster than the first. We may only have a few years before the first vault opens."


    "But if the vaults aren¡¯t open," Erkembalt asked, shifting uncomfortably on his chair. "Then what is it that¡¯s come over you? You were never so dark before." Calling the feathered man ¡¯dark¡¯ felt like an understatement but looking at the lurid red energy that clung to the man¡¯s talons like a bloodstain that could never be washed away, Erkembalt was hesitant to push too directly on the matter.


    As young sorcerers, he and Aspakos had constantly challenged each other. Whether it was a race to be the first to translate an obscure and ancient text or the first to apply an ancient art, the competitive bond they¡¯d formed in their youth had turned them into two of the greatest sorcerers of their generation. If not for a chance encounter with the woman who stole his heart, Erkembalt might still have been standing alongside his old friend... and might been coated in just as much darkness and slaughter.


    "Philosar has withdrawn his order of protection," Aspakos said. His talons scittered across the surface of the table, leaving shallow grooves as he formed fists, glowering at the table as though a dirty rat had come to perch between himself and his friend, one that he was forbidden from striking at for fear of what it¡¯s bite could do to him.


    "In his decree, he said that there may come a time when humans reach the Forsaken Lands, and that the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth must prove we can defend our vaults from anyone who would pillage them, or watch as he destroys them himself."


    "Scheming rat," Erkembalt spat, momentarily ashamed to belong to the same clan as the Gnawing Death. "His predecessor worked with us, why can¡¯t he just keep to the old accord? Do you really think it¡¯s because of the humans?"


    According to some of the most ancient records, dating back to the founding of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth, the Sovereign of Stars had forged an accord with the Gnawing Death to allow their order to preserve knowledge that the Gnawing Death felt was too dangerous to be allowed in the world.


    The terms governing the use and preservation of that knowledge were very, very strict, and many things were lowered into the order¡¯s vaults, never to be seen again. Such knowledge was considered ¡¯realized.¡¯ The practice and application of that knowledge could threaten to upend the current order of the world and anyone who possessed it would gain a tremendous advantage over anyone who didn¡¯t.


    The propagation of that knowledge could have disastrous consequences if it wasn¡¯t managed well, but some things, once they were unleashed upon the world, could never be hidden away again, and so they were kept in secret, unavailable to even the sorcerers who guarded them.


    Other knowledge, however, was only dangerous because it was ¡¯unrealized.¡¯ Progressing through experimental stages posed so great of a threat and use of the incomplete ideas could harm so many that the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth worked hard to ¡¯realize¡¯ that knowledge. If they could remove the dangers, then knowledge could be shared, and if they couldn¡¯t, then it would be relegated to the vaults as well.


    Few people outside of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth understood the knowledge they guarded or why it had to be kept away from the world. That was no accident. If the world believed they held secrets to great power, they would never know peace. Instead, to the rest of the world, they were an order of simple archivists, keeping old records purely because they were old.


    But if the world still believed that convenient fiction, no one would ever venture into the forbidden lands to attack the reclusive sorcerers.


    "I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the humans or something else," Aspakos admitted. "The vampires are moving strangely. The Jaws of Death destroyed the Glimmerwing clan even though they never sought to expand their territory beyond the Endless Marshm and the Fangs of Death hunted the daughter of the last High Lord to come from that clan until she escaped into the Briar."


    "The Gnawing Death is rumored to spend his days cloaked in shadows, gathering every scrap of information he can about the humans and the powers that drive them," the feathered sorcerer continued. "When he appears in Eldritch Lands, it¡¯s rarely been to act against the Eldritch lords, but instead to present warnings, propping up the border nations with his whispers before he vanishes back into the shadows."


    "And now Lady Nyrielle is on the march to war," Erkembalt said, pouring another drink for each of them. "So you¡¯ve picked her to defend yourself against the Gnawing Death? Do you think she¡¯ll defy one of her peers to protect you?"


    "Perhaps she¡¯ll protect us from Philosar, and perhaps she won¡¯t," Aspakos said. "But you wanted to know what happened to me," he said, gesturing vaguely to the area around himself where his aura would be visible to people trained the way Erkembalt had been. "This is the result of practicing the founder¡¯s art, piercing the veil and searching for secrets hidden in the stars." sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That, that¡¯s forbidden!" Erkembalt exclaimed, so startled by the revelation that he spilled the contents of his cup across the table. "Aspakos, the founder¡¯s art isn¡¯t meant for sorcerers. It isn¡¯t supposed to be practiced by people like you and I. Why would you do such a thing?"


    "Because we need to find a way forward," Aspakos said with a heavy sigh. "Because the founders words have grown more and more cryptic over time. It¡¯s been a thousand years," he said, shaking his head in helplessness. "Those few who can read the ancient tongue still argue about his intentions. Words have changed, meanings have shifted and what he thought was too obvious to write down at the time... we¡¯ve forgotten entirely."


    "You¡¯ve done the work," Aspakos added, clicking his beak in irritation. "We translate translations, hoping to find new insight to the ancient guide, but without the ability to understand his intentions, we can only attempt to follow the path that led him to his answers in the first place, to see what is hidden in the stars that cannot be understood from all the ancient texts."


    "You¡¯ve done the work," Erkembalt countered. "I learned long ago that anything we believe about those texts has just as much chance of being wrong as it has of being inspired truth. I put my faith in my own hands these days, and they¡¯ve served me well."


    "It¡¯s good that you have, my friend," Aspakos said. "I know you don¡¯t care for the founder¡¯s words, and you care for my insights even less. But the facts remain. The vaults are opening, and the living will marry the dead. For both to occur together tells me that I should stand as close to the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees as I can."


    "Whatever is coming," the sorcerer said. "Those two will find their way to the center of it, of this, I¡¯m certain. And when that time comes, it would be good to have as many friends as possible. Lady Nyrielle desires your help, my friend," Aspakos said, draining the last of the rough liquor in his cup and looking into Erkembalt¡¯s eyes. "I think she¡¯s wise to ask for it."


    "That¡¯s why you¡¯re here then," Erkembalt said with a heavy sigh. "With you by her side, I can¡¯t imagine why she¡¯d need me. Anything I can do, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re even better at."


    "That might have been true once," Aspakos said, standing up and holding out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "But everything has a price that must be paid. The founder¡¯s art has revealed much to me, but the more it reveals, the more it binds me. These hands," he said. "They can no longer hold a tool. I can see more than I ever could before, but I can do so very little about it."


    "That¡¯s why I came to you, old friend," he said, placing a hand on the artificer¡¯s shoulder. "For all of our knowledge, we are less useful to Lady Nyrielle than we appear. But you haven¡¯t been stained by our fight to adapt to the world. Your hands have raised children and forged brilliant blades."


    "So you see, Erkembalt, in the end, it isn¡¯t us that Lady Nyrielle needs, but you."

 Chapter 393: A Magical Gathering (Part One)

    Chapter 393: A Magical Gathering (Part One)That evening, Ashlynn dressed simply, wearing her plain emerald green Traveling Hat along with a simple green and brown dress that would have been suitable to wear for a long day riding a horse or visiting Eldritch villages in the countryside.


    "Are you sure you this is the right tone, my lady?" Heila asked as she helped style Ashlynn¡¯s hair into a simple, thick braid that gathered her long, blond tresses at the base of her neck. "You are the Mother of Trees now. The others joining us will understand what that means better than most."


    "I know," Ashlynn said with a light smile. "But it¡¯s because they understand that this is so necessary. As witches, you and I may be powerful, but we are both still beginners in our craft. A few months of training, no matter how intense, can never take the place of years of study, and everyone else tonight will have studied their arts longer than you or I have been alive."


    "If I wore the Fancy Hat and the jeweled gown that goes with it, they could never forget who I am," she explained. "But this way, once we turn to discussions of witchcraft and sorcery, it will be easier for them to forget about my status and speak plainly if I don¡¯t try to over awe them with finery."


    "I see," Heila said, placing a simple wooden pin in Ashlynn¡¯s hair to hold everything in place. "Then, should we eat family style, the way we did with Aunt Amahle?"


    "Too casual for the palace," Ashlynn said with a sigh. She¡¯d originally tried to make the suggestion but when she explained to the palace staff that she wanted to borrow a kitchen so that she and each of the attendees of this gathering could cook a dish, the horrified looks she received told her that some things were just too far out of the norm. Evidently, letting the Mother of Trees and the Harbinger of Death into the kitchens to cook was more than they could tolerate.


    "And Mistress Nyrielle will be with us," Ashlynn reminded Heila. "We benefit from Big Sister Amahle¡¯s prestige here. Everyone knows the power of the Mother of Thorns and they respect her. Nyrielle is fighting to establish the prestige of the Harbinger of Death because her prestige as the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists isn¡¯t what it should be here. I can diminish my own prestige in front of our guests, but I can¡¯t diminish hers too much."


    "You know you don¡¯t need to worry so much about me," Nyrielle said from the door as she glided into the room. "But I appreciate that my darling is always considering so many things," she added as she swept Ashlynn into a tight embrace.


    For a moment, their lips met and the world melted away, leaving Ashlynn aware of nothing but the press of Nyrielle¡¯s lithe figure against hers and the momentary prick of a fang on her lips that always preceeded the deepest of kisses. Her knees felt like jelly as Nyrielle¡¯s tongue danced with her own and only the supernatural strength of Nyrielle¡¯s tender embrace stopped her from falling to her knees while shivers of pure pleasure rippled through her body.


    "Good morning, my love," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around her lover¡¯s slender shoulders and staring deeply into her midnight eyes. "You know if you¡¯re going to do that to me, you should at least give Heila time to excuse herself first," she teased, throwing a wink over Nyrielle¡¯s shoulder to the awkwardly blushing young witch. "She hasn¡¯t even had a chance to find a partner of her own among the strapping young gladiators signing up to fight for her hand."


    "That¡¯s right, I haven¡¯t even... What?" Heila said, opening her eyes wide in shock. "Please, please tell me that they aren¡¯t actually fighting over me," she said, blushing slightly as she remembered Ashlynn telling stories about her father fighting a duel against a rival for her mother¡¯s heart.


    At the time, it sounded sweet and romantic, but after spending several days in the arena herself, the idea that grown men were throwing themselves into the brutal world of the arena to win her as though she was a prize that could possessed by the strongest provoked an entirely different reaction from her.


    "It was a spectacle in one of the smaller arenas last night," Nyrielle said. "Zedya and Lennart were watching a fight when someone noticed them and thought they could bring back word of the strongest fighter among the Horned Clan. I don¡¯t think they really expected to win your hand, but there are many men fighting for a chance to prove themselves worthy of your attention."


    "I think I¡¯ve gathered all the attention I need," Heila said awkwardly. "But, should I meet with them anyway? If they¡¯re strong fighters, they might be willing to come with us," she said, looking between Ashlynn and Nyrielle.


    "No, don¡¯t you dare," Ashlynn said with far more heat than she had meant to. "Heila," she said in a softer tone as she disentangled herself from Nyrielle¡¯s embrace and knelt beside her closest friend. "You are free to love whoever you wish, and one day, I hope you find love that fills your heart the way Nyrielle¡¯s love fills mine. But don¡¯t you ever, ever, think of using a marriage or the possibility of a marriage with you as a means of securing an alliance."


    "My darling is right, little Heila," Nyrielle added, standing protectively over Ashlynn. "Trading your virtue for soldiers is something that only humans subject their people to. The soldiers you gained through your strength in the arena are all the help I could ever desire from you and more."


    "It¡¯s fine," Heila said, flushing slightly in embarrassment at receiving Nyrielle¡¯s praise. "Besides, I already told Lady Ashlynn that I didn¡¯t want to think about romance right now. Not when everything is so... uncertain," she said softly. For a moment, the ghost of Andrus danced before her eyes but she firmly shook off thoughts of the excited young soldier to focus on the present.


    "We should go," Ashlynn said. "The others are probably waiting already."


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 Chapter 394: A Magical Gathering (Part Two)

    Chapter 394: A Magical Gathering (Part Two)The trio didn¡¯t have far to go, Ashlynn had requested a private dining room from the palace that was near to both her quarters and the passage underground where the vampires found refuge from the sun during the day.


    When they arrived, Virve and Ignatious stood outside to greet them before opening the doors to an intimate dining room suitable for groups of ten or fewer. Plants filled the space, making it feel alive and green even as autumn painted the world outside in dark oranges, brilliant yellows and dull browns. At Ashlynn¡¯s instruction, the normal table had been replaced by one that was round so as not to give higher status to any of the traditions present.


    Two men stood from their seats as soon as Ashlynn and her companions entered. The first, she recognized immediately and Ashlynn put on a warm, welcoming smile when she realized how uncomfortable he seemed with the glitz and grandeur of the palace.


    "Artificer Erkembalt," Ashlynn said, crossing the room to take his hands in greeting. "I¡¯m glad you were willing to accept our invitation tonight."


    "Well, it was hard to refuse considering who your messenger was, your Dominion," the aging artificer said with an awkward bow. Just months ago, this young woman had held only the faintest tinge of an emerald aura about her that carried a light scent of woodsap and evergreens. Now, only a few months had passed but he felt like her presence could easily envelop the entire room.


    The young witch beside her was almost more shocking. From a humble servant girl to arena champion, Heila had not only taken on a silvery-green aura, but that aura felt like a leaf so thin that it could cut like a blade. She might not possess overwhelming strength, but what strength she did possess had been honed into a lethal weapon and she¡¯d proven several times over how deadly it could be.


    "Please, just Ashlynn will do, or Lady Ashlynn if you must. Tonight, we¡¯re all here to share in our craft and titles will only get in the way," she said politely before turning to the man beside him.


    And this must be Master Aspakos," Ashlynn greeted the feathered sorcerer. "I¡¯ve heard many things about you but the rumors don¡¯t do your presence justice," she said as she worked to keep a warm smile on her face.


    She might not be able to see the dark aura that clung to him, but something about the man felt strangely detached, as though a piece of of him had been ripped away and cast so far away that it could no longer be touched, only noticed for it¡¯s absence. And in the place of that missing thing, something else lurked in the darkness, too shrouded by other powers for her to see or understand.


    "Nor you, Lady Ashlynn," Aspakos said with a polite bow. "Though I must admit that the city seems to have far more to say about their newest champion than any of the rest of us," he added with another bow in Heila¡¯s direction.


    "Please, take your seats everyone," Nyrielle interrupted, pulling Ashlynn away from the pair of sorcerers with a protective arm around her waist and gesturing for Heila to take a seat on Ashlynn¡¯s opposite side.


    Surprisingly, Ignatious joined the others in taking a seat at the table beside Nyrielle, making it clear that he had come as a participant rather than simply filling the absent Zedya¡¯s place as Lady Nyrielle¡¯s attendant. The move left Virve as the only one standing, hovering over Heila¡¯s shoulder. If anyone needed protection tonight, it wouldn¡¯t be Ashlynn, Lady Nyrielle would see to that, and while Heila appeared to have regained her strength after several days of rest, Virve knew all too well how easily someone as strong willed as Heila could put up a strong front even when they were as weak as straw underneath.


    She hoped that it was simple professionalism that drove her to take a defensive position, but as she looked at the dark figure of Aspakos taking his seat beside Erkembalt, she couldn¡¯t help but feel that a small measure of paranoia was justified. The man was supposed to be an ally, but even after months traveling together, his motives remained as cryptic as the ancient and forgotten glyphs that decorated his robes. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We have much to discuss tonight, and there is one matter I¡¯d like to get out of the way before dinner is served."


    "If it¡¯s about traveling with you," Erkembalt began nervously, his bushy tail swishing behind him as he took his seat. "I¡¯ve discussed the matter..."


    "It isn¡¯t," Nyrielle said before he could say any more. "Whether or not you choose to travel with us is something we should discuss over a meal, but this is something that could spoil it. Truthfully, I feel uncomfortable just being in the same room with it," she said, gesturing to Ignatious.


    Stepping forward, Ignatious retrieved a long, slender box wrapped faded crimson silk, embroidered with the emblem of a shining sun surrounded by golden flames. Just seeing it, Ashlynn¡¯s breath caught in her chest and her heart began to pound as the former Inquisitor slowly unwrapped the elaborately decorated wooden box.


    "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.


    "It is," Ignatious said, opening clasps at both ends of the box and removing the lid to reveal a gleaming sword.


    The moment the box opened, a palpable tension swept through the room. Virve, who had maintained a relaxed posture as this was supposed to be a gathering of allies instantly snapped to attention. Acting on reflex, she took half a step backward and her hands dropped to her fighting gauntlets before her mind even finished processing what she was seeing. Her amber eyes widened, pupils narrowing to slits as the fur on her body stood on end before she reminded herself that Ignatious had more than proven his loyalty, but the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed how deeply the sight of the blade affected her.


    "Sweet mercy," she whispered, so softly that only those with enhanced hearing caught it. "I¡¯ve heard horror stories of what those do to our kind, but I never thought..." she said as she struggled to regain her composure.


    The hilt alone was a masterpiece of metalwork, wrapped in braided gold wire and set with spiralling rows of rubies before giving way to a golden pommel shaped like a radiant sun. At the crossguard, form gave way to function but the patterned steel still held a unique beauty, with rippling layers that resembled the wavy patterns of a flame even though the blade itself was straight and true.


    "This is a Holy Flame Sword," the former Inquisitor said. "It was once my most prized possession. But blades like these can only be weilded by the faithful, and without a strong, pure faith, the flames its weilder ignites will only be pale and weak."


    "This is why I¡¯ve asked you here tonight, Breaker of Curses," Nyrielle said, looking directly at Erkembalt while doing her best to repress the urge to slam the lid back on the case that held the ¡¯holy¡¯ blade. Even now, she felt like standing near it was little different than standing outside while watching the sky grow brighter.


    "A tool that cannot be used should be broken and remade into something that can be useful," Nyrielle said. "But I would like to find a way to put this weapon to use without breaking it. So tell me, Artificer Erkembalt. Are you up to the challenge? Can you unlock the power of this blade?"

 Chapter 395: Path of the Sun

    Chapter 395: Path of the SunFor several minutes, no one said a word as the assembled witches and sorcerers examined the work of deadly airt that Ignatious laid before them. In the silence, Nyrielle stood up from her chair, retreating to the corner of the room to put more distance between herself and the uncomfortable artifact. Even taking a few steps away helped to relieve the growing sense of unease that crept along her skin when the former inquisitor opened the case that held it, but she wouldn¡¯t feel comfortable until the blade had been taken away and secured far from her presence once more.


    "What," Erkembalt said at last, licking his lips when he realized that his mouth was hanging open and had been long enough for it to begin to go dry. "What happens if someone who isn¡¯t one of the ¡¯faithful¡¯ touches it?" When he asked, his hands twitched with an eagerness that he hadn¡¯t felt in some time but that eagerness was balanced by an abundance of caution. Any relic as powerful as what this vampire described was certain to be dangerous, perhaps even deadly to people who weren¡¯t meant to tamper with it. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Holding it will do nothing," Ignatious reassured the artificer. A slight smile of amusement tugged at his lips as he watched Erkembalt¡¯s bushy tail swishing in excitement even if he tried to maintain a scholarly demeanor. "If you attempt to wield it, it will burn your hand. If you attempt to attack one of the faithful with it, expect to be reduced to ash before the blade¡¯s edge can so much as scratch the person you attacked."


    "Hmm, then it should be safe to handle," the artificer said, fishing in the bulging pockets of his vest to pull out his multi-lensed eyepiece. Securing it firmly in place, he walked halfway around the table, leaning over the blade without touching it as he brought his extraordinary senses to bear on the weapon.


    "In the name of the Sovereign of Stars, reveal your nature to me," he murmured, holding his paws out over the blade and releasing a misty, silver aura that drifted through the air over the blade. The mist swirled and danced before it slowly gathered in an elaborate pattern of lines and circles that ran from the sun-shaped pommel all the way to the blade¡¯s slender point.


    "Bless his passage through the sky and his dance among the stars," Ignatious whispered when he saw the pattern revealed in the air above the blade.


    "May he light our way through darkness, and lead us to the heavenly shores," Ashlynn finished from across the table. For a moment, her eyes met Ignatious¡¯s startled gaze and she gave the vampire an awkward shrug. "Would you believe me if I said that I have a distant cousin who is a Confessor? My parents hid me from the Church but they never hid the Church from me."


    "Then, you still believe?" Ignatious asked hesitantly. Ever since Nyrielle had told him of her human Seneschal, he¡¯d longed for a chance to meet with her. Zedya, for all of their similarities as humans who became vampires, had never been among the faithful and the only other human vampire he¡¯d met was Thane... It was just that, at the time, Ignatious was too filled with rage at what Nyrielle had done to him to ever consider discussing his circumstances with someone who might truly understand.


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said honestly. "I want to. Some of it at least. I want to believe that there is something greater than us in this world, and that there is a place for everyone who is worthy to find eternal rest on the Heavenly Shores."


    "Is that what you think this is?" Erkembalt interrupted, furrowing his bushy brows and pointing at the pattern of lines and circles hovering above the blade. "Is this some superstition? A map to your afterlife?"


    "That¡¯s not a map to the Heavenly Shores," Ignatious said with a light laugh. "It¡¯s a map of the sun¡¯s path across the heavens. If you mark the sun¡¯s position in the sky at the same time every day, it will form a pattern like the number eight. This arrangement of circles," he added, pointing to a cluster of silvery motes of light hanging above the blade.


    "This describes the arc of the sun at high summer, when the sun¡¯s heat is the most intense," Ignatious explained. "If this was a Holy Light Blade, perhaps it would be marked with a different arrangement," he said, fetching a slate and piece of chalk to sketch a similar arrangement of circles. "This is the map for the sun at the five longest days of the year, when the sun is brightest and the nights are shortest."


    "You see, old friend?" Aspakos said, placing a hand on Erkembalt¡¯s shoulder. "I told you. We share a common root with these humans. Perhaps you could even wield this blade yourself. That is, if you still have faith in the Sovereign of the Stars."


    "Bah," Erkembalt snorted, waving his hand to dismiss the glowing motes of silvery light. He¡¯d seen as much as the spell would reveal and the conversation was moving uncomfortably close to superstition, faith and nonsense. "You worship the Soverign. I only apply his knowledge, and that knowledge is enough to tell me that breaking the restrictions on this blade won¡¯t be easy. But I doubt you need to. This blade isn¡¯t bound to faith at all."


    "Explain," Nyrielle said sharply from her shadowed corner of the room. "I¡¯ve seen these weapons in the hands of the faithful and I¡¯ve seen men try to fight with them when the Templar carrying it falls. Ignatious has told me that the Church tests the faith of their Templars with these blades and those who waver in their faith cannot draw out the blade¡¯s flames."


    All around the table, everyone¡¯s eyes gathered on expectantly Erkembalt. Ashlynn had grown up on stories written about the most pious knights and templars, paragons of faith who underwent a divine awakening when they passed the trails of faith to wield one of these weapons, now, the artificer claimed that faith wasn¡¯t required at all?


    If not for personally witnessing the skill of his craft with Heila¡¯s blade, she might not have been willing to hear what he had to say, but after seeing first hand how skilled was, she couldn¡¯t help but extend a measure of trust to Erkembalt.


    "These weapons are legendary among my people," Ashlynn said slowly. "They are seen as one of the most undeniable forms of proving the strength of a person¡¯s faith. For you to say that they aren¡¯t bound by faith," she said, her voice growing sharp. "Can you prove your words to us?"

 Chapter 396: The Power of the Blade

    Chapter 396: The Power of the Blade"Faith," the artificer snorted. "Faith is nothing more than a window dressing that disguises the strength of will. Give me that," he said curtly, snatching the slate and chalk from Ignatious¡¯s hands and wiping the diagram of the summer sky away so he could begin to sketch.


    As he did so, Virve stiffened behind Heila¡¯s chair, her amber eyes narrowing dangerously. Heila¡¯s hand twitched, momentarily wishing that she had something to throw at the artificer the same way she¡¯d found small seeds to pelt Jacques with when he said something both oblivious and uncouth. Only Ashlynn¡¯s raised hand, moving in a quick, subtle gesture that nevertheless drew everyone¡¯s attention, prevented an immediate response to the artificer¡¯s rudeness.


    "The hilt is the center of a trap, just like you believe," he explained, his gaze fixed too firmly on the slate to see the dirty looks his action drew not only from Ignatious but from Virve and Heila who bristled visibly at the sight of someone disrespecting one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. Next to him, Aspakos raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness while giving the enthusiastic artificer a look that Erkembalt had always been this way.


    "When a person grasps the blade and attempts to use it, the blade will attack them," Erkembalt said, oblivious to the dark stares his actions had attracted. "But the attack is actually very weak at the beginning. It¡¯s like arm wrestling," he explained, looking around for a volunteer.


    "I think I understand," Aspakos said, placing his elbow on the table and holding up his taloned hand for Erkembalt to grasp. Ever since delving into the mysteries of the founder¡¯s art, his taloned hands had become increasingly bound, unable to touch any tool or weapon. When it came to examining the blade, anything he attempted was certain to cause a backlash, but this much, at least, he could still do to help his old friend. "Tell me how you want me to resist."


    "Like this," the artificer said eagerly taking a seat and grasping his friend¡¯s hand. "When the sword reaches out to the wielder, it pushes, just a little," he said, demonstrating by applying light pressure to his friend¡¯s arm. "If my friend is weak and offers little resistance, the blade will press him gently to the table," he said, demonstrating with slow, even pressure.


    "What happens when the sword wins the ¡¯arm wrestling¡¯ contest?" Heila asked. "Is that when it burns someone?"


    "Not if it¡¯s a proper test," Ignatious said before Erkembalt could speak. "If the Church went around burning the most promising Templars every time one of them faced the trial of a blade, they would be doing the next best thing to severing their own arms."


    "Remember," he explained, speaking as though he were teaching a young class of acolytes, repeating something he had said many times. "The Church teaches that life is a struggle and a person must rise to meet their struggle, in this life or the next. Those who fail when struggling against the blade are only exhausted and unable to use any sacred arts, what you call sorcery, for a period of several days."


    "You were speaking about the power of will?" Nyrielle prompted before Ignatious could fall back into his habits as a leader of the Church. Normally, she would have indulged in the conversation, particularly because she saw an opportunity for Ashlynn to resolve many of her own lingering doubts by spending time discussing them with someone who shared her faith.


    At the moment, however, he already felt herself growing tired in the blade¡¯s presence. It wasn¡¯t enough to diminish her ability to fight, but it was more than enough to leave her irritable and impatient to conclude this part of their gathering.


    "Right, right," Erkembalt said, his tail fluffing up with anxiety and his ears twitching nervously when he heard the sharpness in Nyrielle¡¯s tone. "In order to ¡¯ignite¡¯ this blade, a person has to win the arm wrestling contest against the blade. But the more they push, the more the blade pushes back," he said, demonstrating by entering a tense stalemate with Aspakos.


    "At some point," the feathered sorcerer said, taking over for Erkembalt. "The ¡¯push¡¯ coming from the wielder will exceed the limits of the blade¡¯s ability to resist. When that happens," he said, ceasing his struggle and allowing Erkembalt to slam his talonned hand into the table. "The wielder¡¯s energy fills the blade and the weapon ignites." S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I see," Ignatious said, nodding in understanding. "When you say it isn¡¯t faith, it¡¯s because any sufficient determination would ignite the blade. For a person who is devout, the strength of their faith acts as a focus for their determination. But if a person was simply determined to use the blade at all costs," he said, his eyes going wide in horror.


    "Then nothing would stop them from igniting the blade," Ashlynn said. Her face looked grim and her eyes were haunted as she remembered the visions that Claire du Gaal had shared with her. Powerful priests had used her younger brother to establish their holy kingdom and the templars they¡¯d sent to kill the first king¡¯s own sister in order to cement their place in the new order. "Because the Church uses these blades as tests of faith, they open the door to men who are zealots or hungry for power, whether they have virtue or not."


    "But if this is true," Nyrielle said, grinning widely and revealing her fangs as a predatory gleam sparkled in her midnight blue eyes. "Then my darling Ashlynn should be able to use the blade, shouldn¡¯t she? Given the trials she¡¯s faced, perhaps even Heila could master this weapon."


    "Me?" Heila said, her voice cracking in a near squeak at Nyrielle¡¯s sudden suggestion. "I, I could never. I¡¯m aligned with water and wood. I have no strength with fire at all. Even if I wanted to try, I¡¯m sure the blade would repel me."


    "Then, does Lady Ashlynn have the same restrictions?" Virve asked from her place behind Heila¡¯s shoulder. "Is this something that could only be used by witches or sorcerers like the ones Lady Heila fought in the arena?"


    "If that were the case," Nyrielle said with a proud gleam in her dark eyes despite the discomfort she felt at being so close to the naked blade. "I would never have asked Ignatious to present this blade to her," she said with a slow, content smile. "Am I right, my darling?"

 Chapter 397: Weapons and Symbols

    Chapter 397: Weapons and Symbols"Mistress Nyrielle might be right about me," Ashlynn said softly. Slowly, she stood up from her chair and walked around the table until she came to stand before the gleaming blade. "Heila¡¯s gifts are almost exclusively related to wood and water, but I¡¯m strongest in wood, earth, and fire. It¡¯s just that Jacques is the only witch in Big Sister Amahle¡¯s coven who has much strength in fire so I haven¡¯t learned very much."


    As she spoke, her hand drifted forward, almost unconsciously hovering over the hilt of the blade. This close, she could feel the heat trapped within the blade, aching to be let free. To her senses, the blade resembled a wild stallion, demanding to be conquered before it could be ridden.


    "I can teach you how," Ignatious offered, stepping up beside Ashlynn. "From what Mistress Nyrielle has said of you, I believe you¡¯re the kind of person blades like this were meant for. You may not be devout, but your heart is pure and that matters far more than blind devotion to the scriptures. So long as you would wield this blade in the service of those who struggle, aiding them in their quest to reach the heavenly shores rather than oppressing them and forcing them to fail in their struggle, I see no reason you shouldn¡¯t bear this blade."


    "If she wishes it, and she can bend the blade to her will," Nyrielle said protectively. "Nothing else matters. Don¡¯t wrap your faith around this needlessly after Artificer Erkembalt has revealed that this weapon places no restrictions of faith on its wielder."


    "Forgive me, Mistress," Ignatious said, bowing deeply to the powerful vampire before returning his gaze to the witch who seemed so well suited to the weapon that he was certain she would have found a high place within the Church if not for their blindness, both to the strength of women and the truth of witches.


    "My Lady," he said gently. "Would you like me to guide you in igniting the blade?"


    For several moments, a tense silence filled the air as Ashlynn stared at the gleaming blade. It wasn¡¯t as long or as heavy as her darksteel falchion but the more she looked at it, the less she thought of it as a sword at all. Rather, it resembled a witch¡¯s wand in her eyes, something that could gather the power of flame and channel it to devastating effect.


    With a blade like this in her hands, she could break down the gates of Lothian City and lay waste to the Lothian Fortress, but in the process, countless innocent soldiers would lose their lives to a raging inferno. Soldiers, servants... cooks like Ollie who had nothing to do with her conflict.


    But as a symbol... As a symbol of faith, it could be even more powerful than it was as a weapon, so long as she dared to wield it that way. Before she left the Vale of Mists, she¡¯d already demonstrated her power to a small group of captives. She¡¯d hoped to show them that witchcraft was nothing to be feared, but instead, they¡¯d taken her as a holy maiden.


    Thankfully, she¡¯d left the Vale before things could progress too far, but she¡¯d never resolved the question of whether or not she was willing to use faith as a weapon against the common people. Now, an even more effective means to do so lay directly within her grasp but... was she willing to use it?


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said, reaching out to place the lid back on the case that held the sword and securing the clasps at both ends. The instant she did so, she felt the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s racing heart within her chest begin to slow and the darkness that her lover had gathered in the corner of the room to protect herself from the weapon began to fade.


    "I think we¡¯ve learned enough about this weapon for now, Sir Ignatious," Ashlynn said firmly, picking the weapon up off the table and presenting it to him. "You and I can discuss it more another night. I¡¯m not opposed to learning to use this weapon," she said, sweeping her gaze over everyone present and lingering on Nyrielle at the end.


    "But even if the weapon doesn¡¯t require faith, there are still questions in my own heart I have to resolve if I¡¯m to win a struggle against the blade," she said firmly. "Until then, I think it¡¯s best that Sir Ignatious holds onto this blade."


    "My darling is wise," Nyrielle said, walking over to Ashlynn and wrapping her arms around her lover. As she drew closer, Ashlynn felt a subtle tremor in Nyrielle¡¯s normally steady hands, and the midnight blue of her eyes seemed dimmer than usual, with a hungry sheen that Ashlynn had come to recognize all too well. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The blade¡¯s presence, even dormant, had taken its toll. The blade had been crafted to embody the flames of the sun and every minute in its presence wore away at Nyrielle¡¯s strength in the same way that staying awake past dawn or rising before sunset would. Nyrielle had endured its proximity far longer than was comfortable for her, and she¡¯d done it not just because Ashlynn needed to understand this weapon¡¯s potential, but to protect her from it if anything went wrong while they studied the dangerous weapon.


    Leaning in, Nyrielle brushed her lips across Ashlynn¡¯s, touching ever so lightly with the tip of a fang. The touch was so light that it failed to break the surface of Ashlynn¡¯s skin, but the catch in her lover¡¯s breath told Ashlynn everything she needed to know about how much restraint it took for Nyrielle to maintain such delicate control when her need was clearly growing.


    "Step outside with me," Ashlynn whispered, leaning up on tip-toes until her lips brushed against her lover¡¯s ear. Her hands found Nyrielle¡¯s, squeezing gently in silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice the vampire had made for her. "You¡¯ve endured the heat of the Holy Flame Blade, even if it was dormant. Let me quench your thirst properly before we dine with the

 Chapter 398: A Delicious Snack

    Chapter 398: A Delicious SnackA red and golden haze filled the edges of Nryielle¡¯s vision, obscuring the edges of the dining room and limiting her view to Ashlynn, the sword of flame and the few people gathered immediately around her. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat when Ashlynn¡¯s hand hovered over the hilt of the blade. Just the presence of the blade had already weakened her to this extent, but if her love were to ignite the blade, she wasn¡¯t certain that she¡¯d be able to tolerate its presence any longer.


    At the same time, she dared not tell Ashlynn to stop. The weapon presented too many opportunities to ignore, and at the same time, too many dangers. As much as her body cried out for her to shatter the blade, hide it away, or flee from it, she refused to be absent when Ashlynn attempted to use the deadly weapon. If anything went wrong, while she trusted that Ignatious and Heila would do their best to intervene, neither was as capable or as versed in sorcery as she was. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Finally, a wave of relief rippled through her when Ashlynn chose not to ignite the blade and instead handed it off to Ignatious for safe keeping.


    "My darling is wise," Nyrielle said, gliding across the floor in her best approximation of her usual grace. The haze still clung to her vision but the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat called to her like a church bell, guiding her across the room toward the warmth of her lover¡¯s embrace and the hot, pulsing force of life within her.


    Those who had extraordinary senses or knew her well might see the uncharacteristic haste with which she rushed to Ashlynn¡¯s side or the tremble in her hands when she took Ashlynn in her arms, but if anyone other than Ashlynn understood what was happening, they said nothing.


    Her throat burned with thirst, and each beat of Ashlynn¡¯s heart echoed in her ears like drums, calling her to the hunt. The scent of her beloved filled her nostrils, woodsy and green like spring leaves after rain, but beneath it pulsed the rich metallic sweetness that called to the predator within her. Each breath drew that scent deeper, until she could almost taste the crimson droplets on her tongue before they¡¯d been spilled.


    "Step outside with me..." Ashlynn¡¯s whisper fell on Nyrielle¡¯s ears like rain on the desert sands, calling out to her hunger and stirring the deep emptiness within her that ached for her lover¡¯s sweet, tender taste. The subtle flush beneath her beloved¡¯s fair skin called out to her and she barely heard Ashlynn¡¯s whispered plea to step outside before gave in to temptation. Her body shivered and it took every bit of restraint she had left to sweep her darling up in her arms and rush out of the room in a cloud of dark, swirling mist.


    Ashlynn¡¯s room wasn¡¯t far and the iron-bound wooden door rebounded off the stone walls, quivering with the force of their sudden entry.


    "Aah!" Ashlynn cried out, momentarily startled when Nyrielle pressed her up against the cool, marble walls of her sitting room. For a moment, memories of Nyrielle¡¯s nearly uncontrollable hunger the first night she¡¯d seen her lover feed danced through her mind. That time, it hadn¡¯t been a wall but a mighty cedar tree that Nyrielle pushed her up against when she naively offered herself up to be her lover¡¯s meal. This time, however, she knew exactly what Nyrielle needed and what it would be like when she took it.


    Nyrielle¡¯s hands trembled against Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders, pressing her back against the cool marble as she fought to maintain control. Her beloved¡¯s heat radiated against her own rapidly cooling skin as she used up what little strength she had left to hold herself back despite the overwhelming desire to pierce through all the barriers that separated them.


    The scent of Ashlynn¡¯s answering desire mingled with the soft, earthy power that had only grown more intense since she began to master her powers, creating an intoxicating perfume that made Nyrielle¡¯s head swim. She could feel the racing -THUMP THUMP- of Ashlynn¡¯s heart through the thin layers of their dresses that infuriatingly kept her from drinking in the warmth of Ashlynn¡¯s body with every inch of her soft, alabaster skin.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn whispered as she felt Nyrielle¡¯s body shake and quiver against her own. Once, Nyrielle had rushed through the night, desperate to reach a willing offering rather than touch her in this frenzied, hungered state, refusing to give Ashlynn any other reasons to fear her in the early days after they¡¯d forged their bond. It seemed foolish now, how frightened she¡¯d been that Nyrielle would trap and exploit her when in truth, all they had needed was the time to come to know each other.


    But now, there was no fear in Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes as she turned her head to the side, exposing her delicate, tender neck and the strong, jumping pulse that ran just beneath the surface of her pale skin.


    "Take what you need," she whispered, biting her lower lip and wrapping her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s slender waist and narrow shoulders before surrendering utterly to her lover¡¯s hunger.


    The last of Nyrielle¡¯s restraint shattered like glass. Her pupils shrank and the midnight blue of her eyes bled outward until her eyes resembled the endless, glittering night sky. Her lush lips parted, revealing long, slender fangs while her fingernails grew sharp enough to rend flesh.


    With a sharp tug, Nyrielle tore Ashlynn¡¯s dress away, revealing her full bust, slender waist, and the barest hint of her mark of the witch in her hip before she fell on Ashlynn¡¯s neck like a striking snake. Nyrielle¡¯s fangs sank into the tender flesh of Ashlynn¡¯s neck with a smooth, practiced precision. The initial shock of sharp, penetrating pain drew a gasp from Ashlynn¡¯s lips that quickly melted into a soft moan as Nyrielle¡¯s own dark energy flooded her body, carrying her mind away to a place filled only with soft, enveloping warmth and the faintest sound of sucking.

 Chapter 399: Sweet Taste

    Chapter 399: Sweet TasteThe first taste of Ashlynn¡¯s rich, hot blood exploded across Nyrielle¡¯s tongue like water breaking free from a dam. Sweetness burst in her mouth, rich with the flavor of honeyed desire mingling with the sharp tang of her lover¡¯s anticipation. As she drew deeper, the complexity of flavors unfolded like a perfectly composed dish.


    There was a rich, oaky undertone to Ashlynn¡¯s blood, reminiscent of ancient forests, and deep devotion that had matured beautifully since they¡¯d first formed their bond of blood. The steady foundation of loyalty and commitment gave the blood a resonant depth that satisfied yearnings deep in Nyrielle¡¯s bones that went far beyond simple hunger.


    Nyrielle pulled Ashlynn closer, one hand tangled in her golden hair while the other pressed firmly against the small of her back, pressing their bodies together as if they could melt into a single being.


    Ashlynn felt herself melting into Nyrielle¡¯s embrace, her arms growing limp, barely able to maintain her hold on her lover¡¯s lithe figure while her own heartbeat thundered in her ears. The sensation of giving herself, not just her blood or her magic, but offering up her very life created an intimacy beyond what any other physical act could achieve.


    She could feel Nyrielle¡¯s gratitude and pleasure echoing through their bond, creating a circle of sensation that bounced back and forth between them, echoing in time with their heartbeats and growing stronger with each exchange. A soft whimper escaped her lips as Nyrielle¡¯s sharp nails traced patterns along her exposed skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake as if to mark Ashlynn as hers and hers alone.


    For Nyrielle, every swallow brought new tastes, each one echoing the feelings that poured from Ashlynn¡¯s heart. yet no matter how she relished in the oaky flavor of devotion or the bright, almost herbal taste of anticipation, nothing could compare to the succulent, almost berry-like sweetness that could only be described as pure, unfiltered love.


    And mingled through all of those things, what truly distinguished Ashlynn¡¯s blood from all others was the magical energy that coursed through it. A vibrant current that sang through everything like the finest champagne accompanying a perfect feast. It sparkled and danced across Nyrielle¡¯s palate, the witch¡¯s power manifesting as effervescent bursts of energy that tingled all the way down her throat and spread outward through her limbs.


    Ashlynn¡¯s fingers dug into Nyrielle¡¯s shoulders, her body arching as the vampire drank deeply. The connection between them intensified with each swallow, their heartbeats melding into a single, strong rhythm. Through their bond, Nyrielle could feel Ashlynn¡¯s pleasure mirroring her own, like waves crashing on the shore with the ecstatic relief of fulfilling her lover¡¯s deepest need.


    Ashlynn¡¯s head fell back against the wall, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The world narrowed to just this moment, just this connection between them. Her fingers slid upwards, becoming tangled in Nyrielle¡¯s silken hair, alternately stroking and gripping as waves of intense sensation pulsed through her body. Between her soft, creamy thighs, a fire built that left her writhing and yearning for release as she pressed tightly against the soft, silky fabric of Nyrielle¡¯s dress, hating that it kept her from feeling more of her lover¡¯s touch.


    Slowly, the weakness that had plagued Nyrielle since she stood in the presence of the Holy Flame Blade began to recede as strength flowed back into her limbs. Ashlynn¡¯s blood cleared away the red-gold haze that had clouded her vision, leaving her free to fill her gaze with the beauty of her lover¡¯s soft, tender flesh.


    Before Ashlynn gave any sign that the pleasure threatened to turn to pain, Nyrielle slowed her drinking, savoring the final tastes like the last sips of a rare wine. She could sense exactly how much she could take without weakening Ashlynn, and she stopped far short of that.


    Ashlynn felt the change as Nyrielle slowed her drinking, a gradual lessening of the intensity of sensations that shook her body dimming like the setting sun and allowing her to float gently back to awareness rather than being abruptly cut off. Her body still hummed with pleasure, but the overwhelming sensations began to recede, leaving behind a deep contentment that spread from the bite at her neck to the center of her chest before radiating out over every inch of her body.


    With great reluctance, Nyrielle withdrew her fangs, her tongue gently sealing the twin punctures on Ashlynn¡¯s neck, leaving only two faint white dots and a trace of crimson blood that she quickly licked clean to mark the fact that she¡¯d fed at all.


    "Exquisite," Nyrielle whispered against Ashlynn¡¯s ear, her voice husky with satisfaction. The tremor in her hands had disappeared, replaced by the steady, confident touch that Ashlynn knew so well. "You taste more magnificent each time, my darling. Like a fine wine that only improves with age and experience."


    Ashlynn smiled languidly, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as she leaned against Nyrielle for support. The feeding had left her light-headed but deeply fulfilled. The last time she¡¯d seen Nyrielle like this, it had been her fault as she depleted Nyrielle¡¯s own strength to fuel her growth as Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal.


    Then, she¡¯d been unable to take responsibility for leaving her lover aching with hunger. This time, however, when Nyrielle had over-extended herself to protect Ashlynn while she examined the Holy Flame Blade, she was able to repay her lover and perhaps, to make up for what she couldn¡¯t do the time before.


    "We should return to our guests," Ashlynn murmured, though she made no immediate move to step away from Nyrielle¡¯s embrace. Stripped to the waist with her bodice hanging in tatters around her hips, she leaned on the vampire, entwining her arms around her lover¡¯s back to hold herself up as she recovered. "They¡¯ll be wondering where we¡¯ve gone for so long," she mumbled softly.


    Nyrielle chuckled, her midnight eyes now clear and bright. "Let them wonder for a few moments more," she said, pressing a gentle kiss to Ashlynn¡¯s forehead. "Besides, I¡¯ve ruined your lovely dress. We¡¯ll need to find you something else to wear." S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Next time, make it up to me," Ashlynn teased as soaked in the borrowed warmth that radiated from Nyrielle¡¯s healthy, glowing skin. "Next time, you let me be the one to rip your bodice out of the way," she said with a faint, glowing green light flickering across her eyes. "Don¡¯t think I can¡¯t do it."

 Chapter 400: Daughter-In-Law?

    Chapter 400: Daughter-In-Law?A light rain fell across Lothian City, washing away the last, lingering signs of the previous week¡¯s Harvest Festival celebrations. Soon, the rainy season would begin in earnest, and the people of Lothian March would spend days at a time under a sky covered by a wet, gray blanket of clouds, rarely seeing the sun.


    Across the march, demons would grow bolder, raiding farms for livestock or striking at poorly defended villages in the hopes of causing as much devastation as they could while defenders huddled in their homes and around fires to ward off the damp chills of the season.


    In the summer, Lothian March resembled a lush paradise and its soldiers fought freely beneath the sun like the anointed champions of the Holy Lord of Light. But in the fall and winter, the demons fought back with the ferocity and tenaciousness of wolves and the world itself seemed to aid them with constant storms and long, cold nights.


    "This will be your first winter in the Frontier, Lady Jocelynn," Marquis Bors Lothian said, turning away from the window to look at his guest for the evening while servants covered the dining table with several courses worth of food. "Are you prepared to weather the storm?"


    "The winter squalls in Blackwell County can be very fierce, my Lord," Jocelynn said from her place next to the crackling hearth in the small, private dining room. "I not worried about myself," she added. "But I am worried about my sister. She should give birth by year¡¯s end, but she has always been weak and frail of constitution, rarely leaving her room in the winter months. I¡¯m afraid that this winter will be especially hard on her."


    "Then it¡¯s good that she has such a dedicated sister to care for her," Bors said calmly, though it took a measure of effort to keep impatience out of his voice while two of the servants fussed over the placement of large trays of roast boar and venison sausages.


    If it had been any other occasion, he would have chased them out by now to enjoy a quiet meal with his guest, but tonight, it was important that the ¡¯audience¡¯ heard the things that he and Jocelynn would say. After all, the gossip that would spread among the servants after this conversation was the first of his many goals for inviting the young Blackwell girl here tonight.


    "I thank you for leaving the Summer Villa to help prepare for my son¡¯s return from Blackwell County," Bors continued, speaking more for the audience than for Jocelynn. "I hope you¡¯re satisfied with the protection we¡¯ve provided for your sister during her stay? With so many soldiers, even if the demons were to attack, they would only be courting their own deaths."


    "The defenses are more than adequate," Jocelynn said with a smile, giving a slight curtsey of thanks. "I know it pains my sister that she cannot return to give birth in Lothian City but the physicians say that she shouldn¡¯t be moved because her constitution is just too frail."


    "Then it¡¯s even better that she has such a devoted sister to take up her duties in Lothian City when Owain returns in a few days," Bors said, striding across the small dining room to take a seat at the head of the table.


    "You may go," he told the servants, waving them off before he lost his patience with the excessive fussing. Normally, they weren¡¯t this bad, but it seemed like several of them were worried about Jocelynn¡¯s ability to carry out her duties during this meal and they¡¯d surreptitiously been trying to ¡¯help¡¯ the young noblewoman on her first meal with her sister¡¯s father-in-law. "The things that Lady Jocelynn and I have to discuss tonight concern the march, the conversation is more important than the food," he reminded them.


    "Of course, my Lord," one of the servants said, looking embarrassed that he¡¯d been caught trying to ¡¯help¡¯ the beautiful Lady Jocelynn. If he were honest, just the sight of her flowing blonde hair and the grace she carried herself with was enough for him to entertain wild fantasies of forbidden love between a young noblewoman and a commoner and he¡¯d hoped to make some impression on her tonight but...


    Such things were only flights of fancy after all, he realized. The entire time he¡¯d been arranging things, the younger sister of their absent future Marchioness hadn¡¯t looked away from the warm glow of the crackling hearth even once.


    Now, as servants took the last of their serving trays and other tools away, they cast one last, furtive glance at the radiant beauty from the sea. They firmly fixed her delicate, youthful features in their minds, perhaps to ponder on in more private moments of idle fantasy, before bowing out of the room and leaving their lord to discuss important matters.


    Outside, the wind howled, rattling the window and driving sheets of rain against the glass. Even the fire in the hearth momentarily bowed under the pressure of the wind whistling through the chimney before flaring up brighter as if to deny the dark, cold storm that raged outside.


    "I assume you know your duties?" Bors said, his voice losing its warmth as he watched the blonde temptress cross the dining room to join him at the table. Now that the servants weren¡¯t present and no one would intrude for at least an hour, he saw no reason to be more courteous than necessary with the woman who had clearly wrapped his eldest son around her fingers.


    "Of course, father-in-law," Jocelynn said with a brilliant smile. With practiced ease, she selected a long carving knife from the assortments on the table and began to carve thin slices from the roast boar, piling them up on Bors Lothian¡¯s plate without allowing so much as a drop of the rich, fatty juices to fall onto the table as she served him. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As the second daughter of a count, she had rarely been in a position that required her to take the role of servant in gatherings where common folks were forbidden but her mother had insisted she learn, regardless of her actual need. Now, she silently thanked her mother¡¯s forethought as she transitioned seamlessly from serving roasted boar to buttery squash and plump venison sausages, filling the Marquis¡¯ plate before placing so much as a morsel on her own dish.


    "It¡¯s still a bit early to call me ¡¯father-in-law¡¯ don¡¯t you think?" Bors said, spearing a thick sausage with his knife and gesturing for her to serve herself. "As far as the world knows, your sister is still alive, holed up in the summer villa and preparing to give birth to Owain¡¯s heir."


    "What the world knows and what we know are not the same," Jocelynn replied smoothly, taking a seat at her own plate filled mostly with vegetables and a leg of a wild grouse. The people of the Frontier led harder lives than she realized and their meals were not only generous in portions compared to Blackwell County but rich in butter and fats as well.


    Within a month of coming here, she¡¯d found her dresses growing snug and quickly realized that without discipline about her diet, she would resemble a trading galleon by the time Owain returned. The thought of becoming plump enough to float across the sea and losing Owain¡¯s adoration terrified her so much that she¡¯d taken to strolling through the forest outside the summer villa with a full complement of guards, just to ensure she could keep herself reasonably trim.


    Unfortunately, with the onset of the rainy season, not even the Templars who had accompanied her from Blackwell County were willing to venture into the forests for a stroll in the wilderness, forcing her to be even more careful about what she ate while she was confined to the grounds of the small Summer Villa.


    "Lord Owain will be returning soon," Jocelynn said after helping herself to a portion of wilted greens. "Once he does, you¡¯ll see how well we complement each other. I know you still have doubts, father-in-law, but I promise you, I¡¯m nothing like my older sister. I will not lead Lord Owain astray," she said pointedly.


    "And hasn¡¯t my advice been useful in concluding the preliminary negotiations with the merchant guilds?" Jocelynn asked with a bright smile. "I promise, I¡¯ll do everything I can to help Owain turn Lothian March into Lothian Duchy, and we¡¯ll do it fast enough that you¡¯ll live to see the day done."


    "Speaking like that, you¡¯ll curse me to an early grave, woman," Bors spat, making a gesture with his hand to ward off evil and misfortune. He might not be as devout as his son Loman, but that didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t cautious about things that could become ill omens. "But I¡¯m pleased that you¡¯re willing to commit yourself to Lothian March and our long overdue elevation," he said as he forced himself to restrain his temper.


    "What I want to know," the aging Marquis asked, pointing at Jocelynn with the point of his knife. "Is if you¡¯re committed to Lothian March and its future, or if you¡¯re committed to my son Owain and his ambitions?"


    "Isn¡¯t it the same?" Jocelynn asked, blinking in surprise at the way her future father-in-law had framed the question. "Owain is the future of Lothian March and he carries the ambition of all Lothians since the founding of the march, to vanquish the neighboring demon lords and establish a proper duchy."


    "But what if Owain isn¡¯t the future of the march?" Bors asked bluntly. "Loman intends to contest for my throne, and after spending the summer fighting against the demons with young Liam Dunn, he¡¯s proving himself to be a worthy contender."


    "So," Bors asked, spearing a sausage and tearing into it, savoring the rich, fatty juices and the sharp spices along with the shocked and horrified expression blossoming on the young Blackwell girl¡¯s face. "Tell me, Lady Jocelynn. Are you committed to marrying Owain and helping him achieve his ambitions? Or are you willing to marry whichever of my sons I designate as my heir, and use your talents to help them achieve our dream?"

 Chapter 401: Breaking Down

    Chapter 401: Breaking DownStrong winds buffeted the windows of Marquis Bors Lothian¡¯s private dining hall and hail mixed with rain, bouncing off the glass panes with a sharp -PING-PING-PING- sound that echoed like thunder across the small dining room in the wake of Bors¡¯s declaration that Loman might inherit his throne.


    It took every bit of control Jocelynn possessed to keep her knife and fork firmly in hand, poised over her leg of grouse without moving as tremors rippled through her body. Just when everything had been going so well, why? Why would this old man pull the rug out from under her when she¡¯d done so much to find her way to Owain¡¯s side?


    "You can¡¯t," she blurted, her mind racing from one thought to the next like a frightened mare as she tried to latch on to a reason why Owain had to be the heir and she had to be the one to marry him. "Loman, Loman is a priest," she said, pointing out the first and most obvious barrier to Bors¡¯ apparent plan. "He can¡¯t inherit a worldly position."


    "He can¡¯t inherit my throne and retain his position as a priest within the Church," Bors Lothian corrected, swirling the wine in his goblet before draining it to the last drop and holding it out for Jocelynn to refill. "Life is uncertain. Heirs die across the kingdom with some frequency. If a noble family had to cut ties with their sons within the Church and sever their own lines of succession should tragedy strike, do you think any family of note would allow their sons to enter the Church?"


    "No, but," Jocelynn started, stumbling slightly as she stood from her seat to fill the Marquis¡¯ goblet with more of the heady, fortified wine that he preferred. "But Owain isn¡¯t dead. The line of succession isn¡¯t broken. There¡¯s no reason for Loman to step in as heir."


    "Isn¡¯t there?" Bors said, taking a deep drink of wine and holding out his goblet before Jocelynn could sit down. As power games went, it was crude, but he needed to school this young temptress before she grew overconfident in her manipulation of Owain. "I love both my boys, but one of them murdered his wife on his wedding night and intends to take her younger sister as his bride in her place," he said bluntly.


    "My, my sister, she, she bore the mark of the witch," Jocelynn said in feeble protest. The words that she¡¯d once said so confidently into Owains ear now sounded hollow and uncertain, even to her own ears. After months of speaking about Ashlynn with Confessor Eleanor, she was no longer certain that Ashlynn¡¯s mark was a genuine mark of the witch, but it was far too late to take back her words now.


    The way that Bors looked at her, his thin lips curling into a sneer and shaking his head ever so slightly all but shouted that he didn¡¯t believe it either. Under that calm, calculating gaze, her hands trembled and she had to set the pitcher of wine down before she spilled any on herself, or worse, on Marquis Bors, but she had no idea what she was supposed to say to him when he seemed to see right through her.


    "The Church examined your sister¡¯s body," he told her, revealing one of the secrets he¡¯d gained from Loman. "They don¡¯t believe that she was a witch. They¡¯re keeping quiet at the moment because they¡¯re impressed by Owain¡¯s ability to fight against the demons."


    "Then, isn¡¯t that a settled matter then?" Jocelynn said, using the edge of the table to support herself as she returned to her seat. "Since they need him to lead the Holy War against the demons, then he must be the next Marquis Lothian." S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ve miscalculated, Lady Jocelynn," Bors said with a heavy sigh. "Your advice in matters relating to the merchants of Blackwell County has been useful, but in matters relating to the Church and the Frontier, you still know far too little. Your sister was far more impressive in this regard," he added, cutting himself a portion of roast boar and dredging it through a thick brown gravy before tearing into the tender, nutty meat.


    "Lady Ashlynn¡¯s greatest fault is that she possessed a birth defect that could be misunderstood and she concealed it rather than revealing it," the Marquis continued as his knife and fork moved mechanically across his plate, preparing his next bite. "She was naive and trusting, but she was also very diligent. She spent two years of her engagement studying the Frontier, our ways, our challenges, our relationship with the Church... She intended to be a capable Marchioness from the instant we agreed to a betrothal."


    "Sister was always very studious," Jocelynn agreed quietly. Her sea-green eyes grew distant as she stared at the food on her plate without truly seeing it. "But she¡¯s gone now," she finally said, blinking back the tears that threatened to form and turning her attention back to the Lothian Marquis. "She¡¯s gone, and I¡¯m here to take her place. To marry Owain and help bring the Blackwell and Lothian families closer together."


    "Those are separate things, Lady Jocelynn," Bors reminded her pointedly. "You can serve your family just as well by marrying Loman. He¡¯s younger than Owain, closer to your age, and he may be a better match for you in the long run. He¡¯s clever and he appreciates people who are intelligent in a way that Owain has yet to manage. He isn¡¯t ugly either," he added. "Many ladies of the march have bemoaned the entrance of such a handsome nobleman into the Church. You wouldn¡¯t suffer a loss by wedding Loman."


    "But I don¡¯t love Loman," Jocelynn blurted out only to immediately cover her pert lips with her delicate hands. "I, I mean..."


    "I don¡¯t think your love counts for very much," Bors said bluntly. "You act like you loved your sister, but without your words in Owain¡¯s ears, she might still be alive today. You can act however you want in front of others," he said, his bushy brows lowering in a fierce glare. "But don¡¯t you dare tell me that you love my son. I¡¯ve seen what you do when the people you love stand in the way of your own ambitions."

 Chapter 402: Fighting Back (Part One)

    Chapter 402: Fighting Back (Part One)"I never asked him to kill her!" Jocelynn shrieked, standing up from her chair with enough force to knock it over and slamming her petite fists down on the table hard enough to make the dinnerware jump. Tears flowed freely from her eyes and her heart thudded in her chest like the powerful storm raging outside the glass windows but she didn¡¯t care as she lashed out at the middle-aged Marquis.


    "He didn¡¯t, he didn¡¯t need to kill her," she sobbed. "All he had to do was see the mark for himself and refuse to consummate the marriage. Then, then we could have fixed things. We could have talked about what to do, together, as one big family. But he..."


    "And yet you say you love him anyway," Bors snorted.


    "I do love him!" Jocelynn insisted. "I, I love him more than anything in this world and I would do anything for him. Anything to help him become the first Duke of Lothian March, to bear him sons to inherit his throne, I would do all of those things for him and more because I. I. Love. Him," she said, emphasizing her final words as strongly as she could while trying to reign in the tears that flooded from her eyes.


    "Silly girl," Bors said. Slowly, he stood from his chair, walked over to her, and pulled a handkerchief from a pocket to dab at her eyes with. "What did my foolish son ever do for you to earn this much adoration and devotion from you? Hmmm? What has he done to capture your heart."


    "He, he¡¯s a hero," Jocelynn said, looking at the suddenly tender Marquis with moist eyes that trembled in confusion. "He¡¯s brave and strong and the greatest hero of his generation. No one can compare to him," she said. Her voice trembled as she spoke but she didn¡¯t understand why Bors would ask such a question. The way he said it made it sound like he didn¡¯t think Owain was worthy of her when she was the one who had to work so hard, just to be worthy of him.


    "He could have anyone in the world as his bride, but he wants me," she added in a very small voice.


    "He¡¯s a strong fighter, I¡¯ll give him that," Bors said, stepping behind Jocelynn to lift her seat up off the floor and placing it back upright at her spot at the table. "Sit, Jocelynn," he said, gesturing to her chair.


    "Don¡¯t try anything funny. No clever words, no pouting looks, I¡¯m far too old for both of those. If you¡¯re going to marry one of my sons, then I will treat you like a daughter-in-law," he said as he returned to his own seat. "But at the moment, you¡¯re a daughter-in-law that has yet to earn my trust or approval. You understand?"


    "Yes, my lord," she said, using the handkerchief to tidy herself up as best she could. "How can I earn your trust?"


    "Start with plain words," Bors said, pouring himself a fresh cup of wine as he carefully regarded the young woman, trying to decide whether or not she had truly submitted after this brief bout of pressure. Her tears, when he wiped them away, felt real enough, but she regained her composure quickly for a woman so young. In the end, he still didn¡¯t know her well enough to be certain, but he could only press forward and look for other opportunities to test her. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If I declare that Loman is my heir," Bors said. "Will you marry him to cement the alliance between the Blackwells and the Lothians? Or will you cling to Owain, whether he is to become heir or not?"


    "I, I¡¯ve never thought of it," Jocelynn admitted, refusing to give the answer that came first to her lips. Owain had to be the heir, anything else was impossible to accept, but arguing that would get her nowhere. Worse, the way Bors had framed his question, though he asked her for plain words, was clearly a trap.


    "My duty to my family would compel me to secure the alliance with my marriage," she said carefully as her mind raced to find a solution. "But, I don¡¯t have to wed the Lothian heir to do that, do I? I could marry Owain and return to Blackwell County with him. He could marry into our family and our firstborn child could inherit my father¡¯s title. Until our son is old enough to reign, if my father must retire, then Owain could serve as regent..."


    "You can¡¯t think it¡¯s that simple, can you?" Bors prodded her as he sipped his wine. "If I give Loman the throne of the march, I must give Owain to the Church to take Loman¡¯s place. You said it yourself," he pointed out. "My son is a fierce warrior against the demons. Some in the Church believe he would make an excellent Templar, no weaker than his former knight Tommin. If Loman inherits the throne, you will not be able to marry Owain."


    "But I don¡¯t love Loman," Jocelynn protested. "My heart belongs to Owain."


    "But does your body belong to him?" Bors asked bluntly. "Tell me truthfully, has Owain spoiled you?"


    "He would never!" Jocelynn shrieked. Her face turned nearly as red as the wine in her cup as she protested her innocence. She wanted to say that she was Owain¡¯s woman, that he had ravished her in his bed chambers before he left for Blackwell County, but she¡¯d held firm, believing that only by remaining chaste could she truly secure his love.


    But now, it felt like Bors might tear her away from Owain since had no ¡¯claim¡¯ over her body! If she¡¯d known this would happen, she would have given herself to Owain their first night in the Summer Villa!


    "Confessor Eleanor has been at my side to protect my chastity and...."


    "Fine, fine," Bors said, waving off her startled protests. "Owain courted your sister for two years before we settled the marriage. If I ask him to, Loman could begin courting you now and you could see if he captures your heart," the Marquis suggested.


    "And if my heart still belongs to Owain after Loman courts me?" Jocelynn said, staring defiantly at Bors and trembling with emotion. "What then?"

 Chapter 403: Fighting Back (Part Two)

    Chapter 403: Fighting Back (Part Two)"Then you had best hope that Owain convinces me he can be a worthy heir," Bors said bluntly. "Not everyone gets a happy ending, Lady Jocelynn. If you cannot love Loman and he is a better heir, then I will look elsewhere for a suitable bride for him and you can return to Blackwell County to find a future of your own. One that will not involve marriage to a son of the Lothian house."


    "But, if that happens, then your alliance with my family..." Jocelynn started.


    "This was an alliance that benefitted your family more than ours," Bors interrupted. "And we¡¯ve already all but secured the cooperation of the merchant guilds from Blackwell County. That Isabell woman is cunning, but she¡¯ll be arriving along with Owain in a few days. Once she¡¯s verified and accepted the lands and titles we¡¯re offering to her and her fellow guild masters, our need for an alliance with the Blackwells will diminish greatly."


    "You used us as a wedge," Jocelynn muttered. "You just needed to get your foot in the door and now that you have, you¡¯re ready to cast us aside," she said, her voice growing stronger as she realized how badly they¡¯d been out-maneuvered.


    If her sister was still alive, then the Blackwells would also have gotten what they needed by now, an alliance secured by marriage. But since they¡¯d gone ahead in their negotiations with the guild masters, it had left a window open for the Lothians to cast them aside.


    "Don¡¯t say it like it¡¯s a foul or dirty thing," Bors chided her. "Your father used me, and I used him. This is the way that men barter power and favors. Your father is an honorable man and he never once backed away from our bargain, even after my son murdered your sister," he said pointedly.


    "You should think of the kind of man that makes your father," the middle aged Marquis added. "His daughter¡¯s body was barely cold when he agreed to the charade and to allow you to take Lady Ashlynn¡¯s place. He might look soft with his comfortable life by the sea, but your father is as ruthless as a demon when he needs to be."


    "Don¡¯t say that about him," Jocelynn said, glaring at her future father-in-law. "Don¡¯t you ever compare him to a demon. If my sister wasn¡¯t a witch then my father is no demon and I won¡¯t hear that word used on him," she insisted. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I meant it as a compliment," Bors said with a slow shake of his head. "But I suppose it¡¯s inappropriate. But you see now, the position you¡¯re really in? You need to show me that you still have value. Convince me that you and Owain should inherit the march and I won¡¯t hesitate to abdicate in his favor at the end of the war. But fail in that," he said, allowing his voice to trail off.


    "You¡¯re too much like my sons," Bors said with a heavy sigh. "You have potential, but you¡¯ve squandered too many of your opportunities and you¡¯re not making the best of what you have. You¡¯re more thoughtful than Owain and more ruthless than Loman. You could compliment either of them as a Marchioness, but just like they are lacking, you are also far too deficient in your understanding of real power."


    "What would you have me do, my lord?" Jocelynn asked, biting her lip and looking up at the imposing Marquis through moist eyelashes.


    "You¡¯ll have to figure that out for yourself, Lady Jocelynn," Bors said, leaning back in his seat and returning to his meal. "But the time to end the charade about your sister living in the Summer Villa is rapidly approaching. It wouldn¡¯t do for you to be seen as someone fickle, courted by both my sons."


    "Three months," Bors said, holding up three fingers. "In three month¡¯s time, we¡¯ll announce your sister¡¯s tragic death in labor. There will be a period of mourning during which you will represent the Blackwell family in all public functions. The roads are all but impassable in winter and no one will be surprised that your parents are unable to make the trip."


    "Between now and then, show me that you¡¯re a worthy daughter-in-law who can strengthen the march, and help Owain find a way to prove his worth as my heir," he added. "Do that, and when the spring comes, you¡¯ll find a wedding awaiting you that¡¯s no less grand than the one we held for your sister."


    "I understand. Thank you for the opportunity, my lord," she said, standing to curtsey. "I promise, you won¡¯t regret it," she said before excusing herself and returning to her chambers within the sprawling Lothian Manor.


    It wasn¡¯t until she reached her room that a wide grin spread across her face as she began to carefully remove her makeup. Many of the tears she¡¯d shed during their meal had been real, especially when he threatened to send Owain to the Church after installing Loman as his heir, but in the beginning, when she¡¯d broken down over Ashlynn...


    "I¡¯m sorry, sister," she whispered. She¡¯d already resolved not to shed any more tears over what had happened to her sister. It was impossible to take back her words that night, no matter how much she wanted to. Now, she could only move on with her life and hope that her sister smiled on her from the Heavenly Shores.


    "I promise, I¡¯ll make up for your portion too," she said, retrieving her sister¡¯s string of pearls from her jewelry box and holding them tightly. She refused to leave them in the care of the bumbling imposter in the Summer Villa, and holding them brought her a sense of comfort, as if her big sister were still here to watch over her.


    "I may not be as well learned as you were, but I¡¯ll make Owain happy in your place, and deliver an heir for father too," she promised.


    She disagreed with Bors Lothian on many things, but he¡¯d been right about one thing. Not everyone would receive a happy ending. Ashlynn had already lost her chance to live out a happy life, but that only made Jocelynn more determined to ensure that she secured a happily ever after for herself and for Owain.


    As long as she could do that... then she was certain that everything else would take care of itself, one way or another.

 Chapter 404: Tired

    Chapter 404: TiredDeep below the Lothian Manor, Bors Lothian carried a small lantern down a twisting flight of spiral steps before entering a dimly lit stone chamber. Moisture beaded on the walls in some places and mice scurried into the darkest corners of the chamber at the sight of the soft golden glow of Bors¡¯ lantern.


    The walls of the chamber had been hewn directly into the stone of the earth and while it was very long, the chamber itself was no more than twenty paces wide. Enough to accommodate two rows of crypts, holding the fallen heroes and departed loved ones of the Lothian family.


    One crypt, engraved with a crest of lilies and an embroidery needle, held an oil lamp that cast a faint golden glow across the other crypts in the chamber, casting deep, inky shadows that danced like living things.


    "Hello, Isla," Bors said, kneeling on the cold stone floor and placing his lantern on the ground as he folded his hands in prayer. "It¡¯s been seven years already since you left for the Heavenly Shores. The boys are grown now. I should be able to join you soon but... I worry about our sons," he said with a heavy sigh.


    Moving slowly, he extinguished the lamp burning atop his late wife¡¯s crypt and began to meticulously clean the accumulated residue from the glass of the lamp while he spoke.


    "I¡¯ve done the best I could with them, but I know that I would have done better if you were still here beside me," he said. "Owain is strong and capable of defending our home from the demon hordes and Loman has held to his faith all these years. You would be proud of them my love," he said, pausing in his work as his mind filled with memories of simpler, happier days.


    There had been a time when Isla brought the boys into his stately office every day. She¡¯d sit in her embroidery chair near his desk, plucking away at her needlework while Loman read at her feet, breaking the silence of the office only when he needed to ask for help with one word or another in whatever book his tutors had given him most recently.


    Owain had never been so well behaved, but in his father¡¯s office, even as a teenager, he would wander from one trophy to the next, reading the histories that accompanied them and imagining himself as a hero adding to the collection one day.


    Now, Owain was already accumulating a number of trophies of his own, though none were worthy of a place in the office collection yet, he was certain to add to them one day. And Loman... S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I promised you that I¡¯d look after them," Bors said, putting away his cleaning rag and pulling out a small bottle of lamp oil to refill the freshly cleaned lamp. In the first year after her passing, he felt like the oil had barely burned down between visits, but over the years, it had come closer and closer to running empty by the time he next visited. "At least until I¡¯ve seen my first grandson born. When I know the future is secure, then I can join you on the Heavenly Shores," he promised.


    "Only, I¡¯m afraid the wait may be even longer than I imagined," he said. Using the flame of his own lantern, he relit her lamp and placed it back atop the cold stone crypt. "I spoke with the girl that Owain intends to take as his second wife. She¡¯s clever but very, very young. She thinks that the world will dance to her tune because her father is a count and she has some skill at enticing people into her schemes."


    "Perhaps if she were her sister¡¯s age, she would have grown out of this foolishness, but I¡¯m afraid that she will bring disasters down upon our boys before she learns the limitations of her power," he said, shaking his head as he recalled her performance at dinner this evening.


    "Loman is contending for the throne," he added, his voice growing as heavy as the stones of the crypts. "He¡¯s improving, but he needs years more seasoning. And Owain... Owain has squandered so many years that I feel only a capable woman at his side will allow him to care for the march and keep it safe from the demons. I just don¡¯t know that this Blackwell girl is as capable as she thinks she is."


    "You could have straightened her out," he said, pulling out a small bottle of wine and two cups that were barely larger than thimbles. "You always had a way with the ladies of the march. Now, I¡¯m afraid that this Blackwell girl will turn our court into the kind of viper¡¯s nest that is common in the soft territories to the east. People will start squabbling among themselves and forget about the threat of the demons."


    "I¡¯ll do what I can with her in the time I have left," he said, pouring a tiny cup for Isla and one for himself. He drank his own cup immediately but hesitated once he picked hers up. "Would you hate me, my love, if I stayed on longer? Long enough to pass the throne to a grandson instead of one of our boys?" Bors asked before pouring the second tiny cup of wine over the cold stones of Isla¡¯s crypt.


    "I know you always believed in them," he said with a heavy sigh. "Owain is already five years older than I was when my father died. Maybe you were right all along and their true capability will only be unearthed when they have to face trials without me but... I just can¡¯t put my mind at ease."


    Slowly, and with much more effort than it required of him seven years ago, Bors stood up from the cold stone floor and looked down lovingly at the crypt that held the remains of his departed Isla.


    "Please wait just a bit longer," he promised, sliding his thick, calloused hand along the smooth stones of the crypt. "If this Blackwell girl reveals herself to be a threat to our boys, I¡¯ll put an end to her myself and damn the agreements with the Blackwells if that¡¯s what comes of it. But if you can, my love, watch over this girl and help me forge her into a tool that will serve our family well in the years to come. That way, when I come to join you, I can bring stories of our grandchildren with me."


    For several minutes, Bors stood there, trailing his fingers across the surface of the crypt losing himself in memories of the past. The cold stone beneath his fingers felt nothing like her warm, gentle touch, but sometimes, when he visited her here, he could almost imagine her hand reaching back to squeeze his own, offering silent comfort the way she had so many times before when the weight of his duties felt like they threatened to crush him and all that he held dear along with him.


    "I miss your counsel, my love," he said softly. "Now more than ever." Finally, after spending several minutes lingering at the crypt of his late wife, he moved to another crypt, not far away.


    While his wife¡¯s crypt was simple, adorned only with her personal crest while awaiting her husband to join her in eternal rest, this crypt was covered in decorations befitting a powerful warrior and wise Marquis who ruled the Lothian March with courage and wisdom that filled Bors with a mixture of pride for the other man¡¯s accomplishments and shame at his own inadequacies.


    "Father," Bors said, bowing his head and kneeling at the foot of the crypt. "For thirty years, I have held everything you left to me and taken more besides, but I have failed to conquer even one of the demon lords that plague us," he said heavily.


    "Your grandsons are strong and clever, but they lack your gift to be both warrior and ruler," he said. "As a parent, I fear that I have overindulged them, especially since their mother passed. But as their ruler, I fear even more that they are unprepared. There may come a day in the future where brother turns against brother and our people are plunged into chaos because of it."


    "Father," he said solemnly. "I¡¯ve done my best to follow in your footsteps in raising my boys, but I didn¡¯t realize until you were gone that I needed your advice as a father far more than I needed your lessons in the sword. Now, I would give anything to hear your voice again, just this once. How would you choose? For the good of the march? Or for the good of the family? And what should I do when those no longer seem to be the same thing?"


    Only the cold silence of the underground chamber answered his questions. Once the dead left for the Heavenly Shores, they were never heard from again without the use of dark, forbidden magic and Bors would slit his own throat before he used such heretical sorcery to disturb the slumber of his lost loved ones. Even if he would give nearly anything to hear Isla gentle encouragement or his father¡¯s sage advice, some lines should never be crossed.


    Hours passed while Bors knelt at the foot of his father¡¯s crypt, searching for an answer to the dilemma that haunted him. In the end, he felt no closer to an answer than he had when he entered the crypt. For now, that was fine. He still had time. But when time ran out and he made his decision... he couldn¡¯t help but hope that the people buried here would approve.

 Chapter 405: Ancestral Wisdom (Part One)

    Chapter 405: Ancestral Wisdom (Part One)On the snow covered slopes of the High Pass, the night sky rippled with lights. Ribbons of pale, icy blue and soft, shining lavender bent and twisted like curtains in the breeze, bending and swaying at the direction of a young man standing atop an exposed ridge.


    Further down the mountain, at one side of the ancient roadway that had guided travelers across the mountains for centuries, several Frost Walker sorcerers stood in awe as they watched Young Lord Hauke transforming the icy tower they¡¯d constructed into something that felt infinitely colder and more dangerous than the simple structure they¡¯d built during the day.


    "You¡¯re doing well, young hero," a soft, feminine voice whispered to Hauke as he extended the reach of his sorcery as high into the sky as he dared. "Can you feel it? How much colder the air is at the top of your ribbons than it is at the bottom?"


    "I c-can f-feel it," Hauke said, his teeth chattering as his sorcery brought him directly in contact with air that was several times colder than the worst winds to buffet the High Pass in the depths of winter. "H-have I, gone h-high enough?"


    "It will do," the voice said. "Now, as I¡¯ve taught you, allow that cold to flow through your ribbons and into the core of the tower. The colder the core becomes, the longer your Eternal Ice will last."


    "I u-under s-stand," Hauke said, touching the shining, iridescent horn on his chest as he adjusted the flow of energy through his Sky Ribbons, forcing the temperature of the icy tower to plummet even more than it already had.


    The horn¡¯s glow intensified under his touch, its light pulsing slightly as the remnant of the powerful ancestor dwelling within the horn helped Hauke to adjust and finetune the flow of his sorcery. Even after months of working with the honored ancestors who possessed iridescent horns like his own, that feeling of silent guidance and support still filled him with a mix of pride and unease. Pride in being trusted with such power, and unease at remembering how close he¡¯d come to losing this opportunity entirely.


    The glowing horn was the second in a row of five iridescent horns that the young Frost Walker lord wore on a bandolier across his chest. The first time he had appeared in public wearing the horns it nearly caused an uprising when Cator, one of the candidates to replace Elder Paulus on the council of elders, saw his actions as an opportunity to advance his own position and immediately decried Hauke¡¯s actions as heretical.


    The aging Frost Walker demanded that he be captured immediately and that the ancestral horns be stripped from from his body so they could be returned to an appropriate Ancestral Cave. Commander Jannik had actually agreed with the shouted demand, ordering his warriors to surround the young lord. Only his father¡¯s swift intervention had prevented things from coming to blows, but he was still forced to stand before his father and the council of elders to explain the heretical arrangement.


    "I¡¯m not defiling our ancestors," Hauke had insisted when he was brought before the full council. Thankfully, Cator had yet to earn the right to occupy Elder Paulus¡¯s vacant seat, but there were still plenty of people who felt strongly that Hauke¡¯s actions were almost as vile as those of the Elder who betrayed them to Tuscan hunters.


    "If we return their horns to an ancestral cave," Hauke said, "they will shatter and our ancestors¡¯ wisdom will melt away like snow on a summer day. I know it defies all traditions, but those traditions are incomplete because we¡¯ve forgotten how our greatest ancestors with iridescent horns once served as our greatest guardians. Please believe that I¡¯m doing this to preserve our ancestors!"


    "Young Lord Hauke," Svenja said from her elevated icy chair. The glassy-eyed woman was one of the oldest living Frost Walkers who spent much of her time tending to the ancestral caves. In matters related to the ancestors, her voice often carried more weight than his father, Lord Ritchel¡¯s did.


    "We understand that you have done a great deed by retrieving our ancestors¡¯ iridescent horns from the sealed cave that held them," she said patiently. "But that does not give you the right to determine their fate. You say this is an ancient tradition, but Lady Nyrielle claimed it to be the work of an ancient vampire, the Fangs of Death."


    "We cannot blindly accept such sorcery as a tradition that must be preserved," the aging Frost Walker said, lowering her dimly glowing horn and shaking her head at the young lord who dared to carry ancestral horns on his body where they were vulnerable to the entire world. "What you¡¯re doing is still different from even that method. At least the Fangs of Death kept our ancestors enshrined "


    "We have already begun to open a new cave for these most honored ancestors," Commander Jannik said, his dark fur twitching in agitation as he fought to restrain his desire to snatch the horns back from the arrogant young lord who felt like he could defy centuries of tradition. "Surrender them now so we can give them the honored rest they deserve."


    "Fool, do you wish to erase us from this world when we¡¯ve only just returned to it?"


    The deep, resonant voice that resounded from Hauke¡¯s mouth sounded nothing like the gentle, unassuming Frost Walker that he¡¯d been known as for most of his life. Instead, it spoke with heavy, unquestionable authority and a sharp sneer of contempt.


    The moment the voice spoke, resounding through the icy great hall with a power and majesty that rivaled or perhaps exceeded the strength of Lord Ritchel¡¯s voice in the chamber, the assembled council froze in panic.


    Never in hundreds of years had the voice of an ancestor been heard in a meeting of the living council. It was one thing if one or two members of the council visited the painfully cold chambers of the Ancestral Caves to consult with the ancestors and receive guidance, but no one would dream of allowing the remnant spirits of the ancestors themselves to speak before the council.


    After all, if the ancestors could continue to speak in the ruler¡¯s hall, what would stop them from attempting to continue to rule, even after their death? The very idea was so blasphemous that as soon as it occurred to the gathered elders, several of them turned to Commander Jannik, expecting him to command his men to remove Hauke and the ancestral horns he carried so they could resolve this matter without interference. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The dark-furred commander, however, shared a knowing look with Lord Ritchel before gesturing for his men to hold their places. If the ancestor wanted to speak, then as dutiful descendants, the least they could do was listen.

 Chapter 406: Ancestral Wisdom (Part Two)

    Chapter 406: Ancestral Wisdom (Part Two)"When we gave our lives to the service of our people, we gave up the possibility of entering a normal ancestral cave," the deep, masculine voice of the ancestor continued, forcefully using Hauke¡¯s body to make himself heard. "Young Hauke has taken up the burden of anchoring us in this world since only the statues formed of blood by the Fangs of Death could possibly sustain us in a sacred cave."


    "You cannot afford the sacrifices required to remake our bloody statues," a softer, feminine voice followed the first, sounding deeply incongruous coming from Hauke¡¯s mouth. "Without Hauke¡¯s help, we would fade away in less than a year."


    "Please father," Hauke said, snatching back control of his own body and voice. "Haven¡¯t you always said that we are much weaker than our ancestors were? That we could never rebuild our great fortress if we were to lose it because we¡¯ve forgotten the methods the ancestors used to build it?"


    "All they wish is for a chance to serve our people once more," he pleaded. "Those acts of service are what allow them to remain among us. If we seal them away again, even in honor, then we will lose them." Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Are they truly serving our people?" Commander Jannik asked skeptically. "Or are you binding them to yourself to harness their power, the way the Tuscans desecrate the horns of our people to use as weapons."


    "I would never!" Hauke shouted before forcefully restraining himself. Passionate words would never carry the day here. He needed to do as Ines had advised him and make his case with cold, unassailable logic if they were going to have any hope of getting the clan to accept the arrangement he¡¯d made with the ancestors.


    "Let us prove to you that we¡¯re working for the good of our clan and the whole of the High Pass," Hauke said, trying to sound as logical and reasonable as he could. "Words will not weigh as much as deeds will, so give me a chance to work with the ancestors on something that will benefit everyone."


    "What do you propose, my son?" Lord Ritchel asked from atop his icy throne. It was the first time he¡¯d spoken since the proceeding began and he hated that he lacked the strength to simply force the others to accept his will.


    Perhaps in another five years, his strength would have diminished so greatly that a younger member of this council would challenge him for his throne if he tried to overrule their desires. For now, he still had enough say to force them to give Hauke a fair chance but there was a limit to how far he could go with something as radical as allowing a member of their clan to walk around wearing the horns of honored ancestors as though they were trophies.


    "I have spoken at length with Ancestor Ansgar, the Lord of the Seven Peaks," Hauke said, referring to the first of the ancestors who borrowed his body to speak to the council. "We¡¯ve developed a plan to enhance the defenses of the pass against human attacks if the Vale of Mists or Airgead Mountain were to fall. Let us prove with our deeds that we¡¯re working to protect our people and that this arrangement benefits everyone," he said, gesturing to the row of horns across his chest."


    Of course, it wasn¡¯t as simple as saying that he would labor to the benefit of the clan to convince the elders. It had taken several days of arguing, answering countless questions, and making several revisions to the plan in order to convince anyone to change their minds. At times, Hauke felt like those discussions moved with less speed than an advancing glacier, but in the end, they¡¯d agreed to allow him to demonstrate that he could revive lost arts with the help of the ancestors.


    "You can stop now," Ines said softly, bringing Hauke¡¯s focus fully back to the present. "The tower¡¯s core is cold enough to sustain the tower for at least a hundred years now. You can revisit it again when we¡¯ve finished constructing the others."


    "How, how many times will it take before the ice becomes ¡¯Eternal¡¯," Hauke asked, panting in exhaustion from the effort of maintaining the sorcery but feeling much, much warmer as soon as he was able to dismiss his Sky Ribbons.


    "Nothing is ever ¡¯Eternal¡¯, young one," Ansgar said. "The larger the icy structure is, the longer it will last, but defenses like these will need to be renewed every century or they will eventually weaken and fail. That¡¯s why the fortress endures, even centuries after my death, but the other great works have crumbled away."


    "So when I die, if there¡¯s no one else with an iridescent horn who can maintain these defenses," Hauke said as he began to hike down the ridge to join the other Frost Walker sorcerers. "They¡¯ll crumble away within a hundred years?"


    "Everything fails eventually, young one," the ancient lord replied. "Some things come crashing down in an instant, others crumble away bit by bit. Even we are crumbling away. The strength you¡¯ve provided us is only delaying the inevitable."


    "But it¡¯s still worth fighting," Hauke said, clenching his fists in determination. "I¡¯ve learned so much from you, just in these few months. When we¡¯re done with this working," he said, looking at the tower that would soon become a support pillar for a massive structure that spanned the entire pass. "We¡¯ll have a way to seal the pass against human invasion and it would have been impossible without your help."


    For a moment, Ines¡¯s horn began to glow, the words already forming in her mind to remind the young lord that for every new defense, a new method of attack would be invented, but the sudden feeling of something great and powerful entering the pass from the west froze her thoughts before she could give voice to them.


    "You feel that, young one?" Ansgar asked. "You should be sensitive enough by now to notice them, even at this distance."


    "I do," Hauke said. His iridescent horn glowed brightly as he stood up high, feeling the currents of power carried by the fierce, icy winds of the High Pass. At the base of the tower, the other sorcerers had yet to react, either because they doubted their senses or because they had yet to perceive what Hauke and the ancestors he carried already had.


    "Lady Nyrielle is returning to the High Pass... and she¡¯s brought several more people with her than she had when she left," Hauke said as a wide grin formed on his lips. "Come. They¡¯re far enough away that they won¡¯t arrive tonight, but when they get here tomorrow, we should be ready to receive them," he said, eagerly bounding down the ridge to rejoin the other members of his clan.


    Soon, Lady Nyrielle would arrive, and with her, Hauke¡¯s friend, Ashlynn. They¡¯d spent far too little time together and her stay had been marred with tragedy, but that shared tragedy had formed a bond between them that was far stronger than simple acquaintance or mutual interest. And now that he¡¯d spent the entire time since she left studying with the ancestors and strengthening his magic, he couldn¡¯t wait to show his friend just how much he¡¯d grown since her last visit!

 Chapter 407: Impossible Dream? (Part One)

    Chapter 407: Impossible Dream? (Part One)Two days later, Hauke stood nervously outside the gates, watching a snake of flame formed of countless soldiers carrying torches wind its way up the narrow road to the Frost Walker¡¯s icy fortress. When he first noticed the powerful energy of Lady Nyrielle and her forces entering the High Pass, he¡¯d expected that she would make rapid progress through the pass, the same way she had during her previous visit.


    He¡¯d known she was coming and that she should be arriving soon. Both Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn had made it clear that they intended to return to the Vale of Mists before the winter snows sealed the pass to all but the most experienced winter travelers. He¡¯d even been counting the days, trying to estimate how close they were to arriving and growing increasingly anxious that they wouldn¡¯t arrive before the winter snows.


    Now that they were almost here, his heart had been filled to bursting with eagerness to see his friends again. Part of that eagerness came from a simple joy at a reunion with friends, and part of it came from a desire to show Lady Ashlynn and Lady Heila how much he had learned since they left. But underneath that, there was a question that had crystalized so deeply in his heart that he dared not speak of it to anyone but Lady Ashlynn herself. And now, he was only a day away from being able to ask...


    A day later, however, they were surprised when a messenger arrived to arrange lodging, not for Nyrielle¡¯s small personal escort, but for an entire army more than a thousand warriors strong! Just hearing the size of the army shocked the elders and even Lord Ritchel shifted uncomfortably on his icy throne when he heard the number, but the list of very important guests traveling with Lady Nyrielle was even more shocking.


    "Quite the sight, isn¡¯t it son?" Lord Ritchel said without taking his eyes off the approaching army. Last time, Lady Nyrielle traveled as the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists, and sending Hauke to greet her new Seneschal felt measured and appropriate. This time, however, it seemed like much had changed, and Nyrielle marched under the banner of the Harbinger of Death rather than the Vale of Mists.


    Some people might not understand the distinction, but combined with an army and its followers numbering in the thousands, Ritchel couldn¡¯t afford to ignore the implied meaning. Last time, they had met as peers and allies until Elder Paulus¡¯s treacherous actions forced her to assert her authority. This time, she left nothing to doubt from the very beginning and he could only lower his horn and personally greet her when she arrived at his fortress.


    "The messenger said that Lady Heila became a witch," Hauke said, smiling crookedly as complex feelings rippled across his face. He was delighted to hear that his diminutive friend had earned the chance to join Lady Ashlynn¡¯s coven, and even more excited when the messenger mentioned that she¡¯d stood for ten days in the Arena in the High Fen, facing increasingly powerful opponents every day.


    When he heard that she¡¯d done so using a blade carved from Elder Paulus¡¯s horn, however, and that many people in High Fen City praised not only the power of the witch, but the power of her weapon, it was hard to feel as proud as he had just moments earlier. Already, the council had begun to argue about what they should do if more hunters came to the High Pass, targeting the small clan for the power of their horns.


    "Is that the part that has you fidgeting?" Ritchel asked his son quietly as they watched the army grow closer. Out of respect for the environment and the risk of causing an avalanche, there were no drums beating to herald their arrival, but the creak of hundreds of wagon axels and the sound of thousands of feet marching were hard to ignore, particularly when some of those footsteps were much louder than their peers.


    High above the clouds, the light of the moon and stars reflected off the blanket of pure, white snow that covered the mountains, making anything moving through the pass stand out like a dark stain on perfect linens. The shapes of horse-drawn carriages and wagons were common enough, even if the number of them seemed shockingly large.


    At this distance, it was impossible to tell the difference between the slightly hunched figures of the Golden Eyed Clan who were known to run as fast as horses when crouched low to the ground or the similarly sized figures of the Glass Eyed clan who might be marching next to them. There was one group, however, who towered so high above everyone else in the approaching army that it was impossible to mistake their tusked silhouettes for anything else. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Or are you worried about the Tuscan mercenaries that Lady Heila has taken into her service?" Ritchel said pointedly, turning away from the army to meet his son¡¯s pensive gaze.


    "Why would she accept them?" Hauke asked, his voice cracking. His hands tightened into fists and his horn swirled with dim shades of purple and azure. If he¡¯d known what he knew now, if he¡¯d actually been able to fight back against the Tuscans instead of cowering behind his icy shields and guarding Heila, then maybe it wouldn¡¯t hurt so much but...


    The memory of giant shadows looming over him as he desperately tried to protect Ashlynn flashed through his mind, bringing with it the metallic scent of blood and the terrible crack of ice breaking beneath their feet. His horn dimmed and turned a pale white as a wave of cold anger replaced his initial shock and the overwhelming sense of shame.


    "I understand they were bound to enter her service if she defeated them in the arena," he continued, in an even tone that felt as brittle as thin ice. "But she didn¡¯t have to accept them. She could have sent them away, or directed them to fight the very hunters that threaten our home." He turned to meet his father¡¯s gaze, his eyes reflecting the betrayal he felt. "After what they did to Andrus, after what they tried to do to us... why did she have to bring them with her?"

 Chapter 408: Impossible Dream (Part Two)

    Chapter 408: Impossible Dream (Part Two)"Because the Vale of Mists is still weaker than it needs to be," Ritchel said, placing a heavy hand on the younger man¡¯s shoulder and giving him a firm squeeze. "Her Eternity is borrowing an army. She has taken the Mongrel Horde, the Black Wolf Brigade, the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth... None of these forces belong to her, but she must make use of them to defend the Vale of Mists against the humans."


    "Say what you will about the Tuscans," Ritchel continued, his grip on his son¡¯s shoulder growing tighter as he wrestled with his own conflicted feelings. "They are true giants who will accomplish almost as much by striking fear into the hearts of humans as they will by crushing them underfoot. That isn¡¯t the kind of resource that Her Eternity can easily turn away. Lady Heila may not have had a choice in the matter," he added.


    The diminutive maidservant had made very little impression on Ritchel during her first visit. She¡¯d been intimidated by Torsten at the gates, retreating from her duties as Lady Ashlynn¡¯s translator, and from Hauke¡¯s account, she spent most of the time they were under assault by Tuscans cowering behind his barriers. To hear that she had become a witch and a champion of the arena... He couldn¡¯t imagine what she must have been through in these few months to change so much.


    "Shouldn¡¯t you be focusing more on Lady Ashlynn?" Ritchel prompted his son. "You were able to teach her at least a little of our sorcery when she last visited. Now that she¡¯s become the Mother of Trees, I¡¯m certain she¡¯s looking for talented people to join her coven. Do you intend to become one of them?"


    "Is that even possible, Father?" Hauke said, blinking in surprise that his father had been the one to bring up the topic. "Has there ever been a Frost Walker witch?" As much as the young lord tried to keep his voice neutral, the faint glimmer that rippled through his horn betrayed just how interested he was in an answer to the question. He¡¯d searched the archives months ago after Ashlynn left but he never found anything in the public records.


    Of course, there were things that were known only to Elders and the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass, but Hauke hadn¡¯t been willing to press his father for access to information that he wasn¡¯t entitled to have. If he¡¯d asked, he was certain that his father would have told him, but by asking, he felt that it would have been as good as announcing his intention to abandon the High Pass to join Ashlynn¡¯s coven instead. Whether he intended to or not, or would even have to, just the thought of it was enough to keep his lips sealed on the matter.


    "There was, in my great-grandfather¡¯s time," Ritchel said, giving his son an awkward smile. "He joined the coven of the Mother of Storms as her Blizzard Witch. He had a horn of the purest white and according to my grandfather, the mountain his horn was enshrined on is covered by a near eternal blizzard."


    "But as far as I know, the only witch that Frost Walkers are suited to serve is the Mother of Storms," he said, gesturing at the barren landscape around them. "What do we know of trees or vines covered in thorns? Even the raging seas are far beyond our reach. It¡¯s best to prepare yourself, son. You¡¯ve learned much from the ancestors, but I¡¯m afraid that witchcraft may be beyond your reach. Or, if it isn¡¯t, it won¡¯t be as a member of her Dominion Ashlynn¡¯s coven," he said solemnly.


    Hauke¡¯s gaze dropped to the snow at his feet, the glow of his horn dimming noticeably. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled a cloud of frost that hung in the air between them, lasting only a moment before the stiff mountain winds tore it away along with the dream he¡¯d held onto. He¡¯d known, of course, that his father would say this.


    The impossibility of his dream had occurred to him many times during his searches in the archives. If there had been a history of Frost Walker witches, if it was a common or easy thing, surely it wouldn¡¯t have been so difficult to find even a single mention of it. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the stone of disappointment in his chest feel heavier somehow.


    "I understand, Father," he said quietly, his voice as hollow as the ice caverns beneath the fortress. His fingers absently traced the row of ancestral horns across his chest as he worked to anchor himself in the present and banish the aura of disappointment that had settled on him like a dusting of snow. This was his path now. He was a guardian of precious ancestors, and the bearer of an iridescent horn. For the first time in his life, now that he could connect to ancestors who were like him, he felt like he had become part of a true lineage of sorcery that only someone like him was suited to. He should be proud. He was proud. And yet...


    Ritchel watched his son¡¯s reaction with a mixture of sympathy and satisfaction. Dreams were a fine thing that could motivate a young man to find greatness, but some dreams were unobtainable. Thankfully, Hauke was still very young and he hadn¡¯t had long for this desire to turn into an unhealthy obsession.


    Now that Hauke knew, Ritchel felt confident that his son could navigate his friendship with the Mother of Trees and the Willow Witch in a more healthy manner. His iridescent horn was his path to greatness, and he had no need of an outsider¡¯s traditions to find his own way in the world. The sooner he understood that, the sooner he could take up a position of leadership within the clan and eventually succeed his father¡¯s place on the throne of the High Pass.


    "Two others, there have been," a childish voice whispered in Hauke¡¯s mind as one of the horns on his chest pulsed a faint, pale green. "A servant of the Father of Calamities, there was. The Avalanche Witch," the voice continued. "More important, my teacher, a witch was."


    "You were taught by a witch?" Hauke thought, blinking in surprise at Eugen¡¯s revelation. The childish ancestor had been one of the greatest healers the Frost Walker clan had ever known, but to think that he¡¯d learned from a Frost Walker witch... "Who¡¯s coven did he belong to?" Hauke asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.


    "A servant of the Mother of Trees, he was," Eugen said lightly. "The Fir Witch."


    S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 409: A Devoted Fan (Part One)

    Chapter 409: A Devoted Fan (Part One)The winds of the high pass tugged at Ashlynn¡¯s heavy fur cloak as she left Nyrielle¡¯s carriage to take her place at the head of the army. It had been one thing for Nyrielle to force the defeated Savis to act as her herald when approaching High Fen City, but now that Ashlynn and Nyrielle were traveling together again, it was time for her to take on the role of announcing Nyrielle¡¯s arrival.


    She could have refused, and Nyrielle would likely have indulged her. As the Mother of Trees, her status wasn¡¯t any lower than that of the Harbinger of Death, and as Nyrielle¡¯s lover, if she wanted to demand equal treatment, she was certain that Nyrielle would have granted it.


    In the years to come, Ashlynn was certain that there would come a time to discuss such an arrangement, but when she measured herself up to her lover, she still felt herself to be far too lacking. When she arrived in the Vale of Mists, she had nothing to offer, not even the clothes on her back, yet Nyrielle had taken her in, saved her life, and provided her with everything she could ask for and more.


    At the start of their relationship, Nyrielle gave everything and Ashlynn could only accept it. Now that she¡¯d begun to grow into her power, the scales were beginning to tip. Between the benefits Nyrielle gained from feeding on a powerful witch to the resources she was able to gather from High Fen City, she finally felt like she truly had something to offer to the woman who had brought her back from the brink.


    But until the scales were closer to even, outside of the occasions where they existed purely as lovers, Ashlynn threw herself into her role as Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal. As the first among all those who served the Harbinger of Death and her Mistress¡¯s chosen representative during hours between dawn and dusk, there were many places where Nyrielle needed Ashlynn¡¯s help and she gave that assistance gladly.


    Ashlynn¡¯s final days in High Fen City felt like a frenzy of activity as she and Nyrielle worked tirelessly to prepare for their journey home. Because of Ashlynn and Heila¡¯s efforts, Nyrielle¡¯s army welcomed not only the ninety trained warriors that Heila defeated in the arena, but hundreds of merchants, tradesmen, and their families. The additions turned the military march into a small town on the move, requiring extensive support to make the march through the barren High Pass.


    Amidst the flurry of activity, she found herself apologizing again and again for delaying things that felt important but weren¡¯t time-critical. Even though the nights were growing longer, she had yet to find an opportunity to speak more with Ignatious about the Holy Flame Blade. There would be plenty of time to speak at length about their complex relationship with their faith and the powerful artifact that represented it once they returned home, and since that was the case, any further conversation had been pushed aside for more pressing concerns. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Artificer Erkembalt had agreed to accompany them to the Vale of Mists, though he was only willing to stay for the winter. Once the pass cleared again, he insisted on returning to his home and his shop. Privately, Ashlynn hoped he might find something charming about the Vale of Mists, or at least interesting enough to consider relocating his business and his family to the Vale permanently, but for now, gaining his assistance in preparing for the war was the most important thing.


    Of all the matters that needed to be settled, however, one of the most surprising had come in the form of an experienced gladiator named Kurtz who offered his services as a bodyguard for Heila if she would consider taking his daughter, Emmie, as her student. When they met, it was clear that Heila¡¯s performance in the arena had a profound impact on the young horned girl who donned a midnight blue dress and carried a thin, metal whip in clear imitation of Heila¡¯s outfit during her battle against the Cauldron of Flame.


    "Welcome, Master Kurtz," Ashlynn said when Heila led her two distant clansmen into the sitting room she¡¯d been using as an office during the day. Even with Virve hovering in the background and a separate, smaller desk for Heila, the luxurious sitting room could have easily accommodated a dozen or more guests.


    With comfortable chairs, sofas, and a well-stocked bar for refreshments in the corner, it gave her everything she needed to tend to her duties as Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, though the cold marble floors and paintings of heroic arena battles on the walls felt like constant reminders to Ashlynn that she was a guest in this place, and one that would be leaving soon.


    She¡¯d tried adding potted trees and other plants in order to make the space a little more comfortable but when she realized that the trees felt trapped in their pots without any other roots near their own to allow them to connect to each other or even ferns or underbrush, she suppressed her desire to repot them into small groups that wouldn¡¯t be lonely and asked them to be taken away instead, firmly reminding herself that she wouldn¡¯t be here to care for the trees afterward and she certainly wouldn¡¯t be taking them across the High Pass with her.


    "I¡¯m told that you have a proposal for Heila," Ashlynn continued with a smile on her face as the father and daughter took their seats. Though Ashlynn knew that he was a respected champion in the arena, one who had earned the right to attend the welcoming celebration on the first floor of the arena the night of Heila¡¯s battle against the Cauldron of Flame, the polished, refined appearance he presented with his neatly braided beard and hair tied into a tight bun made him look more like a successful businessman than a mighty warrior.


    Perhaps that history of success was why Kurtz seemed reasonably assured of himself despite the stature of people he was meeting with, but as calm as the father was, his daughter Emmie¡¯s eyes had been all but glued to Heila since she entered, barely blinking now that she was in the presence of her hero.


    "Yes, your Dominion," Kurtz said formally, placing a hand on his daughter¡¯s shoulder. "Lady Heila has inspired my little Emmie like no one else," he said a touch awkwardly. "She¡¯s watched me in the arena since she was old enough to write her name, but even if High Lady Erna were to take to the sands, I doubt she¡¯d be so enthralled."


    "That¡¯s because High Lady Erna isn¡¯t one of us," Emmie said, finally tearing her eyes away from Heila to give her father a look as though she¡¯d explained this several times before. "But the Willow Whip is a real Horned Champion. I want to grow up to be like her, Father," she said brightly.


    "I told you, my little hayseed," Kurtz said, ruffling her hair and giving his daughter a doting look. "Lady Heila is a Witch and not just anyone can be a witch. But, if she thinks you have talent, and if she¡¯s willing to teach you a bit of sorcery or how she fights with a whip, then Father will serve as her loyal guard the entire time."


    "I know it may be a bit much to ask," the horned gladiator said, turning to face Ashlynn with a look that said he expected to be rejected. "You¡¯ve already done me a great favor by letting her come to meet Lady Heila in person," he added, winking slightly to Ashlynn in the hopes that she understood that the chance for his daughter to meet her hero was really all he came for.


    "Well, little Emmie," Ashlynn said with a warm, welcoming smile. "Why don¡¯t you tell us what it is you hope to become by learning from Lady Heila."

 Chapter 410: A Devoted Fan (Part Two)

    Chapter 410: A Devoted Fan (Part Two)"Why don¡¯t you tell us what it is you hope to become by learning from Lady Heila." Ashlynn¡¯s question sounded simple, but to the young girl, answering it felt as frightening as she imagined it was for her father when he walked out onto the arena sands to face a strong foe.


    Ever since her father told her that he¡¯d arranged a chance for a meeting with the Mother of Trees and the Willow Witch, she¡¯d been trying to think about what she would say. Now that the moment was upon her, her mind went blank and it took her several seconds just to remember the etiquette her father had taught her for speaking to powerful witches like Lady Ashlynn.


    "Y-yes, your domino," Emmie said awkwardly, sitting up as straight and properly as she could and doing her best to look as calm and composed as her father was.


    "It¡¯s ¡¯your dominion,¡¯" Kurtz whispered in her ear. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said, holding up a hand and stifling a laugh that would only have embarrassed the young girl. "You can call me ¡¯Mother Ashlynn¡¯ if you find it easer," she said. "Just relax and don¡¯t worry about finding the right words. Heila and I are more interested in hearing what¡¯s in your heart."


    "You don¡¯t need to be nervous, Emmie," Heila added, walking over from the small bar with a hot cup of tea and a small plate filled with buttery, sweet biscuits. "If you want to have a little nibble first while you think about your answer, that¡¯s all right too," she added, taking a biscuit for herself before passing the plate over to her diminutive devotee.


    Emmie¡¯s eyes lit up instantly when she realized she could share a treat with Heila. She took the pate gently, almost reverently, before snatching one of the biscuits and eagerly biting off half of it in one large bite. Soft laughter from Kurtz, Ashlynn and Virve rippled through the room, but Heila seemed to take it as a challenge, finishing her own biscuit in a single bite and giving Emmie a challenging smile to see if she would follow suit.


    A few minutes later, when the plate of biscuits had been reduced to nothing but crumbs and Emmie seemed to have relaxed, she turned back to Ashlynn to answer her question.


    "Mother Ashlynn, did you know," she began in a soft, hesitant voice. "They say that the strongest members of the Horned Clan escaped across the mountains to start new lives here, and the only ones who stayed in the Vale of Mists were the ones who were too weak to make the journey."


    "I¡¯ve heard people say that," Ashlynn acknowledged. The stories told by descendants of the people who fled the Lothian destruction of the Vale of Mists had changed over the years, colored by each generation¡¯s desire to find something to be proud of about the actions of their ancestors.


    But by now, people like Emmie were so far removed from the ancestors who failed to return after Nyrielle recaptured the Vale that Ashlynn held no ill will toward people who believed the distorted stories they¡¯d been raised on.


    "Do you think it¡¯s true?" Ashlynn asked gently.


    "No, not even a little bit," Emmie said, shaking her head fiercely. "Father is one of the best ever champions from the Horned Clan," she said proudly, wrapping both arms around her father¡¯s muscular upper arm and hugging it tightly. "He can even fight champions from the Scaled Clan and the Glass Eyed Clan, or champions from far away."


    "Hush now, little hayseed," Kurtz said, tapping gently on one of his daughter¡¯s horns. "You don¡¯t need to make me look good."


    "But it¡¯s true!" Emmie insisted. "Father is one of the strongest there is. But, but there aren¡¯t any girls who are as strong as you," she said, looking over at Heila. "Not from High Fen City or anywhere in the High Fen. There aren¡¯t any girls who are strong enough to fight other clans unless they¡¯re fighting in group battles, and even then, they only fight if they outnumber their opponents."


    "Is that why you want to learn from me?" Heila asked. "Because I can fight people from other clans?"


    "Well, um, not exactly?" Emmie said, twisting in her seat to look at her father before she continued. Unconsciously, her hand dropped to the metal whip she wore at her hip. She¡¯d begged her father to buy it for her after seeing Heila use it not just to defeat her foes but to force them to surrender, proving that she had the strength to win even when she didn¡¯t have a powerful sword or mighty spear.


    Now, as she traced her fingers along the cool metal links of the chain whip, she tried to imagine herself having even a fraction of the courage that the Willow Witch showed on the arena sands when she answered the question her hero asked.


    "I was there," Emmie said softly, her voice gaining strength as she continued. "When you fought those men with fire in their hands. I was sitting with Father, and I saw how..." Her voice faltered as she clutched the whip at her hip even tighter until the knuckles on her petite fist turned white. "I saw how alone you looked out there."


    "She¡¯s had a few nightmares since that day," Kurtz said as he gave his daughter a reassuring squeeze. "When we asked her what was wrong, she said that no one should have to face monsters alone and she asked if I would fight with you in the arena. I tried telling her it didn¡¯t work that way, that you chose that battle because it was important but..."


    "Father says that if something is really, really important to someone, then they can fight ten men who are twice as strong," Emmie said, taking over before her father could say anything more about her nightmares. If there was one thing she didn¡¯t want right now it was for the Willow Witch to think she was frightened!


    "And, he says that if something is more important than their life, they can fight a whole army," she said, turning to look back at Heila.


    "I think that¡¯s why you¡¯re so strong," she said confidently. "Because you fight for something that¡¯s really, really important to you. But, but I¡¯m scared," she added awkwardly, looking down at her hands and clutching her skirts tightly.


    "What are you scared of, Emmie?" Ashlynn prodded gently.


    "I¡¯m scared that there¡¯s something so important that you¡¯ll fight for it until you die," Emmie said, looking up at Heila with bright, watery eyes. "But I thought, even though the girls of the Horned Clan here are weaker than you are, if there are enough of them, they can fight together against people who are stronger."


    "So, so I thought, if, if you can teach me, then you won¡¯t have to fight alone against giants all by yourself anymore. And then, then you won¡¯t, won¡¯t..." Tears flowed from her eyes as she looked helplessly at Heila, and her breaths came faster and faster as the thought of her hero falling in battle filled her mind.


    Emmie was no stranger to death, and her father made sure that she understood from a young age that the arena was a dangerous place and sometimes, people died there, even when they seemed very strong.


    But the only times that Kurtz had seen his daughter become so emotional at the thought of someone falling in the arena had been on the two occasions where he¡¯d been seriously injured and needed to take months to heal. Seeing her reduced to tears at the idea of someone she didn¡¯t even personally know falling in battle... he just didn¡¯t know what to say.


    "Emmie," Heila said softly. "You know that I won¡¯t usually fight alone like that, don¡¯t you? I only fought in the arena this one time because of a special reason. Usually I¡¯d have Lady Ashlynn and Virve, or cousin Talauia the Thistle Witch or a bunch of other friends at my side to face whatever comes. So I won¡¯t be alone."


    "But you don¡¯t have any of us at your side," Emmie said, her face hot with tears and shame. "You don¡¯t have your clan at your side. How¡¯s that right, that no one else will stand up for you? It¡¯s not fair, it¡¯s not fair to you at all," she insisted.


    "So if there aren¡¯t any other girls in our clan that will stand up for you, then I want to! So you don¡¯t have to be alone out there anymore," she pleaded. "So please, can I please learn to be strong like you? I promise, I promise that I can help..."


    For a moment, no one knew what to say. Even Virve seemed stunned by the young girl¡¯s genuine plea while Heila sat with her mouth agape at the outpouring of concern coming from someone she¡¯d met less than an hour ago.


    "Mister Kurtz," Ashlynn said, breaking the silence when it seemed no one else knew what to say. "How old is Emmie?"


    "I, I¡¯m twelve," Emmie said, wiping the tears away from her face and sitting up as straight as she could while looking at Ashlynn with red, puffy eyes. "Twelve years old this summer."


    "If she was human, and we were in my father¡¯s county," Ashlynn began slowly as an idea took shape in her mind. "You¡¯d be too young by a year. But you aren¡¯t human and the Horned Clan considers you an adult well before you¡¯ve turned twenty, so perhaps we can bend the rules a little bit. Only if your father allows it though," she added.


    Instantly, all eyes fell on Ashlynn, wondering what she had in mind for the courageous young girl who seemed to be willing to march to war, just to make sure that Heila wasn¡¯t abandoned by the Horned Clan. It was far too heavy of a burden for such young shoulders to bear, but the fact that she was even willing to think about it said so much about her character that Ashlynn felt compelled to give her a chance, even if it was a small one.


    "Tell me, little Emmie," Ashlynn asked. "Do you know what a squire is?"

 Chapter 411: Squire (Part One)

    Chapter 411: Squire (Part One) "A square?" Emmie asked, wiping the tears away with a sleeve and stumbling over the unfamiliar human word. "What¡¯s a square?" "A squire," Ashlynn corrected, emphasizing the middle of the word. "Where I come from," she said, standing up and walking around her desk so she could sit on the floor and be on eye level with the young, horned girl. "Brave warriors who serve lords and rule over villages in their name are called knights. Some people become knights because their parents were knights or lords, but others earn their title through bravery and valor."


    "Are, are you a knight then?" Emmie asked Heila. "Because you¡¯re the bravest warrior I know besides Father. But he doesn¡¯t serve any lords so he can¡¯t be a knight," she added, trying to make it clear that she didn¡¯t think that her father and Heila were the same kind of warrior.


    "I¡¯m not a knight," Heila said, shaking her head and holding back a small laugh at the idea. What would Sir Thane think if he heard that she¡¯d been mistaken for a knight? "I¡¯m Lady Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting. Just like she¡¯s Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and serves her, I serve Lady Ashlynn."


    "But you¡¯re a witch! And a champion," Emmie protested. "How can you be a servant?"


    "I was little more than a chambermaid when I met Lady Ashlynn you know," Heila pointed out. "I used to fetch and carry water, wash the linens, scrub the floors. I wasn¡¯t always so powerful," she said, reaching out to rest a hand on the young girl¡¯s knee. "When I was your age, I never thought I¡¯d be like this, but sometimes, you meet the right person and everything changes."


    "I take it then that this ¡¯squire¡¯ is a kind of servant?" Kurtz asked, frowning slightly at Ashlynn, uncertain whether or not he liked the direction the conversation was taking. He¡¯d only planned on letting Emmie meet the Willow Witch but now things seemed to be getting quickly out of hand. "One that normally serves these ¡¯knights¡¯?" he asked.


    "In a manner of speaking," Ashlynn said, focusing her attention on Emmie rather than Kurtz. In a way, this was a test for both of them. Emmie needed to understand what Ashlynn was offering well enough to make her case to her father.


    At such a young age, Ashlynn would never pull a child away from their parent unless it was to rescue the child from an unfit parent, but Kurtz seemed to be overly doting on his young daughter more than anything. Since that was the case, Emmie would need her father¡¯s permission before she could do anything.


    "A squire follows a knight, tending to his weapons and armor," Ashlynn explained. "They also tend the knight¡¯s horse, mend his clothes and ensure that the knight is always ready to do his duty when the time comes. In exchanges, the squire learns the ways of weapons and armor, how to fight, how to ride, and eventually, when they¡¯re old enough, they learn the other things a knight must do as well."


    Though she kept her explanation simple, Ashlynn hoped that that Kurtz and his young daughter could understand the tradition. The Vale of Mists had already adopted a number of distinctly human traditions, particularly since Thane, Nyrielle¡¯s first human progeny, had been a knight himself. Now, Ashlynn hoped to build on that by inviting someone who had grown up outside of the Vale of Mists to participate in a timeless human tradition.


    Eventually, she wanted this kind of sharing to go both ways, introducing Eldritch customs to human communities to break down the barriers of ignorance that made it so easy for the Church to sow the seeds of fear among her own people. Perhaps, if humans saw Eldritch knights with their loyal squires in tow, they could learn how both groups of people respected the strong and passed on their traditions to the next generation...


    "But you said that Lady Heila isn¡¯t a knight," Kurtz pointed out, interrupting Ashlynn¡¯s musings and pulling her back to the present. "So what would Emmie do? What would she learn?"


    "That¡¯s up to Heila to decide," Ashlynn said. "But in the years to come, Heila¡¯s responsibilities will only grow. She will need someone at her side that she can trust, just as much as I trust her at my side."


    "Emmie," Heila said as all eyes fell on her. "Do you know how to mend clothing? Or use a hot iron to press out wrinkles? Can you count money and shop in a market?"


    "Um, I can count money, but I can¡¯t go to the market by myself," Emmie said, looking at Heila in confusion. "But I know the eight lines of attack and defense with a sword, and I know the four postures with a spear, and, and I¡¯ve been trying to learn how to use a whip," she said, clutching at the chain whip at her hip. "Father taught me lots of things about fighting so... so... can you just teach me more of that?"


    "I can¡¯t," Heila said, shaking her head. "I know less about fighting than your father does. I¡¯m strong because I¡¯m a witch, because I have a seed of witchcraft that Lady Ashlynn nurtured just for me," she said, placing a hand lightly over the faint scar in the center of her chest. "I don¡¯t know how to use a whip that isn¡¯t alive in my hands, and even though I have a small sword, I use it more like my wand than a true sword."


    "If you follow me, sometimes, it will be dangerous, and there will be battles," Heila said. "But most days, there will be chores. Not fun, exciting, magical chores, but simple, boring chores. I will promise you though, if you follow me, I will teach you some of the magical things that I can share with a person who is not a witch. You can still learn simple sorcery so I can teach you that as well."  Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Really? So I can learn sorcery like when you made the trees throw icicles?" Emmie asked, sitting up straighter with shining eyes.


    "No," Heila said flatly. "I¡¯ll teach you how to pick herbs and tend a garden. You may even be able to help me brew potions, and there are some medicines that don¡¯t take much magic to make at all. You could learn to make a few of those. But you¡¯ll still need to learn how to be careful about plucking very small leaves from stems or petals from flowers. It isn¡¯t very exciting," she said, trying to be as honest as she could.


    In the Briar, she and Ashlynn had spent countless days wading through shallow water in the oppressive, humid heat of the Mother of Thorn¡¯s home, collecting herbs, picking flowers and searching for traces of elusive insects. For all of the excitement of a hunt for a powerful beast, most days were filled with simple work, preparing the way for the magic to come.


    Perhaps for Emmie, everything that happened in the arena was exciting. Her father was a champion, covered with glory and celebrated wherever he went in High Fen City. Even his pracitce sessions between battles likely looked exciting to someone as interested in arena battles as Emmie was.


    But Heila¡¯s life wasn¡¯t glamorous or glorious, even though she¡¯d achieved some fame in the arena. If Emmie really wanted to follow her, she would have to accept a life that was very different than whatever she¡¯d imagined when she came here today.

 Chapter 412: Squire (Part Two)

    Chapter 412: Squire (Part Two)"You know, little hayseed," Kurtz said as he finally caught on to what the two witches seemed to have in mind. Their offer was so obviously unappealing to his adventure-seeking little treasure that they wouldn¡¯t have to reject her outright, she would turn them down herself. All he had to do now was create a different opportunity that wouldn¡¯t see his daughter running off to follow the witches into the Vale of Mists before she was old enough to live on her own.


    "You can still learn to fight and become strong enough to fight for Lady Heila one day," he pointed out. "You don¡¯t have to become her ¡¯squire¡¯ and study chores. In two years, I¡¯ll enroll you in the best school for gladiators, and I¡¯ll train you myself until then," he promised.


    "By the time you¡¯re sixteen, you can go across the High Pass and visit Lady Heila yourself to show her what you¡¯ve learned," the veteran gladiator said. "I¡¯m sure that if you¡¯ve worked hard, you can earn a place at her side, just like, um, I¡¯m sorry," he said awkwardly as he looked to Virve. "I¡¯m afraid I didn¡¯t catch your name."


    "I¡¯m called Virve," the bearish woman said with a smile. "I¡¯m the captain of Lady Ashlynn¡¯s guard. I don¡¯t know if Lady Heila will require an entire company to protect her, but she may have need of a few loyal retainers in time. But if you wish to fight at her side, I don¡¯t recommend training as a gladiator," she added with a frown. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I have seen the way that the champions of High Fen City fight," Virve said candidly as she looked at the young girl. "They fight for glory and the entertainment of the crowd. Fighting against humans and people who are hunting you is a very different kind of fighting. If you want to become a guard or a soldier in the army of the Vale, you should come to us when you turn fifteen so you can learn to fight with your brothers and sisters of the Horned Clan."


    "You know, you don¡¯t have to decide anything right now, my treasure," Kurtz said, pulling his diminutive daughter up into a tight hug. "Her Dominion even said that people don¡¯t usually become squires until thirteen. It¡¯s okay to grow a little older before you make a decision."


    For a moment, Emmie wanted to shove her father¡¯s hands away. Everyone kept talking about how she needed to be older to do anything. Older to join an arena school, older to learn to be a soldier, older, older, older! But if she waited... if she waited...


    "If I¡¯m not your squire," Emmie asked, struggling slightly against her father¡¯s hug and trying her best to look serious. "If I¡¯m not your squire, will you find someone else to be with you? To help you when you need help so you¡¯re not alone anymore?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Heila said honestly, casting a glance at Ashlynn before she continued. "I never thought about it until today. I give most of my time to Lady Ashlynn or sometimes to things Lady Nyrielle and her progeny need help with. I still learn things from Madame Zedya. I never thought about having someone to help me."


    "But, but you said it," Emmie said, slipping free from her father¡¯s hug to stand in front of Heila, clutching at her chain whip with both hands. "You said that sometimes, you meet someone and they change things. But, if you meet the person who could change everything, and you don¡¯t.... Wouldn¡¯t that just be too sad? If you had to wait to find someone else who could help you, even if it¡¯s just with chores, wouldn¡¯t that be too lonely?"


    "Are you sure?" Heila asked, looking between Ashlynn¡¯s gently smiling face and Kurtz¡¯s panicked one before looking back at the young, horned girl. "Even if it¡¯s boring?"


    "I¡¯m sure," she said, nodding her head resolutely. "I¡¯ll help, I promise."


    "I¡¯m glad that you¡¯re willing to help Heila," Ashlynn said warmly. "She¡¯s a very important friend to me, and I¡¯ll feel better when she has someone who can watch out for her the way she watches out for me. But before you can do that, there¡¯s still one more thing you need to do."


    "What?" Emmie asked, completely forgetting Ashlynn¡¯s exalted status in her eagerness to grasp this opportunity with both hands and never let go. "I¡¯ll do anything!"


    "You need to go home," Ashlynn said, pointing at the panic-stricken Kurtz. "You need to talk to your parents, and they need to give you their permission. We won¡¯t leave for another three days," she added, giving Kurtz a reassuring look. "You have until then to change your mind or convince your parents that this is what you really want."


    "I won¡¯t change my mind," Emmie promised, bouncing over to grab hold of her father¡¯s hand. "And Father never says no to me about anything I really want, so I just know he¡¯ll say yes," she added excitedly to her pale-faced parent. "Come on, Father," she said, tugging his hand in the direction of the door. "We have to tell Mom right away! I¡¯m going to be the Willow Whip¡¯s squire!"


    Emmie¡¯s declaration at the time had sounded bold, and Ashlynn couldn¡¯t imagine getting away with telling her father that she knew he¡¯d say yes to whatever she asked for, not now and certainly not when she was only twelve, but in the end, the diminutive horned girl had thoroughly defeated her gladiator father and even gained her mother¡¯s enthusiastic support.


    Now, several days later, as Ashlynn walked through the blowing wind and bitter cold of the High Pass, she paused to watch an eager Emmie placing a foot stool at the door of the carriage that Heila shared with Virve, Talaui,a and Lennart. Of the four, only Heila exited the carriage, trotting quickly across the snow to join Ashlynn as she walked toward the awaiting Frost Walker delegation.


    "It seems like your squire is adjusting well," Ashlynn said with a smile when Heila reached her side. "Are you?"


    "I think I understand you better now," Heila said, smiling at Ashlynn as she recalled her own first days as Ashlynn¡¯s personal servant. "There is so much to teach her that for now, the only ¡¯duties¡¯ I can think to assign her are things that I¡¯m used to doing for myself. When we met, it used to bother me that you wouldn¡¯t let me help you dress or prepare your outfit for you. But now the shoe is on the other foot, and it feels... awkward," she admitted.


    "I never had many servants attending me because they might see my mark," Ashlynn said, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the crunching of snow beneath her boots. "Maybe if I had, it wouldn¡¯t have been so easy for you to become such a dear friend. I¡¯d have been too stuck in what was ¡¯proper¡¯ to do what¡¯s ¡¯right.¡¯"


    "I¡¯m glad you weren¡¯t propper," Heila said, walking respectfully half a step behind Ashlynn and forcefully holding herself back from waving at Hauke as they approached. She¡¯d still been a bit stiff and awkward when they last spent time together, trying hard to live up to Zedya¡¯s teachings and become a worthy attendant for Ashlynn.


    This time, however, she was looking forward to greeting Hauke as a peer, especially since her own witchcraft drew so much on the power of water. Perhaps this time, she¡¯d be able to learn a few things from the talented young Frost Walker soldier that would help her in the days to come. And even if she wasn¡¯t, just spending time together again would be a treat now that the cloud of Elder Paulus¡¯s treachery was no longer hanging over their heads.


    Stopping twenty paces away from the Frost Walker delegation, Ashlynn and Heila schooled their features into calm, composed masks appropriate for the formal meeting between the two parties. Later on, there would be feasts and drinking and time to celebrate a reunion among friends. But this moment wasn¡¯t about friendship, it was about alliances and demonstrating to the onlookers that the High Pass and the Vale of Mists stood together.


    "People of the High Pass," Ashlynn said, carefully pitching her voice to be loud enough to be heard on the fortress walls but not shouting so loudly that it would trigger an avalanche of snow. "I am Lady Ashlynn Blackwell, Daughter of Lord Rhys Blackwell of Blackwell County, known far and wide as the Mother of Trees and as the Seneschal of Lady Nyrielle, the Harbinger of Death!"


    She¡¯d considered carefully how she would modify the traditional structures to reflect her unique status, and here again, she chose to push the line. She honored her human heritage and presented her place in the human world in a way that the Eldritch could understand. It was a small thing, but her heart swelled with pride that her father¡¯s name would circulate among the Eldritch, not only as the father of the Mother of Trees, but as a powerful lord to be respected in his own right.


    "Today, Her Eternity, Lady Nyrielle, Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists has come with her retinue to visit..."


    "DEFILER!"


    Before Ashlynn could finish the formal greeting, a deep, resonant voice echoed across the mountainside. But more shocking than the outraged shout was the person it had come from.


    Hauke¡¯s horn had turned a deep, icy blue, swirling with energy as a look of outrage contorted his face. The snow at his feet erupted into a small cloud as he charged forward, gathering his icy sorcery into a long, slender spear of ice with a razor sharp point that glittered with a swirling current of bright icy blue and something sinister, dark and purple aimed directly at Heila¡¯s chest!

 Chapter 413: Possessed

    Chapter 413: PossessedIn an instant, what should have been a brief formality before a joyous reunion turned into something far more dangerous. High upon the walls of the Frost Walker¡¯s icy fortress, hundreds of hunters and warriors who gathered for the welcoming ceremony stared in mute shock as the ascendant young lord bared his teeth at the very guests they were here to receive and unleashed sorcery more ominous than anything they had experienced in their entire lives.


    Before Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn¡¯s visit in the spring, Hauke had been something of a tragic figure in the High Pass, envied by many for his iridescent horn and his position as the son and presumed heir of Lord Ritchel. But until recently, he had been too young and too weak to command respect that outweighed the bitter envy.


    All of that changed as their young lord delved deep into the lost arts of the ancestors. While the Elders who sat on the council were unconvinced about the wisdom of allowing Hauke to carry the horns and lingering spirits of his ancestors, the younger soldiers and hunters standing on the walls now found their bitter envy replaced by growing admiration and genuine respect as Hauke not only gained great strength of his own, but began to share techniques that made each of them more powerful, no matter whether their inclinations were toward snow, ice, wind or water.


    The impact he¡¯d had on them was so great that many had begun to look forward to the day that Hauke could succeed Lord Ritchel, believing that they would be part of a new era where the people of the High Pass could fight back against the Tuscans or anyone else who preyed upon them, finally gaining a measure of freedom to travel the world beyond their icy peaks.


    And now, their young hero was charging forward, bearing his claws and unleashing icy fury at the supposed ¡¯allies¡¯ who had arrived with Tuscan mercenaries. No one on the walls knew why Hauke had attacked so suddenly, but many of them began to prepare their own weapons and magics, awaiting their young lord¡¯s order to join the attack!


    Heila was the first to react to Hauke¡¯s charge. Her days in the arena had left her with a keen sense of danger, and while her fight or flight instincts might calm given enough time, it had only been a handful of days since her last battle in the arena.


    Before Hauke¡¯s feet left the ground, Heila¡¯s hand dropped to the hilt of Snow Fang, summoning a flurry of snowflakes and retreating rapidly away from the charging Frost Walker and his murderous spear.


    Ashlynn¡¯s reaction was almost as fast, drawing the darksteel falchion at her waist and charging to meet Hauke¡¯s attack head on. There was nothing artful or elegant about her movements, and witchcraft was the furthest thing from her mind as she sought to position herself between the strange, dark sorcery at the tip of Hauke¡¯s spear and her closest friend.


    -CRACK- -FWUMP-


    The sound of a dark steel blade biting into the ice of Hauke¡¯s frozen spear echoed across the mountainside, followed an instant later by a sound like hundreds of pounds of snow falling to the ground all at once.


    "Oof," Ashlynn gasped as an unspeakably heavy force slammed into her with a wave of dark, purplish sorcery. Even with the blessings of strength she¡¯d gained from Nyrielle, the impact was so sudden and so unexpected that it knocked her from her feet, sending her sprawling on the ground and gasping for air. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Worse than the physical impact, however, was the dark, oppressive feeling of her magic being smothered, as if it were trapped under an avalanche of snow. The power of life and growing things was already paper-thin on the bleak, barren mountainside, leaving Ashlynn reliant almost entirely on her own energy like an ordinary sorcerer, but under the pressure of the intense, smothering magic unleashed by Hauke¡¯s icy spear, even channeling that power felt almost impossible.


    If the blow had landed on Heila, there would be little the Willow Witch could do to escape the ensnaring magic, but Ashlynn was no ordinary witch. Drawing deeply on the physical strength she possessed as a result of her bond with Nyrielle, Ashlynn stabbed her darksteel blade into the icy ground beneath her and struggled against the oppressive magic, returning to her feet through an act of pure determination to protect her closest friend.


    "Stay down, witch," the deep, unfamiliar voice said as Hauke turned his attention to the fleeing Willow Witch. Across the young Frost Walker¡¯s chest, two of the iridescent horns glowed brilliantly, one a deep icy blue and shadowy purple while the other pulsed with a bright, cold white light.


    "This doesn¡¯t concern you," a second, feminine voice echoed from Hauke¡¯s mouth as the young Frost Walker lord reached out with his free hand, gathering swirling white energy as he spoke.


    "Do not play with snow before its master, little girl," the cold, feminine voice said moments before the storm of swirling white energy exploded from Hauke¡¯s fingertips, tearing away the cloud of snowflakes that Heila had used to escape.


    Heila had only made it halfway back to the wagons and the remainder of Nyrielle¡¯s army when the cloud of snow beneath her cloven hooves dissipated like smoke on the wind, sending her tumbling to the snow and ice below. Her cloven hooves landed awkwardly on the icy road, sliding out from underneath her and dropping her painfully on her hands and knees.


    "Storm of shards!" Hauke bellowed in that strange, deep voice, hurling his spear of ice at the fallen witch. The spear whistled through the air before exploding with a loud -CRACK-, transforming into dozens of shards of ice, each one sharper than a butcher¡¯s knife and all of them raining down on Heila¡¯s exposed back.


    "Hauke!" Ashlynn shouted as she struggled against the weight pressing down on her. "What are you doing?"

 Chapter 414: Panic

    Chapter 414: PanicOnly seconds had passed since Hauke made his first move, and among the wagons, carriage doors slammed open while soldiers shook themselves out of their shock and began to rush forward.


    Standing beside one of the carriages, Emmie looked on in horror as shards of coldly glittering ice rained down on Lady Heila. While her thick, fur cloak saved her from many of the shards, others sliced through the sleeves of her dress and skirt and even ricocheted off her horns, cutting into her scalp and splattering the crisp white snow beneath her with a lurid wave of hot crimson blood.


    "No, no, don¡¯t hurt her! Father," Emmie cried out, tears forming in her eyes as she tried to understand why this was happening. Just a few hours ago, Lady Heila had told her that if she did her duties well, she would introduce her to the young Frost Walker lord who would likely be the next ruler of the High Pass. But now, nothing made sense at all as that very same young lord looked at Heila with a dark, murderous expression, unleashing a storm of deadly sorcery.


    Looking to the driver¡¯s seat, her father Kurtz was already preparing to rush to Heila¡¯s defense, but as he collected his sword and buckler, he seemed like he was moving far too slowly to the young and panicked squire.


    "Father, save her!" Emmie cried.


    As much as he wanted to reassure her, Kurtz spared no words for his daughter as he carefully gauged the distance before jumping down from the carriage and rushing to help the injured witch, but by the time he moved, several others were already rushing past him.


    On the opposite side, blood drained from Ritchel¡¯s face as he heard the same ancient voices that had spoken through Hauke during the council meeting once again echoing from his son¡¯s mouth. Old Svenja had said then that they couldn¡¯t blindly accept the sorcery used to preserve those ancient horns. She and Commander Jannik had both argued that they horns should be placed within an ancestral cave, even if that meant that the presence of the ancestors might dissipate within a year.


    Now, horror gripped his heart with icy claws as he realized that those long-dead ancestors were capable of doing far more than simply borrowing his son¡¯s body to speak. Already, Nyrielle¡¯s forces were gathering to attack, and if he didn¡¯t act quickly, his son¡¯s life would likely be forfeit before they could save him from the very ancestors he¡¯d fought so hard to preserve.


    "Men, to me!" Ritchel shouted to his honor guard. His voice boomed across the ice, snapping his men out of their own shock and drawing them instantly into defensive postures surrounding the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass. "Combine your sorcery with mine," he commanded. "Form a tomb of ice!"


    In the center of the storm, Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes hardened as she realized something strange had come over Hauke. Seeing the different voices that spilled from his lips and seeing the imperious, arrogant demeanor that couldn¡¯t be further removed from the humble, kind, and eager young sorcerer she remembered, combined with the eerie, glowing horns strapped to his chest, only made it clearer.


    The first time they ventured into the sealed ancestral cave, buried beneath the ice on an island in the middle of a lake, the spirits of the ancestors had possessed Hauke, using him like a puppet and a mouth piece, threatening his life while demanding that she help them break through the seal that held them captive. Now, for some reason, it seemed like they¡¯d been able to take even more control of her young friend.


    But even if the person attacking Heila wasn¡¯t the friend she remembered, she was certain that he was still in there somewhere. That thought cost her precious seconds while she tried to find a way to protect Heila without harming Hauke, and in those seconds, one of the spirits possessing Hauke made their own move.


    "Blinding Snow, Swirling Winds!" Ines said, channeling her sorcery through the young Frost Walker she¡¯d patiently tutored these past several months. In life, she had borne the moniker ¡¯the Unending Blizzard¡¯ and the magic she unleashed now proved her right to carry the title.


    Snow spilled from the mountain top, caught by swirling winds that enveloped Nyrielle¡¯s army, blinding anyone without superior senses and limiting the vision of those who could still see to just a few feet in front of their own frozen noses. The hundreds of torches that lit their way through the darkness were snuffed out in an instant, transforming the world into a land of darkness filled only with the storm of dancing white snowflakes.


    The sounds of panicked horses and braying mules filled the air, and wagon drivers quickly fumbled their way forward, trying to calm their fear-stricken beasts before they bolted in panic at the sudden change in weather. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Damn it," Ashlynn swore, giving up on resolving things without harming Hauke and rushing forward with her darksteel blade drawn. The weight of dark magic still clung to her, trapping her own magic and limiting her to what she could do with the strength and speed of her body, but that alone was enough to slash at the backs of Hauke¡¯s unprotected knees.


    "Do not interfere," Ansgar, the proud former Lord of the Seven Peaks, said, his deep, booming voice sounding jarringly incongruous with Hauke¡¯s youthful, innocent features. He spun as he spoke, covering a fist with a layer of thick ice and punching downward to block Ashlynn¡¯s blade.


    -CLANG-


    The sound of darksteel ringing off ice filled the air, reverberating around them as Ashlynn realized that even more sorcery was at play than what the ancestral spirits had unleashed.


    She didn¡¯t know when it happened, but at some point, while Ines had been unleashing her blizzard and Ashlynn had struggled against the oppressive sorcery that sealed her magic, cold, crystalline wills of ice had formed around her and the possessed Hauke.


    If one sorcerer had created the entire structure, the walls would have been thin enough and weak enough for her to smash through them and make her escape, but if that was true for her, it was certainly true for the ancestors possessing her friend. Now, as she looked at the hazy, six sided prison she found herself in with a cieling that was less than a dozen feet above her head, she realized that this wasn¡¯t just an icy prison... it was the combined working of seven sorcerors, each one creating just one of the thick, sturdy walls turning it into more than just a prison.


    Trapped inside it with a host of malevolent spirits, she suddenly felt like she¡¯d been sealed in an icy tomb.

 Chapter 415: The Battle Within (Part One)

    Chapter 415: The Battle Within (Part One)In a space that greatly resembled the ancestral cave where he had once confronted an abomination formed of blood and ice, Hauke struggled against heavy chains of ice that bound him to a stone slab at the center of the vast cavern.


    Rather than the crumbling and neglected shrine to his clan¡¯s greatest protectors that he had entered with Ashlynn, the ancestral cavern constructed in Hauke¡¯s mind appeared the way it had in the memories of the ancestors who were entombed there. Powerful weapons hung on the walls, waiting for the hands that had once carried them in battle to pick them up again.


    Five platforms ringed the space, each one large enough to hold an oversized ice statue bearing the iridescent horn of a powerful ancestor. Only, within this mental space, the platforms didn¡¯t hold statues but the spirits of the ancestors themselves. At the moment, two of those platforms, the ones belonging to Ines and Ansgar, stood empty while their owners shared control of Hauke¡¯s body to fight against Ashlynn, Heila, and the rest of Nyrielle¡¯s forces.


    The sounds of battle filled the cavern, and one of the walls was missing entirely, displaying instead the view from Hauke¡¯s eyes as the icy walls of Lord Ritchel¡¯s Ice Tomb closed around the young Frost Walker lord and the Mother of Trees.


    "Please," Hauke pleaded, straining against the chains that bound him. "Please, you have to let me go before it¡¯s too late! This is all just a misunderstanding," he said. "Just, just let me go, and I can talk to Ashlynn. She¡¯ll understand, and she can put a stop to this before it gets worse."


    "It¡¯s already irreparable," an old woman said from a small stool made of ice. Kimsel the Wise Crone was the oldest and most fragile of all the ancestral spirits that had formed a bond with Hauke, and arguably one of the weakest, but when it came to teaching, she was second only to Ines in her ability to persuade the young Frost Walker lord.


    "Once they taste the power of weapons crafted from our horns, nothing stops the greed of hunters who wish to possess another," she said in a tone that sounded desolate and forlorn. "Perhaps this little horned witch is not a wicked person. Perhaps she would never desire another weapon for herself, but so what?"


    "Witches gather in covens," Kimsel pointed out. "And this little girl will use her blade around her brothers and sisters within the coven. How long, then, until the others of her coven desire a blade of their own? How long before they return to us, seeking a horn to craft into a wand or a severing knife?"


    "But Lady Ashlynn is the Mother of Trees," Hauke argued. "She doesn¡¯t need our power, and she would never hunt us for our horns. She only has two because Elder Paulus and his grandson betrayed us to the Tuscans. She nearly died stopping the Tuscans from killing me for my iridescent horn!"


    "Did she protect you? Or did she reserve your horn for herself," a heavy, gravely voice said. Eraric the Frost Architect had once been the greatest shaper of Eternal Ice, not just of his own age but of any age. During his life, he¡¯d laid down the foundations for what eventually grew into the Frost Walker¡¯s current fortress guarding the High Pass. He was also the person who had crafted the chains that bound Hauke¡¯s mind to this place, leaving his body available to the ancestral spirits to ride like a well broken horse.


    Where Kimsel felt greatly diminished, reduced in stature with dull gray fur that hung limply on her scrawny frame, Eraric was almost as tall and physically imposing as Ansgar. Standing on his platform, he paid no attention to the battle taking place outside and instead focused his attention on the block of ice he¡¯d willed into existence. With a hammer in one hand and a chisel in the other, he slowly worked at the block, slowly shaping it into a sword that was far too large for anyone but a Frost Walker or Tuscan to use with a single hand.


    "I know you¡¯ll deny it, young Hauke," Eraric said as the sound of his tapping hammer filled the cavern. "You haven¡¯t lived as long as we have. You haven¡¯t watched young heroes turn into corrupt and vile elders. You haven¡¯t seen time scour away a person¡¯s morals and principles until nothing is left but their core of avarice and desire."


    "You said Elder Paulus betrayed you," Kimsel said, shaking her head as though she¡¯d seen it happen with her own eyes. "But at one point, surely he was like you are now. Bright as the light falling on fresh snow and pure as ice formed beneath the surface of the lake. Time changed him into something that could betray even his own clan. You think that these witches are immune to the wearing away of time?"


    "I do," Hauke insisted. Even though he¡¯d only known them for a brief period of time, he¡¯d seen the resolve in Ashlynn¡¯s eyes when she charged out onto the ice to protect him and Heila from the Tuscan hunters, and he¡¯d witnessed the fury in her eyes when she demanded justice for Andrus¡¯s death. He was certain that he hadn¡¯t misjudged her.


    "Besides," Hauke added. "She¡¯s the Seneschal of Lady Nyrielle, a vampire who¡¯s already centuries old. If anyone can ensure they keep their promises to not hunt us for our horns, it¡¯s Lady Nyrielle. She was fair in her judgments, and she only demanded the horns of the people who did wrong."


    "Vampires, worse than elders are," Eugen said, his childish voice contrasting sharply with his grim view of vampires. "Vampires like Lady Nyrielle, well do we know. Time, the millstone on their soul is." S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Remember, young Hauke," Eraric said as he cleaved off a large hunk of ice, freeing the sword from the ice that held it in place while he worked. "We¡¯ve had dealings with a True Vampire before. None of us would exist without the sorcery of the Fangs of Death."

 Chapter 416: The Battle Within (Part Two)

    Chapter 416: The Battle Within (Part Two)"Shubnalu was a hollow man when I was still alive," Kimsel said, looking at Hauke with flat gray eyes that felt empty and devoid of life. "He cared nothing for the lives of people or the families and communities they built. All he ever cared about was... was what?" Kimsel said, her voice trailing off as she found her memories of the ancient vampire were riddled with holes.


    "I don¡¯t remember what he wanted either," Eraric said as he inspected the icy blade in his hands. "But I do remember that he cared very little about the world with the exception of people who had become powerful enough to challenge his rule. Anyone who might challenge him, he killed without question or remorse."


    "And anyone useful to him," Eugen said from his seat on the cold stone floor. "To his will he binds. Just like us, just like her master," Eugen said, pointing at the image of Ashlynn on the far wall.


    "This is why you must find the things that you will fight for at all costs, young Hauke," Eraric said, resting the icy blade across his knees so he could begin inscribing hooked runes into it¡¯s surface, each one glowing with a unique shade of blue, green, white or purple. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We may be bound to the service of our people," the craftsman said as he worked. "We may even be bound to the service of a more powerful lord. But the instant that someone wishes to strip our horns from us, turning us into beasts to be hunted for their meat... Then we have become less than people in the eyes of the world."


    "It has happened before," Kimsel said. "The Frost Walker clan almost vanished from the face of the world until we struck our bargain with the Fangs of Death to slay those who hunted us. Now, the Harbinger of Death has come with her witches, bearing blades forged from our horns."


    "Swore to protect our people, we all did," Eugen said. "Right now, all your people, protecting we are. Over soon it will be," he said, pointing in the direction of the wall that showed what was happening in the world outside.


    Through the missing wall of the ancestral cavern, Hauke watched helplessly as his body engaged in brutal combat with Ashlynn. The crystalline ice clinging to the cavern walls reflected their the seen more than a dozen times over, making it impossible to look away from once he¡¯d turned away from the stubborn ancestors.


    Ansgar, wielding Hauke¡¯s body with frustrated impatience, had encased both of his fists in thick gauntlets of ice that extended halfway up the forearms. There was nothing remotely elegant about his choice of weapon, nothing that could compare to the sword Eraric had painstakingly carved from a single block of ice, but even crude weapons could be effective when used by a warrior as experienced as Ansgar was.


    "You should have stood aside, witch," Ansgar¡¯s deep voice bellowed through Hauke¡¯s mouth as he launched a thunderous overhead strike that would have crushed Ashlynn¡¯s skull had it connected.


    "You didn¡¯t have to involve yourself in this. Now, how many of your people will die because you chose to protect a defiler?" Ansgar asked as he lashed out with a series of even more punishing blows that would have crushed even Owain¡¯s armored knights beneath his icy fists.


    But Ashlynn was no longer the sheltered noblewoman who had arrived in the Vale of Mists with nothing but her determination and the faintest hint of how to use her magic. Months of training with Thane and countless hours sparring with Jacques, Talauia and even Amahle had transformed her into someone who was both formidable and cunning.


    For a moment, she feigned a stumble, sliding on the icy ground and drawing the furious ancestor into an over-commited punch before she sidestepped the blow with supernatural speed. The punch missed by less than a handbreadth but it was enough as the ice gauntlet shattered against the stone ground where she had stood just moments before.


    "Heila is family," Ashlynn spat back, her emerald eyes flashing with determination even as her breath frosted in the increasingly frigid air. "If you think that I¡¯d stand aside and let you harm her or any member of my coven, then you don¡¯t understand witches at all," she spat.


    She lunged forward, her darksteel falchion slashing in a wide, powerful arc that lacked finesse but carried enough force to cleave through almost anything in its path. There was nothing of Thane¡¯s careful training in her movements now, instead, she more closely resembled Jacques in one of his intense, explosive rushes combined with the primal need to protect what was hers.


    Ansgar formed another gauntlet instantly, catching the blade between layers of ice that glowed with a dark purple and sapphire radiance. Sparks of blue light erupted where darksteel met enchanted ice, neither yielding to the other.


    For a moment, they stood locked together, strength against strength, but the longer they stood pressed together, the more obvious Ansgar¡¯s advantage became as Ines added her own skills, pouring the cold of a blizzard into Ashlynn¡¯s blade and covering her hands in a layer of frost that could cost the witch her hands if she didn¡¯t find a way to escape it.


    "You see?" Kimsel whispered within the mental cavern, pointing toward the struggle. "No witch should possess such strength. It is the vampire¡¯s blood that gives her this power, but even with all of her gifts, she cannot resist against Ines and Ansgar working together."


    While the ancestral spirits thought the outcome was inevitable, Hauke held a different opinion. He could see that Ansgar was struggling and without Ines timely aid on more than one occasion, Ashlynn might already have overpowered him. The ancestral spirit was used to commanding a body as strong as the mountains themselves, accustomed to overwhelming opponents with sheer physical might combined with the power of his nearly unbreakable ice. But in Hauke¡¯s more modest frame, against an opponent enhanced by vampire blood, and without the same ability to bend ice to his will the way he had when he was alive, the former Lord of the Seven Peaks found himself merely evenly matched with a witch who was barely in her twenties.


    Or perhaps, Hauke thought, clinging to hope that the tide would turn even further as the battle wore on. Perhaps even with the combined forces of Ines and Ansgar, it was they who weren¡¯t Ashlynn¡¯s match....

 Chapter 417: Forming Cracks

    Chapter 417: Forming CracksTrapped within his own mind, Hauke watched helplessly as Ashlynn and stood in a deadlock with Ansgar and Ines until she kicked off of the frozen ground, wrenching her blade free and spinning. Ashlynn used pure momentum more than technique to bring her weapon around for another strike, trying to force an opening where there was none.


    Ansgar blocked again, staggering slightly, ice cracking under the impact and sending fragments flying through the air like diamond dust in the dim light of their icy prison.


    "She has no training," Eraric observed clinically from his pedistal. The entire time they¡¯d been watching, his hands never stopped working on the blade in his lap. When the first side of the blade had been covered from hilt to point with dimly glowing, hooked runes, he simply turned the blade over and began carving another set on the opposite side. "All she seems to possess is raw power and determination. In life, Ansgar would have dismantled such an unprepared opponent in seconds."


    Indeed, as he watched the battle heating back up, Hauke could see Ansgar¡¯s growing frustration as his attempts at trickier combat maneuvers failed against Ashlynn¡¯s brutally effective swings. When he tried to brush her blade aside to create an opening, even if it was a narrow one, Ashlynn simply powered through, ignoring his subtle positioning and forcing Ansgar to defend against her direct assault.


    "Your body is not responding as he expects," Kimsel said, paying more attention to the fight occurring in the world outside of Hauke¡¯s mind. "His memories tell him he should be stronger, faster, with greater advantages of reach and size. If he doesn¡¯t adjust quickly, young Hauke may be badly injured."


    "So let me talk to her," Hauke snapped bitterly. "Let me put a stop to this before he gets me killed and we all die!"


    "Told you already," Eugen said. "Some things, more important than life are. Protecting your people, worth sacrificing your life is," he said with a grim determination that should never have come from someone who looked and sounded as young as the fabled Greenwind Healer did.


    In the vision of the battle, a particularly vicious clash sent both combatants staggering backward. Ansgar¡¯s ice gauntlet shattered completely this time, while Ashlynn nearly lost her grip on her falchion as the bitter cold numbed her hands. Both of them panted heavily in the frigid air, their breath creating clouds that hung between them like the ghosts of the ancestors watching the battle from within Hauke¡¯s mind.


    "No one can be allowed to wield a weapon made from our horns. You¡¯re a witch, why can¡¯t you understand this?" Ansgar demanded, his voice still resounding powerfully despite Hauke¡¯s heaving chest.


    "If one person cuts down a Frost Walker to make a blade, then another will do the same until the world treats us like we¡¯re no different from trees to be cut down to build something else with," Ines cold, feminine voice added, hoping that cold reason would prevail where Ansgar¡¯s brute force had failed.


    "But we are not like your trees," the sorceress emphasized in a voice that was so cold it cut like the winter wind. "We cannot be replanted or spread across the world simply by scattering our seeds on a summer breeze. There are so few of us left that we must protect every single one."


    "Just give up the witch who carries a blade plundered from one of our people," Ines said, trying her best to sound reasonable. "She wields a weapon that should never have been made, stolen from someone who deserved a chance for his horn to rest among his honored ancestors."


    "She wields a traitor¡¯s horn, claimed as compensation for the crime Elder Paulus committed," Ashlynn responded fiercely, readjusting her grip on her blade and doing her best to banish the cold from her limbs. After several minutes of fighting, she¡¯d pushed off most of the oppressive, icy magic that sealed her own energy, but she was still too inexperienced with wielding fire to do more than banish the frost from her extremities.


    "Even if that horn hadn¡¯t been crafted into a weapon," Ashlynn said, using the opportunity of what might be a reasonable conversation to recover her breath and some of her strength. She didn¡¯t believe that these ancestral spirits could be convinced with reasoning, or they never would have attacked without asking questions in the first place, but as long as she could keep them talking, she might be able to find an opportunity or even drag things out long enough for help to arrive. "Lord Ritchel himself intended to destroy the horn. It never would have found a place of honor among the horns of his ancestors."


    For the first time, Hauke felt a flicker of uncertainty ripple through the ancestral spirits in the cavern. The mention of Ritchel¡¯s approval had created a momentary doubt, the tiniest crack in their convictions, but the spirits quickly buried the thought as if it had been covered by fresh snow.


    "She lies," Eraric declared, but his eyes held a hint of uncertainty as he looked toward Lord Ritchel¡¯s son, wondering if there could be any truth to the witch¡¯s words.


    Before anyone could respond, however, Ansgar seemed to notice Ashlynn¡¯s efforts to purge the icy energy that trapped her magic and threatened to freeze her extremities. With a bellow of frustration and rage, Ansgar charged again, forming not just gauntlets but forearm guards of ice that extended nearly to the elbow.


    As Ashlynn met the charge with her own frustrated cry, Hauke renewed his efforts against the chains that bound him. That single moment of doubt might be all he needed to begin reclaiming control of his body before this tragic misunderstanding spiraled beyond repair.


    Chained in place, Hauke felt utterly incapable of convincing these stubborn ancestors that things were different than what they knew. They were older, wiser, and had seen far more of life than he had. No matter what he said, at this point, he was convinced they wouldn¡¯t listen. But if they wouldn¡¯t listen to words, then he could only take control of the situation by breaking free of these chains.


    "There must have been some time when we could accept justice that required the sacrifice of a horn," Hauke said, altering his approach to escaping the chains. Seeing Ashlynn stall for time to thaw her hands by keeping Ines talking inspired him to try something similar.


    If he couldn¡¯t break them by force, he would find a way to slip free, but to do that, he needed the ancestors who kept him captive to focus more on his words than they did on his actions.


    "Are you just refusing to speak of them?" Hauke asked in an accusatory tone. "I don¡¯t believe that in all your lifetimes you never found an ally you could trust with our horns."


    "Even when we ruled Seven Peaks," Eraric said, standing up and holding his rune-covered sword aloft. "We never would have traded away our horns, not even the horns of criminals, no matter what our most trusted allies might have promised."


    "In my era, we let it be known far and wide that if anyone found a member of our clan who had fallen in distant lands, we would give something far more valuable than a weapon crafted from our horns, so long as they returned the body to us with the horn intact," the Frost Architect said.


    "After all," he said as the sword in his hands flashed with brilliant light before vanishing from the ancestral chamber. "A horn can only grow so large. But a sword forged of Eternal Ice..." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As soon as he mentioned the blade, the situation in the vision changed dramatically. Ines unleashed a brief but potent flurry of snow and wind, pushing Ashlynn away and giving Ansgar precious seconds to banish an icy gauntlet moments before Eraric¡¯s runic blade appeared in Ansgar¡¯s outstretched hand.


    "You¡¯ve stalled me long enough, witch," Ansgar spat. "But now, this ends!"

 Chapter 418: Not Again

    Chapter 418: Not AgainThe sudden blizzard and loss of their torches paralyzed much of Nyrielle¡¯s army. While they looked impressive on the march, and many of them were impressive warriors as individuals or small groups, too little time had passed to weld them together into a truly cohesive force.


    Wagon drivers and horse handlers fought to calm their panicked beasts, and hundreds of ordinary people hunkered down where they stood or sheltered inside the nearest wagon or cart to wait out the sudden storm or to receive instructions from someone who knew what was going on. Those at the back of the long, winding caravan hadn¡¯t heard anything at all since the Seneschal¡¯s formal greeting cut off halfway mere moments before the storm descended on them.


    Those at the front of the caravan, however, had a clear view of Hauke¡¯s treacherous charge, followed by Lord Ritchel¡¯s insidious trap, sealing Lady Ashlynn in a prison of ice along with the surprisingly powerful Hauke. If there was one saving grace in all of this, it was that Lord Ritchel appeared too hasty, sealing Hauke and Ashlynn away before Hauke succeeded in killing the Mother of Trees¡¯ most loyal protector.


    "Not again, not again," Talauia said as she shot out of the carriage like an arrow from a bow. Dark ghosts danced through her mind, bringing with them memories of the formal gathering the Jaws of Death had exploited to massacre her clan. Everyone had been there, dressed in their festive best and ready to drink and dance the night away, when the doors of the ballroom slammed open and a pack of Bardas¡¯s murderous jackals descended on her uncles, aunts, cousins, and childhood friends like wilde beasts lost to their own bloodlust. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The scars she carried from that night of carnage haunted her to this day, and it was precisely because of this that the Thistle Witch insisted that Ashlynn craft some potent defenses into any Fancy Hat she wore. But today, standing on the windswept mountainside to act as a herald before entering the Frost Walker fortress, Ashlynn wasn¡¯t wearing a Fancy Hat or a War Hat, only a simple Traveling Hat that kept her head warm against the bitter chill and held a few of her most essential items.


    Now, Talauia¡¯s multifaceted purple eyes burned with cold, calculating fury as she threw herself into the fierce winds of the blizzard. Her wings hummed as she tumbled through the air, not resisting the sudden gusts or icy winds but riding them like a thistle seed on the wind. Fighting the wind to fly straight would only exhaust her before she crossed even half the distance to her target.


    Halfway between the lead wagon and the bridge leading across the giant chasm that served as a moat for the Frost Walker fortress, Talauia emerged from the blizzard only a hundred paces away from the wounded Willow Witch. Bright red blood stained the snow around her ,but Heila was far too fierce to be defeated by the few wounds she¡¯d suffered in the initial clash. Already, she was surrounded by a pale silvery-green light of healing energy that both purged the cold from her body and sealed the dozens of small cuts across her diminutive figure.


    "Heila, Heila, are you fine?" Talauia shouted as she darted toward her friend, concealing herself behind the icy walls of the prison that trembled with the force of Ashlynn and Hauke¡¯s battle.


    "Tala!" Heila exclaimed joyously before wincing at the pain her sudden exclamation brought. Every intake of breath hurt unless it was slow and steady, and her sudden shout tugged at half a dozen still healing wounds that split open again as soon as she drew breath. "Tala, I¡¯m fine," Heila insisted, despite her pale complexion and blood-stained clothes.


    "Who did this, who did this, and why did they do it?" Talauia asked. Her wings vibrated rapidly, humming with the desire to sink her wickedly pointed teeth into the flesh of whoever dared to hurt her loved ones. Why they¡¯d done it didn¡¯t matter much to her, but like a ghost at her shoulder, she heard the echo of her father¡¯s voice ringing in her ears.


    "If you understand what your target wants, little Tala," he¡¯d said on more occasions than she could count. "Then you can understand how he¡¯ll move. Understand what he wants, and you can make him chase it, stretching his own neck out so far across your blade that all you have to do is tug to claim his life."


    Her father had taught her many things, but the most important among them hadn¡¯t been the methods of applying poison or the way to wield a knife. The most important lessons were how to reach your target when they were vulnerable and escape with your own life intact.


    "I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening," Heila said. "Hauke, Hauke isn¡¯t like that," she insisted. "He¡¯s kind and gentle and he protected me from the Tuscans when they attacked us on the lake. Something, something has to be making him do this," she concluded.


    "His father? Is it his father, Lord Ritchel?" Talauia asked. "The sorcery that sealed Auntie Ashlynn in with Hauke, is it his? Is he the one making Hauke do this?"


    "That doesn¡¯t make any sense," Heila said, pounding a tiny fist into the ground in frustration. None of this made any sense! "Lord Ritchel is afraid of Lady Nyrielle. He would never attack her or Lady Ashlynn unless... unless someone was making him do it?"


    The notion that someone powerful enough to bend an Eldritch Lord to their will might be lurking out there, pulling the strings on Lord Ritchel like a puppet master, sent a chill down both women¡¯s spines, but if that was true, then they could only face it head-on. Besides, it wasn¡¯t like they didn¡¯t have strong reinforcements on their own side to fight back with either.


    "Right now, we need to break Ashlynn out of this prison," Heila said, refusing to get caught up in worries about hidden threats. Her lady was in danger, and nothing was more important than breaking her free.


    "I don¡¯t have anything that can break those walls, and it¡¯s hard to manipulate the ice without any trees to bind it to my will," Heila admitted, hot tears of frustration forming in the corners of her eyes as she found herself too weak to rescue the person who mattered more to her than anyone else in the world.


    Ashlynn was the lady she served, the leader of her coven, the woman who had transformed her life from humble and ordinary into something extraordinary, but more than any of that, Ashlynn was her dearest friend, and nothing she had thought of could do anything to break the icy walls that held her prisoner.


    "Can you?" Heila asked, looking at Talauia with pleading eyes. She knew the odds were slim. Talaua was the Thistle Witch, and like Heila, she depended on the energy of living, growing things to fuel her witchcraft, but she had to ask, nonetheless. "Can you do anything to break her free?"

 Chapter 419: Death on the Wind (Part One)

    Chapter 419: Death on the Wind (Part One)"I know, I know what to do," Talauia said, standing up now that she had a clear goal in mind. "If the sorcerers maintaining this ice prison die, their sorcery will crumble," she said with a bloodthirsty grin. "I just have to kill the sorcerers trapping her."


    "Wait!" Heila cried. "Don¡¯t," she started to say ¡¯don¡¯t kill anyone¡¯, intending to ask Talauia to simply render the men unconscious, but she knew firsthand that capturing people alive in the middle of a battle was much, much harder than simply ending their lives. "Don¡¯t kill Lord Ritchel," she said instead. "We have questions, and he may be the only one with answers."


    "I know, I know," Talauia said, mentally preparing her plan. "Can you use your Snow Fang for me? Just a little, just a little snow in the air would make it easier for me to catch them by surprise."


    "I can do much more than a little snow in the air," Heila said, drawing the blade carved from Elder Paulus¡¯s horn. Somehow, the symmetry of using the traitor¡¯s horn to once again attack the people who should have been as close to the treacherous elder as his own kin tickled her, and an odd smile formed on her lips as she began to chant.


    "Through Snow Fang¡¯s call and winter¡¯s breath, S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Let whiteness dance like whispered death,


    A veil of snow flakes, soft and deep,


    Where hidden paths our secrets keep,


    Let swirling snow obscure all sight,


    As Tala moves through blinding white."


    As soon as Heila completed her first verse the white horn blade in her hand began to glow with a brilliant white lite, casting stark shadows on the frozen ground before a flurry of snow filled the air, filling the space between the icy prison and and the chasm with a cloud of gently drifting, fat, fluffy snowflakes that made it all but impossible for most people to see more than a few feet in front of themselves.


    But Talauia, with her multifaceted hunter¡¯s eyes, had no difficulty tracing a path through the dancing flakes that seemed to drift and sway out of her way, as if they were opening a path just for her while hiding her from anyone who might notice her approach.


    "Good hunting," Heila whispered as her friend and mentor vanished into the swirling snow. A simple snowscreen, however, was far from enough to give Talauia the opportunities she needed and Heila herself hated how much she¡¯d been forced to be passive because she hadn¡¯t wanted to hurt Hauke while she tried to understand what was happening. Now, however, she took the opportunity to strike out at the first real targets to appear before her, the sorcerers maintaining the prison of ice that trapped both Ashlynn and Hauke, isolating them from anyone who could stop this madness before it was too late.


    "Now winter¡¯s gentle dance gives way,


    To weapons formed from snow¡¯s array,


    Let growing spheres of frozen might,


    Crash down upon our foes with spite,


    Force those who stand against our power,


    To cower beneath this frozen shower."


    This time, as she finished speaking, a flurry of soft white motes of lights fell from the glowing Snow Fang, drifting into the cloud of snow like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. Each one of them seemed to meander through the cloud of fat, fluffy snowflakes without purpose until it made contact with one of those gently drifting flakes.


    As soon as a mote of light touched a snowflake, it became ravenous, dancing on the currents of cool air from one flake to the next, building up volume until it seemed like it could bear it no longer and hurled itself directly at Lord Ritchel and his honor guard.


    The first snowball was no larger than Heila¡¯s fist, and it impacted with the force of a snowball hurled by a small child, but the second one was a third again the size of the first one and struck with twice the force. The third one was even larger and faster, and the fourth one was nearly as large as an adult Frost Walker¡¯s fist and slammed into its target with as much force as a trained warrior¡¯s punch.


    Meanwhile, in the cloud of dancing, drifting snowflakes, hundreds of motes of light gathered even more snow into tightly packed balls while Talauia made her way into striking distance of her unwitting victims.


    On the opposite side, Lord Ritchel maintained his focus on the crystalline Ice Tomb, channeling his sorcery through both hands while his honor guard formed a protective semicircle around him. When he prepared for the welcoming ceremony, he did everything he could to avoid a repeat of the previous disaster.


    This time, instead of sending Hauke to lead the delegation along with the best and brightest among the young warriors and hunters, he brought six of his most trusted sorcerers. All of them were veterans who had weathered decades of incursions from Tuscans and other unsavory characters who attempted to hunt Frost Walkers for their horns or directly plunder from their ancestral caves.


    Now, each of those men stood firmly before him, each one maintaining one side of the hexagonal tomb that contained both his son and the Mother of Trees. A complicated look rippled across his features, and for a moment, he considered commanding them to dispel the Ice Tomb, freeing the Mother of Trees.


    But if he did, it was almost certain that his son would die in the ensuing battle. No matter what, once Nyrielle herself took the field, there would be no stopping the Harbinger of Death from slaughtering as she pleased. The more damage Hauke caused, the more her army suffered from the chaos he unleashed, and the worse the outcome could be.


    Now, faced with rapidly worsening conditions, doubt wracked Ritchel¡¯s mind, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he prayed, hoping against hope that the Mother of Trees could subdue the raging spirits controlling his son before the situation spiralled beyond anyone¡¯s ability to salvage.

 Chapter 420: Death on the Wind (Part Two)

    Chapter 420: Death on the Wind (Part Two)Lord Ritchel had acted without hesitation when he saw Hauke¡¯s sudden attack. The ancestral horns strapped to his son¡¯s chest had pulsed with an ominous light that he recognized immediately. The nightmare that haunted him since the day the spirits addressed the council of elders using his son¡¯s mouth had finally come true. The spirits were in control, not his son.


    He hadn¡¯t intended to capture Ashlynn along with Hauke. The sorcerers of his honor guard were all experienced enough to follow his lead, placing the center of the icy tomb on a spot that should have trapped Hauke and the ancestral spirits alone, giving him the ability to regain control of the situation. The dark suppressive magic that knocked Ashlynn to the ground, briefly pinning her in place had been the perfect opportunity.


    But fate made fools of men who thought everything would unfold as they desired. The ancestral spirit¡¯s attack on the diminutive Willow Witch had been so cruel that Ashlynn escaped the grip of the icy magic that held her down, clashing directly with Hauke and the ancestral spirits just as the Ice Tomb came into being, sealing her inside it¡¯s icy walls along with him.


    Now, everything was spiralling rapidly out of control and a new flurry of snow had appeared. This one, however, felt much gentler than the icy blizzard tormenting Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army, filled with fat, fluffy snowflakes that drifted harmlessly on the wind. Or at least, it started that way. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The first impact against his shoulder felt like nothing more than a ball of soft, fluffy snow hurled by a young child, barely enough to register through his thick fur and ceremonial robes. He dismissed it without a glance, maintaining his concentration on the complex weave of sorcery that kept the walls of ice from shattering under the force of the battle raging within while taking a brief look at the fortress behind him.


    Already, the walls had begun to empty of young soldiers as men drew their weapons and charged towards the gate, rushing to be the first ones across the bridge to reach their lord¡¯s side. Within a minute or two, a force of several hundred men would be able to surround him, offering real enough protection from the forces of Nyrielle¡¯s army that he could consider unsealing the ice tomb. Until they arrived, he just had to hold on.


    The second snowball struck Gunter, one of his senior aids and a candidate to replace Paulus on the council of elders, with enough force to make the man grunt in surprise. Larger than the first snowball and more tightly packed, it left a spray of white powder across the man¡¯s silver-blue ceremonial robes.


    "My Lord," Gunter started, but fell silent as a third snowball struck him squarely between the eyes with enough force to make him take a step back, covering his face with one arm and quickly wiping away the snow that blocked his vision. For a moment, a loud -CRACK- echoed from the Ice Tomb as the wall Gunter was responsible for lost his active support, but the veteran sorcerer quickly redoubled his efforts, reinforcing the wall and bringing his sorcery back under control.


    Ritchel¡¯s eyes narrowed, searching the swirling snow that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. He hadn¡¯t paid it much attention at first because the magic felt so familiar, carrying a subtle flavor and scent that reminded him of snow melting on the tongue, just like dozens of Frost Walker snow masters he¡¯d known over the years.


    With all of the soldiers descending from the walls, he assumed it had been a move made by one of the sorcerers remaining atop the fortress walls to conceal their movements from Nyrielle¡¯s forces. But now, as he peered through the dancing flakes, he caught a glimpse of the small horned witch, the one the ancestral spirits had attacked at the beginning of this disaster, standing near the Ice Tomb with a glowing white horn-blade in her hand.


    "Hold formation!" he commanded as the fourth snowball struck with enough force to shatter the decorative ice embellishments Gunter wore across his chest. "It¡¯s just snow. Maintain the Ice Tomb until reinforcements arrive!"


    If things continued at the level of the most recent snowball, he was certain they could endure for the minute or two they needed until his soldiers could form a solid barrier against the strange snow cloud and it¡¯s almost childish assault, but the bombardment they¡¯d felt so far was only the beginning.


    What had started as isolated impacts quickly became a barrage, each snowball larger and faster than the last. His men shifted uncomfortably, their concentration wavering as they were pelted from all directions.


    "My Lord," Hrosskel, the oldest member of his honor guard called out. "Something is moving within the..."


    Whatever words he¡¯d been about to use died in Hrosskel¡¯s throat, replaced by a strangled gasp. Ritchel turned just in time to see the man he¡¯d long considered an old friend stagger sideways, dropping first to one knee before toppling sideways and sprawling at Lord Ritchel¡¯s feet.


    Emerging from behind the fallen sorcerer, a slender figure with iridescent wings seemed to dance on the wind, withdrawing from the toppling figure with the slightest shove to ensure that he didn¡¯t fall on her as he died. Something glinted between delicate fingers, needle-thin and gleaming with an unnatural purple sheen that froze Ritchel¡¯s heart the instant he saw it.


    Before Ritchel could shout a warning, the winged figure vanished back into the swirling snow, already hunting her next target.


    "Close ranks!" Ritchel bellowed, his voice carrying over the increasing barrage of snowballs, some now as large as a man¡¯s head and striking with the force of a war hammer. The snowballs had become so densly packed that, despite their fluffy outward appearances, each one contained a core as solid as the icicles hanging from the walls of the fortress and almost as deadly.


    On the ground Hrosskel clutched at his neck where a tiny puncture wound no larger than a pinprick leaked a thin trickle of blood, staining the dull white fur of his beard a dark, purplish-red. His face contorted in agony as veins around the wound swelled and throbbed, filling his body with the feeling of being stabbed hundreds of times.


    The sensation started in his neck but it quickly spread outward front he wound, following his veins like the roots of a malevolent plant. His eyes bulged, mouth opening in a silent scream as the poison raced through his system. Moments later, his veins began to rupture as hundreds of pinpricks covered his flesh, dying his white fur and ceremonial robes a dark, purplish-red as more and more pinpricks pierced every vein in his body.


    "Thistle Witch!" Ritchel snarled, finally recognizing the signature of the deadly toxin. He should have known when he saw the iridescent wings but his mind refused to believe. Now, he couldn¡¯t help but accept that death truly had descended on them as the sole survivor of the greatest clan of assassins to ever live vanished into the snow, searching for the next man to die from her poisonous thorns....

 Chapter 421: Hidden Threat?

    Chapter 421: Hidden Threat?At the head of the caravan, Nyrielle¡¯s carriage had the best view of the chaos as it erupted. Nyrielle herself relaxed into the soft satin cushions of her luxurious carriage like a cat with a bowl of cream as she watched Ashlynn collect Heila before striding out to meet with Lord Ritchel, young lord Hauke and their honor guard.


    Six months ago, she had seen tremendous promise in the broken and battered young woman, but even after more than two centuries of life, nothing she¡¯d experienced could have prepared her for how quickly Ashlynn would grow into her power, or how much the young witch would change her own life.


    The last time they entered the High Pass, Ashlynn carried herself with pride but very little power. She was vulnerable, unfamiliar with Eldritch ways, and reliant on Heila and Captain Lennart just to be able to speak with the Frost Walkers. Now, the pride she carried herself with wasn¡¯t just an artifact of her noble upbringing, but something she deserved to cloak herself with, earned by overcoming danger and mastering her own power.


    The Ashlynn she¡¯d collected from the roadside in the spring was a delectable treat, a rare treasure to be savored and a potent tool to be used. The Ashlynn before her, however, radiated an intoxicating blend of strength and self assuredness that Nyrielle found herself unable to resist.


    For some, the act of sending her lover out into the cold to act as her herald could be interpreted as an act of dominance, and perhaps there was an element of that at play tonight. More importantly, however, Nyrielle wanted to watch the women whose heart echoed within her chest as she came into her own power, commanding with authority where she had once had to fight just to assert her place in the Eldritch world.


    The slow, lazy smile on Nyrielle¡¯s lips vanished a moment later when Hauke launched his explosive attack at Heila. Both witches responded beautifully, and for a moment, Nyrielle wondered if the young Frost Walker lord intended to make a show of the strength he¡¯d gained in an attempt to win back some prestige after the way his clan had been humbled during their last visit. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    That notion shattered like an icicle falling to the frozen ground the instant Hauke¡¯s icy spear exploded, tearing into Heila¡¯s back and splattering the pristine, white snow with drops of crimson so large that they were visible even under the pale light of the moon and stars.


    "Lady Heila!" Ignatious shouted from the driver¡¯s seat of the carriage, standing in panic as things began to go very wrong, very quickly.


    As quickly as Nyrielle moved, events unfolded rapidly and Hauke¡¯s blizzard was descending on her army by the time her feet touched the ground outside the carriage.


    "Young Ritchel, just what do you think you¡¯re doing," Nyrielle whispered as she watched him work with the sorcerers of his honor guard to trap Ashlynn in a tomb of ice along with the clearly murderous Hauke. Darkness spread across her eyes and her hands curled into wicked claws as black, feathery wings unfolded behind her.


    "We¡¯ve fallen into a trap," Nyrielle said coldly, her mind working rapidly to put together the limited information she had available to her. Pain flared briefly through her bond with Ashlynn, but whatever injuries her lover had suffered affected Ashlynn much less than the confusion, hurt, and betrayal that flowed through their bond as she found herself trapped with the young Frost Walker Lord.


    "What are your orders, Mistress," Zedya said, dropping from the driver¡¯s seat of the carriage to kneel at Nyrielle¡¯s feet. Her Amethyst eyes already glowed fiercely, shining in the dark like glittering jewels and even as she knelt, the vampire maidservant was pulling on her darksteel fighting gauntlets.


    "Ritchel knows better than to confront me directly like this," Nyrielle said as her eyes swept across the Frost Walker forces, pausing slightly when she saw the darting figure of the Thistle Witch racing to Heila¡¯s side. For a moment, a warm glow of pride enveloped her heart and a small smile appeared on her lips. Her Ashlynn truly had come into her own during this journey. Even without making a move herself, Ashlynn¡¯s own allies were already coming to her aid.


    That realization allowed Nyrielle to put aside the last of her worries about her love and focus on the larger picture. Everything had happened suddenly but the sequence felt too well orchestrated to be anything other than a well planned attack. Hauke had knocked Heila asside and attempted to eliminate her ruthlessly before Lord Ritchel sealed Ashlynn with the young lord.


    It was a good opening move if your goal was to make the best possible use of disposable pawns. Ritchel had to know that this ambush, even if it succeeded, would never gain him victory, and whatever hatred he might feel over the way she had treated him on her previous visit, it wasn¡¯t enough to provoke him into a suicidal attack that would only doom his people.


    All of which suggested that someone had forced Lord Ritchel¡¯s hand, binding him to a plan in which he and many of his people were certain to die, but in the process they might be able to seriously weaken Nyrielle¡¯s forces, particularly if they could capture or kill Ashlynn.


    The list of people who would wish to do such a thing to the Harbinger of Death was very short, and while Hamdi or his sire Bardas might be out for revenge after what she had done to them in the Tangled Wood, both of them were too proud of their own forces to make use of the Frost Walkers as disposable pawns like this.


    And if it wasn¡¯t either of them, that left only one person who was both cunning enough and cruel enough to attack her in this way, and once she considered that it might be him, too many of the pieces fit together to consider anyone else who might be behind the sudden attack.

 Chapter 422: Counter Attack

    Chapter 422: Counter Attack"I fear my teacher is behind this attack," Nyrielle said, coming to the only conclusion that made any sense. Before, she never would have considered it, but after learning about Shubnalu¡¯s involvement in turning powerful Frost Walker ancestors into deadly Blood Golems, she couldn¡¯t deny his aparent ability to control this isolated clan.


    She¡¯d heard from Hamdi that the Fangs of Death had ordered her capture and she avoided the other vampire Eldritch Lords for the remainder of her journey through the Eldritch nations precisely because of that, but no it appeared that her teacher had come for her himself.


    Given everything he must have heard during her travels, perhaps it was unsurprising. The barren High Pass would weaken Ashlynn and the other witches traveling with them, and the cold itself, combined with the narrow roads and the rough terrain would allow even a weaker force like the Frost Walkers to cause significant damage to her forces.


    Moreover, it was one place that he could guarantee she would pass through on her way back to the Vale of Mists. All he had to do was take control of the puppets he¡¯d neglected for a few centuries and then wait for her to arrive. In the months since Nyrielle had defeated Hamdi, Shubnalu had plenty of time to make his move here.


    "If he is here," Nyrielle said, flapping her wings and shooting into the air. "He will be in a place where we can speak alone. If he thinks that my people are so weak that they¡¯ll be decimated by the likes of Ritchel¡¯s Frost Walkers, however, he¡¯s sorely mistaken."


    A sudden, intense surge of anger and frustration flowing through her bond with Ashlynn momentarily pulled Nyrielle¡¯s attention away from her surroundings as her mind sank into the bond that grew stronger every day that she and Ashlynn shared together.


    This close, she could faintly hear the clash of Ashlynn¡¯s sword against ice that cracked and shattered under the force of her blows along with the sounds of a bitter argument between the two people trapped beneath the ice.


    Clearly, Ashlynn thought there must be some way out of this that wouldn¡¯t require killing the young lord or she wouldn¡¯t waste her words on him, but Nyrielle was much less confident in finding a solution to this without spilling blood, particularly if her suspicions were right about the person behind this sudden attack. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Pulling her attention back to the world around her, Nyrielle did her best to push her concerns about Ashlynn to the back of her mind so she could do what must be done. If her love was able to produce a miracle and find a solution to this that saved as many of the Frost Walker¡¯s lives as possible, then that was obviously ideal, but Nyrielle¡¯s first responsibilities were to her own people. Whether they were captured pawns in a greater game or not, since Lord Ritchel had moved against her, he and his clan would have to face the consequences of their treachery.


    "Zedya, secure our people," Nyrielle commanded, her mind moving rapidly as she prepared her counterattack. Part of her wanted nothing more than to rush to Ashlynn¡¯s side, but if Shubnalu was truly present, doing so might only make things worse. At the moment, she had to trust in Ashlynn¡¯s strength to endure, at least for a short while.


    "Search among the ones who joined us most recently," she told Zedya. "Ensure no one is attempting to sabotage us from within. Ignatious," she continued, turning to the former Inquisitor who had already retrieved the box containing the Holy Flame Blade. "I see you already understand."


    "I will remove the blizzard, Mistress," Ignatious said, holding off on opening the box containing the sword until Nyrielle departed. "Then I will break Lady Ashlynn free of the ice prison."


    "Assuming she hasn¡¯t already done it herself," Nyrielle said with a confident smile. "Uncle Tausau, Uncle Savis," Nyrielle shouted to the Mongrel Horde and Black Wolf Brigade who had already begun to gather together under the orders of the two elder vampires.


    "I fear the Fangs of Death may have brought his progeny with him," Nyrielle said, worried that there might be more powerful forces lurking in reserve. Shubnalu had always had a fondness for skilled assassins among his progeny and she didn¡¯t expect to find them openly joining the battle if they were present.


    In fact, if her teacher had brought his progeny with them, they were most likely holed up deep within the Frost Walker¡¯s fortress, likely holding Ritchel¡¯s wife and the wives and children of the elders hostage as a method of compelling obedience from their unwilling pawns.


    "Seize the fortress," Nyrielle commanded. "If Shubnalu¡¯s minions are here, find them! If they have taken prisoners, you may bring this to an end by freeing them, but you should expect that any one of Shubnalu¡¯s progeny are just as strong as Hamdi was. Do not spend your lives foolishly protecting people who have betrayed our trust. Retreat if you must," she added after a brief hesitation. "Your lives are more important to me than a swift victory."


    "The Black Wolf Brigade will not fail you," Savis said, kneeling formally in the snow and offering a salute with both of his claws pressed across his chest. Though he kept his eyes firmly on the ground, he didn¡¯t do so out of a true sense of submission to Lady Nyrielle. Rather, he did it to hide the gleam of eagerness and hunger glittering in his golden eyes.


    For months, Savis and the Black Wolf Brigade had been the defeated dogs of the Tangled Wood, forced to act as common heralds and ordinary guards. Now, they would finally be let off their leashes, released to hunt and wash away the stain of their defeat with the fresh blood of victory!


    "Come, Brother," Tausau said eagerly as he peered through the drifting cloud of snow between the carriages and the bridge. With his sharp senses, even though much of his vision was obscured, he could see the Frost Walker soldiers pouring onto the bridge.


    Despite their impressive layers of woven armor and icy weapons, to the man who sired the Mongrel Horde, the white fur of the Frost Walker soldiers made them resemble a flock of fat sheep, rushing ignorantly to the slaughterhouse.


    "Tonight," Tausau said as Nyrielle shot off toward a lonely mountain lake in the distance. "We hunt!"

 Chapter 423: Across the Bridge

    Chapter 423: Across the BridgeA heavy wool cloak hung from Laya¡¯s shoulders as she tried not to shiver in the cold of the High Pass. When she became a vampire, she thought her days of fearing the cold were over. As a descendant of both the Ancient Clan and the Scaled Clan, she preferred to bask in heat and warmth whenever possible, and her thin, weak scales only made her aversion to the cold worse.


    Since becoming a member of the Mongrel Horde, she¡¯d left behind some of the weakness that plagued her as one of the misshapen Clanless, but even in death, bitter cold still seemed to be just as great an enemy as any she¡¯d ever faced.


    Underneath the heavy cloak, she clutched the heavy, flagged mace that she¡¯d taken from her night in the arena in High Fen City. Lady Heila, the Willow Witch herself, had given her permission to keep the weapon after the battle she and her fellow Mongrels fought against convicts and condemned criminals when they arrived in High Fen City. At the time, Laya was considered one of the weakest members of the Mongrel Horde, but that night, inspired by the diminutive witch¡¯s words, she¡¯d lead the charge against the vile criminals who had been condemned to die.


    It was the first time she ever tasted the sweet blood of victory, and since then, she¡¯d fought in smaller arenas twice more. Neither battle was fought to the death, and she didn¡¯t win both of them, but her chest filled with pride nonetheless. For years, she¡¯d been cared for by the stronger members of the Mongrel Horde, but now, she¡¯d proved that she could fight on her own. She¡¯d even earned a purse full of silver by fighting in the arena and purchased a few simple treasures for herself before they left High Fen City.


    All of this was something she owed to Lady Ashlynn and, more specifically, to Lady Heila. It wasn¡¯t just the opportunity Heila bestowed on the Mongrel Horde, allowing them to prove their strength on the sands of the arena, but her words that night that had given Laya the courage to fight for herself instead of depending on her brothers and sisters within the horde.


    Which was why, when she saw the Frost Walkers they¡¯d traveled to this barren, cold place to meet with, Laya¡¯s normally quiet heart exploded with rage and hatred she didn¡¯t know she could still feel the instant Hauke attacked Lady Heila. Seeing the woman who had transformed her life, with her blood splattered across the snow, filled her heart with fury and painted a red haze across her vision.


    The mace trembled in her hand as she listened to Lady Nyrielle snap out calm, clear orders to her sire Tausau and uncle Savis. Finally, she could do something!


    "Mongrels!" Tausau shouted when he joined his progeny alongside Savis. "Our goal is the gate. Seize the gate and keep it open for Savis¡¯s Black Wolf Brigade. We are the point of the spear! Do not stop, do not feed, but tear your way through these traitorous sheep until the gate is ours!"


    A ragged cry rose from the vampires of the Mongrel Horde as they charged into the drifting cloud of snow that made it impossible to see what was happening beyond the bridge across the chasm separating Nyrielle¡¯s army from the Frost Walker¡¯s towering fortress carved from Ice and snow.


    As the horde charged past Lady Heila, and the icy prison that held Lady Ashlynn captive, the brilliantly glowing blade in the Willow Witch¡¯s hand pulsed brightly. What she said, even Laya¡¯s enhanced hearing couldn¡¯t make out over the noise of the Horde¡¯s charge, but a soft, white point of light, no larger than a single snowflake, began to glow on Laya¡¯s shoulder, and a similar point of light appeared on the rest of the Horde.


    When they reached the cloud of lazily drifting snowflakes, the snow seemed to move aside for them, as if it was clearing a path to the bridge, and the balls of ice and snow that Heila formed within the snow cloud to pelt Lord Ritchel and his guards completely ignored the Horde as long as a glowing snowflake clung to their body in one place or another.


    The distance to the bridge wasn¡¯t far, and before she knew it, Laya and the others had emerged from the cloud of snow, coming face to face with an answering charge by Frost Walker hunters and soldiers, rushing desparately to reach the side of their beleaguered lord as he and his honor guard fought off the combined assault of two witches.


    Before the Mongrel Horde could reach their first enemies, the Frost Walkers attacked, hurling heavy spears made of ice or pelting the rushing vampires with a rain of frozen arrows. Cold blood flowed from dozens of wounds, dying the frozen stones of the bridge a dark red as each drop of vampire blood froze instantly where it splattered on the ground.


    Pain flared in Laya¡¯s cheek as she barely avoided an icy arrow and a long, thin cut appeared on her delicate face an instant later, but she had no time to care as there were still more arrows of ice to endure before she could crush the skulls and horns of these vile cowards who wouldn¡¯t face her weapon to weapon.


    More pain wracked her body, this time accompanied by a deep, penetrating cold as an icey arrow buried itself in her left shouler, easily penetrating her heavy wool cloak and the thin, tender scales of her misshapen body that had never hardened into a protective layer of armor they way they would have if she¡¯d been a pure descendant of the Ancient Clan or Scaled Clan.


    Cold blood flowed down her tunic, and red haze obscured Laya¡¯s vision as she pressed forward despite the pain. Sire Tausau had already reached the Frost Walkers, tearing into their ranks with a heavy darksteel blade despite his disproportionately short, misshapen arms. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The rain of icy spears and arrows didn¡¯t stop, but it slowed, giving Laya the precious breathing room she needed to mark a target of her own and rush toward the young looking Frost Walker hunter with a pale blue horn and a heavy glaive held in both hands.


    The young hunter¡¯s pale blue horn glowed with a dim radiance as he gathered his magic, and a snarl formed on his lips, bearing his rows of sharp teeth at the short, misshapen Clanless vampire who dared to threaten him and his home.


    "Die, traitor!" Laya shouted as she leaped into the air, propelled by a strength that no ordinary Clanless person could possess. With both hands on the heavy mace, she prepared to smash the horn that looked so perfectly pure, set in the brow of a man whose handsome face had never known the agony of struggling against a body that tried to kill the person cursed to be born in it.


    The Frost Walker¡¯s eyes narrowed at her approach as he refused to panic and began to counter the sloppy, amateurish attack. He shifted his stance, pivoting the glaive in a graceful arc that sliced through the air with a faint whistling sound, all but lost in the clash of battle around them.


    "Filthy Clanless," he spat, his pale blue horn pulsing brighter. The air around him crystallized, forming a momentary shield of ice that Laya¡¯s mace shattered with a thunderous crack, sending shards of ice scattering across the bridge like broken glass.


    For a heartbeat, triumph surged through Laya¡¯s chest. She¡¯d broken through his defense! Following that moment of triumph, Laya¡¯s heart was filled with anger, rage, hurt, and a desire to shatter the perfect, gleaming horn atop the head of a man who was lucky to be born the way nature intended. He¡¯d been arrogant, confident that the Clanless could never hurt him, that she hated him more than she¡¯d ever hated before and...


    And none of her fury mattered. The shattered ice shield had been a feint to begin with, forcing her to make a move and commit fully to the attack. Even as her mace completed its arc, the hunter was already moving, sliding to her left with practiced ease, his glaive, no longer defending, but sweeping upward in a vicious thrust.


    Laya tried to twist away, her vampire reflexes giving her just enough time to recognize her mistake but not enough to escape it. The cold metal bit into her chest, sliding through cloak and scales as though they offered no more resistance than fresh snow. Cold blood splattered across the young hunter¡¯s white fur, and her heavy mace clattered to the ground without ever coming within an arm¡¯s length of his glittering horn.


    Shock filled Laya¡¯s eyes, but strangely, there was no pain. For the first time that she could remember, the pain of her poorly formed body faded away. The world shifted and spun, and the red haze that had filled her vision turned slowly black as she tumbled through the air.


    A moment later, as her vision narrowed, she saw a heavy darksteel blade slice through the neck of the handsome Frost Walker, sending his head tumbling after her as a furious Tausau appeared behind the man who had flung her into the darkness of the chasm below the bridge.


    As she fell, Laya wanted to shout to her sire, to tell him that he didn¡¯t need to be so angry for her. The pain that had plagued her for so long that she didn¡¯t know what life was like without it was finally gone, and now... Now, as darkness claimed her, she could finally rest.

 Chapter 424: Flickering Faith

    Chapter 424: Flickering FaithWhen Tausau and Savis led their soldiers in an assault on the Frost Walker fortress, Ignatious followed along with them, separating from the group to dash to Heila¡¯s side by the ice prison that trapped Lady Ashlynn with the treacherous Hauke. When he arrived, the diminutive Willow Witch was already in a heated argument with her gladiator-turned-guardian, Kurtz.


    "... understand, my Lady," Kurtze pleaded in the face of an intense glare from the woman he¡¯d come to rescue. "Even if I ran into the blizzard, I might not be able to find your Tuscan soldiers. It¡¯s almost impossible to see anything in that snow, and I¡¯m no vampire or witch to blow the snow aside."


    "And even if, if somehow I could find them," he added, trying to convince the stubborn young witch that sending him away to fetch the giants was a fool¡¯s errand. "Leading giants through the caravan when we can¡¯t see, we¡¯d only trample our own people beneath their feet."


    "Tuscan¡¯s have their own magic for handling snow and ice," Heila insisted. Snow Fang trembled in her hands, and she was nearing exhaustion from maintaining the snow cloud. Talauia had already reached Lord Ritchel and his honor guard, and she¡¯d used the snow cloud to provide cover for Savis and Tausau¡¯s charge, but she still needed to maintain the barrage of snowball,s or Talauia would find herself outnumbered and overwhelmed before she could finish dealing with the sorcerers keeping Ashlynn prisoner.


    "Just go find them," Heila insisted. "We need their strength to break these walls!"


    As she spoke, the walls of the ice prison shook and trembled, with cracks spreading across the surface of several walls. Just a few minutes ago, nothing seemed to damage the walls, and it was clear from the fading magic supporting them that at least a few of the sorcerers who trapped Ashlynn had fallen to Talauia¡¯s assault, but they weren¡¯t failing fast enough!


    "Lady Heila," Ignatious interrupted as he knelt down in the snow, placing the box containing the Holy Flame Blade on the frozen ground before him. "Mistress Nyrielle sent me to dispel the blizzard and break Lady Ashlynn free," he said, his hands already moving from one lock on the case to the next before revealing the gleaming blade.


    The temperature around them seemed to grow several degrees warmer as soon as Ignatious removed the lid, and everything more than a few feet away from them seemed to grow darker, as if all the light of the world were gathering around the sacred blade.


    "Sir Ignatious!" Heila cried, relief washing over her now that they had the support of one of Lady Nyielle¡¯s progeny.


    "Can that sword really dispel the blizzard?" Heila asked, trying to suppress the surge of hope that wanted to erupt in her chest, just because Ignatious had arrived. All her life, she¡¯d put her faith in Lady Nyrielle and her immensely powerful progeny to protect the Vale of Mists, and part of her wanted to believe more than anything that Nyrielle¡¯s progeny wouldn¡¯t fail.


    But now that she¡¯d become a witch, she knew much more about how difficult it was to destroy someone else¡¯s working once it was fully formed. Armed with a powerful Severing Knife, she might have been able to unravel the magic that sustained the blizzard, but there was no way she could do that and support Talauia, not without trees or growing things to draw strength from. But perhaps, in Ignatious¡¯s hands, the Holy Flame Blade could act like a Severing Knife and destroy the heart of the blizzard¡¯s magic.


    "Have faith," Ignatious said, his hands hovering over the hilt of the blade. Whether he meant it for her or for himself was hard to say, but Heila accepted it, returning her focus to her snow cloud and the onslaught of snowballs.


    Slowly, Ignatious wrapped his hands around the gold and ruby hilt of the blade, lifting it out of its case for the first time in decades. Nyrielle took the blade from him when she captured him, but it had followed him from the Vale of Mists to the Briar when the Mother of Thorns studied it, and once again, the blade followed him when Nyrielle handed him over to Hamdi¡¯s tender mercies.


    Once, Ignatious had dreamed of breaking into Hamdi¡¯s vaults to retrieve his treasured blade. He believed that, with the power of the sword, he would be able to take his revenge on his tormentor before turning the blade on himself and bringing his cursed existence to an end.


    The dream died slowly, inch by inch, as the High Lord of the Tangled Wood tortured every last shred of humanity out of his prisoner. By the time he laid eyes on his sacred treasure again, when Nyrielle retrieved it from Hamdi¡¯s vaults, Ignatious questioned whether the blade would accept him at all.


    Since then, he¡¯d faced the blade dozens of times, gaining a measure of confidence that he could stand in its presence without facing destruction, but he¡¯d never found the courage to place his hands on the blade. Instead, he¡¯d pinned his hopes on Lady Ashlynn and the artificer that Mistress Nyrielle said might be able to release the blade from the chains of faith that allowed only the most devout members of the Church to wield it.


    "Even if Erkembalt says faith isn¡¯t required," he whispered as he turned the point of the blade toward the west and the Heavenly Shores that lay beyond the sunset. "I still believe."


    Closing his eyes, the former Inquisitor drew deeply on the well of energy that coursed through his body, forcing that power into the sword to ignite the blade. The struggle with the blade that a Templar or Inquisitor faced every time they tried to draw on the blade¡¯s power was supposed to represent the Struggle of life. Only by rising to meet one¡¯s struggle could one find peace in the Heavenly Shores at the end of their life, and only by meeting the struggle with the blade could one hope to wield its power.


    It was a struggle he¡¯d relished in countless times before he fell to Nyrielle¡¯s fangs, becoming one of the only Inquisitors to ever master a Holy Flame Blade. In life, there had been few Inquisitors or Templars who could outshine his zeal. But now, as he forced himself to once again struggle with the blade, the response he received from the sword was very, very different.


    The sword pushed back against his attempt to ignite it with overwhelming force. Unlike the slowly escalating arm wrestling match that Erkembalt had demonstrated, the power of the sword slammed into him with not only tremendous force but searing heat!


    On the hilt of the blade, Ignatious¡¯s hands felt like they were wrapped around an iron questioner¡¯s rod pulled straight out of the fires of the forge. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and wisps of smoke drifted away on the bitterly cold mountain winds.


    Already, blisters rose on the backs of his hands, and the flesh of his fingers cracked and blackened. Ignatious¡¯s heart trembled in his chest and pain flooded his mind, nearly robbing him of his senses as the blade burned his flesh with the fires of judgment.


    "Aaaaaarrrrgggg!" Ignatious cried out in anguish as the fires seemed to reach even deeper within him, burning not only his flesh but his spirit as well. Forcing his eyes open, the vampire stared at the sacred blade in horrified realization. While the Holy Flame Blade would not bar him from its presence, he was no longer worthy of wielding its might.


    Worse, for having the hubris to even attempt to bend the blade to his corrupted will, it intended to not only reject him but destroy him! S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 425: Stubborn (Part One)

    Chapter 425: Stubborn (Part One)Heila¡¯s concentration on her snow cloud spell shattered when Ignatious¡¯s deeply anguished howl of pain split the night. Fat, fluffy snowflakes still hung in the air, drifting slowly toward the ground but the barrage of snowballs ceased as she turned her attention to the injured vampire. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Pale yellowish-gold flames ran along the length of the blade, turning a darker reddish-orange where they spilled from the hilt of the sword onto the former Inquisitor¡¯s charred and blackened hands. Already, the flesh on the backs of his hands and a few of his fingers had begun to crack and split, revealing pale white bone and tendon beneath the charred and blackened skin.


    "Ignatious!" Heila shouted, instantly gathering a handful of snow from the ground at her feet and rushing toward him. "Drop the sword!" she yelled, flinging the snow on his hands in the hopes of doing something to counter the heat. The snow, however, did nothing to improve matters, melting before it could even reach the blade and turning into a cloud of steem that froze in the air as it drifted away.


    "I, c-can¡¯t, let g-go," Ignatious said through gritted teeth. Blood ran down his chin from where his fangs had pierced his lips as he tried to summon the will to fight back against the flames of the blade but nothing he did seemed to help.


    In fact, the more he fought, the worse matters became as the blade drank in his energy like a vampire consuming blood, turning it into its own strength and feeding it back to him in the form of hotter, more penetrating flames. Already, the flames were spreading up his forearms, burning away the red and gold robes of the Inquisition and revealing pale flesh that had begun to blister and crack.


    "You have to!" Heila cried, wracking her brain for something, anything that she could do. Strangely, the heat of the blade had done nothing to the snow around Ignatious despite the fact that it¡¯s flames were hot enough to boil the blood in his veins. The only time it seemed to do anything to the environment was when Heila tried to use snow to fight the flames or soothe his wounds.


    "What if you give up?" Heila asked as she tried to recall everything the artificer had said about the Holy Flame Blade. "Didn¡¯t Erkembalt say that if the sword won the struggle, it would leave you exhausted but unharmed? Why is this happening?"


    "I can¡¯t give up," Ignatious said through clenched teeth. He¡¯d already tried surrendering to the blade once and that decision had allowed the flames to spread almost to his elbows. If he gave the blade any more ground, it would only drink more deeply from the vast pool of energy he carried and it would use that energy to immolate him until nothing remained but bones and ash.


    "I¡¯m sorry, little Heila," the vampire said as a defeated expression appeared on his face. "Perhaps I can endure until it¡¯s drained me dry," he said as he pushed back against the blade, forcing the flames to halt their advance beyond his forearms. "But I¡¯ll be no use to you or Lady Ashlynn."


    "No!" Heila snapped, lowering her head and slamming into the defeated looking vampire with both of her horns. The blow knocked him to the ground, falling awkwardly on his back as Heila forced him down to a level where she could reach the burning blade. "You don¡¯t give up! Not when Lady Ashlynn needs you," she said.


    "My Lady," Kurtz snapped, his eyes wide in horror as he rushed forward to pull his daughter¡¯s hero away from the burning vampire before the flames could consume her. He¡¯d come all the way to this frozen, barren nowhere to keep her safe from the enemies that were massing even now on the fortress walls but he¡¯d never imagined that the person he would need to protect her from the most was herself! If anything happened to her here and he did nothing...


    "Stay back!" Heila snapped, not even looking in Kurtz¡¯s direction as she focused all of her attention on Ignatious. Tears of frustration froze on Heila¡¯s lashes in the freezing winds of the mountainside, limiting her vision but she paid it no mind as her hands fumbled at her waist for her Severing Knife.


    The blade of her knife wasn¡¯t very sharp, in fact, it was deliberately dull. Jacques and Amahle had helped her to carve the knife from the the tooth of a Giant Thornback Alligator after she and Ashlynn hunted it for their ¡¯graduation exam.¡¯ To Heila, the knife wasn¡¯t a weapon but a tool that was only intended to cut through magic.


    The knife alone, however, wouldn¡¯t be enough for what she had in mind but she had very little time to compose an effective spell for what she had to do. Instead, she focused on the feeling deep within her chest and let the most fervent desire in her heart form the words she used.


    "From snow and ice, my guard now form,


    Let water¡¯s chill quench fire¡¯s storm!"


    "Heila, what are you..." Ignatious started to ask, only for his eyes to go wide in shock as Heila stabbed her curved, bone blade between his fingers and began to pry.


    "Please, Lady Heila," he pleaded, watching the flames begin to dance over her tiny hands, slowly burning through her own protective magic. "If the flames reach you..."


    "They won¡¯t," Heila said fiercely. She might not have any trees or even weeds to draw on to power her wood and healing magics, but there was plenty of ice and snow which meant there wasn¡¯t just an abundance of water energy trapped on the mountain, there was an abundance of very cold water energy.


    Now, she opened herself up to the bitter cold of the mountain, drawing the energy into her body and using it to create a barrier between herself and the sword¡¯s flames as she worked frantically with the Severing Knife.


    She only hoped that the knife¡¯s magic was strong enough to resist such an ancient, powerful artifact, because if it wasn¡¯t... then there was truly nothing else she could do but watch as Ignatious was consumed by the flames of his own sword.

 Chapter 426: Stubborn (Part Two)

    Chapter 426: Stubborn (Part Two)Now that she was cutting away at the bonds that had formed between the vampire and the blade, she realized that Ignatious possessed far more energy than any simple sorcerer she¡¯d ever encountered. Even Mistress Zedya, her first mentor in matters of mysticism and sorcery, hadn¡¯t possessed even a quarter of the deep well of magic energy that seethed within Ignatious.


    But that well of energy was rapidly running dry as the sword poured even more heat into his body, fighting back harder and harder as Heila pried each additional finger loose. By the time she¡¯d freed all the fingers of his right hand, the flames had broken through the vampire¡¯s defenses, consuming his left arm all the way to the shoulder in brilliant crimson flames that cast dark, dancing shadows across the snow.


    On the ground beneath her, Ignatious had ceased his protests, focusing instead on stopping the flames from spreading even further. He¡¯d given up on conquering the blade or gaining any ground. Instead, he placed his face in the diminutive witch who had come to rescue him, fighting back only to buy her the time she needed to free his remaining hand.


    The blade seemed to resent his decision, growing even hotter in his hand as his faith turned further away from the Holy Lord of Light, but pain had long ceased to matter to the former inquisitor. Instead, the deepest desire in his heart was to escape this moment so that he could find a way to atone for his failure when Heila, Lady Ashlynn, Mistress Nyrielle, and everyone else was depending on him.


    Guilt wracked him, and the flames fed off his guilt like lamp oil thrown on a hearth, searing the flesh of his chest, neck, and jaw. The intense eruption of flames ended an instant later as Heila¡¯s frantic prying finally pulled the blade free of his charred and blackened hand, sending it clattering to the cold, frozen ground. Deprived of Ignatious¡¯s deep well of power, the blade fell utterly lifeless, looking as cold as ordinary steel lying in the snow.


    "Ignatious, Sir Ignatious," Heila called, clutching at the charred robes that covered the vampire¡¯s chest as his eyes drifted closed. "Don¡¯t go, you can¡¯t go now," she cried, afraid that his wounds were so severe that even one of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny couldn¡¯t endure them. More than anything, she wanted to use what little healing energy she could manifest in this barren place to tend to his wounds or at least ease his pai,n but the magic of the living was unable to do anything for those who were already dead.


    "I won¡¯t die," Ignatious said in a voice that had grown strained and raspy. "Not from these wounds," he added, weakly lifting the burned husk of his right hand. "Go now. Save Lady Ashlynn."


    "I can¡¯t," Heila said. "I can¡¯t break the ice, and I can¡¯t get to the Tuscan,s and I can¡¯t do anything to help her," Heila said, balling her fists in frustration and clutching her Severing Knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white.


    "But you can, can¡¯t you?" the Willow Witch said, looking at the fallen Inquisitor with watery eyes. "You¡¯re strong like Sir Thane and Madame Zedya. You, you can break through the ice, can¡¯t you? Even, even without the sword, you¡¯re still one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny so..."


    "It doesn¡¯t work that way," Ignatious said, turning away from Heila and staring at the shaking, cracking ice prison. Despite the tremendous forces being unleashed within the tomb of ice, the walls held firm, losing only a few shards of ice from the outer layers at seemingly random intervals when something inside the prison struck one of the walls.


    "Sir Thane was always strong, that¡¯s why, even when Lady Nyrielle gave him the Voice of Command, he still grew stronger as a vampire," Ignatious explained. "And Madame Zedya trained her body in the ways of the Clan of the Great Claw when Lady Nyrielle took her in. I, I poured all of my energy into my rage when I found out what I became," he admitted as the shame of the ways he¡¯d squandered Nyrielle¡¯s gift burned him with shame that was every bit as hot as the flames of the blade he¡¯d just been freed from.


    "So what can you do?" Heila asked. "What strength do you have?"


    "Lady Nyrielle gave me the Well of Power," Ignatious said with a bitter laugh. "It¡¯s the vast reserve of power for sorcery that the Holy Flame Blade fed on to do this to me," he said, gesturing at his burned face and neck. "But now, the well is all but dry."


    "But, but what if it wasn¡¯t?" Heila said hesitantly as an idea began to occur to her. "Could you save her then, even if you didn¡¯t have the sword? Is your sorcery strong enough?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Ignatious admitted. "But it¡¯s impossible to know. I¡¯d have to feast on a dozen Frost Walkers to regain my strength and heal my wounds, I..."


    "Just me, just feed on me," Heila said, rolling back the sleeve of her dress to bare her left wrist to the vampire. "They, they say that the blood of a witch is powerful so, so, feed on me," she said. "And use that strength to save Ashlynn."


    "My lady, no!" Kurtz shouted, stepping in at last to snatch the young Willow Witch away from the vampire before he could even think of accepting her offer. Kurtz wasn¡¯t that much bigger than Heila, but he was much, much stronger, and even though she struggled, he wasn¡¯t about to let a vampire as injured as Ignatious sink his fangs into her.


    "Lady Heila, you can¡¯t," the former gladiator insisted, trying to reason with her as she fought to free herself from his grasp. "You¡¯re too small. He¡¯s too injured. He¡¯ll drain you dry. You¡¯ll die!"


    "But he won¡¯t," Heila insisted, staring deeply into the vampire¡¯s dark, haunted eyes. "He could never hurt me because he¡¯d never forgive himself for it."


    "Don¡¯t you mean because Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn would never forgive me?" Ignatious said with a dark laugh. "I¡¯ve failed them enough already, I wouldn¡¯t dare to take this risk."


    "No," Heila said, her voice suddenly as cold as the mountain air around them. For a heartbeat, she stared over her shoulder at Kurtz, seeing the genuine fear in his eyes. Not for himself, but for her, and perhaps a little bit for his daughter, who would never forgive him if anything happened to Heila while he could have protected her. In any other moment, his concern would have touched her, but now it was just another obstacle between her and saving Ashlynn.


    "I¡¯m sorry," she whispered just before slamming the hilt of her Severing Knife into Kurtz¡¯s ribs. The impact was precise, she had learned enough as a healer to know where to hit him in order to send a shock through his body that would allow her to escape without hurting him enough to truly injure the seasoned gladiator. As his arms slackened, she twisted free and darted across the frozen ground to the injured vampire¡¯s side, feeling a twinge of guilt from hurting the man who was only trying to keep her safe, but Ashlynn¡¯s need outweighed everything else.


    "It¡¯s not failing others you¡¯re afraid of," Heila said when she arrived at Ignatious¡¯s side, staring at him with her soft, grass-green eyes that were surprisingly gentle for someone who had been so fierce when prying him free of the blade. "Or maybe it is, if your Holy Lord of Light is real," she added. "Then he¡¯s the one you won¡¯t ever let down."


    "So don¡¯t," Heila said, kneeling down at the vampire¡¯s side and extending her wrist again. "If that¡¯s what it takes for you to do this, then do it for him. Do it for your Holy Lord of Light. Save her because she¡¯s a good person who needs your help. Save her because no one else can. Save her without killing anyone because you don¡¯t want to hurt anyone else anymore... but you can do this... can¡¯t you?" S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 427: So Warm (Part One)

    Chapter 427: So Warm (Part One)"Save her without killing anyone because you don¡¯t want to hurt anyone else anymore... but you can do this... can¡¯t you?"


    Heila¡¯s simple, pleading words fell on Ignatious with the weight of an avalanche, knocking aside his defenses and excuses until the only thing he could accept was the truth he¡¯d been avoiding.


    "I¡¯ve hurt innocents before," he said, reaching out hesitantly with his charred, blackened hands. Each movement caused new cracks in his burned flesh to form and a small rain of ash fell to the white snow beneath him with each movement until he very gently brushed the surface of Heila¡¯s hands. "How can you trust me now?"


    "Because when you joined us, you came to me and asked if the Tuscans would be willing to provide your meals," Heila said softly. "You said that you needed to feed on the strongest prey available. You sounded like Sir Savis, like you were borrowing his words. But, you weren¡¯t satisfied when I brought you to them the way that Sir Savis was when we let him fight his prey. You were relieved."


    "The Tuscans are very large," Ignatious explained almost absentmindedly as he stared into Heila¡¯s soft, grass-green eyes. "I think it¡¯s impossible, even for me, to accidentally kill one of them while feeding. But Lady Heila, you¡¯re very small. It takes so much restraint to feed on the Horned Clan that, before Mistress Nyrielle exiled me, she never allowed me to try. One last time," he said, glancing at the trembling walls of the icy prison that held Ashlynn hostage. "Are you certain that you wish to do this?"


    "You¡¯re restraining yourself now, aren¡¯t you?" Heila asked gently. It took all of her will to keep her eyes on the trembling, injured vampire instead of looking anxiously in Ashlynn¡¯s direction, but right now, the only thing that would help her lady was helping Ignatious and so she would not look away from him.


    "Please," she said, extending her wrist. "Take what you need, and rescue Lady Ashlynn before it¡¯s too late," she said, unable to keep a tremble of urgency out of her voice.


    With a stiff nod, Ignatious pulled her wrist to his lips, opening his mout wide to reveal loing, sharp fangs. In his burned and blackened hands, her wrist looked as pure and white as the snow on the ground and smaller and more delicate than the neck of a swan. Yet beneath that soft, pale flesh, he could see the powerful pulse of a woman whose heart quickened with a mix of anxiety and fear as he prepared to strike.


    "This will hurt," he whispered. "But only for a moment," he said, giving her a final warning before sinking his fangs into her soft, tender flesh.


    Heila thought she knew what to expect when she offered her wrist. She had never been selected as an offering for Lady Nyrielle, but once on the journey, before she became a witch, she¡¯d offered herself to Madame Zedya as a gesture of thanks for all that the older woman had taught her.


    When Zedya fed, her amethyst eyes glowed with power, pulling Heila into a world that was peaceful and calm. She only felt the slightest prick before it was over. When she finally woke, several hours had passed, and she felt weak and ravenous, but there was nothing else to remember about the process, only a brief prick and then nothing.


    Ignatious¡¯s bite was nothing like Zedya¡¯s. The pain that surged in her wrist felt like someone had taken an axe to a tree, chopping into her flesh as if to sever her hand from her wrist. For a moment, her eyes opened wide in panic, afraid that she¡¯d made a terrible mistake.


    Then, she felt a warmth flow through her body as the vampire took his first swallow of her blood and the pain she felt vanished, consumed by a feeling so warm and cozy that she reached out with her other arm to wrap herself around him, pulling their bodies closer together as if she was seeking shelter from the cold and snow.


    In life, Ignatious had been a terrifying, raging inferno. His flames consumed the lives of countless Eldritch people as though they were kindling for a pyre whose flames would reach the sky. Even in death, as a newly made vampire, his flames had consumed anything they could reach.


    But the heat that Heila felt from Ignatious was different from those flames of righteousness and fury. It wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a cold day, burning dimly like a hearth choked with soot and filled with nothing but the last embers of a fire that had exhausted its fuel long ago.


    Connected to Ignatious in a way she had never before imagined, her healer¡¯s heart ached at the realization of how years of wielding the cruel, punishing flames of a zealout had choked out the gentle warmth at the core of a man who always struck her as gentle and kind, weighed down by tragedies she was too young to understand. But even if she was too young or too inexperienced to understand his anguish, that didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t do anything to soothe it.


    Gently, with each swallow of her blood, Heila drew on the water trapped in ice and snow around her, warming it in the embers of Ignatious¡¯s flames before guiding it over the soot and ash that buried his heart.


    She had to work carefully, and no matter how much her body wanted to surrender to the faint warmth that Ignatious offered and drift off to sleep, she couldn¡¯t let herself be passive while he fed. If she let water pour over him freely, she might extinguish the embers that still burned within, but if she surrendered to his feeble warmth, while he might feed from her, he would never heal.


    And so, even though it was difficult, she clung tightly to the fallen Inquisitor and did her best to wash away the years of pain, doubt, and self-loathing that had all but extinguished the gentle flames that were his true source of power.


    And underneath all of that, she hoped that there was still enough of him left to heal, or else, washing away all that soot and ash would reveal that there was nothing of the original Ignatious left to save. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 428: So Warm (Part Two)

    Chapter 428: So Warm (Part Two)For Ignatious, the moment his tongue first tasted Heila¡¯s blood, he realized that nothing he¡¯d ever been told about the power of a witch¡¯s blood compared to the reality of what she offered him. The taste of her blood was sweet, cool, and soothing, like a cup of crystal clear water from a mountain spring on a hot summer day.


    The first mouthful he swallowed eased the pain of his burns and soothed the raw, sharp hunger that burned within him, but it did nothing to slake his thirst for more. It was the second mouthful of blood, however, that made him pause with the realization that Heila was feeding him more than just her blood.


    Tears burst unbidden from his eyes as Heila¡¯s soft, cleansing energy washed over parts of his innermost being that he¡¯d thought long buried and burned to ash by the torture of time. Ghosts of his victims drifted behind his dark eyes as he relived the maddening days when Hamdi drove him to the drink of starvation before hurling a fresh, innocent victim into the dark cell he¡¯d been trapped in.


    And as the ghosts appeared before Ignatious, they appeared in Heila¡¯s eyes as well. Cecile had once warned her that a healer must experience the pain of the wounds they wished to heal as part of the price of curing that which nothing but a witch¡¯s magic could cure. At the time, she¡¯d thought it applied only to physical wounds, but it seemed like she would have to face Ignatious¡¯s ghosts along with him.


    "This isn¡¯t you," Heila whispered softly as she directed more of her healing waters toward the painful stains of guilt and self-recrimination that haunted him. "You didn¡¯t choose this," she added in an even softer voice that only a vampire¡¯s hearing could have heard over the bitter winds sweeping across the mountainside.


    Ignatious made a soft, helpless noise as he swallowed again, taking in both the strength that Heila offered and the gentle waters of absolution that soothed his wounded soul. Again and again, they faced the ghosts that haunted the fallen Inquisitor, whether they were the victims who fell to his claws and fangs as a vampire or the innocent humans caught up in the Inquisition¡¯s relentless search for wickedness, they faced them all together.


    Beside them, Kurtz watched in open-mouthed amazement as the powerful vampire wept in the diminutive witch¡¯s arms. He didn¡¯t understand what she was doing to him to cause the older man to weep like a babe, but whatever she was doing, it went far beyond simple tears.


    Already, the burns on Ignatious¡¯s neck had vanished, replaced by flesh so smooth and perfect that it looked like it had never been touched by the horrifying flames of the Holy Flame Blade. Even the vampire¡¯s arms had begun to recover. Bone was no longer visible underneath the blackened flesh, and his muscles and tendons were growing back fast enough to be seen by the naked eye.


    Unfortunately, Heilas outpouring of cleansing water could only do so much for the injured vampire, and she was already approaching her limits after scrubbing away less than half of the filth and soot that clung to the fallen Inquisitor¡¯s heart. Some stains had been ground so deeply into him that they seemed to have become a permanent part of who he was, and even if she wanted to, there was nothing Heila could do to wash them away.


    "Show me something else," Heila whispered as she tightened her grip on the feeding vampire. Her body had grown colder and colder as she used the frigid water energy of the mountainside to wash away what hurts she could, but now she desperately needed to feel more of Ignatious¡¯s warmth.


    Her arms felt heavy as lead, and the hand not currently offered to Ignatious¡¯s fangs had begun to tremble uncontrollably. Each beat of her heart now seemed to come slower than the last, pumping blood that felt thin and cold through her increasingly pallid flesh.


    Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision, and it took all her concentration just to maintain the connection between them. The air around her no longer felt cold, her body had grown too numb to register the difference between the cold within her and the chill of the mountain air. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At this point, she knew that she could pull back before the faint warmth of Ignatious¡¯s bite turned into unbearable pain. The healer in her, however, refused to give up when she had yet to give him the strength he truly needed. Everything she¡¯d done so far was little more than washing a wound, there was still more that he needed before she could stop and rest.


    "You were proud of your flames once, weren¡¯t you? Show me that," she whispered as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his freshly healed neck and shoulder. Her diminutive body lacked the strength to keep her head up, and even keeping her eyes open felt like too much effort. Thankfully, the things she needed to see were sealed deep within Ignatious¡¯s heart, and so she let her eyes drift shut, and her mind sank fully into his memories of the past.


    Slowly, a new scene began to form in Heila¡¯s mind. She was on a street corner in a city that she¡¯d never seen before, standing next to Ignatious, watching an opulent-looking building wreathed in flames as it burned to the ground.


    "This place was filled with wicked men," the vampire in her vision said as the shadows cast by the burning building flickered across his youthful features. "Women who went missing in ¡¯demon attacks¡¯ wound up here, forced to... you can imagine what they were forced to do," he said, unwilling to sully Heila¡¯s ears with stories of the nightmares he¡¯d witnessed when he followed the trail of ¡¯demons¡¯ back to this corrupt den of filth and perversion.


    "You burned more than just the building," Heila said, turning her eyes to the Vampire¡¯s expressionless face. "Are you really proud of this?"


    "It needed to be done," Ignatious said in a voice that was flat but filled with conviction. "Without the flames to light their way, these men¡¯s victims would never find their way to the Heavenly Shores. If I couldn¡¯t save their lives, at least I could do this for their souls. And those men will never harm another soul."


    Slowly, as he spoke, Heila added a bit of her own wood energy to the fires burning within Ignatious, stoking the embers of his heart with the fuel to burn brighter.


    "What else? Even if you didn¡¯t use your flames, you did things that you were proud of, didn¡¯t you?" she asked.


    "Before I was an Inquisitor," Ignatious said as the scene shifted around them. This time, he was much younger, wearing the pure white robes of a temple acolyte and standing beside a giant hearth where similarly dressed boys turned several spits of roasting meat or tended giant cauldrons of soups and stews.


    "This way," Ignatious said, leading Heila outside to a large open area where crowds of people gathered, sitting on the grass and holding out their hands to receive loaves of bread or holding up hollowed-out bread as acolytes ladled hearty stew into the edible bowls.


    "You like to cook?" Heila asked, giving Ignatious a strange look.


    "No, not really," Ignatous said. "But it brought them warmth," he said, guiding Heila to a stack of simple wool blankets and passing her several before he took a stack for himself. "This was part of the Harvest Festival in the Holy City. People could come from anywhere to receive a meal, medicine, and blankets for the winter," he explained as he began passing out the warm wool blankets to eager-looking people wearing threadbare clothing.


    "My father was a wood cutter," Ignatious explained as the scene shifted again, this time to a simple hut near the forest where an even younger Ignatious helped a strikingly similar-looking man to pile stack after stack of freshly chopped wood into an ox-drawn cart. "For every eight carts we filled, we filled another for the baron¡¯s manor and another one for the church. The church shared that firewood with families who had nothing to heat their homes with through the winter."


    "This is you," Heila said, wrapping her arms around the childish Ignatious, who smiled proudly at the cart he¡¯d finished filling. Finally, she had found the heart of the flame that needed to be nurtured. Reaching out with one hand, she touched a broken, splintered log and let the feeling of rich, wooden energy fill her heart before she gave it to the feeding vampire, reignighting a flame that had been smothered for so long that only the dimmest embers remained.


    "So warm," Heila whispered as the vision faded away, and she found herself held tightly in Ignatous¡¯s arms.


    The vampire pulled his lips away from her wrist, licking the last drop of her sweet, healing blood from his lips as he stood, cradling the diminutive witch to his chest. The flesh of his arms had healed completely, appearing perfect and pristine underneath the burned and tattered sleeves of his red and gold robes, and he used those arms to hold Heila as gently as he¡¯d hold a priceless relic made of the most delicate porcelain.


    "Rest now," he whispered to her as he began to draw deeply on the flames she¡¯d reignited within him. The energy that coursed through his veins was different than anything he¡¯d felt before, but even as his heart sang with joy at the feelings of miraculous healing that swept through his body and soul, he hadn¡¯t forgotten why Heila went so far to make him whole again.


    "Rest, and I¡¯ll rescue Lady Ashlynn," he promised with passionate flames burning in his eyes.

 Chapter 429: Runic Blade of Eternal Ice

    Chapter 429: Runic Blade of Eternal Ice"You¡¯ve stalled me long enough, witch," the spirit possessing Hauke said. "But now, this ends!"


    Ashlynn¡¯s heart sank as she watched a glowing sword covered in strange, hooked runes appeared in Hauke¡¯s outstretched hand. The blade was easily as long as Heila was tall, and it glowed with a shifting pattern of multiple hues that matched Hauke¡¯s iridescent horn. Snowflakes and ice crystals seemed to dance in the air around it like moths around a candle flame, and the temperature of the air within the icy tomb grew so cold that it was painful to breathe in.


    "Wait!" Ashlynn shouted, placing a hand on the spine of her sword and holding it up over her head. "Please. Hauke is my friend, and I don¡¯t want to hurt him. But if you use that sword," she said, her emerald eyes narrowing as she studied the intricately arranged magic within the blade. "If you use that sword, I don¡¯t think I can avoid harming him." Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If you don¡¯t want to hurt him, then stand aside," Ansgar snapped. "Surrender your witch to us, along with the blade she carries, and we can stop this madness once and for all."


    "I won¡¯t surrender her to you," Ashlynn said firmly. "But we can surrender the blade if that¡¯s what it takes. No matter how powerful a tool is, it¡¯s only a tool. It isn¡¯t worth losing a life over."


    "Surrendering the blade is insufficient," Ines frosty foice said, her feminine voice sounding in deeply incongruous coming from Hauke¡¯s handsome face. "An example must be made so that others will not follow in her path. She must suffer before she dies as a warning to everyone who follows after that our horns are not to be defiled."


    "Then at least let me tell him goodbye," Ashlynn said as she lowered the darksteel falchion into a defensive position intended to ward off blows from above. She had been holding her ground against the imposing ancestor when he fought with ice covered fists, but now that he¡¯d added the advantages of reach and leverage that came from a powerful blade, she¡¯d lost what little confidence she had that she could defeat the ancestral spirits without harming the young lord they possessed.


    "He¡¯s heard your words," Ines said coldly. "And witnessed your insistence on this path. Whatever else you have to say is meaningless. Your words are nothing more than whispers in the wind. Whether he mourns you or not depends on your actions, not your words."


    "So you haven¡¯t destroyed him," Ashlynn said with a slow grin. "If all you¡¯ve done is suppress him, then there¡¯s still hope."


    "Enough!" Ansgar roared, charging forward with the point of the slender icy blade leveled at Ashlynn as though it were a lance. The rush was explosive and faster than anything she¡¯d seen from the ancient spirit since the fight began, though whether that was because the gleaming runic blade in his hands gave him extra strength or because he¡¯d been holding back, she couldn¡¯t say.


    Ashlynn¡¯s falchion swept up in a blindingly fast arc that should have possessed more than enough strength to beat the thrust aside. Should have. The instant she began to move, one of the runes on the blade glowed a brilliant ice blue before Ines¡¯s voice spilled from Hauke¡¯s lips.


    "Field of ice," the ghostly woman said, summoning a patch of ice beneath Ashlynn¡¯s feet that was as smooth as glass and as slick as oil.


    -CLANG- -Riiiip!-


    Ashlynn¡¯s feet slid on the ice, and the collision of her blade against the sword of ice only threw her further off balance. She pushed her reflexes to the limits, twisting in the air to move herself out of the way of Ansgar¡¯s relentless thrust,t but the tip of the blade still tore through her fur-lined cloak and the sleeve beneath it, opening a long gash on her left shoulder.


    Bitter cold flooded the wound, stabbing deep into Ashlynn¡¯s arms like thousands of needles as the wound froze, sending shivers down her arm that she felt all the way to the tips of her fingers despite the warmth of the gloves she wore.


    Stabbing her blade into the frozen ground for stability, Ashlynn pushed herself away from the slick patch of ice before letting loose with a spell of her own. The oppressive sealing magic that weighed down on her like hundreds of pounds of snow had weakened as Ansgar directed his attention to the battle, giving her just enough freedom to make use of her limited energy.


    "By forest¡¯s heart and winter¡¯s bane,


    Let roots reach deep where I remain!"


    The spell was simple and secured her footing against further attacks, but it came with a heavy price. No tree could easily uproot itself, and now, neither could she. Her feet moved ponderously, just enough above the ground to let her shift her position but not enough to do more than shift her upper body out of the way if she needed to dodge another thrust.


    "Foolish. You¡¯re too young by decades to face us, witch," Ansgar said, his deep voice sounding strange coming from Hauke¡¯s youthful lips and even stranger for the scornful derision that dripped from every word, making a mockery of Hauke¡¯s gentle, respectful demeanor. "Your strength may be impressive, but skill comes with years, not months."


    He punctuated his point with a simple, direct thrust aimed at her throat that would end the fight instantly if Ashlynn failed to deflect it. Her blade moved swiftly, spinning in her hands to parry the lethal thrust, but the moment before their blades met, the tip of Ansgar¡¯s runic blade dropped low, circling under Ashlynn¡¯s hilt and continuing its thrust straight for her throat!


    Desperately twisting sideways, Ashlynn gained just enough room to escape the deadly point, letting the blade glide past her cheek as she struggled to bring her falchion back in line to defend against the lethal runic blade. Even that near-miss cost her. Frost formed instantly on her skin where the blade passed, numbing her flesh and covering her cheek in frost from just beneath her emerald eye all the way to the point of her chin.


    "Maybe you know more," Ashlynn acknowledged, striking back with her falchion in a wild arc aimed at the Frost Walker¡¯s knees that forced Ansgar to take several steps back to evade.


    "But I don¡¯t need forever. Just long enough," she said with a confident, almost mocking grin on her face.

 Chapter 430: Running Out of Time

    Chapter 430: Running Out of Time"I don¡¯t need forever," Ashlynn said with as much confidence as she could muster. "Just long enough."


    The words were more bravado than truth. She¡¯d already been fighting for what felt like hours inside this crystalline prison, and her enhanced strength was beginning to falter. Already, she was denied any source of living growth to fuel her witchcraft, and at night, she couldn¡¯t even draw on the sun¡¯s faint warmth as a source of flame. The Ice Tomb only added to her troubles, isolating her from the mountain wind and the vast reserves of ice and snow.


    In the end, only the solid stone ground under her feet offered any source of strength, but Ashlynn had long ago found that there was a vast difference between lush, living soil and cold, barren earth. What the mountain offered her, it offered only grudgingly, as if it knew that the right to command it belonged to a different lineage of witches.


    "Long enough for what?" Ines¡¯s cold, feminine voice echoed through Hauke¡¯s mouth. "For your vampire mistress? She¡¯s abandoned you to chase shadows." Hauke might not have noticed, but Ines still maintained the faintest of connections to the blizzard she¡¯d summoned outside the Ice Tomb. Not enough to know what was occurring outside, but more than enough to have noticed Nyrielle¡¯s hasty departure, as though she were hunting something far away in the direction of the ancestral cave that once held Ines and her fellow spirits hostage.


    Perhaps the vampire had seen through them and was even now searching their former tomb for a method of unraveling their bond to the young Hauke, but those efforts would only prove futile. The only records that remained in that ancient cave told of their creation. None of them were foolish enough to leave behind a method to destroy them.


    Ashlynn said nothing, conserving her breath as she drew steadily on the power of earth beneath her feet, hardening her flesh until she felt like she¡¯d wrapped herself in a thin layer of armor. It wasn¡¯t much protection, especially not against Ansgar¡¯s runic blade, but it was all she could manage.


    She could feel Nyrielle through their bond, and her lover¡¯s heartbeat echoed in her chest. It had grown distant, but it felt strong and determined, focused on something that troubled Nyrielle so greatly she dared not confront it close to Ashlynn. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Heila¡¯s presence was fainter. The bond between a witch and her coven was lighter and less... imposing than the bond between a True Vampire and her Seneschal, but Ashlynn felt her friend close at hand, perhaps only a few feet from the other side of the icy walls. Her presence was faint, flickering like a candle flame in winter, but still there. Still trying to reach her.


    All she needed was time.


    Ansgar charged again, but this time, Ashlynn was ready. Instead of dodging or parrying, she crouched low, dropping underneath Ansgar¡¯s swing in a move that was completely bereft of dignity but made every possible use of the power she¡¯d gained when she rooted herself to the ground. As Ansgar¡¯s blade passed overhead, she sprung upward, lashing out with her falchion and scoring a long cut across Hauke¡¯s thigh.


    "You¡¯re predictable," Ashlynn taunted. "You might handle your sword well, but you overcommit constantly. Who am I really fighting? The mighty ancestor or his sword?"


    The ancestral spirit¡¯s eyes narrowed with a cold fury that had nothing to do with his ice sorcery. Hauke¡¯s arms were much shorter than the ones he¡¯d possessed in life, and no matter what he did, he found himself constantly re-adjusting his distance, making up for the shortfalls of his powerful blows with deeply committed lunges to close the gap between them. He knew it was a technique rife with flaws, but he hadn¡¯t expected such an amateurish witch to perceive it so clearly.


    "Ines," he commanded, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Since she wants to play tree, let her bear up under your blizzard while I chop her down!"


    After so many years bound together, Ines didn¡¯t need clearer instructions to understand Ansgar¡¯s intentions. The runes on the blade glowed with a bright, radiant white light moments before the icy chamber filled with swirling snow, dense enough that Ashlynn could barely see her own hand in front of her face.


    In the dense cloud of swirling white, Hauke¡¯s figure vanished entirely from her sight. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest at several times the pace of the echo of Nyreille¡¯s strong, steady pulse as Ashlynn realized she would have to give up the spell that kept her rooted to the earth if she wanted to have any chance of countering an enraged ancestor who could appear from anywhere.


    Slowly, releasing the energy of her binding spell, Ashlynn backed against one wall, using it as an anchor and reference point in the whiteout conditions. Her ears, already bright red in the bitter cold of the intense wind and beginning to go numb, strained to hear even the faintest sound of movement that might tell her where the ancestral spirit would attack from.


    "You should have surrendered the defiler, little witch," Ines said, her voice seeming to come from everywhere at once in the swirling, dancing snow. "You¡¯re too far from your trees and growing things. You have no power here except what your vampire gave you, and you¡¯re far too inexperienced to protect your fledgling coven from the punishment that accompanies their crimes. Now, instead of losing a branch, the whole tree will fall."


    Suddenly, the snow parted for the briefest moment, revealing Hauke¡¯s form just as the runic blade swept toward Ashlynn¡¯s ribs. She managed to block the heavy strike with her falchion, but the impact jarred her entire body and nearly knocked the blade from her hands. Worse, where the weapons met, frost immediately spread across her darksteel blade, making it painfully cold to hold even through her gloves.


    "You think you¡¯re the first to face us with borrowed power?" Ansgar¡¯s voice boomed from within the whirling snow as he vanished from her sight once again. "We¡¯ve fought the greatest arena champions to ever ascend from the High Fen to test their might on our mountains, armed with artifacts the likes of which made them the equal of a dozen men. We¡¯ve faced sorcerers and cultists who channeled the fiery spirits of broken, burning mountains."


    Another slash came from the blizzard, this one catching Ashlynn across the right shoulder before she could fully evade it. Blood froze instantly in the wound, preventing loss but sending an agonizing chill through her arm.


    "In the end, they all fell," Ines added, as a spike of solid ice erupted from the ground, forcing Ashlynn to dive sideways or be impaled on its wickedly sharp point. "Just as you will."

 Chapter 431: Shattered Sword

    Chapter 431: Shattered SwordThe Ice Tomb shook with powerful impacts as the fierce battle between Ashlynn and the ancestral spirits became even more intense. Ashlynn¡¯s hands felt numb from repeated impacts on her sword, and her body screamed in agony with every move, yet she dared not slow down. She¡¯d abandoned thoughts of fighting back, and for the moment, she focused only on exhausting her opponents, hoping to wear them down and find an opportunity to counterattack.


    Outside the walls of ice, Heila¡¯s presence felt dimmer and weaker than it had just a few minutes ago, and as much as Ashlynn wanted to believe that help was coming for her, she was increasingly worried that her rescuers were running into their own difficulties.


    More than anything, she wanted to break through the walls of this prison, to check on Heila and everyone else with the army, but the ancestral spirits had no intention of letting her escape. The best she could do was to keep one of the icy walls close at all times in the hopes that stray blows would fall on the increasingly brittle ice.


    Trapped in his own mind, Hauke allowed himself to hang limply from the frozen chains that bound him as he helplessly watched Ashlynn¡¯s struggle. Already, a tingling pain had begun to spread through his body as the ancestors pushed his body to its limits, overtaxing his muscles and drawing more deeply on his reserves of magical energy than he¡¯d ever dared to himself.


    "Please," Hauke said in a defeated, plaintive tone. "If you keep this up, I¡¯ll die. I can¡¯t keep using energy like this."


    "You can, you¡¯ve just forgotten how," Eraric¡¯s gravely voice said. Ever since handing over the sword he¡¯d crafted, he¡¯d taken a seat on his pedestal, content to watch Ansgar and Ines making use of his work to subdue the young Mother of Trees. "There¡¯s a reason that even the Fangs of Death once feared those born with an iridescent horn, young Hauke. You¡¯re seeing it now."


    "Seeing what?" Hauke asked as he carefully worked to free one of his wrists from the chains. The more of his energy that Ansgar and Ines spent fighting Ashlynn, the weaker the chains grew. The links themselves seemed to be melting away, and already they had grown thin enough for him to make small movements that would have been impossible when this madness began. "Why would the Fangs of Death ever fear us?"


    "Ines has been teaching you, hasn¡¯t she?" Kimsel asked without taking her eyes off of the view of the battle raging in the outside world. Ines blizzard obscured much of what they were able to see through Hauke¡¯s eyes, but it was clear that the Mother of Trees was badly wounded, and her blood stained the snow in several places within the icy prison.


    "Witches use the power of the world," the old woman continued slowly. "Vampires use the power of death. But to think that we are ordinary sorcerers," she said with a dismissive -tsk- noise. "We build up our power in layer after layer of ice, waiting to be unleashed in a powerful avalanche. Perhaps we are weak and vulnerable out there in the wider world," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of distant lands. "But on our mountains, standing atop centuries of accumulated power, we will never be defeated."


    "Maybe that was true once," Hauke argued. "But not anymore. You said it yourself," he said, turning to face Eraric. "We¡¯ve forgotten. No one knows how to use the power you use. But if you use that power to kill Lady Ashlynn, then Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army will destroy us. Instead of saving us by killing Heila, you¡¯ll doom us by killing Ashlynn!" Hauke shouted, straining against his chains and lunging at the architect who¡¯d used them to bind him in his own mind.


    "The fortress is stronger than you know," Eraric countered, sighing at his descendant¡¯s lack of confidence in his own people. "We¡¯ll retreat within its walls and wait for winter. The vampire might be able to survive the cold, but her army is another matter. We will never be driven from our homes."


    "You¡¯re wrong," Hauke said, slumping against his chains again and looking even more defeated. Around his wrists, the chains slipped even further, but it still wasn¡¯t enough. Before he could make another attempt at disguising a mighty tug on the chains, however, he heard a resounding, cruel laugh from the wall that displayed the outside world.


    Ashlynn stood in a wide, stable stance with both hands on her darksteel falchion. The weapon felt like it was colder than the water of the frozen lake and her gloves had grown stiff as the sweat seeping from her hands froze solid around her fingers. All across the blade, a spiderweb of cracks traced from hilt to point, clustered at the point two-thirds of the way up the blade where she struck the hardest.


    "You fought well, witch," Ansgar said, chuckling darkly as he stalked out of the swirling blizzard with his glowing, runic blade raised high overhead. "But now, it ends," he said, bringing the glowing blade down in a powerful arc. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn¡¯s eyes flicked over the surface of her darksteel falchion, taking in the web of cracks that covered the blade from hilt to point. The weapon wasn¡¯t some ancient artifact with a legendary name from the songs that minstrels sang during festivals, but it had been with her since Thane first pressed it into her hands. Back then, she was barely able to lift it, much less wield it properly.


    The nameless blade had drawn her first blood in practice, saved her life against the Tuscan hunters in these very mountains, and stood between her and certain death again and again as she fought off the spirits who had taken control of her friend. Even when it wasn¡¯t on her hip when she trained in the Briar, she still reached for it any time danger appeared.


    And now, she was certain that it would shatter if she tried to block Ansgar¡¯s heavy blow. Perhaps there was a chance that it could survive one more strike, but more likely than not, the ancestral spirit¡¯s runic blade would cleave through both steel and flesh in one unstoppable strike.


    "Hauke! Help me!" Ashlynn shouted, making her decision in a heartbeat. Rather than raise the falchion in a futile block, she lashed out in a desperate swing, deliberately loosening her frozen fingers at the perfect moment. The falchion spun from her grasp, flying directly at Hauke¡¯s gleaming, iridescent horn, performing its final duty to buy her enough time to dodge away from the deadly blow.


    "Ashlynn!" Hauke shouted, yelling within his mind even though Ashlynn couldn¡¯t hear him. With a powerful tug that felt like it would wrench his arms from their sockets, Hauke threw all of his weight against the chains, hoping to give Ashlynn even a moment of disruption to evade the fatal blow.


    Hauke¡¯s desperate act of defiance worked, at least to an extent, as Ansgar felt a surge of pain in his shoulders that mirrored the injury Hauke had just inflicted on himself. For a moment, the pain was so intense that his eyes misted over, only to reveal a wicked blade spinning at his head the instant he blinked away the moisture.


    "Traitor!" Ansgar shouted, slamming downward at the spinning blade with the most powerful burst of energy he could. In an instant, ice encased the darksteel blade, less than half a blink before the runic blade cleaved through it, shattering Ashlynn¡¯s sword like it had been made of nothing but simple, ordinary ice struck by a hammer.


    On the ground, Ashlynn scrambled for distance, her hands scrambling at her belt to draw her Severing Knife. Unlike Heila¡¯s blunt tool, Ashlynn knew all too well the pain of being caught without a weapon to defend herself, and the curved bone knife in her hands came to a wicked point.


    Against someone as large and skilled as Ansgar, even though he was unfamiliar with Hauke¡¯s body, it felt like a feeble weapon to bet her life on. But, if she could sever the bond between Hauke and the horns strapped to his chest...


    A moment later, those thoughts shattered, just like her blade, when a powerful wave of magic slammed into one of the icy walls of the tomb. The temperature in the icy prison soared, and clouds of steam rolled off the trembling wall as another wave of flame descended on the prison like the light of the rising sun spilling across the valleys beneath the mountains.


    Help had finally arrived...

 Chapter 432: Flames of Salvation

    Chapter 432: Flames of Salvation"...I¡¯ll rescue Lady Ashlynn..."


    Ignatious¡¯s promise gave Heila the strength she needed to keep her eyes open, even as she clung to the vampire for warmth. Her body felt as cold as the mountain winds after giving him most of her magic energy and more of her blood than someone her size had any business offering. But nestled in the fallen Inquisitor¡¯s strong embrace, Heila didn¡¯t feel the slightest trace of regret.


    Rescuing Ashlynn was more important than anything but after touching his heart and helping to wash away the years of guilt and self-loathing that smothered his flames, she found herself almost as happy to have helped him heal as she was certain she¡¯d feel when her closest friend escaped the icy prison that held her captive.


    Walking with a gentle, flowing grace that no ordinary human could match on the rough, icy terrain, Ignatious took several steps away from the tomb of ice before kneeling in the snow where the Holy Flame Blade had fallen.


    "Sir Ignatious, no!" Kurtz called, rushing over to block the vampire before he could lay a hand on the weapon that had nearly consumed him with it¡¯s flames. Already, the veteran gladiator could tell that Heila had pushed herself far too close to the brink of death to snatch the vampire back from the wounds he¡¯d suffered for trying to control the weapon.


    If anything happened now, it was impossible for Heila to save him again. Worse, the way the vampire held her close to his chest, if the sword unleashed its flames again, it was likely to burn Heila along with the foolish, stubborn vampire.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ignatious said, raising a hand to block the horned guardian before he could come close enough to touch the blade. "I know why I failed, thanks to Lady Heila," he said with a soft smile as he looked at the diminutive beauty in his arms. "I won¡¯t waste her gift and I won¡¯t put her in any danger, I swear it."


    The vampire didn¡¯t wait for Kurtz to respond before shifting Heila in his arms, holding her tightly with his left arm while his right hand reached out for the ruby and gold hilt of the Holy Flame Blade.


    "There¡¯s no time for foolishness," he told his companion of many decades. "I don¡¯t need your flames to punish anyone, but a good woman might die if we can¡¯t burn through her prison. Just this once, even if it¡¯s the last time you ever submit to me, help me to help her."


    This time, when he reached for the blade and let the warmth of his magic flow into the hilt, he felt none of the searing hostility that greeted him the first time he touched the blade. Instead, he felt a familiar heat pushing back against him, refusing to submit to him without being forced to, but when he pushed back harder with the heat of the gentle, warming flames that Heila had stoked within him, the resistance melted away like snow brought before the hearth.


    Brilliant red and gold flames enveloped the blade, dancing along its length casting a soft golden glow that lit the surrounding area more than dozens of torches would have.


    "So warm," Heila whispered as she snuggled closer to Ignatious¡¯s chest, close enough to hear the slow, steady beat of his heart that pulsed with her blood in his veins.


    "Stand aside, soldier," Ignatious said, standing up to his full height turning to face the cracking ice prison. Now, for the first time in decades, with a flaming sword in his hand and a ¡¯horned demon¡¯ in his arms, Ignatious felt like he¡¯d finally returned to the man he¡¯d once been. Or rather, he felt like he¡¯d become the man he always wished to be.


    It didn¡¯t matter that he was a vampire or that Heila was from the Horned Clan. She reached out a hand to save him from himself when his refusal to address the burdens and scars in his heart nearly cost him his life. Now, she was counting on him to rescue someone she treasured, and once again, it didn¡¯t matter that the person he needed to rescue was a witch.


    The Church was wrong about who deserved to be hunted and who was worthy of salvation but it was very, very right about the duties of a person like him with the power to help those in need. That faith burned within his chest like a guiding star, giving him the strength he needed to put words to his needs.


    "Flame that cleanses and holy light that saves,


    Let fire free what ice enslaves!"


    The prayer was simple and direct but it contained every ounce of Ignatious burning need to prove himself worthy, not of salvation from the Holy Lord of Light but of the trust that the diminutive horned witch had placed in his bloodstained, sinner¡¯s hands.


    With a swing of his swords, a wave of flames leaped through the night, slamming into the walls of ice with the force of a charging bull. Cracks spread across the walls of ice and a cloud of steam drifted away on the icy mountain wind, but the still, the wall stood stubbornly in his path.


    A second swing of the sword launched another wave of flames, but this time, the action was accompanied by a stabbing, icy pain that raced up his recently healed arms and neck. Gritting his teeth against the sudden pain, Ignatious¡¯s dark eyes remained fixed on the walls of the ice prison, waiting for them to collapse and crumble under their own weight as layer after layer of ice melted under his assault.


    When the flames flickered out, however, the walls still stood, as though they were mocking the strength of the fallen Inquisitor¡¯s faith.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" Heila asked, her brow creasing with worry as she watched the expression of pain and frustration flicker across the vampire¡¯s face. "I can feel it," she said, turning to look at the wall of ice. "It¡¯s thin and brittle, almost broken," she said as she struggled to lift her head away from Ignatious¡¯s chest. At the moment, her horns felt impossibly heavy but Ashlynn was so very close that if she could do anything, she had to try...


    "I¡¯m still weak," Ignatious sighed. "There are limits, my Lady, to how much even you can restore me in a single feeding. But one more," he added, pulling her back against his chest. "I have one more in me, at least. You¡¯ve done enough," he reminded her as he strode across the frozen ground. "Let me finish what you started."


    Stepping up to the ice wall, Ignatious fell into a posture that his teachers at the temple would have laughed at him for, but his long departed father would have praised. Swinging a sword like an axe in battle would have been the height of foolishness most times, but right now, when he wanted nothing more than to cleave through the wall before him, nothing felt more... right.


    "Break!" Ignatious shouted as he brought the flaming blade down using every ounce of vampiric strength he possessed, combined with the power of the flaming blade and Heila¡¯s rich, powerful blood flowing through his veins.


    The moment the blade struck the ice, the barrier exploded in a rain of frozen shards, dispersing the blizzard that had raged within the frozen prison and revealing a furious-looking Hauke holding a glowing sword made of ice and covered with cryptic runes.


    More importantly, standing just a few dozen paces away, Ashlynn stood defiantly, her Severing Blade clutched tightly in one hand while blood spilled from half a dozen wounds. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ashlynn," Heila said, stretching a feeble hand toward the woman she¡¯d fought so hard to reach. They¡¯d made it. It wasn¡¯t too late to save her...


    It was the last thought Heila had before the exhaustion of everything she¡¯d done finally caught up with her, drawing her into a deep, darkness filled with the warmth of Ignatious¡¯s strong embrace and the soft, steady beat of the heart within his chest.

 Chapter 433: Standoff

    Chapter 433: StandoffFor a single frozen moment, it seemed like nobody moved.


    Ashlynn¡¯s eyes darted about, growing wider and wider as she took in everything that had unfolded in the short amount of time she¡¯d been locked in battle with the spirits possessing Hauke.


    Her heart trembled at the sight of Heila¡¯s bloodstained figure lying slumped in Ignatious¡¯s arms, but the soft, protective way the fallen Inquisitor held her held very little anxiety for the diminutive witch. The vampire himself looked ragged, and the sleeves of his crimson and gold robes had been burned away, perhaps by the sword he held in one hand, but it was clear that whatever had happened had taken its toll on both of them.


    Seeing Heila safe and sound, unfortunately, was the only bright spot in a snow filled world that contained far too much red.


    Nyrielle¡¯s army was still obscured by the blizzard Ines had summoned before they were trapped in the icy prison. When Ashlynn looked closely at it, the magic sustaining the snowstorm seemed to be feeding off of a deep reservoir of magical energy, trapped under layers and layers of ice and snow on the mountainside, as if it had been prepared in advance for just such a use.


    In the other direction, a different cloud of fat, fluffy snowflakes was swept aside by the explosion of the ice tomb, revealing half a dozen corpses soaked in purplish-red blood that were all that remained of Lord Ritchel¡¯s honor guard. The lord himself knelt in the snow, bleeding from dozens of small wounds. His hands were bound behind him, and Talauia hovered at his side with a long, glowing needle pressed into Ritchel¡¯s neck.


    On the walls of the Frost Walker fortress, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade fought side by side with the Mongrel Horde, staining the icy battlements with blood and littering the ground below with bodies. Atop the gatehouse, Savis and Tausau stood back to back, surrounded by more than a dozen Frost Walker sorcerers who seemed to be doing everything in their power to prevent the powerful vampires from reinforcing their soldiers.


    It hadn¡¯t been long since the ancestors seized control of Hauke, and Ritchel trapped her in the ice with the possessed young lord. Ten minutes, perhaps fifteen? But already things had progressed to this extent... S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ve chosen wisely, vampire," Ines¡¯s cold voice said, breaking the silent stillness that surrounded them. "Bring the defiler to us, and we can put an end to this," she said, turning all of her attention to Ignatious and the sleeping figure in his arms.


    "My Lady," Ignatious said, moving with a quickness that few eyes could follow to arrive at Ashlynn¡¯s side. The instant he moved, the flames wreathing the sword in his hand flickered and guttered out like a candle flame in the wind. He¡¯d consumed virtually all of the strength that Heila had given him, but he had just enough left to make a final move if Ashlynn required it.


    "Hold on to me if you can," he said quietly. "I can take you to safety until Mistress Nyrielle returns."


    "Fool!" Ansgar¡¯s deep voice rumbled across the mountainside. "We¡¯ve offered you a chance to escape destruction for the witch¡¯s crime. Give her to us now or suffer her fate alongside her!"


    "Don¡¯t do it, don¡¯t even think about doing it!" Talauia shouted from her position near the bridge. Her wings fluttered rapidly as she raised herself up, putting even more pressure on the needle pressed into Lord Ritchel¡¯s neck.


    "I didn¡¯t kill him, didn¡¯t kill your father," she yelled. "But I¡¯ve poisoned him deeply! Give up now, or he¡¯ll die, I swear, he¡¯ll die!" Her words were sharp, rapid, and pitched high enough that some would find them comical, but her hands were as steady as the mountainside, and the energy that flowed from her hand to the needle didn¡¯t flicker in the slightest as she made her threat.


    "Please," Ritchel said, too softly for anyone but Talauia to hear. "That¡¯s not Hauke. Not -CAUGH- not my son," he said, coughing up a glob of thick purplish blood as tears filled his eyes. "The horns. The ancestors have seized him... please," he begged, casting aside what little remained of his dignity to beg, not for his own life, but for Hauke¡¯s. "Please, save my son.


    Despite his pleading, Talauia did nothing. Whatever excuses he wanted to make didn¡¯t matter. Hauke had attacked her friend, and then he seemed to have done everything he could to kill her Auntie, Ashlynn. Whether he was possessed or not, harming her family left only one ending, and if no one else was going to do it, then Talauia would kill Hauke herself to stop him from hurting any more of her loved ones.


    Her father had taught her long ago that a careless assassin planted the seeds of their own undoing when they left survivors behind with a motive to seek revenge. If she couldn¡¯t accomplish her mission without exposing her identity, then anyone who might transform from survivor to avenger needed to die before they could become a danger to her and her clan.


    Hauke might be possessed at the moment, but his people had died to her hands tonight, and his father might still join the pile of corpses at her feet. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t blame her in the immediate aftermath, but a year from now? Two? A man¡¯s heart could grow twisted and dark over the years following a tragedy, and Talauia had no intention to see Hauke stew in his resentment until he gained enough power to harm her or her coven.


    Everything crashed over Ashlynn in a wave, from Ignatious and Heila¡¯s exhaustion and the obvious signs that they¡¯d only recently healed their wounds to the battle on the walls, to Talauia¡¯s captive and the increasingly aggressive posture. Everything felt like it was balanced on the edge of a knife, and the slightest push in any direction would send them all tumbling into the abyss.


    "Enough," Ashlynn said softly, shaking her head at Ignatious. Moving slowly with stiff, frozen hands, Ashlynn transferred her Severing Knife to her left hand before holding out her right hand toward Ignatious.


    A few dozen paces away, a cruel, victorious grin appeared on Hauke¡¯s lips as the ancestors tasted victory at hand. Perhaps the vampire had no choice but to submit to a higher power, but now that the Mother of Trees was standing down, it seemed like she would be delivering the defiler to them with her own hands.


    "Give me the sword," Ashlynn said quietly. "It¡¯s time for me to put an end to this."


    She never expected to reach for the Holy Flame Blade in the middle of a battle, and she¡¯d been hesitant about asking to see it again until she made up her mind about how she should use it in the coming battle against the Lothians. Now, however, after losing her darksteel falchion against the runic blade of eternal ice, she felt half naked and under-equipped to face off against the ancestors if they chose to press their attack again.


    More importantly, however, the blade could still be a powerful symbol, even here among the Eldritch. They didn¡¯t need to revere the blade, its wielder, or the Holy Lord of Light in order to respect the power it represented. If she could put on a sufficient show of force, perhaps she could bring things to an end without anyone else losing their lives in this tragedy.


    "My lady," Ignatious said, pulling the sword back reflexively before Ashlynn¡¯s hand could reach it¡¯s gold and ruby encrusted hilt. "You¡¯ve never tried to master the sword. I, I don¡¯t know if it will accept a witch. You¡¯re already badly wounded," he said, giving the numerous frozen wounds on her body a pointed stare. "If the blade harms you..."


    "Give me the sword, Inquisitor," Ashlynn repeated more formally and with a cold, steely strength underlying her words. She wanted to argue, she wanted to tell him why she was convinced that she could do this but... There wasn¡¯t time for more words. Energy was already gathering around the runic blade in Hauke¡¯s hands, and any second, the ancestors might make their move.


    "Lives are being lost, Ignatious," she added. "I have to put a stop to it. Please, give me the sword."


    Glancing up at the fortress walls, Ignatious realized that Ashlynn was right. While everything on the ground between the bridge and Nyrielle¡¯s army had turned into a tense standoff, the battle on the fortress walls above them raged on as vampires and the Golden Eyed Clan tore at Frost Walkers and Frost Walkers unleashed a relentless counterattack of ice and snow.


    Lives were being lost... and they were running out of options. If the sight of Lord Ritchel falling to the Thistle Witch hadn¡¯t stopped the Frost Walker¡¯s resistance, it was likely nothing short of overwhelming force would.


    "It may not mean much from me," Ignatious said as he changed his grip on the hilt and presented the powerful blade to Ashlynn. "But I pray that the Holy Lord of Light stands with you tonight. Good luck, Lady Ashlynn."

 Chapter 434: Midnight Sunrise

    Chapter 434: Midnight SunriseAs soon as Ashlynn¡¯s hand touched the hilt of the Holy Flame Blade, the world around her seemed to slow to a crawl.


    Dozens of paces away, Ansgar and Ines had clearly realized they¡¯d misunderstood her actions. The Mother of Trees had no intention of surrendering the defiler to them, even after seeing her army stuck on the walls and unable to advance.


    Certainly, Lord Ritchel¡¯s capture and inevitable death would be a blow against the young Hauke, but it was a trial that the young lord needed to overcome if he was going to succeed his father¡¯s throne and take his rightful place at the head of the clan. Perhaps, if the young lord watched his father fall to the schemes of outsiders, he would understand why generations of Frost Walkers had restricted themselves to ruling the icy peaks and never bothered conquering the lush lands below, even when they possessed the strength to do so.


    More than anything, the ancestors wanted to spend what little time they had left to forge Hauke into the kind of lord who could lead their people back to the place they should hold as the undisputed rulers of the frigid world atop the mountains. As far as Ansgar and the other ancestors were concerned, Eldritch Lords like Ritchel who lacked an iridescent horn could serve, at best, as custodians for the clan until a suitable ruler could take their place at the head of the clan. The fact that so many generations had passed without an iridescent lord to rule them explained the clan¡¯s tragic state, but under their guidance, Hauke would soon return the clan to its former glories.


    Even Ritchel knew that his time was coming to an end and that Hauke would soon take his place. And so, as a hostage, the ancestors felt nothing at all about Ritchel¡¯s life or death. But if the Mother of Trees defied them and took the defiler and her horn knife away... that was a declaration of war that could only be answered with the fury of a descending avalanche.


    Ashlynn might not understand everything that went into the calculations of the ancient spirits possessing Hauke, but as soon as she reached for the sword, they began to move, making it clear that the wouldn¡¯t stay their hand for even a moment, despite the fact that Talauia held Lord Ritchel¡¯s life at the point of her needle. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Before her hand wrapped completely around the hilt of the sword, her hand already screamed in painful protest as she pushed her frozen fingers to stretch wide and grasp the thick, decorative hilt. Clearly the Church had never expected for a woman with such small and delicate hands to wield one of their holy swords, but at the moment, she didn¡¯t care whether or not she could fight with it as a sword, so long as she could channel the power of the blade, it would be enough.


    The moment her hand wrapped around the hilt, a different kind of pain surged up her arm as the blade challenged her right to wield it. Flames wrapped around her gloved hand, melting the layer of frost encasing the glove in an instant, while hot steam seared the flesh of her hand as the frozen sweat in the glove boiled away in the blink of an eye.


    "Aaaah!" A startled cry of pain escaped Ashlynn¡¯s lips before she could push back against the blade¡¯s cruel assault. Within the blade, she could feel not just the searing heat of the Holy Lord of Light¡¯s flames of punishment and judgment, but a hot, seething fury and a deep desire to cleanse the world in Holy Flames that defined the blade¡¯s existence.


    "No," Ashlynn told the blade fiercely. "You serve a greater purpose than pure destruction, I know you do!" Despite the fact that a Holy Flame Blade was more destructive than a Holy Light Blade, in the end, Ashlynn still saw it as one of the greatest symbols of the intentions of the Church. To protect the people who believed from anything that could plunge their world into darkness and to provide a burning light of hope even in the bleakest, most hopeless battles.


    She wanted to push back against the blade¡¯s fury with her own faith, with her pure intentions to use its power in a way the sword itself could accept... but there was no time. She could not afford to meet the struggle offered by the sword in a ¡¯fair¡¯ or ¡¯proper¡¯ way. At that moment, she reminded herself of Artificer Erkembalt¡¯s words and treated the sword as nothing more than a tool, one that would bow down and submit as long as it was met with sufficient strength.


    Here, on the barren mountainside, there were no trees or plants to offer their strength to the Mother of Trees, but there was a deep, virtually endless source of strength of the earth that dwelled in the mountain itself.


    "Through stone¡¯s descent and earth¡¯s command,


    Let mountain¡¯s will flow to my hand!"


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t speak the words but formed them clearly in her mind, along with the image of a giant rolling boulder crashing against the sword¡¯s resistance. The mountain trembled slightly under her feet as if her action might provoke a landslide. If she¡¯d had more time to prepare her witchcraft or more experience working with pure, barren earth, there might not have been any risk, but with the ancestors rushing toward her, Ashlynn spared no thought for the consequences and hurled all of her strength at the stubborn blade.


    Faced with the power and focused desire of a powerful witch, the sword¡¯s defenses crumbled like a castle of sand facing the tide. The flood of energy was so great that the sword immediately blazed to light, shining like a bonfire in the dark of night.


    The wave of heat radiating from the blade was so intense that Ignatious retreated nearly fifty paces away, turning his body to shield Heila¡¯s unconscious body from the heat. But even as he turned his body away, his eyes remained fixed on the sword that burned with a flame so bright that he momentarily felt like he was in the presence of an Exemplar.


    Ansgar also stopped mid charge, holding up the runic blade as though it was a shield and summoning a thick wall of ice between himself and the mad witch who seemed to have lit herself on fire just to break his charge.


    Ashlynn¡¯s body shook with the pressure of the heat, and the snow around her melted into puddles before quickly beginning to steam, filling the mountainside with a low, steamy fog. The blade in her hand burned, drawing deeply on her energy, as though she were nothing more than a pile of firewood, waiting to be consumed.


    "You still belong to the Holy Lord of Light," Ashlynn said through gritted teeth. Her muscles screamed at the abuse, and several of her wounds reopened as she moved, but she knew that she had to do something with this power, and quickly before it would consume her. So, even though it hurt almost as much as it had hurt to pull herself from the shallow grave the night Owain¡¯s knights had dumped her body at the border of the Vale of Mists, she raised the sword high overhead and pointed the tip straight at the sky.


    "Your light and flames, bring more than fear," she told the blade. "So give them hope and banish the night, burn like the sun and reveal what¡¯s right!"


    Part witchcraft and part prayer, her words challelled the storm of fiery energy into a giant pillar of flame, stretching hundreds of paces into the sky.


    The column of flame tore through Ines¡¯s blizzard, freeing Nyrielle¡¯s army from its wintery claws and revealing a sight like nothing they¡¯d seen before.


    Even on the walls of the Frost Walker fortress, deadly duels paused as both sides turned to look at the battered, bloodied woman holding a sword that burned like the sun and a pillar of flame that turned the night into day.


    "Lay down your weapons!" Ashlynn commanded, her voice echoing off the fortress walls and the mountainside. The earth trembled, and in several places, sheets of ice and snow tumbled from the mountain in a series of sluffs. "Whether you fight for the High Pass or the Vale of Mists," she added. "No more blood will be spilled tonight!"


    The pillar of flame began to fade as Ashlynn quickly reached her limits, but she¡¯d accomplished the most important part. The battle that never should have been fought had ground to a halt, leaving only one final person standing with a weapon in hand and a furious gaze on their borrowed face.


    "That includes you," Ashlynn said, lowering the still-burning sword to point at the ancestral spirits. "Release my friend, or I will tear you away from him and burn your horns to ash!"

 Chapter 435: Shubnalu’s Trap (Part One)

    Chapter 435: Shubnalu¡¯s Trap (Part One)Cold mountain wind caressed Nyrielle¡¯s dark feathers as she soared through the night sky, racing away from her army and her lover in the hopes of confronting her former mentor as far from the people she cared about as possible.


    A year ago, she might have acted differently. She might have let him come to her, arrogantly challenging him to prove that she was no longer the young girl who sat at his feet to learn the mysteries of Blood Sorcery.


    A few months ago, she might have attacked Ritchel¡¯s ice tomb directly, snatching Ashlynn out of harm¡¯s way before launching a combined assault on the Frost Walkers, ensuring that they understood their place and never dared to challenge the Vale of Mists again.


    Now, too much had changed for her to take either approach. Shubnalu¡¯s moves against her among the Eldritch nations ruled by vampires had made it abundantly clear that she could no longer treat her former teacher as an ally, much less as a friend. There had been a time when each of the True Vampires had attempted to court her. On one occasion, they even joked about dueling each other for the right to seize her, but those jokes had ended when she bathed herself in the blood of the arena and took the Vale of Mists back from the Lothian butchers by force.


    The jokes had ended, but Nyrielle couldn¡¯t help but feel that at least one of them hadn¡¯t given up on his desires to possess the only woman among their number. As the oldest among the True Vampires, very little could move his heart, and Nyrielle didn¡¯t think for a moment that the ancient vampire felt anything approaching love for her. Rather, at some point, he¡¯d resolved to possess her, and that thwarted resolution had turned into obsession.


    Exposing Ashlynn to the twisted obsessions of the oldest living being among the Eldritch was far too dangerous, but unlike months ago, Nyrielle could no longer simply snatch Ashlynn and flee. Months ago, her heart had only just begun to reawaken. She had always been deeply committed to the people of the Vale of Mists and those she swore to protect,t but now, beyond simple commitment, she cared about many more of them in a way that was impossible for her even a year ago.


    Nyrielle couldn¡¯t bear the thought of losing people like Zedya, who was just beginning to explore her own newfound feelings for young Lennart, or her Uncle Tausau, who had just begun to feel again. Even Ignatious, her wayward, estranged progeny, had found a small but growing place in her heart as he tried to find a place in the nation she¡¯d built.


    For the first time since the night she fled the Holy Flames that consumed the Vale of Mists along with her parent¡¯s lives, it wasn¡¯t hatred or grief that gripped her heart and drove her to fly faster and faster toward her destination, but fear of losing the ones who had come to mean so much to her. And so, rather than risk any of them in a confrontation with her former teacher, she sought to head him off at the place she was certain he was waiting.


    As Nyrielle arrived at the frozen lake where Ashlynn had once fought against Tuscan hunters, darkness swirled around her, twisting into the shape of a powerful headsman¡¯s ax as she dove toward the frozen surface of the lake.


    A single strike of the oversized blade shattered the foot thick ice like glass, sending broken chunks tumbling into the air along with a fountain of the coldest water in the world as Nyrielle plunged beneath the surface, returning to the under water entrance to the Ancestral Cave where Hauke and Ashlynn had confronted the abomination formed of Shubnalu¡¯s blood sorcery.


    "Light, gather, to my hand," Nyrielle whispered as she entered the perfect darkness of the sealed cave. Sapphire blue flames gathered on her outstretched hand, casting their flickering light across the crude, hand-carved walls of the Ancestral Cave as she looked for any sign of her former mentor.


    Water splashed and dripped from her dress as she walked deeper into the darkness, but she didn¡¯t bother to dry herself. The cold might bother Ashlynn, but Nyrielle had long ago grown numb to such things.


    Through her bond with her lover, she could feel an intense cold along with occasional sharp bursts of pain, making it clear that whatever had forced Hauke to betray them, he wasn¡¯t holding back in his attempts to harm Ashlynn. But Nyrielle knew Ashlynn wasn¡¯t so weak and feeble now to be threatened by anything the young Frost Walker could do to her.


    "Blood Seeker. Shubnalu," Nyrielle said, flicking her hand to make a small cut with a sharpened nail and spilling three drops of blood. Before her blood could touch the ground, each one hovered in the air, transforming until they took on the shape of small, blood-drinking insects. "If there is a trace of my former teacher here," she commanded. "Find him."


    The blood-insects hovered before her for a moment as Nyrielle let herself remember the unique scent of Shubnalu¡¯s blood and being. No matter where the ancient vampire went, he carried with him the scent of fallen, decomposing trees and the rich loam of the Black Wood that he had ruled for close to a thousand years. The scent was so strongly tied to her memories of him that it was easy to pass it along to the insects as they searched through the tunnels of the ancestral cave.


    It didn¡¯t take long for one of them to return to her, hovering eagerly before darting off down a side passage near the chamber where she¡¯d fought the abomination of fused Blood Golems.


    "So he really is here," Nyrielle said, gripping her shadowy ax tightly as she followed the insect. She didn¡¯t have to go far before she arrived at a narrow doorway cut into the stone cave and blocked by a giant stone slab. The tiny insect flew directly toward a small gap between the stone slab and the doorway, vanishing into whatever space lay beyond the barrier.


    "That doesn¡¯t make any sense," Nyrielle said, looking at the floor around the stone slab. There were no footprints leading to this place, and even if Shubnalu had flown here, he would have needed to move the slab aside to enter the room within. "Unless there¡¯s another entrance?" Nyrielle mused. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Suddenly, the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest grew much, much faster, and the spikes of pain that colored their bond grew sharper and more intense. Had Lord Ritchel joined his son in attempting to subdue Ashlynn? Or was something else happening to turn the tide in her fight against the young lord?


    Nyrielle had no way of knowing, but one thing was clear. Whatever game Shubnalu was playing, he had prepared layers of traps to use against Ashlynn and her progeny. If Nyrielle couldn¡¯t find a way to force her teacher to call off his attack, then whatever else he had in store for Ashlynn and her army might prove to be more than they could handle without her help.


    She was running out of time...

 Chapter 436: Shubnalu’s Trap (Part Two)

    Chapter 436: Shubnalu¡¯s Trap (Part Two)Standing before a stone slab blocking her path, Nyrielle hesitated, trying to sense what her teacher might be doing in the space beyond. The Blood Seeker had clearly found a trace of her former teacher, but at the same time, he had taken no action against the construct. Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security, pretending that he hadn¡¯t noticed? Had he revealed himself to deliberately guide her here?


    Any of it was possible. Shubnalu¡¯s moves were always carefully considered and planned well in advance to force his prey to stretch out their own necks. She was doing that right now, separating herself from her own forces and coming to meet with him alone. But the alternative, exposing her loved ones to the powers of the oldest among the True Vampires, was something she didn¡¯t dare to contemplate.


    "There¡¯s no time for this," she muttered as another recently reawakened feeling overtook her. Impatience. Though Ashlynn still felt confident, the bursts of pain weren¡¯t only more intense, they were more frequent, and her lover¡¯s mind seemed to be focused not on victory, but on escape... or even rescue.


    Taking her shadowy ax in both hands, Nyrielle cloaked herself in darkness, summoning all of her physical strength until nothing could be seen of her but two midnight blue eyes, glowing in the darkness like dark oceans of power.


    "Break. Crumble. Collapse," she said, her dark voice reverberating through the stone chamber like a pronouncement from the abyss as her ax descended, splitting the stone slab cleanly from corner to corner. For a moment, the slab stood resolute as if it intended to defy death herself. Then, with a shuddering crash, the top half slid to the side, cracking and crumbling away as it fell to the icy stone floor of the cavern, leaving nothing behind but a pile of loose rubble.


    "Teacher," Nyrielle said as she strode forward. "Your student has come to have a word."


    Inside the chamber, the air was still and stale, giving the impression that anything that nothing living had trod these stone halls in centuries. It was the contents of the chamber, however, that stilled Nyrielle¡¯s heart when her flickering sapphire flames peeled back the darkness.


    At the center of the chamber stood a massive stone altar, roughly carved from volcanic glass. Hooked glyphs that were among the oldest Nyrielle had ever seen covered the surface of the blood stained altar and deep grooves in it¡¯s surface spoke of dark rituals used to guide the flow of blood from anything unfortunate enough to find itself atop the altar.


    Chains and hooks hung from the ceiling, like the implements of a slaughterhouse, cast in bronze that had long ago lost its luster beneath a heavy greenish blue tarnish. Along one wall, rows of ceremonial knives, cleavers and saws for hewing bone were encased in blocks of ice that had endured for hundreds of years, perfectly preserving the deadly implements that awaited their next use.


    The aura of blood in the chamber hung so thickly that Nyrielle was momentarily disoriented, as if she could feed simply by breathing the air in this dark, forsaken place. But despite the thick, heavy smell of blood that filled the place even after hundreds of years sealed behind the stone slab, she found no trace of her teacher. Instead, her Blood Seaker hovered patiently over a stone tablet, carefully placed on a pedestal to the side as if it refused to be the center of attention but demanded a place from which to watch.


    "So you were like this, even then," Nyrielle said as she approached the stone tablet. The top of the tablet bore an ancient version of the Eldritch glyph for ¡¯vampire¡¯ while the bottom of the tablet bore the symbol of a blade and fangs that had long represented the current Fangs of Death.


    "Always standing in the shadows, watching as others executed your will." Slicing the tip of her smallest finger with a sharpened nail, Nyrielle pressed her finger to the glyph at the top of the tablet and spoke in the older form of Eldritch her former teacher still used for sorcery. "Bl¨¹d Scrib?: Rev?l."


    Slowly, stroke by stroke, as if Shubnalu himself were standing here writing on the tablet, characters written in blood appeared on the tablet but the more Nyrielle read, the clearer it became that this wasn¡¯t a message he¡¯d left for her, but something he¡¯d written long before this place was sealed, leaving behind a message that only a fellow vampire could read.


    "Successor,


    Acat has broken the bloodline of the Frost Walkers, and with it, the curse of eternal winter and the age of ice has finally come to an end..."


    "Acat?" Nyrielle paused, staring at the name of the long dead Jaws of Death in confusion. "What business did Shubnalu¡¯s teacher have with the Frost Walkers? Age of ice? Just how long ago did he lay this down?"


    "... Nothing will remain suppressed forever. Those bearing an Iridescent Horn have begun to re-emerge among the seven bloodlines of the broken clan..."


    "So this is why you turned those ancestors into Blood Golems," Nyrielle said as she quickly read the remainder of Shubnalu¡¯s message. "You forced them to sacrifice themselves without leaving any descendants behind, trapping them forever in ice and sealing away the bloodline that could have returned them to glory."


    It finally made sense why the twisted ancestral spirits had seized so desperately on young Hauke when he and Ashlynn had stumbled on this place. Shubnalu had twisted the legacy of the Frost Walkers into one where any time the ancient bloodline of the iridescent horn reemerged, the ¡¯eternal guardians¡¯ of the clan forced them into a role of power and responsibility that would last far beyond their death.


    "But this was all long ago," she said, turning away from the tablet that held the only trace of her teacher¡¯s presence in this forsaken place. There were still questions that this place held answers to but none of that mattered right now.


    She¡¯d been wrong, she realized, tightening her fist until the sharpened nails of her claws bit into the flesh of her palms as the wave of realization washed over her. Months of moving through the Eldritch nations, remaining constantly on guard against the other vampire lords or Shubnalu himself had left her jumping at shadows.


    She¡¯d had centuries to watch his long, carefully executed schemes trap his victims, often without ever seeing the man who had orchestrated their demise and as soon as Hamdi revealed that her former teacher intended to capture her, she¡¯d begun to see his hand behind countless challenges and setbacks along her journey but she¡¯d never once found a trace of him. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Perhaps, if not for her teacher¡¯s involvement in this place centuries ago, she wouldn¡¯t have suspected him of being behind the Frost Walker¡¯s sudden betrayal. Seeing Hauke and Rtichel betray the understanding they¡¯d forged during her last visit had almost been a relief. Finally, it seemed like Shubnalu had made his move in a place where he had long ago laid down the foundations to treat the Frost Walkers as his pawns.


    Now that she¡¯d seen this place, however, she realized she¡¯d leaped to conclusions far too quickly and she¡¯d left Ashlynn and the others alone to face the real threat while she chased after ghosts laid to rest long ago.


    "I¡¯m coming, my love," she said as she plunged back into the icy water to leave the ancestral cave. She only hoped that by the time she returned to Ashlynn¡¯s side, it wasn¡¯t too late.

 Chapter 437: Cornered

    Chapter 437: Cornered"Release my friend, or I will tear you away from him and burn your horns to ash!"


    Ashlynn¡¯s threat echoed across the mountainside, drawing all eyes, not only from the forces who had been fighting on the walls, but from those at the head of Nyrielle¡¯s army as well. Now that the blizzard had cleared, Zedya moved quickly, leaving orders for Lennart to martial the remainder of their forces while she raced to Ignatious¡¯s side.


    "Ignatious, you," Zedya started in a whisper when she arrived at the fallen Inquisitor¡¯s side. "What happened to you? And to little Heila?" she asked, hovering nervously near the slumbering witch cradled in Ignatious¡¯s arms.


    "I failed in my first attempt with the Holy Flame Blade," he said simply, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Ashlynn who held the flaming sword like a lance, pointed directly at the young Frost Walker lord. "Heila healed me and... And she allowed me to feed on her," he said softly, hugging the sleeping witch tightly to his chest.


    "I... see," Zedya said flatly. From the way Ignatious clung protectively to her diminutive protege she could tell there was more to it but now wasn¡¯t the time to ask. She wanted to celebrate that stronger feelings seemed to have returned to the tortured priest, but seeing Heila¡¯s sleeping figure, her heart couldn¡¯t help but tremble with worry.


    Without Heila¡¯s help, who could heal Ashlynn¡¯s wounds? Zedya didn¡¯t know, but there was one thing that she was certain of. If Ashlynn died tonight because Heila couldn¡¯t heal her, then the torture Ignatious had endured from Hamdi would pale in comparison to the fate that Mistress Nyrielle would sentence him to.


    Zedya didn¡¯t dare to contemplate further in that direction. If anything truly threatened Ashlynn¡¯s life, she was resolved to do whatever it took to protect her until Mistress Nyrielle arrived, and she knew she wouldn¡¯t be the only one. She only hoped that the stubborn young Frost Walker would see reason and surrender before they found out just how far Nyrielle¡¯s forces would go to protect their lady and her lover.


    Within Hauke¡¯s mind, for the first time since this nightmare began, the towering figure of Ansgar appeared alongside the svelte figure of Ines. The former trembled with barely concealed rage, ready to lash out at the witch who dared to threaten their horns, while the latter wavered on her feet as she manifested within Hauke¡¯s mind, clearly suffering the after effects of having her blizzard torn apart by Ashlynn¡¯s display of power.


    "Little to offer, have I," Eugen said, hopping off his platform and rushing to Ines side. "But what I have, yours to take is." As the childish Frost Walker spoke, a soft green aura surrounded him, gently soothing the pain that wracked Ines spirit and restoring a healthier glow to her horn.


    "Please, let me free," Hauke begged, struggling against the reforged chains that Eraric had bound him with after his last attempt to disrupt the struggle. "Please, before anyone else is hurt, let me speak to her. I know she¡¯ll listen to my words. We can still find a way to resolve this," he said with hot tears streaming from his eyes.


    "Please," he added in a voice that cracked under the intensity of emotions coursing through his heart. "Before it¡¯s too late for my father... please..."


    "The witch is a spent arrow at the end of her flight," Eraric said, shaking his head at the young lord. "Her artifact is impressive, but I doubt she could repeat that display, much less fight with it. My runic blade won¡¯t lose to her sword. We have no reason to back down."


    "Lord Ansgar," Kimsel asked, turning her stooped figure to face the mightiest warrior among them. "Can you defeat this witch with Eraric¡¯s blade?"


    "Without doubt," the towering Frost Walker replied without the slightest hesitation. "Eraric is right. She¡¯s wounded and exhausted her power. I can overwhelm her easily."


    "I agree," Ines said, resting a hand gently on Ansgar¡¯s solid figure. "She didn¡¯t seem to be fully in control of her artifact. I doubt she has much practice drawing out its power. Perhaps she only reached for it today out of desperation. We should be able to overpower her in a direct confrontation."


    "But can you defeat her without killing her?" Kimsel asked, summoning a staff formed of ice and using it to prop herself up as she approached the wall that displayed the outside world. "Or if we kill her, can we also destroy the army that would descend on us to avenge her? And can we do all of this before her vampire mistress returns?"


    "You want me to surrender?" Ansgar bellowed. "You want to give up and allow a defiler to go free with one of our horns? The Tuscans already hunt our descendants like animals. You want to add the rest of the world to the list of our clan¡¯s enemies?!"


    "I want you to take a path that doesn¡¯t lead to mutual destruction and a victory that only the dead can celebrate," the aged Frost Walker snapped, rounding on Ansgar and pointing her icy staff at the center of his chest. "The young boy is naive but he isn¡¯t wrong. It isn¡¯t too late to choose another way."


    "What way, you..."


    "What would you have us do," Ines asked, placing a cooling hand on Ansgar¡¯s arm to smother his anger. "Of all of us, you spent more time alive before placing your horn in the ancestral hall than any. You know even more of the ways of outsiders than we do. We should listen to your counsel," she said, giving Ansgar a pointed look.


    Each of them had their own gifts and not one of them had been less than the greatest Frost Walker of their generation. Ansgar had ruled over the largest territory and was the only one among them to ever be recognized as a high lord, but when someone grew too accustomed to absolute power, their ability to compromise and recognize when they were in a position of weakness diminished greatly.


    Kimsel, on the other hand, had presided over the sunset of the Frost Walker¡¯s greatest age. The glaciers between the seven peaks had all retreated and the clan had fallen back to their greatest stronghold in the High Pass, watching as the lands beneath them grew stronger and more powerful while the strength of the Frost Walker¡¯s melted like ice in the summer.


    "Let me speak," the old woman said. "I will try to open a path for us." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It won¡¯t be too late to choose the sword if she fails," Ines said, wrapping both of her arms around Ansgar¡¯s muscular arm and pressing herself close to him. "You and I have had our turn and even Eraric has aided our battle. Let her try."


    "So be it," Ansgar said. With a waive of his hand, the air around him froze, solidifying into a throne carved from solid ice. "Find us a path to victory," he said as he took his seat, deliberately turning his back to Hauke¡¯s chained figure as he stared out of the young lord¡¯s eyes at the witch and her flaming sword.


    "But if you cannot open a path, then I will cleave one open myself," he added as the old woman vanished from the space within Hauke¡¯s mind and began to address Ashlynn and the growing crowd of onlookers.

 Chapter 438: A Path Forward

    Chapter 438: A Path Forward"Tuscans, spread across the front, one man per column," Lennart bellowed, quickly arranging Nyrielle¡¯s army into a flexible formation for battle. "Captain Virve, gather our men directly behind the Tuscans. They are our breaching force if needed, but too many of the rest are irregulars. I want our men in the lead if we have to charge," he called, directing the flow of men to give them the best chances of responding if things turned violent again.


    Whether he was preparing his men to assault the castle and reinforce Sir Savis and Sir Tausau on the walls or creating an opportunity for Lady Ashlynn to escape, he didn¡¯t know. At the moment, he badly wished that Commander Bassinger was here with his years of experience fighting in the previous war against the Lothians.


    Even more than that, however, he wished that he was standing somewhere else on this battlefield. He didn¡¯t begrudge Zedya¡¯s move to join Sir Ignatious at all, and in fact, he was grateful that the mesmerizing vampire was closer to Lady Ashlynn if things fell to violence again. Only, in his heart, he hated that he wasn¡¯t able to face the greater danger together with her.


    At the moment, they each had their roles to play and it fell to him to organize Nyrielle¡¯s ordinary forces while those with greater strength faced more immediate danger but in the future... In the future, his place would be wherever Zedya¡¯s place was.


    "Now I understand what you meant about feeling like we¡¯re running out of time," he said quietly as his eyes turned to the space between the army and the fortress where Lady Ashlynn faced off against the young Frost Walker lord. Neither Zedya nor Ignatious seemed to be able to step within fifty paces of the burning blade in Lady Ashlynn¡¯s hand, but when it came to power like the pillar of flame that the Mother of Trees had unleashed, did fifty paces really count for anything?


    Silently, Lennart resolved himself to give his answer to Zedya as soon as they returned to the Vale of Mists. For now, he could only hope that the Frost Walkers would see reason and stand down from further violence tonight.


    "Your Dominion," Kimsel began politely, taking control of Hauke¡¯s body and offering a slight bow in Ashlynn¡¯s direction while placing the tip of Eraric¡¯s sword on the icy ground in a gesture that she did not intend to fight. At lease, not at the moment.


    "You have grown significantly since last I saw you," Kimsel added, her aged voice sounding even more incongruent from Hauke¡¯s youthful face than Ansgar¡¯s booming one had. As she moved, her posture shifted, becoming hunched and leaning slightly on the runic blade, treating it much like the old woman would have treated a cane, even though Hauke¡¯s body was young and full of vigor. "Six months ago, you would not have been our match."


    "You¡¯ve grown more lucid since last I spoke with you," Ashlynn replied, refusing to match the ancestral spirit¡¯s gesture of lowering her blade. "Six months ago, you were deranged and barely capable of speaking in complete sentences. My friend Hauke must have worked hard to restore you, but you¡¯ve repaid his kindness with heartless treachery."


    "I heard your argument with Lord Ansgar and Ines," Kimsel said, waving one hand dismissively as though she couldn¡¯t be bothered to debate with Ashlynn on topics they had already discussed. "You do not understand. I will not convince you, and it is a waste of both our time to try. What I want to propose is a resolution."


    "If you want a resolution, then I will offer you one," Ashlynn said. "Drop your blade. Release my friend. Allow me to strip your horns from his body," she added, gesturing with the Severing Knife held in her left hand. "Do this, and we can negotiate your continued existence. There are no other terms."


    "Don¡¯t be so hasty to demand capitulation, your Dominion," Kimsel chided. Her words might be proper and polite, but the tone she used was one that belonged to an elder addressing a young child. "If we are backed into a corner where we have nothing to lose and must rely only on your mercy, then we might as well fight to the end, don¡¯t you think?"


    "Then what do you propose?" Ashlynn asked. Her right arm had begun to tremble from the effort of holding the sword up, and her connection to the mountain was weakening by the minute, greatly diminishing the amount of energy she could feed to the Holy Flame Blade.


    As much as she wanted to negotiate a peaceful surrender, if this dragged on much longer, she would lose her ability to fight back against the power of the icy runic blade that still rested in Hauke¡¯s hands, even if its tip had been lowered.


    If it had been a clash between human lords, if her father had been the one standing in her place and it was another count facing off against them, just offering to enter into peace talks could halt fighting for weeks or months while both sides argued over a solution. There would be time to withdraw the army, to heal and recover, and by the time both sides had licked their wounds and cooled their heads, a reasonable agreement would emerge.


    But the Eldritch weren¡¯t like that. Things on this side of the mountains were much more black and white. Victor and defeated with both glory and responsibility landing on the victor. At that point, whoever had emerged as the strongest was free to dictate terms to the loser.


    "Ritchel, Eldritch Lord of the High Pass, stands on the edge of death," Kimsel began. "Even if he survives this night, he has been defeated on his own mountain and deserves to lose his throne for his failures."


    As soon as she spoke, several Frost Walkers on the walls began to shout and object. They hadn¡¯t come here to fight a war, they had all been surprised by the sudden battle. To say that their lord had lost his right to rule when Nyrielle¡¯s army sent an assassin to slaughter his guard and take him hostage was an insult few of them could bear.


    Commander Jannik, however, held up a hand to silence his men. He¡¯d only just arrived at the scene of the battle when a messenger arrived in the great hall to tell the elders waiting to receive Lady Nyrielle with a grand feast that things had fallen apart when Hauke attacked one of the witches.


    He¡¯d been too late to do anything about the chaos that gripped the young warriors who were standing for what should have been a ceremonial gathering but now that he was here, he was determined to keep things from going any further out of control.


    Besides, in Jannik¡¯s mind, the ancestral spirit possessing Hauke wasn¡¯t wrong that Ritchel had failed. Whatever had led to tonight¡¯s tragedy, as the Lord of the High Pass who was present during the disaster, Ritchel had to take responsibility for what had happened. Now that the ancestor pointed it out, he wanted to at least hear what the ancestor had to say.


    The ancestors should always be consulted when the fate of the clan was at stake, and Jannik had a feeling that, since she was calling the leadership of the clan in question, whatever happened here would reshape the clan for decades if not centuries to come.


    Of course, it was the role of ancestors to advise. The living would need to decide for themselves what to do with that advice, and so while Jannik perked up his ears to listen to the old woman¡¯s words, he resolved himself to defy them if her advice would push even more of his men into the chasm of death.


    "Since the current Lord of the High Pass is incapable of ruling it," Kimsel said, looking from the soldiers atop the walls of the icy fortress to the army gathered behind the towering Tuscan mercenaries before giving Ashlynn a direct and challenging look. "I declare the Throne of the High Pass Vacant and open the field of honor for challengers!"


    "Lord Ansgar wishes to face you in single combat for the throne, your Dominion," the old woman said, using the runic blade as a prop to gesture to the fortress and the mountains beyond it. "Win, and take control of the High Pass. Should you stand victorious, you may pass judgment on us as you wish, and we will not resist."


    "But lose," she added, staring down at Ashlynn from her greater height. "And we will not only take the throne. We will pass judgment on you and the defiler who carries a weapon carved from one of our horns, and you will submit to that judgment."


    "What say you, Mother of Trees?" Kimsel asked. "Will you contend for the throne?"


    S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 439: I Refuse

    Chapter 439: I RefuseFor a moment, Ashlynn stared at Hauke¡¯s stooped figure, too stunned by the ancient spirit¡¯s proposal to articulate her thoughts. The cold wind blowing across the mountainside and the creak of weapons and armor from both Nyrielle¡¯s army and the forces on the walls were the ounly sounds in the barren landscape between the two.


    "Ha ha, haha, ha, ha," Ashlynn laughed, finally lowering the Holy Flame Blade and allowing it¡¯s flames to fade away. The muscles of her arm shook with relief and her whole body relaxed as she let go of the tension of maintaining her threatening posture to laugh at the ancient spirit¡¯s proposal.


    "Drop your sword," Ashlynn told the old woman possessing Hauke. "I accept your surrender. Since you understand that you are defeated, we don¡¯t need to make this any uglier do we?" Ashlynn asked with a light smile on her face.


    On the walls, Savis stared at the young witch in open-mouthed shock. She¡¯d been offered a chance to fight for the throne of the High Pass. If she won, all of this would end. He¡¯d already been forced to watch as several soldiers from the Black Wolf Brigade died to the Frost Walker¡¯s sorcery while he and Tausau were trapped atop the gatehouse. He knew that there had been casualties among Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde as well, yet their mighty Seneschal was laughing and treating their challenge like a surrender? Had she lost her mind?


    "Young woma-, that is, your Dominion," Kimsel stammered, utterly confused by the witch¡¯s reaction to her solemn challenge for the throne of the High Pass. "Perhaps you have misunderstood..."


    "I haven¡¯t misunderstood anything," Ashlynn said calmly, using the time to steady her breathing and regain a bit of her strength. Her wounds burned with the stinging cold of the mountain air, and her muscles ached from the abuse she¡¯d subjected them to, but she could already feel Nyrielle¡¯s presence returning.


    The echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeet within her chest was going stronger by the moment and at this distance, she could feel Nyrielle¡¯s deep sense of worry for her and the all the people with her. Soon, this nightmare could come to an end, she just had to drag things out a little bit longer.


    "Only someone in a position of weakness would demand single combat to conclude this matter," Ashlynn pointed out in a tone more cutting than the mountain air. "Your blizzard is broken. Our men have breached the walls of the fortress, and the rest of our army is now able to move. The sword you used to suppress me has been countered by an even more powerful artifact, one whose nature is more dangerous to you than yours is to me," she said, calmly ticking off her points.


    "The prison of ice that stopped anyone from interfering with our battle is shattered and broken, and there is no one else coming to your aid," she said. "You are alone, fighting a battle no one else wants to fight for a cause no one else believes in. The only path you have forward is to declare Lord Ritchel unfit to hold his throne so you can seize it for yourself and force the Frost Walker clan to do as you wish."


    "I respect the Frost Walker tradition of honoring your ancestors and seeking their advice," Ashlynn said, turning to face the Frost Walkers standing on the walls. Her voice was loud, and she used a subtle manipulation of the winds to ensure that everyone in the fortress could hear her words. "But these are not the first controlling ghosts I¡¯ve had dealings with, and they are no different than the last one who tried to force a member of my coven to bend to her will." sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Though Cecile¡¯s attempts to influence Ashlynn had been limited by her deference to the next Mother of Trees, the way the ghost of the former Willow Witch attempted to twist Heila into the same kind of witch that she had been in life was something Ashlynn and Heila had discussed at length. Ashlynn¡¯s encounter with the ghost of Lady Claire du Gaal had been even more concerning, and seeing the actions of these ancestors now, she was increasingly convinced that the dead should leave the living alone.


    "Ghosts and remnants of people long dead may have wisdom that we can learn from," Ashlynn said, turning back to Hauke¡¯s stooped figure. "But you are little better than a book on a shelf. The world has changed since the days when you ruled, and your wisdom is increasingly divorced from the events of today, so I refuse your challenge and I refuse everything it¡¯s based on."


    "I refuse to submit Heila to your ¡¯justice¡¯ when she has committed no crime," Ashlynn said, positioning herself between Hauke¡¯s figure and the place where Ignatious held the sleeping Willow Witch. "I refuse to gamble her fate on a contest between us when I cannot you to act reasonably if you won, and since you know you are defeated, I have no reason to!"


    "I refuse to believe that Lord Ritchel is unfit to hold his throne!" Ashlynn shouted, ensuring that everyone, including the weakening Frost Walker Lord, could hear her declaration. "Unless he is dead, he holds his throne still!"


    "Auntie! Auntie, no!" Talauia protested, pressing her needle firmly into Ritchel¡¯s neck. "He tried to trap you, tried to trick you, tried to help kill Hiela. He can¡¯t, he can¡¯t be allowed to live!"


    "I don¡¯t think he was trying to trap me," Ashlynn said, looking deeply into the eyes of the fallen lord of the High Pass. "You were trying to trap Hauke and the ancestors possessing him, weren¡¯t you?"


    As much as it brought him great shame to admit because he realized how terribly his action had been misunderstood, Ritchel gave a slight nod at Ashlynn¡¯s words. He still didn¡¯t understand why Lady Nyrielle had unleashed her army before flying away. Or why the Thistle Witch had come so decisively for his head when they could have cleared up the misunderstanding and worked together to subdue the ancestors. But he didn¡¯t need to understand in order to admit that his mistake had contributed to this mess.


    "Talauia," Ashlynn said. "Please remove your poison and let Lord Ritchel go. His eyes are filled with worry for his people and his son," she said, hating the way that the proud lord was being forced to watch his kingdom crumbling from the edge of death. "He isn¡¯t our enemy."


    When she looked at Ritchel, it was hard not to see all the things he shared with her own father. Ritchel was struggling to hang on to his throne long enough to pass it to Hauke, while Count Rhys Blackwell had done everything he could to secure a way for a grandson to inherit his own throne rather than watch Blackwell County fall into years of bitter succession disputes.


    Both of them were doing their best to be good rulers and good fathers in a world that kept forcing them to choose between the two. If her father could have handed his throne to her instead of needing a male heir, she was certain he would have. Or if he didn¡¯t because of her mark of the witch, he would have at least handed it to Jocelynn.


    And if Ritchel could have promised his throne to Hauke, even though the young lorde needed a few years more to grow into his strength, then perhaps Hauke wouldn¡¯t have given himself over to these manipulative ancestors in a desperate attempt to become strong enough to assume the throne.


    "But what about him, what about him?" Talauia asked, pulling back her needle and pointing it at Hauke. She hadn¡¯t forgotten who had started all of this, and as he currently was, treated like a puppet on the strings of his ancestors, she was afraid that even if he submitted now, it would only be a matter of time before someone else turned him into a weapon to use against her loved ones. "It¡¯s his fault, all his fault that this happened!"


    "Enough of this," Ansgar¡¯s booming voice thundered from Hauke¡¯s mouth as the young lord abandoned Kimsel¡¯s aged, stooped posture. Now, the young Frost Walker lord stood with a warrior¡¯s pride, lifting the Runic Blade of Eternal Ice in his hand and pouring his energy into the weapon.


    "We offered reasonable compromise," Ansgar snarled as several hooked runes on the blade began to glow in menacing shades of purple, dark blue, and brilliant white. "We offered a fair contest. But since you ¡¯refuse¡¯ our kindness, then you can ¡¯accept¡¯ your death!"

 Chapter 440: Explosive Clash (Part One)

    Chapter 440: Explosive Clash (Part One)Within Hauke¡¯s mind, Kimsel sighed heavily as Ansgar wrestled control away from her. She had tried to give him the greatest stage and highest honor to salvage this situation for them and their descendants but pride and an inability to accept defeat was about to doom them all.


    "Eraric," she said, leaning on her frozen staff more than ever before and looking exceptionally weary as she turned to face the architect who kept Hauke tightly bound. "Release the young man. We¡¯ve lost and it¡¯s time to accept that defeat."


    "Is this the wisdom of your years, Kimsel?" Eraric asked bitterly. "If you cannot win with words, then we are to lower our heads and present our horns for the hunter¡¯s saw to harvest? Ansgar was the greatest of us," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to move or do anything that would alow the young Frost Walker to escape the chains he¡¯d doubled in strength since the young man nearly managed to escape them once before. "He will not fall here."


    "We have done all we can," Ines added, looking helplessly through Hauke¡¯s eyes as Ansgar prepared to unleash all of his frustration and rage at the woman who dared to laugh at them. Part of her longed to emerge with him, to use Eraric¡¯s sword as her tool of destruction in a fight to the bitter end. It would have been so much more satisfying than the end she met at the hands of her own people when she surrendered her throne to become one of their eternal guardians.


    "I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s in his hands now," she said, sighing as she watched the young witch stepping back from Ansgar¡¯s burst of power. As much as she longed to fight once more against the witch, the backlash she suffered when the Mother of Trees shattered her blizzard had come close to cracking her horn. Now, any sorcery she attempted was likely to consume her assuming that the spell didn¡¯t go awry in the first place.


    At the back of his mental space, Hauke hung his head, powerless against the chains Eraric had bound him with. his body moved under Ansgar¡¯s direction, drawing deeply on what little power remained in Hauke¡¯s body for a final all-or-nothing assault.


    "Zedya, distract him!" Ashlynn shouted as she once again poured energy into the holy sword in her hands. The flames were weak and feeble compared to their earlier blazing glory, but she didn¡¯t have time to draw on the strength of the mountain again,n and she wasn¡¯t certain that she could manage the magic even if she could.


    Just a minute longer, she thought. All she needed was a minute longer, and Nyrielle would be here to help. But perhaps she wasn¡¯t the only one who sensed her approaching lover. If the ancestors had detected Nyrielle¡¯s approach, then it would explain the sudden outburst.


    "Endless White, Empty Thoughts, Frozen World and Frozen Form," Zedya intoned in a rich, resonant voice as she strode forward. Her amethyst eyes glowed with all the power she could manage as she sought to draw the ancestral spirits into a world so empty and frozen that they would be unable to make a move against Ashlynn.


    At the head of Nryielle¡¯s army, Lennart¡¯s heart froze in his chest as he watched the normally purple energy that flowed from Zedya¡¯s eyes take on a dark crimson hue. Whether it was because she was exhausting the blood that sustained her life to pour more power into her technique or because she encountered fierce resistance, he didn¡¯t know, but it took all of his strength to hold his position at the head of the army instead of rushing to her side and offering up his own blood if she needed it to fight.


    For a moment, Zedya¡¯s Mesmerizing Gaze seemed to work on the enraged ancestor. Hauke¡¯s figure stopped its rush, and the painfully cold energy that surrounded the icy blade began to dissipate as a blank, empty expression settled over Hauke¡¯s face.


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t waste the opening, sprinting as fast as her abused legs would allow her to, not away from Hauke but toward him. She had no intention of letting the spirits force her into a one-on-one duel when she¡¯d already rejected it, but with a little bit of help, she was certain that she could put an end to this insanity.


    More than anything, she wished that Heila¡¯s Tuscan mercenaries were close enough to restrain Hauke, but by the time they arrived, it would already be too late. All she could do now was hope that Zedya¡¯s Mesmerizing Gaze would be strong enough for her to make her move. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It almost was. Ashlynn was only two paces short when clarity returned to Hauke¡¯s eyes. Ashlynn didn¡¯t dare to hope that Hauke had been able to free himself from the grip of his ancestors, and the bellow of fury that resounded from his throat as he spotted Ashlynn was all the confirmation she needed that the enraged ancestor had broken free of Zedya¡¯s gaze.


    "DIE! WITCH!" Ansgar bellowed, pouring all of the energy he could into the Runic Blade of Eternal Ice. The weight of thousands of pounds of snow piled up behind his swing and the temperature of the air around him plummeted, instantly freezing the sweat on Ashlynn¡¯s body through several layers of clothing and making it almost impossible to breathe.


    "BURN! GHOST!" Ashlynn shouted in return, swinging the Holy Flame Sword upward with all the strength she could manage, cloaking herself in a wave of flames and heat that freed her from the oppressive aura of frost that descended along with the sword of ice.


    Both swords met in a collision of fire and ice that shook the mountain, triggering a number of small avalanches above and below Nyrielle¡¯s army. The stones beneath their feet cracked and shattered, along with centuries-old ice hanging from the nearby bridge, sending it tumbling into the chasm below.


    On the ramparts above and among the ranks of soldiers watching opposite them, everyone held their breath as a wave of rapidly freezing steam enveloped the area, obscuring their vision and making it impossible to see the results of their collision.

 Chapter 441: Explosive Clash (Part Two)

    Chapter 441: Explosive Clash (Part Two)No matter where people stood, everyone with a view of the clash between Ashlynn and Ansgar seemed to lean forward, some taking involuntary steps and many stretching out their necks, hoping to see what had happened when two powerful artifacts, one formed of the coldest ice in the world and the other forged to call upon the heat of the sun, met in a ground shaking collision.


    -CLANG- -TING- -TING-


    -CRUNCH-


    The Holy Flame Blade clattered to the ground, dropped by a hand so badly abused by the battle that it couldn¡¯t possibly endure the force of Ansgar¡¯s heavy overhand blow. An instant later, the Runic Blade of Eternal Ice cleaved into the stone and ice beside Ashlynn, embedding itself in the ground just inches from the witch¡¯s feet.


    "Let my friend go!" Ashlynn shouted, ignoring the fallen sword and lunging toward Hauke with her Severing Knife held high. Everything from the moment she charged forward to her desperate deflection of the icy blade had been for this moment, but if she couldn¡¯t cut the horns away from Hauke¡¯s body then all of this would have been for nothing.


    "Frozen Sleep," Eugen¡¯s childish voice echoed in Hauke¡¯s mind as the juvenile Greenwind Healer made his move at last, unleashing a powerful burst of soothing wind that enveloped Ansgar¡¯s mind, dulling his senses and trapping him within a moment of perfect, restful sleep.


    "Eugen! Traitor," Eraric roared, summoning chains of ice to bind the youngest of the ancestors in place.


    "Already decided, you have, and acted already too," Eugen said softly. Originally, he¡¯d spoken in support of capturing the witch who bore a forbidden blade, carved from the horn of one of their descendants. Once the walls of the ice prison shattered, however, and the young healer had a chance to see the bodies piled up by Hauke¡¯s father or tumbling from the walls above, he realized that the price Hauke¡¯s clan was paying for their actions was already far too high, and everything he¡¯d seen since then only made his earlier support feel like a greater sin.


    "Wrong we were, to choose for Hauke. The witch, for him she fights, but for whom do we? For whom did we do this?" he asked, staring at the wall that showed the world outside Hauke¡¯s mind and watching the young witch give her all not to obtain victory, but to rescue a young Frost Walker from his own ancestors. "Asked to do this, we weren¡¯t..."


    Before anyone could respond to Eugen¡¯s words, a tearing sensation filled Hauke¡¯s mind. Ashlynn¡¯s knife was wickedly sharp and sheared instantly through the leather bandolier that held the Ancestral horns firmly to Hauke¡¯s chest. Along with the leather, the curved knife descended rapidly, cutting away the bonds of magic that allowed the ancestors to control Hauke as they pleased.


    Given time, Ashlynn could have removed the horns one by one in a way that was both gentle and respectful, but at the moment, she cut through everything, unable to care about the storm of energies that rippled through Hauke¡¯s mind as the ancestors were torn from him, one after another until he was left alone, imprisoned in his own mind and watching helplessly as his body tumbled to the cracked and broken ground like collapsing snow.


    Ansgar, Ines, Kimsel, Eraric and Eugen. For months, they had accompanied Hauke during every waking moment of his days and at times, even appeared in his dreams while he slept. He had grown accustomed to being one among many as he listened to their wisdom and studied their techniques. But now, Ashlynn¡¯s knife had severed their bond, tearing them away and leaving him alone, still bound by Eraric¡¯s sorcery, chained within his own mind as nothing more than a spectator.


    He wanted to cry out, to tell Ashlynn that he wasn¡¯t free yet, that she had to break the chains that held him prisoner, but no matter how much he shouted in his mind, his lips didn¡¯t move and his eyes remained unfocused, staring up at the sky as a figure on dark, raven wings descended to the shattered ground of the battlefield.


    Dimly, Ashlynn heard a ruffle of feathers, blowing away the surrounding cloud of freezing steam as Nyrielle arrived at last. The wind of her wingbeats revealed to the world that Ashlynn still stood while Hauke had fallen and lay helpless on the ground below. Then, after only the briefest hesitation while her midnight eyes roamed over Ashlynn¡¯s battered, bloodied figure, wrapping her arms and wings around her lover in a gentle embrace. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My darling," Nyrielle¡¯s gentle voice said, soothing Ashlynn¡¯s hurts with her simple presence. "I should never have left you alone here," she said, holding back the fury she felt at Ashlynn¡¯s battered state in order to give her love all the comfort she could.


    More than fury at the Frost Walkers, her heart trembled with the thought that Ashlynn might have fallen here, and it would have been her fault for jumping at shadows and leaving her alone. She never would have imagined in a hundred years that Hauke could learn enough from the ancient, nearly broken horns to threaten Ashlynn so much, but clearly she had been just as wrong about the threat her lover faced as she was about the cause behind Hauke¡¯s betrayal.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, dropping her Severing Knife to the ground and turning in Nyrielle¡¯s embrace to gaze longingly into the other woman¡¯s midnight blue eyes. In her mind, a brief fantasy of kneeling before her lady while two armies watched flickered past, like a scene from a story book, but now that she was here in just such a moment all she could think about was how she could cool the simmering rage she felt underneath the surface of Nyrielle¡¯s gentle affection.


    "I, I give you this victory," she said, feeling the weight of hundreds of gazes on her from every direction. After everything she had done to establish herself as a powerful, commanding presence in Nyrielle¡¯s absence, one who could stop the fighting with the power of her words alone, she now felt like a trembling kitten, clinging to Nyrielle as her strength finally failed her.


    "Hauke was possessed," she tried to explain. "The ancestors, their horns," she added, pointing to the gleaming iridescent Frost Walker horns that lay in a heap on the ground where they had fallen, still secured to each other by the leather bandoleer that she¡¯d cut off of Hauke. "They wanted to kill Heila," she explained haltingly. "Because, because of the blade made from Paulus¡¯s horn.


    "I-I¡¯ve severed their connection to him," she added, rambling on as she saw Nyrielle¡¯s gaze becoming increasingly complex as the vampire realized how greatly she¡¯d misunderstood things. "But there is still, still so much, much..."


    Ashlynn¡¯s words trailed off as exhaustion overtook her even though she was certain that there were things, important things, that she needed to say. Things about Ritchel and the leadership of the High Pass, and, and... And her mind couldn¡¯t summon anything else that was important enough that she had to force herself to remain awake to say it.


    In the end, it seemed, all that mattered was that she had returned to Nyrielle¡¯s cool, comforting embrace. Anything that was important, she knew that Nyrielle would handle it well, and anything that dared to threaten her or her loved ones would never survive her lover¡¯s fury.

 Chapter 442: An Uneasy Truce

    Chapter 442: An Uneasy TruceStanding in the middle of the shattered battlefield, Nyielle gently stroked Ashlynn¡¯s hair while cradling her lover close to her chest. Her heart ached at the wounds that had begun to bleed again after Ashlynn¡¯s second use of the Holy Flame Blade melted away the ice that froze them shut.


    "Why must you be like this, my darling?" Nyrielle whispered to her sleeping lover. "Why must you push yourself to your absolute limit every time?" She had been like this when she was training with Thane, pushing her body until she was too weak to stand or hold a sword at the end of her sessions. She was like this when she spied on Owain, killing one night after interrogating him and fighting a duel to the death with another one. And she was like this still, placing her own life in the greatest danger rather than risk the lives of others.


    Moving with a speed that was too fast for almost anyone present to follow, Nyrielle vanished from the place where she stood, appearing next to Zedya and Ignatious in the blink of an eye.


    "My darling is infecting others," Nyrielle said with a sad smile as she reached out with one hand to cup Zedya¡¯s face, gently wiping away a trace of blood that had spilled from her progeny¡¯s eye. "Is Heila following in her footsteps too? Were her wounds so serious?" she asked, turning to Ignatious, who held Heila in much the same way that Nyrielle was holding Ashlynn.


    "She tended her own wounds before tending mine," Ignatous said, lowering his head in shame at how much it had taken for Heila to rescue him from himself. "Without her blood, I would have fallen to my own sword and without her healing, I could never have used it to free Lady Ashlynn from the ice. She didn¡¯t do it for me," he added, giving the diminutive witch a sad smile. "She did it for Lady Ashlynn."


    "As is proper," Nyrielle said, gently brushing aside one of Heila¡¯s curls to confirm the young witch¡¯s condition for herself. She was exhausted and had given more blood than someone her size should have, but her heartbeat was strong and steady even if her body was greatly depleted.


    "But we shouldn¡¯t put them in positions where they have to," she added, returning her hand to Ashlynn¡¯s back and pulling her lover closer as if she was afraid that she would slip away if she didn¡¯t hold her tightly.


    "Thistle Witch," Nyrielle said, turning to face the woman holding Ritchel hostage and speaking in a voice that was loud enough to reach the men on the walls as well as the head of her army. "Captain Lennart will send men to take your prisoner into custody. Will he die if you leave his side?"


    "He won¡¯t die, he won¡¯t die now that I¡¯ve taken back my poison," Talauia said, though a trace of bitterness colored her voice. Leaving a defeated lord alive was an invitation to disaster but she couldn¡¯t kill him, no matter how much she wanted to. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Auntie Ashlynn, Auntie Ashlynn wants him alive," the thistle witch explained. "She wants him to remain Lord of the High Pass too," she added, with wings drooping in defeat.


    "Alive, I can grant, at least for now," Nyrielle pronounced as a pair of powerful Tuscan mercenaries came trotting across the frozen ground to retrieve the injured lord. "Whether he retains his throne or not is a question for tomorrow night. In the meantime, your Auntie Ashlynn needs a healer. Can you help her?"


    "Help her? Of course, of course I can help her," Talauia said, roughly dropping Ritchel¡¯s body on the frozen ground and flying to Nyrielle¡¯s side as quickly as she could. While Ritchel still managed to cling to consciousness, after his body was ravaged by the Thistle Witch¡¯s poison, every muscle was as limp as wet rope, and he fell in an undignified heap before the Tuscans could arrive to carry him away.


    "Zedya, take care of my beloved," Nyielle said, gently handing Ashlynn over now that another witch had arrived who could do more for her wounds than simply blocking the pain. She hated doing it, and her hand lingered over Ashlynn¡¯s body for a moment before she forced herself to turn away. Her love had delivered her victory while Nyrielle herself had chased after shadows. Now, it was her turn to make all of Ashlynn¡¯s pain and suffering in this tragedy worth something.


    Slowly, Nyrielle locked away the warmth that she felt for Ashlynn and everyone under her command, concealing them behind the cold, expressionless mask she¡¯d worn so often when she and Ashlynn first met. Not only Ashlynn but many others who followed her had paid in blood for this victory, and if she wanted to reap the best harvest for their efforts, she couldn¡¯t face their defeated foes as an ordinary person in a position of power.


    Instead, when she turned to face the Frost Walker fortress, she projected the full might of the Harbinger of Death, the unfeeling reaper who had come to collect what she was owed.


    "Lord Ritchel is incapacitated," Nyrielle said, pitching her voice to reach the walls of the Frost Walker fortress. "Young Lord Hauke has fallen in battle," she added, looking at the unmoving figure who stared blankly at the sky. "Who will speak for the High Pass to arrange your surrender?"


    "We do not surrender!" Commander Jannik shouted from atop the walls, his dark furred form standing out starkly among the other Frost Walkers. His voice shook as he spoke, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself as he faced the intimidating figure of the Harbinger of Death, firmly reminding himself that no matter what his racing heart felt like, she couldn¡¯t simply reach across the chasm and snuff out his life.


    "I am Jannik, Commander of the hunters and warriors of the High Pass and I will speak for us in Lord Ritchel¡¯s absence," he shouted. "The High Pass and the Vale of Mists have always been allies, and whatever happened here, it changes none of that! But we have wronged you," he added, swallowing his pride and refusing to look in the direction of the fallen Frost Walkers on the wall.


    Jannik had no idea who would pay the price for everyone who had lost their lives tonight, but his fists clenched tightly as he forced himself to ignore that question while he searched for a way to ensure that the rest of Nyrielle¡¯s army didn¡¯t descend on them.


    Now that Hauke and Ritchel had fallen, even though neither Nyrielle¡¯s progeny nor her witches looked like they could still fight, there were still two more vampires standing atop the walls right now, and who knew how many other strong warriors among her army. And that assumed that Nyrielle herself didn¡¯t raise a hand against them. No, there was no victory to be had in fighting, so Jannik could only attempt to maintain their right to rule the High Pass while lowering their horns in defeat.


    "We would have welcomed you with open arms and a grand feast but for the actions of a few who caused all this," Jannik said with a pointed look in Hauke¡¯s direction, though whether he directed his glare at Hauke or the collection of iridescent horns piled on the ground beside him was impossible to say. "Now, we welcome you still, though the feast will have to wait until we resolve all this."


    "Your open arms are insufficient," Nyrielel said coldly. "Your empty hands and an empty wing of your fortress are required. Our people will not mingle with yours until the sun sets tomorrow. If my men see so much as a servant approaching our quarters while I sleep, they will slaughter without mercy. Am I clear, commander Jannik?"


    "Perfectly clear, Your Eternity," Jannik said, bowing so low that his horn pointed toward the ground before giving directions to his soldiers to tend to the wounded, and open the gates to receive their ¡¯guests.¡¯


    "And Commander Jannik," Nyrielle added as menacing shadows spilled from her wings, momentarily creating the illusion that she stood at the edge of a terrible abyss that they would all fall into if they defied her orders. "Let me be clear. The Frost Walkers have fallen tonight. Your lord has fallen, his heir has fallen, and you cannot resist the strength of the army at your gates."


    "Tonight, I will see my people settled and our wounded tended," she said, as though it was an act of magnanimity that she didn¡¯t march her army forcefully through their gates to occupy their fortress. "But tomorrow night, when I hold court in your great hall, it will not be as your guest but as your conqueror. Ensure that your people understand the difference."

 Chapter 443: Those Who Fell

    Chapter 443: Those Who FellOutside the Frost Walker fortress, there was still a great deal of work for Nyrielle to do. Zedya and Ignatious were taking Ashlynn and Heila into the fortress so the Thistle Witch could tend to them in a place better suited for healing, but Nyrielle herself couldn¡¯t join them until everything outside the fortress had been settled.


    "You there, stop," Nyrielle said to the horned warrior who had been hovering at an awkward distance, seemingly torn between returning to the army and following after Ashlynn and Heila. "You¡¯ve been attending to Heila, haven¡¯t you?"


    "Yes, Your Eternity," Kurtz said, stopping where he stood and instantly turning to kneel before the powerful vampire. "My, my daughter Emmie is her squire and I¡¯ve sworn to stand as Lady Heila¡¯s personal guard."


    "Ignatious will look after Heila for now," Nyrielle said as her mind ran through the things that demanded her attention. "Do you know the Artificer Erkembalt and the leader of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth, Aspakos?"


    "I don¡¯t know them, your Eternity, but I know their features enough to recognize them," Kurtz said, keeping his head lowered and hoping the answer was good enough to keep the Harbinger of Death from deciding that he was more useful as a late night snack than as a guard for Heila. "Should I, should I fetch them here, your Eternity?"


    "Yes," Nyrielle said, looking from the iridescent horns on the ground to the icy sword and finally at Hauke¡¯s strange, vacant eyed stare. She didn¡¯t know what had happened to the young lord but it was clear that he wasn¡¯t well in a way that went far beyond physical ailments and before she dealt with him or the artifacts around him, she wanted the help of an expert.


    "Tell them to bring containers for dangerous relics," she added, as Kurtz stood to leave. "And perhaps tools to break a curse."


    As Shubnalu¡¯s pupil, Nyrielle was intimately familiar with her teacher¡¯s personal collection of Blood Curses and she¡¯d employed several of them herself over the years. As the Harbinger of Death, her own Kiss of the Void could be used to bestow a number of haunting curses that would slowly grind a person¡¯s sense of self and purpose away.


    When Nyrielle looked at Hauke, he reminded her of someone afflicted by one of her curses, as though he had given up entirely on life or had his soul completely hollowed out, leaving nothing but a shell. But if that was the case, she would have expected his horn to have dulled, growing paler than the glittering iridescent horns next to him that indicated some life still remained in them, even after Ashlynn severed their connection to the young lord.


    Unfortunately, with a rich heritage of vampiric curses, she¡¯d never had a need to study the curses employed by Frost Walker sorcerers or anyone else for that matter. While she could have probed at Hauke to determine if there was anything left of the young lord to save, she¡¯d seen enough traps woven into curses set by Shubnalu to know that it was better to rely on an expert as long as she had one available.


    Once she heard what Erkembalt had to say, then she would make a decision about how to handle the young Frost Walker lord, the dangerous ancestral horns and the powerful sword they had bestowed on him. Until then, she resolved herself to wait, no matter how much she wanted to rush through things in order to return to Ashlynn¡¯s side.


    Moments later, while Nyrielle stood waiting for the Kurtz to return with Artificer Erkembalt and Aspakos, a worn and bloody figure approached her, breaking the silence that surrounded Nyrielle since she Kurtz left at a run.


    "Your Eternity," Tausau said, kneeling before his grandniece and lowering his head. "I¡¯ve come to beg a favor."


    "You don¡¯t need to beg anything from me Uncle Tausau," Nyrielle said, holding her hands out to take his small, dexterous hands in hers, lifting him up off the ground. "You fought hard for me tonight," she said, gently running a hand over his bloodied fur. "Whatever you need, just ask."


    "Four of my progeny died tonight, your Eternity," Tausau said with more heat in his voice than he¡¯d meant to use. His ears twitched in frustration as feelings that had been long dead warred within his chest. He¡¯d known when he joined Nyrielle that some of his progeny would die, many of them were weak even by the standards of ordinary Eldritch warriors, much less vampires, but he hadn¡¯t expected them to fall so soon, before even reaching the Vale of Mists.


    "We¡¯ve taken three off the walls," he continued in a voice that shook with the strain of holding back the tears he wasn¡¯t willing to let fall yet. "But Laya fell into the chasm below. If we cannot retrieve her body by sunrise..." S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I understand," Nyrielle said, interrupting her granduncle before he could continue. If they didn¡¯t retrieve her by sunrise, her body would burn to ash the moment the first rays of light fell into the chasm below, leaving nothing to be retrieved the next day.


    "Do you have a tradition for your progeny?" Nyrielle asked gently. The traditions for handling the dead among the Eldritch varried greatly by nation and clan, and vampires were no different. Some clung to the traditions they¡¯d known in life while others invented entirely new traditions to honor those who finally tumbled into the abyss from the edge of the blade between life and death they¡¯d danced on as vampires.


    "The Clanless never knew the kindness or acceptance of their birth families," Tausau said softly. "Near my castle, there¡¯s a lake deep enough that light won¡¯t reach the bottom. We follow the tradition of the ancient clan, sending our dead out to the deepest part of the lake on a boat before sinking it so their bones can rest among their siblings who died before them."


    "You¡¯ve been taking in the Clanless for centuries," Nyrielle said, hesitating before she asked the question that might seem insensitive. "Will Laya have a large family waiting for her?"


    "She will," Tausau said, his face crumbling as the dam holding back his tears finally burst. "Not just those who survived to become my progeny, but all the ones who died in the attempt as well. When this is over... I¡¯ll take them all home..."


    "I¡¯ll find her," Nyrielle promised, folding her arms around her weeping uncle and wrapping her soft wings around his large, bearish frame. "And until you can return her to her family, she can rest in Grandsire Torbin¡¯s crypt. My family will watch over yours for as long as you need."


    Atop the walls, Savis watched his younger brother crumple into Nyrielle¡¯s comforting embrace with a complicated expression on his face. Years ago, he would have known what to do to comfort the younger vampire in times like this.


    As the first and strongest among Hamdi¡¯s progeny, he had once cared for all of his siblings like true family, but he¡¯d been closer to Tausau and Torbin than any of the others that came along in the centuries that followed.


    But now, as he watched his soldiers clear away the bodies of their own fallen he felt nothing but frustration that they had died in battle against an ally, weakening them before they could burry their claws in the flesh of the humans Nyrielle had brought them here to fight.


    He¡¯d forgotten, he realized, what it meant to mourn a loss. Frustration he could understand, shame and anger as well. But when was the last time he mourned? He didn¡¯t know, but he was certain it had been so long ago that Nyrielle was little more than a child at the time. Until today, that hadn¡¯t bothered him.


    Yet now, standing atop the walls and watching Tausau and Lady Nyrielle share a tender moment he realized that there was another feeling in his heart that hadn¡¯t quite died yet. Now, more than ever in the past several centuries, Savis felt alone.


    In High Fen City, he¡¯d looked down on Tausau when his younger brother said that Lady Nyrielle might one day share the gift with him that she¡¯d shared with Tausau. Now, he was beginning to wonder what he might need to do to receive that blessing from her as well.

 Chapter 444: Neither Living Nor Dead

    Chapter 444: Neither Living Nor DeadWithin the cold, icy world of his mind, Hauke struggled against the chains that bound him. He needed to find a way. Any way, to break free of the shackles that Eraric had placed on him. His wrists ached and blood dripped from his ankles but nothing he did produced any change in the thick chains of ice that kept him stretched between two pillars of ice as though he were a skin hung for drying.


    Worse, since the ancestors were torn away from him, he¡¯d come to a cruel, sickening realization. Eraric had used, at most, one fifth of Hauke¡¯s own strength to bind him within his own mind, preventing him from interfering with the battle between the others and Ashlynn. But now that the ancestors were gone, Eraric¡¯s lingering sorcery could use as much of Hauke¡¯s energy as it needed to.


    At the moment, Hauke felt like he¡¯d been wrung out like a wet rag, leaving very little energy left within his body to power the trap. But rather than fading away with time, as his body slowly began to recover, the chains actually felt thicker. Right now, it seemed like the chains were the weakest they would ever be.


    The idea that the bindings would only grow worse over time was enough to push the young Frost Walker lord well beyond his limits, thrashing about wildly in an effort to free even a single arm or leg. Just breaking one limb free would let him use more strength against the others but so far, the only thing he had accomplished was to add a thin layer of frozen blood to the links of the icy chains around his wrists and ankles.


    "AAAAARGGGG! WHY. WON¡¯T. YOU. BREAAAAK!"


    Despite his cries of fury, the ice cave that had once been host to five additional minds remained completely still and silent but for the fading echoes of his own screams. The chains didn¡¯t care for his shouting and there was no one else capable of hearing it.


    As his cries faded into breathless sobs, Hauke became aware of a faint sound. More of a vibration through the floor of his mental prison than an actual sound, but carrying with it the occasional -CRUNCH- of footfalls breaking through fragile ice. The sensation grew stronger, accompanied by muffled sounds that seemed to come from impossibly far away, understandable only when he strained the limits of his hearing.


    Voices! The sounds were faint and unfamiliar at first, but as they grew closer, he was certain that someone was close, perhaps examining his body while they spoke to someone else.


    The far wall of his icy prison seemed to dim momentarily, as though a vast shadow had fallen across the world. Through his physical eyes, the eyes he could no longer control, a figure that was both enchanting and intimidating moved into his field of vision.


    "Lady Nyrielle!" Hauke cried, instantly recognizing her pale features and imposing black wings as well as the aura of darkness that spilled from her, casting even the world within his mind into dark shadows, as if he had been enveloped by an infinitely dark abyss.


    He wished she could hear his voice or sense his condition as he called her name again and again. She was famed as a powerful sorceress, so surely she could do something for him. For a moment, his heart leapt with joy as she seemed to linger above him, but rather than examining the sorcery that held him prisoner, she instead backed away from him, speaking to someone he couldn¡¯t see.


    "...Do you know the Artificer Erkembalt and the leader of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth, Aspakos?" Hauke heard Lady Nyrielle say a few moments later, as she gave instructions to the person he couldn¡¯t see.


    The name ¡¯Erkembalt¡¯ sent a chill down Hauke¡¯s spine, and his horn turned an ugly, dark purple as he trembled against the chains. Madame Zedya hadn¡¯t hidden their intentions when they left. Erkembalt was the name of the Artificer whom they intended to recruit to turn the severed horns of Paulus and Torsten into powerful weapons.


    Did everyone think he was dead already? Was she preparing to have his iridescent horn carved from his head as punishment for what the ancestors had done?


    "No, no, please! Please," he begged, even though she clearly couldn¡¯t hear him. "It¡¯s not my fault! I didn¡¯t want to harm anyone! Please," he said with hot tears forming in his eyes. "Please..."


    "...And perhaps tools to break a curse..."


    Nyrielle¡¯s words cut through Hauke¡¯s sobs like a knife, jolting him out of his momentary panic as he realized she had realized something was wrong. She wasn¡¯t summoning Erkembalt to harvest his horn but to break him free! S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Each moment that passed while Hauke awaited the arrival of the artificer and sorcerer felt like hours, but he forced his racing heart to still and ceased his struggle against the chains. They knew something was wrong, and they were going to do something to help him. Knowing just that much was enough to give him tremendous comfort.


    Moments later, his heart leapt with joy when he heard a new voice addressing Lady Nyrielle, only to plummet moments later when he realized that not only did the voice belong to someone other than the artificer and sorcerer who were supposed to break his curse, but the news it brought was tragic beyond words.


    "...Four of my progeny died tonight, your Eternity."


    A vampire had lost four of their children in the battle tonight. The number alone was shocking, but the longer Hauke listened to Tausau and Nyrielle speak, the dimmer his horn grew and the heavier his heart felt.


    One vampire had lost four of their children in battle. How many of his clansmen had fallen? How many of Nyrielle¡¯s other soldiers had died? During the battle, after the walls of ice shattered, Hauke noticed a strange human holding Heila¡¯s bloodied figure, but was it because she had survived the attack of the ancestors?


    Or was that strange man like this Tausau, holding the body of someone who had died while he tried to process his own grief?

 Chapter 445: For The Rest Of His Days

    Chapter 445: For The Rest Of His DaysThe notion that he might have killed little Heila, the sweet, dedicated servant who had once helped the fallen Andrus to catch a giant fish from beneath the ice, unleashed a wave of cracks in the ice that formed Hauke¡¯s mental world. All this time, he¡¯d thought she survived, that things might still be all right, that he could be forgiven for what the ancestors had done with his body, but if Heila had died...


    No, even if Heila survived, would she ever look at him again with the eyes of wonder she¡¯d possessed when he built an ice house on the lake that day? Would she tremble in excitement while helping to haul a giant sturgeon above the ice?


    As the son of Lord Ritchel and the first Frost Walker born with an iridescent horn in several generations, Hauke had few people he could consider friends. He¡¯d hoped that Ashlynn and Heila would be two friends that he could grow alongside for years, especially when he learned that Heila had become the Willow Witch.


    The ancestors had shown him just how much power he could wield by mastering his iridescent horn, and while he might never rival the Mother of Trees, he was certain that he could match up to Heila, maybe even enough to join Ashlynn¡¯s coven... But now, even if they freed him from these chains, he would be trapped by the hurt and resentment created by what the ancestors, no, by what he had done to them today.


    "Artificer Erkembalt, Master Aspakos," Nyrielle said, her words interrupting Hauke¡¯s downward spiral. "Something important requires my attention before the sun rises. This is Hauke, he is Lord Ritchel¡¯s son and in a sense, the one responsible for tonight¡¯s bloodshed," she said, immediately making it clear that she expected Hauke to bear at least a portion of the blame for what happened tonight.


    "Ashlynn says that he was possessed by the spirits of his ancestors," Nyrielle continued in a voice that was cold, clipped, and carried a trace of impatience. "The Fangs of Death used those horns to create Blood Golems that allowed them to live on after death, more fully than a normal Frost Walker ancestor, and the iridescent horns contain fearsome power on their own."


    "Do you know what happened to the young lad?" Erkembalt asked as his face suddenly filled Hauke¡¯s vision. The man¡¯s whiskers twitched, and his silver-rimmed spectacles glowed with a faint trace of energy as he studied the fallen Frost Walker, peeling his eyes open even wider and making ¡¯mmm, mmmhh¡¯ sounds as he worked.


    "That is for you to determine," Nyrielle said as she unfurled her dark wings. "Ashlynn cut him free of the spirits that possessed him, but perhaps the real Hauke is already dead, or ground away into fragments so miniscule that he may never be made whole again. His body is alive, but whether or not there is anything left of the person he once was..." her voice trailed off as she let out a heavy sigh.


    "If he is already dead, then the body should follow the soul," Nyrielle pronounced coldly. "But if he is alive and bound by some form of curse, then I expect that my vaunted Breaker of Curses can release him from it, even if only a portion of him remains."


    "And these horns and the sword?" a third, distant voice asked, likely belonging to the sorcerer Aspakos. "You want us to take them as prizes?"


    "That remains to be seen," Nyrielle said. "Both are dangerous. For now, seal them away. Tomorrow night, we can decide what should be done with them. The Frost Walkers are our conquered foes," Nyrielle added. "Once you have secured these dangerous relics, you may bring Hauke inside their fortress to examine him, but gentlemen, make no mistake."


    "Hauke is a prisoner, whether you cure him or not," she said in a voice much colder than the mountain air. "Ashlynn and Heila are recovering from their wounds, but Hauke is not to be placed anywhere near them. You can examine him from within the confines of a cell."


    "As you will, Your Eternity," the sorcerer said as his dark, feathered countenance and cracked beak entered Hauke¡¯s vision. "At the very least, this man has been used as a tool of our enemies. We will not harm him until he has been judged, but I will go one step further. Should we find a method of treating him, we will not apply it until you give us leave to do so. Perhaps, this state that he¡¯s in, neither alive nor dead, is a fitting punishment for his crimes. If that is your judgment, then he will be left as is for the remainder of his days."


    "...for the rest of his days..."


    The words fell on Hauke¡¯s struggling spirit like an avalanche, crushing his hopes and sapping away his strength to fight back against his slowly strengthening chains. The shadows in the world of his mind receded as Nyrielle soared into the night sky, likely to retrieve the body of the fallen vampire Laya, but all Hauke could hear was the resounding echo of the sorcerer¡¯s last words.


    "...for the rest of his days..."


    Outside, he could hear the two men discussing as Erkembalt separated the ancestor¡¯s horns from each other and placed them into darksteel lined wooden boxes one by one, ensuring that even if the ancestors remained connected to each other after Ashlynn severed their bond with Hauke, they would become isolated and unable to conspire to act once more on the world of the living.


    "Ha, ha ha," Hauke chuckled as he heard the man who had carved Paulus¡¯s horn into a blade for Heila talking about keeping each of his ancestors walled away from each other. The ancestors had been fused together for centuries in their flooded ancestral cave, but now, they were little different from him.


    Trapped. Isolated and unable to speak to anyone in the outside world. It was cruel, but after everything they had done, Hauke couldn¡¯t help but laugh until the walls of the icy prison within his mind echoed with thundering laughter.


    If he had to be trapped all by himself, alone in his mind for the rest of his days... at least he wasn¡¯t the only one. At least the people who had done this to him could share the same sad fate, at least until their horns crumbled away.


    The thought of their horns crumbling away brought Hauke¡¯s laughter to a sudden stop. They¡¯d already told him that even with his help, they could hang on for a few years at most before the magic that sustained them crumbled away, leaving him alone to carry on their legacy.


    But if their horns crumbled away in a few years, how long would he last? How much longer would he survive like this? Perhaps his torment would last even longer than his body would, enduring as long as his horn survived.... Centuries, until his horn crumbled away.


    "...for the rest of his days..."


    His hands formed into fists, and his horn began to glow a faint, determined shade of blue. Whether these sorcerers would help him or not, he couldn¡¯t allow himself to be trapped here like this forever. One way or another, he had to break free!


    S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 446: Wounded Witches

    Chapter 446: Wounded WitchesHours later, with little more than two hours before the sun would cast its harsh rays on the icy world of the High Pass, Nyrielle finally approached the chambers that Talauia had converted into a small clinic for Ashlynn and Heila.


    The corridors leading here were lined with soldiers, many of them gladiators who had been defeated by Heila in the arena of the High Fen. Once, they had been the diminutive witch¡¯s opponents, but many of them had come to possess a deep respect for the small, horned woman who fought with everything she had.


    Now, hearing that something had finally brought her down, none of them felt even the slightest satisfaction at seeing the woman who defeated them suffer a similar fate. Instead, many shuffled nervously where they stood, adjusting their weapons in their sheaths or repeatedly checking the straps of their armor as if to ensure that it was still buckled firmly in place.


    None of them had fought against the Frost Walkers. That honor had gone to Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde and Savis¡¯s Black Wolf Brigade. The implication that some of the greatest gladiators of High Fen¡¯s current generation weren¡¯t strong enough to fight in this battle spurred many more of them than were needed to show up here, where they could stand and protect the woman to whom they¡¯d pledged their service...


    But many of them wondered, what if their leaders had been right? What if they really weren¡¯t strong enough to face the Frost Walkers at their strongest?


    "Kurtz," Nyrielle said, more warmly than she¡¯d spoken while outside the fortress, when she spotted a familiar figure standing next to the door. "Did you arrange all this?"


    "Your Eternity," the horned gladiator said, dropping to one knee as soon as he realized Nyrielle was addressing him. "Madame Zedya and Captain Lennart have taken charge of securing the fortress. I asked a few of the big fellows to join me," he explained, gesturing to a pair of nearby Tuscan mercenaries. "The rest just volunteered."


    "See that some of your men are able to rest, Mister Kurtz," Nyrielle said as she brushed past Heila¡¯s loyal guard. "You are guarding my darling Ashlynn as well as your Lady Heila. The day is always more dangerous than the night," she said, entering the room and closing the door without waiting for a reply. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    While the hall outside felt crowded with so many guardians, only a select few had been allowed inside while the Thistle Witch tended to her patients. To one side, Ignatious sat on a simple folding chair, holding Heila¡¯s hands as she slept peacefully under a large pile of furs.


    At the foot of the oversized bed, another small figure lay in an undignified heap, half covered by a small blanket of her own. Emmie had worked hard to fetch Heila¡¯s things, helping Talauia to dress the Willow Witch in fresh clothes for sleeping and even following the Thistle Witch¡¯s every direction to help wash away the blood and dirt of the battle while Talauia tended to her wounds but the night had been long and the young squire finally collapsed before she could return to a room of her own.


    When Nyrielle examined Heila closely, it was clear that the diminutive witch¡¯s complexion had improved under Talauia¡¯s care, but she was still far too pale, with cheeks that looked sunken and a brow that trembled with the worries that haunted her sleep.


    Ashlynn, on the other hand, looked much, much worse for wear. When Nyrielle entered the room, Virve and Talauia were carefully laying a thick fur blanket over Ashlynn¡¯s torso, but her arms and legs were both left uncovered. Thick bandages wrapped around her feet and shins, and a strong smell of medicinal herbs filled the air as Nyrielle approached the foot of the bed.


    The further up Nyrielle looked, the more her heart ached at the sight of her beloved. Wooden braces had been secured to her right arm, and bandages extended from the tips of her fingers all the way to her shoulders. Even more bandages circled her torso, and a thin layer of medicinal paste covered her frost-burned cheeks.


    And yet, despite the severity of these wounds, Ashlynn seemed to be breathing easily. Her face looked calm and composed, as if she had set down her worries when Nyrielle arrived. The echo of her heartbeat in Nyrielle¡¯s chest felt fainter than it should, but still beat with a strong, steady pulse.


    "Thank you, Thistle Witch," Nyrielle said, folding away her wings and withdrawing as much of her dark aura as she could in this hostile place. "For everything you¡¯ve done for her."


    "Not enough, not enough," Talauai said, shaking her head while her wings trembled with anxiety. "Used up too much, and there¡¯s no life here to give to her. No trees or plants to help her heal. If she wasn¡¯t, if she wasn¡¯t your Seneschal," the anxious witch forced herself to admit. "She¡¯d have died, died from these wounds."


    "That bad?" Nyrielle said, shocked at the Thistle Witch¡¯s assessment. "I didn¡¯t think that even ancient spirits could manifest the strength to hurt her so badly."


    "She did it to herself, did some of it to herself, at least," Talauia explained, gesturing at Ashlynn¡¯s right arm and the brace that held it firmly in place. "That sword, that flaming sword," she added, pointing at a box in the corner of the room behind Ignatious. "It burned her. Her gloves were wet and frozen, but the sword boiled the water inside her glove. She, she cooked her own hand just to hold that cursed sword!"


    "Then, the hot and cold, hot and cold, it shattered her arm," the witch continued. "She has burns and frost burns on the same arm and her torso too. Her feet were frozen black and blue, and she bled in so many, so many places," Talauia said, tears filling her multifaceted amethyst eyes.


    "When the sun rises, I want to put her in a wagon, put her in a wagon and take her to the forest in the Vale," she said firmly as she hovered protectively over Ashlynn. "She needs to heal, needs the forest to fully heal."


    "I¡¯m sure she does," Nyrielle said, reaching out to gently stroke her lover¡¯s hair. "But not in the morning. Tomorrow night, we¡¯ll sit in judgment of Hauke and the Frost Walkers. She needs to be there."


    "No she doesn¡¯t, no she doesn¡¯t!" Talauia insisted, circling around the bed to confront Nyrielle directly. "Auntie Ashlynn doesn¡¯t need to be there. You can be there. You¡¯re still stronger than her, you can force the Frost Walkers to do whatever you need.


    "And you can make them pay, can make them pay for doing this to her," she cried, her wings beating fast enough to fill the room with a high-pitched hum.

 Chapter 447: Honoring Her or Respecting Her?

    Chapter 447: Honoring Her or Respecting Her?"It¡¯s true that I¡¯m strong enough," Nyrielle acknowledged. "But that doesn¡¯t mean she doesn¡¯t need to be there. "Tonight is her victory, and yours as well I suppose, since you defeated Lord Ritchel and his guards. Tomorrow, we must settle matters before we can leave, and her voice must be heard."


    "Why? Why does she have to speak?" Talauia asked. "You¡¯re her ¡¯Mistress¡¯ aren¡¯t you? Auntie Ashlynn says that she¡¯s like your wife, that forming a pact with you was like marrying you. So if you¡¯re married to her then you know what she wants. You know what she¡¯d say," the agitated witch said, each word coming faster and faster than the one before it. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So honor her," Talauia said, folding her arms across her chest. "If you¡¯re married, then honor the woman you married by saying whatever she would say instead of what you want to say. Speak in her place while she goes to get healed!"


    Behind her, Virve stood open mouthed in shock, unable to comprehend the audacity of the Thistle Witch to chastise Lady Nyrielle, especially the way she had. For a moment, she¡¯d reached out to pull Talauia back, but once the hovering witch started talking about Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle being married, she was afraid that if she interrupted, it would only make things worse and so her hand hovered in the air almost entirely forgotten as Virve tried to figure out how she could save the Thistle Witch from her own actions.


    Ignatious, on the other hand, was far too familiar with the kind of grief and anxiety that gripped people when their loved ones lay injured in the healer¡¯s tent. He¡¯d seen it from brothers in arms during the war, from mothers fretting over their husbands and fathers lashing out with threats of bloody murder for whoever had hurt their sons. And now, seeing that same uncontrolled outpouring from the Thistle Witch told him everything he needed to know about how important Ashlynn was to the older witch.


    "Madame Talauai," Ignatious said calmly, giving Heila¡¯s hand a soothing squeeze as he spoke before Nyrielle could respond. "Mistress Nyrielle loves Lady Ashlynn more than life itself. So if she needs Ashlynn here tomorrow night, before you scold her, you should ask her why. You both care for Lady Ashlynn, so let that be a bridge between you instead of a bone of contention."


    "It seems my wayward progeny has remembered that he¡¯s a priest," Nyrielle said, taking a deep breath in the moment that Ignatious had given her and forcing herself to respond calmly. Without realizing it, her hands had already elongated into sharp claws, and she¡¯d been ready to put the Thistle Witch in her place with the simple act of superior strength that she seemed to feel would be so effective.


    But Ignatious was right. They both cared for Ashlynn, and it was hard to blame the agitated witch for trying to do the best she could to heal the person they both cared for.


    "You say I should honor her," Nyrielle said. "But what I¡¯m trying to do is much, much harder than that. I¡¯m trying to respect her, and respect her wishes," she said, stepping forward to take a place at Ashlynn¡¯s bedside. Slowly, Nyrielle sliced open the tip of her finger and used it to draw a pair of sharp, angular glyphs on Ashlynn¡¯s brow.


    "You say I should speak the words she would speak, but I do not know them," Nyrielle said softly. "She wants to try a different way. A way that¡¯s much, much harder than a simple contest of strength and dominance. She wants to do what I haven¡¯t been able to do for centuries, and part of that has to be done tomorrow night."


    "Blood Pact: Vitality¡¯s Gift," Nyrielle intoned, surrounding herself and Ashlynn with a brilliant crimson glow as she poured all of the strength she could offer into Ashlynn¡¯s body. It wouldn¡¯t be enough to heal Ashlynn¡¯s wounds, not when those wounds covered so much of her body, but by the time night fell again, she would likely be strong enough to join Nyrielle in holding court, even if she had to be carried there.


    When the glow faded, Nyrielle¡¯s face looked pale and drawn, and her fangs had begun peeking out from her pale, thin lips. The transformation was so sudden that both Virve and Talauia retreated in shock and a small measure of fear before Virve strode forward to kneel at Nyrielle¡¯s feet.


    "My Lady," she said, bowing her head low. "I should have been at Lady Ashlynn¡¯s side tonight. I failed her and failed in the mission you gave me. My blood and life are yours to claim if it will slake your thirst and help you to care for Lady Ashlynn," she said, turning her head to the side and baring her neck.


    "I¡¯ve already given Ashlynn the strength she needs," Nyrielle explained. "Ashlynn has always been able to draw on my strength through our bond in times of great need, but she refuses to do so, even when she is pushed to this extent, because she understands the toll it takes on me. This is not healing, but since she cannot draw upon the strength of the forest to accelerate her own recovery, and she will not willingly draw on me, then just this once, I will do this for her, even if she doesn¡¯t ask."


    "Besides, if I feed from you," Nyrielle said, turning toward the door and visibly holding herself back from pouncing on Virve¡¯s exposed neck. "Who will protect my darling while the sun is up? Watch over her, Virve. There are others more deserving of becoming my meal tonight," she said, turning away from Ashlynn and darting through the door in a cloud of dark, figure-shrouding mist as she began to hunt.


    With a -THUMP-, Talauia¡¯s wings stopped beating as she dropped to the ground, landing flat on her backside while her mind finally caught up to how close she¡¯d come to turning herself into Nyrielle¡¯s next meal. It took several minutes before her heart calmed enough for her to get back to her feet and check on Ashlynn¡¯s health.


    The wounds didn¡¯t look much better, but when Talauia pulled back the bandages, she found a faint, crimson glow clinging to Ashlynn¡¯s frost-burned flesh, slowly infusing it with the strength that Nyrielle had shared with her lover. And, more importantly, she found a faint smile on Ashlynn¡¯s face, as if she were wrapped in her lover¡¯s tender embrace and enjoying blissful dreams.

 Chapter 448: For A Taste Of Home

    Chapter 448: For A Taste Of HomeFor days, an oppressive gloom had settled over Lothian March. The rains often came in the morning, filling the air with a sodden mist that seeped into everything, clinging until well past midday and casting a pall over the entire day. Tempers grew short across the march, and in Lothian City, the ale-houses quickly became overcrowded with people looking for a place to warm their bellies and escape the gloom.


    Along one wall, a dark-haired youth moved with surprising grace as he dodged the press of wagon drivers, off-duty soldiers, and merchants that filled one of the most popular ale houses in the shadow of Lothian Manor.


    His clothing was neat and well maintained with a dark maroon tunic that had been unlaced enough to reveal a hint of his pale, muscular chest and black breeches so tight that they left some patrons who glimpsed the youth wondering if he¡¯d come to advertise ¡¯services¡¯ that the Church was known to frown apon.


    Thankfully, few people were paying attention to the young man who seemed to fade in and out of the dark shadows at the edges of the ale house while someone at the bar was garnering significantly more attention, though if the young man was going to learn anything useful this evening it appeared that he would have to pull the man at the bar away from his currently floundering venture.


    "I¡¯m telling you," a coarse man with a broken nose was yelling at the hostess behind the counter. "I have two short casks, fresh from Blackwell City. Pear wine! Genuine Blackwell County pears, aged over a year. You don¡¯t know how hard it is to get them all the way here when every wagon is loaded up full for the journey. A sovereign each is a steal! You¡¯ll get a silver penny a cup or more for them."


    "Hogs piss," the woman behind the bar spat, snapping a wet rag at the broken-nosed man. "No one ¡¯ere will pay a silver penny for a cup of anything. ¡¯Sides, you think this lot can tell the difference ¡¯tween hard apple cider and Blackwell Pear wine? Ey boys!" the woman shouted. "Three snips for a cider, two snips for an ale, or a penny for some fine, lordly wine? Who wants t¡¯ pretend t¡¯ be a rich man t¡¯night?"


    "Booo!"


    "Fer a silver penny, does the wine come wit you, Bonnie?" a drunken man at the bar said, raising his head up and fumbling for his purse. "I¡¯ll buy two cups if it buys your bed to go wit¡¯ it!"


    "Oy!" another man at the bar shouted, slamming a fist into the drunken man¡¯s ribs. "Don¡¯t go is-sulting Bonnie that way. Five silver pennies at least! One for your wine, one for her wine, one for her bed, one for her..."


    "Oy, shut it all of you!" Bonnie snapped, turning back to the broken-nosed wagon driver and pointing her finger at his weathered face. "You¡¯re a fool, Cen. If you wanted t¡¯ smuggle something back from yer trip all t¡¯ way t¡¯ Blackwell, you shoulda brought back something common folk will buy. Or go try one of them fancy inns where the moneyed men drink. Why is you selling t¡¯ me anyway?"


    "Because the moneyed men in Cedar Square won¡¯t buy wine without a stamp and seal," Marcel said smoothly, sliding through the crowd to lean against the bar next to Cen. "Laughed you out, didn¡¯t they?"


    "No, none of that!" Cen said, his face turning crimson with embarrassment as he recalled the way the polished servants at those upscale inns looked down on him as if they were lords themselves instead of common men like him. "I¡¯m just sweet on Bonnie ¡¯ere and..."


    "That¡¯s enough, friend," Marcel said, wrapping an arm around the man¡¯s shoulder and pulling him back before Bonnie could snap him with her towel again. "How about this," he said, flashing a charming smile that made him look even younger and more coy. "I don¡¯t have two sovereigns to rub together, but I might manage a small bag of silver for your wine if it¡¯s real."


    "A pitcher of cider and two cups," the youthful-looking vampire said, winking at Bonnie and bouncing a silver penny off the counter before he turned back to the wagon driver. "And I¡¯ll hear your story of how you got this wine and smuggled it all the way here without getting whipped by Young Lord Owain¡¯s wagon master."


    "You better speak the truth," he added with a look that turned from playful to surprisingly dangerous in an instant before becoming playful again. "Tall tales are only for bedroom deeds, not business."


    "No tall tales," Cen said, stepping back awkwardly and trying to restrain himself from scrubbing away the feeling of the young man¡¯s touch. After all, this might be the only chance he had to sell his wine before someone ran across his stash, and he¡¯d already wasted two days trying to find a rich snob to buy it. It wouldn¡¯t do to offend a man with money just because he was buggered that way.


    "Just a good bit of fortune and the thought that something common there might be worth something here," he said, tapping on his temple.


    "Then let¡¯s talk about your travels and toast to our dealings," Marcel said as he took the pitcher and cups from Bonnie and guided the wagon driver to a table as far from the bar as he could find a place to talk. The shadows around the table grew deeper as he approached, but few, if any, were sober enough to notice. With a flourish of his long, drapy sleeves, Marcell gestured for the man to take a seat, pouring a cup of cider for each of them while adding a few drops of something extra to the wagon driver¡¯s cup.


    More than half an hour later, Cen¡¯s face was flushed and he was struggling to remember what he had already said but the charming young man across from him had already placed a pouch full of silver pennies on the table and the conversation seemed to be going well, he just needed to keep answering questions about their trip and the wine would be sold in no time!


    "So, you were saying that some of the merchants are going to be knighted?" Marcel asked, toying with an empty cup in his hand. By now, he had a rough understanding of how Owain¡¯s negotiations had gone, and it seemed like Lady Ashlynn¡¯s letters to the guild masters had achieved their goals and more.


    Not only had Owain struggled to secure the support of the merchant guilds, but he¡¯d also been forced to grant titles and lands to the four people that Ashlynn most wanted to bring to Lothian March.


    Unfortunately, two of the four remained in Blackwell City while the others came to finalize the terms of the deal, but just knowing that Master Isabell, the engineer, and Master Tiernan, the ironmonger, were present would give Ashlynn a substantial advantage when she began to make her moves in Lothian March.


    "They are, lucky bathtards," Cen slurred. "That Isabell, she¡¯s real particular ¡¯bout everthing, not one that you can take for a toss in the stables ya¡¯ know? Last fellow what tried got her hat pin in his hand for being handsy because she¡¯s a picky lady that don¡¯t want just anyone or anything or... what was I saying?"


    "That she¡¯s very particular," Marcel said, smiling as he refilled the other man¡¯s cup. By morning, Cen would no doubt have a horrible headache, and he¡¯d curse the day he let Marcel pour for hi,m but he was unlikely to remember anything beyond the fat bag of silver he¡¯d received for his troubles. The few drops of greatly diluted venom he¡¯d added to the wagon driver¡¯s drink would ensure that his memories of the past few hours would fade like dimly remembered dreams once he finally fell asleep.


    "So particular," Cen continued after taking a gulp of his cider. "She and that other fellow, maybe he¡¯s the one ruffling her skirts, he¡¯s a muscular sort for a rich man. You think she likes that type? The type with the big muscles under the silk shirts? You know I could put on a silk shirt and..."


    "Cen," Marcel interrupted. "What was she being so particular about?"


    "What? Her lands," Cen said. Hadn¡¯t he already explained this part? "Lord Owain, he wants her to take her lands in Hanrahan Barony, nearest to Airgead Mountain. She wants to be close to Lothian City, away from the demons and the danger. I hear the Marquis his self had t¡¯ step in t¡¯ make her an offer, but she¡¯s particular, right? Won¡¯t sign anything until she sees her new lands. She and her muscle-silk man both, coming to inspect their lands."


    "I see," Marcel said with a slight smile. If they were touring the countryside, there might be an opportunity to arrange a meeting... "Tell me, Cen, will you be driving them around the countryside?"


    "Me? Does this nose belong on your face? My face? The face of a man what drives fancy carriages for knights and nobles?" Cen rambled. "No, that bastard Rudin gets to show the pretty lady around, and he doesn¡¯t even have almost any muscles..."


    "You¡¯re a good man, Cen," Marcel said, feeling like he¡¯d reached the limit of what he could learn from the wagon driver. It was time to move on to his next target before he hid himself away during the daylight hours.


    "Come," he said, helping the drunken man to his feet. "Show me where you stashed this Blackwell pear wine," he added, guiding the man toward the door. The wine likely wasn¡¯t very good by the standards of the Blackwell family, but after nearly half a year, he imagined that Lady Ashlynn would appreciate a taste from home. And who knew? By the time she arrived, he may even have arranged another gift from home for her if he could find a way to meet with Masters Isabell and Tiernan.


    The night outside might have been gloomy and grey, but for Marcel, it looked as bright as pockets full of silver and gold.


    S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 449: Shells and Glass

    Chapter 449: Shells and GlassThat same night, in a warmly lit dining room adjoining Owain¡¯s quarters in the Lothian Manor, Owain gave a dramatic bow of welcome as he greeted his guest for the evening. After months of chasing ghosts through the brothels and seedier districts of Blackwell City, he was finally once again in the presence of the genuine Jocelynn Blackwell.


    Seeing her again made the long months in Blackwell County feel like exile, toiling away without the sight of the sun. Her soft blonde hair shined like spun gold, and she carried herself with the natural confidence of her impressive height, standing tall enough that few men in court could look down on her.


    She moved with a grace and elegance that no common or even uncommon whore could immitate, as her pale blue dress clung to a classically proportioned figure that struck the perfect balance countless artists sought to capture in their portraits of noble ladies. And when she smiled at him, the gloom that had settled over his heart lifted like fog retreating before the sun.


    "My Lady Jocelynn," he said, extending his hand to escort her into the dining room. The servants had already prepared their feast for the evening before he¡¯d sent them away. Tonight, he would dine privately with the woman he longed to possess more than any other. "I¡¯ve prepared something special for us this evening," he said in a voice that was rough with barely contained desire.


    Ever since his return two nights ago, he¡¯d been bound to a formal dance of banquets, working lunches, and even garden tea parties where he introduced Master Isabell to the wives and daughters of the local barons, despite the fact that there was nothing blooming in the gardens and they never left the covered gazebo to stroll between the seemingly endless cups of tea.


    Everything had been so stiff, formal, and public that he didn¡¯t dare greet Jocelynn the way he wanted to, with a firm embrace and passionate kiss, but even now that they were alone, he had to restrain his pulsing desires.


    Soon, they would announce the tragic death of Ashlynn Blackwell in labor. Only afterward could he be seen to grow close to her younger sister, and if he touched her now, he was afraid that he wouldn¡¯t be able to hold himself back when it mattered. Soon, he would have his reward for all of the suffering he¡¯d endured since the disastrous night he married Ashlynn, washing it away with the sweet taste of her youthful sister, but until then, he could only court Jocelynn covertly in private moments like this.


    "My hero," Jocelynn said, taking his arm and pressing her modest bosom against it as she pressed close enough to him to feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of their clothing. She was tall enough that lesser men could never measure up to her, but next to Owain¡¯s mighty frame, she felt secure and protected by his knightly stature and powerful physique. "You must have suffered away from home for so long," she said, gazing up at him with limpid eyes the color of seafoam. "I hope the journey wasn¡¯t too hard on you." S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Nothing was harder on me than being away from your radiant beauty," Owain said, giving her a bright smile that melted her heart and warmed her to her toes. "I brought a gift for you," he added, pulling a small, velvet-lined wooden box from his tunic and presenting it to her with a flourish. "I¡¯m told these have special meaning in Blackwell County."


    Jocelynn¡¯s heart leaped at his words, and her fingers trembled as she took the slender box from his hands. There were few traditions in Blackwell County that involved jewelry, but there was one that would fit in just such a box.


    Among noblemen, a man who intended to court a woman would present her with a strand of pearls and jewels. The center point of the necklace should be the largest pearl of the strand, symbolizing the light of the Holy Lord of Light shining on their union. After that, jewels of two colors that represented the couple would alternate with an increasing number of pearls, symbolizing the ever-growing length of time their relationship would endure.


    When she opened the box, however, her heart sank, and she struggled to keep a look of disappointment from appearing on her face. Owain had, indeed, found her a necklace that spoke of a couple¡¯s love, but in place of lustrous pearls, the strand contained simple seashells, while the jewels had been replaced with bits of polished sea glass in common green and brown.


    "It, it¡¯s lovely," Jocelynn said, closing the box and setting it aside. "But it can¡¯t compare to how lovely it is to see you again, my hero," she said, lightly touching his arm and feeling the strength of his muscles beneath the finely woven tunic. "And the feast is an even greater treat," she said, noticing a hearty fish stew and fillets of pickled herring set out alongside local lamb and venison sausage. "Shall I serve you, my Owain?" she said, stepping up close to him and fluttering her eyes slightly before glancing away, as if she was embarrassed to be so close to him while they were alone.


    "Please," Owain said, taking a seat and doing his best to pretend he hadn¡¯t noticed her disappointment. It was entirely his father¡¯s fault! Negotiations with the merchants had dragged on for months, but when he finally wrote to his father to resolve the points of contention, his father only sent back instructions, without sending any additional pocket money for comforts during his journey.


    If not for the stiff, almost obligatory hospitality provided by Count Rhys Blackwell, Owain might have found himself unable to pay for a place to stay and meals for himself and his men toward the end of his mission. The necklace he¡¯d bought from a common street shop had consumed nearly a quarter of his remaining pocket money before they left, and while it would have been an extravagant gift for the daughter of a tradesman, it was far, far beneath Jocelynn¡¯s standards, and they both knew it.


    "You know," Jocelynn said as she prepared Owain¡¯s plate, filling it with a portion of stew and extra venison sausage that she imagined he would prefer after being away from home for so long. "I served a private meal for Father-in-law not long ago," she said, changing the topic to the one she was most desperate to discuss with him after she had met with the Marquis.


    "With Father?" Owain asked, pausing as he settled into his chair. "What did Father want with you?"


    "You should calm yourself," Jocelynn warned him, pouring a large cup of wine and passing it over before she set the plate before him. "We still have time to obtain everything we desire and more, but we must move quickly before the year ends."


    "Just say it, my radiant Jocelynn," Owain said as a pit of dread formed in his stomach. He¡¯d already endured one tongue lashing from his father for the number of concessions he¡¯d made to the merchant guilds and his failure to secure an agreement in time to prepare for next year¡¯s campaign season. His supposed ¡¯blunders¡¯ had, in his father¡¯s eyes, cost them an entire year of delays, and the Marquis hadn¡¯t been restrained about voicing his disappointment with Owain in private.


    "Father-in-law, he," Jocelynn started, hesitating slightly and biting her lip. "He is considering naming your brother Loman as his heir," she said in a rush as she watched Owain¡¯s face begin to darken. "And he, he wants me to let Loman court me in the spring."


    "He WHAT!?" Owain exploded, his face turning purple in rage. "How dare he give my throne away! And to offer up my bride as Loman¡¯s prize when he¡¯s done nothing to deserve you... Does he intend to take everything from me?"


    "What else did he say?" Owain asked, rounding on Jocelynn and clutching the knife beside his plate in a clenched fist. "And what did you say to his offer?"

 Chapter 450: Heart’s Desires

    Chapter 450: Heart¡¯s DesiresFor a moment, Jocelynn was frozen, like a deer startled by hunters, as she looked at Owain¡¯s furious gaze and the knife gripped firmly in his right fist. Looking at him, her mind flashed back to a time several months ago, at the Summer Villa, when she asked if her sister suffered before she died.


    "Of course she didn¡¯t suffer," Owain had told her, as he stroked Jocelynn¡¯s hair. "She may have been a witch, but for a few hours, she was my wife. I gave her a clean death. A single stroke of my sword. Swift, merciful. She was your sister after all," he said gently. "She deserved that much."


    "...a single stroke of my sword..."


    The knife in Owain¡¯s hand filled her vision, and she wondered if he could kill her with a single stroke of his blade.


    "Did she use witchcraft on you?" Jocelynn had asked that night, so many months ago. "If she hurt you in any way..."


    "As if I would give a witch the chance," Owain said fiercely, as if he was insulted that Ashlynn could threaten him in any way, even with the powers of witchcraft. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "... as if I would give her the chance..."


    The words echoed through Jocelynn¡¯s mind, and for a moment, her world trembled as Owain¡¯s furious gaze broke open the lock on her doubts about what had happened that night between him and her sister. But now wasn¡¯t the time to doubt, nor even the time to ask. Now, as she saw his normally warm gaze growing colder by the second, she had to act before... before he decided not to give her a chance.


    "My lord," Jocelynn said, dropping to one knee beside him, resting both her hands on his knee and leaning forward to look up at him through quivering lashes. "You know my heart is yours, now and forever more. Loman is kind, handsome even," she admitted, only to tremble when she saw Owain¡¯s eyes narrow at her honest appraisal of his brother.


    "But he is no hero," she added quickly. "He cannot lead the people of Lothian March, no the future Lothian Duchy, because he lacks your strength, your drive, and your courage," she said, piling up heartfelt praises on the man she loved lest he doubt her genuine affection. "No man in the world is more perfect than you, my lord," she said, lowering her gaze to the floor as if she couldn¡¯t bear to see him looking at her with hostility. "I would never betray our love," she added softly.


    For what felt like an eternity, Owain said nothing, simply looking down at the kneeling figure of Jocelynn Blackwell as he struggled to suppress the surge of rage that overwhelmed his heart and senses. After all that he¡¯d done for his father, all the battles he¡¯d fought against demons on the Southern Steppe or even in the dark forests outside the Vale of Mists, after traveling the entire breadth of the country just to negotiate with merchants on his family¡¯s behalf...


    After everything he had done to show his father that he was strong enough to take up the throne, to win the battles that even his mighty father couldn¡¯t, it had come to this. His father wanted to give the throne to the sniveling coward who had run into the safe shelter of the Church¡¯s mighty walls while his brother risked life and limb against the demons.


    And to make matters worse, he wanted to give away his precious Jocelynn, who adored him like no woman ever had, seeing his courage and brilliance in equal measure. Jocelynn never doubted him, never scolded him, or told him that he should have done something better.


    During the long negotiations with those scheming, greedy merchants, she¡¯d written to him several times to reveal their wicked thoughts and seemingly harmless demands that would have placed him at an even greater disadvantage but she¡¯d never once suggested that he should have noticed their devious ploys the way his father insisted he should have. Instead, she made it clear that it was because he was too upright and honorable that the deceitful and power-hungry merchants sought to take advantage of him.


    "Oh Jocelynn, my Jocelynn," he said, relaxing his grip on the knife and reaching out to gently stroke her hair in much the same way he had during their conversation at the Summer Villa. Only this time, she wasn¡¯t sitting next to him, pressed up against him and filling his nose with the soft scent of the sea that clung to her like an exotic perfume.


    This time, she was kneeling before him, offering him a view of her perfect, pert assets nestled in the soft pale silk of her dress like a pair of prized Blackwell pears, and her enticing vulnerability trembled with a hint of intoxicating fear that stirred his desire to conquer her this very moment.


    "How could I ever doubt your love," Owan said smoothly, though he made no move to lift her from the floor of the small dining room. Jocelynn was as beautiful and regal as a proud swan, and he would never see her kneel like this in public, but he couldn¡¯t resist the feeling of power that swelled within his loins when he looked at such a proud beauty lowering herself to her knees before him.


    "Now tell me, by sweet pear," he said with a smile that didn¡¯t manage to appear as affectionate as he perhaps thought it did. "How deep is this betrayal? If Father intends to give my throne to Loman, then what does he intend for me?"


    "He, he said that the bargain with the Church must be kept," Jocelynn said with a slight catch in her voice as she was caught off guard by the gentle smile on her love¡¯s lips that never reached his cold, piercing gaze. "He intends to offer you to the Templars to take Loman¡¯s place if Loman ascends the throne."


    "But, my lord," she said quickly, hoping that Owain wouldn¡¯t misunderstand and lash out at his father because of her words. She was already walking a fine line with the Marquis, and if Owain confronted him directly, she was afraid that even if Owain could still secure the throne, his father might not bless their union.


    "He hasn¡¯t made up his mind," she explained. "We still have time to help him see that there¡¯s only one choice if he wants to see Lothian March reborn as the sixth Duchy. He¡¯s given us until the end of the year to show him that we¡¯re capable of leading the march to greatness. Together," she said, moving her hands from his knee to his muscular forearm, pulling his hand from her soft hair to the center of her chest so he could feel the heart that beat for him and him alone. "I¡¯ve been making plans. Would you like to hear them?"


    "I told you before, my sweet," Owain said, relishing in the feeling of her soft skin beneath his fingers. "You don¡¯t need to worry yourself with such matters. I will find a way to deal with my father, one way or another." Even as the words left his mouth, he recalled how her subtle warnings about the merchant guilds had saved him from several embarrassing missteps. A woman¡¯s place wasn¡¯t in politics, he reminded himself firmly, and his dealings with the sharp-tongued Isabell only reinforced his opinion, yet somehow, Jocelynn¡¯s insights often proved useful in ways he couldn¡¯t explain.


    "But," he added, pulling her up to her feet and into his lap, delighting in the feeling of her soft thighs and firm buttocks pressing against him. "If it would delight you, my Jocelynn," he said, reaching out for a piece of pickled fish and spearing it with his knife to offer to her. "Then I will listen to the music of your every word while you share your thoughts with me."


    He would, of course, be the one to determine which parts of her plan were worth implementing and which were merely the fanciful notions of a woman¡¯s mind. After all, listening to her had a way of helping him to form the most successful plans, though he¡¯d never say as much where others might hear. If she¡¯d thought of something that had been beneath his notice, it could save him quite a bit of trouble later on.


    "In that case, my lord," Jocelynn said as she pressed herself up against Owain¡¯s sculpted chest, feeling his warmth through his tunic and drowning in the rich scent of sweat and sandalwood soap that clung to his body. "I think we should plan a trip to visit your Steward Hugo¡¯s father, Baron Hanrahan. He may have just what we need to draw things to a close with the Guild Masters..."

 Chapter 451: Pride Comes Before the Fall

    Chapter 451: Pride Comes Before the FallSitting in Owain¡¯s lap made the meal somewhat awkward, especially when a certain appendage made its presence not so subtly known. At a certain size, some things were simply impossible to ignore, and when Jocelynn realized that it wasn¡¯t the hilt of Owain¡¯s dagger that pressed up against her thigh, she had to suppress a deeply satisfied smile at the knowledge of the effect she was having on the man she would soon marry.


    For now, however, she adjusted her position to face him more directly, one arm draped casually around his broad shoulders while she did her best to outline her plans to exploit the Hanrahan Barony¡¯s weaknesses in order to entice the Guild Masters into accepting grants of land at the edges of the Barony.


    "Baron Ian Hanrahan hasn¡¯t expanded his holdings by more than a few fields of weat in all the years he¡¯s been baron," Jocelynn explained, shifting slightly in Owains lap and drawing a shuddering breath from him in response as her thigh pressed up against what certainly wasn¡¯t the hilt of his dagger.


    "He¡¯s been riding high on the gains from your father¡¯s campaign against Airegead Mountain from before I was even born," she continued, pretending not to notice the effect she was having on him as she stretched to reach her own cup of wine, revealing the expanse of her pale bosom in the process. "But his treasury is dwindling every year, and he doesn¡¯t have much to offer to his son Bastian beyond a lack of debts."


    "You don¡¯t have to look further than my Steward Hugo to understand that the Hanrahans are soft," Owain snorted, fighting to maintain his focus on the conversation while Jocelynn squirmed in his lap. "His brother barely survived falling off his own horse for light¡¯s sake!"


    "They get by because the cat demons rarely leave their mountain," Jocelynn said, sharing the opinion she¡¯d formed after listening to the gossip from the other ladies of the Lothian court. Despite turning thirty, Bastian Hanrahan remained unmarried, and he wasn¡¯t known to have collected any trophies from slaying the fiercely predatory cat-like demons who stalked the wilderness of Airgead Mountain as though it was their private hunting preserve.


    Because he made for such a pathetic seeming heir, there were persistent rumors that the Hanrahan Barony would be stripped from their family after the next war in order to reward some new generation of heroes who would fight more aggressively to expand the march.


    None of the other barons were willing to gamble their daughters, even if they were second or third daughters, on a house they felt was doomed to fall in the next few years. A few aging knights had made the attempt to offer their daughters, but Baron Hanrahan seemed offended at the notion of his heir ¡¯marrying down¡¯, creating a situation that was increasingly grim for the Hanrahan family. It was no wonder they tried hitching their cart to Owain¡¯s horses, sending their bastard Hugo to serve as his Steward in the hopes that it would earn enough of the future Marquis¡¯s favor to change their fate.


    "The Hanrahans lack industry," Jocelynn explained, tracing a finger lightly along the lower edge of Owain¡¯s pectoral muscle as though it marked the boundary of the Hanrahan¡¯s terrain. "Even if Airgead Mountain is beyond their domain," she added, tracing her finger briefly across the firm nipple that crowned his powerful chest like a summit to be conquered.


    "They still have opportunities to mine more common ores in the western hills," she said, tracing her hand back lower. "But they¡¯re too frightened to do it. They clear-cut the lumber from the hills years ago, but ever since then, the land lays all but untouched," she said, resting her hand on his firm muscles as if to encompass all of the available lands.


    "There¡¯s a good reason to be frightened," Owain pointed out, tapping Jocelynn on the nose before his hand snaked around her waist, pulling her body up close against his chest as he lowered his head to whisper directly in her ear.


    "The Crimson Knight who dwells on Airgead Mountain," he said solemnly, as if telling a ghost story. "It¡¯s said that he can tear a man¡¯s breastplate clean in two and that he dyes his arm red with the blood of his victims. An undying vampire knight who slaughters anyone who tries to dwell near the mountain isn¡¯t something easy to ignore, and no one has been able to drive this demon back to the Vale of Mists that it crawled out of for decades. "


    "That¡¯s why it¡¯s important to get Master Isabell¡¯s help," Jocelynn explained, shivering at both the terrifying image Owain¡¯s words conjured and the feeling of his hot breath against the fine hairs of her neck. "Not everyone is as brave and strong as you to face demons like the Crimson Knight in direct battle. But you said she drew up plans for a fortified mining camp," she said, pulling back slightly to look at Owain¡¯s heroic visage in the flickering light of the room¡¯s oil lamps. "Hanrahan Barony is the perfect place for her to prove that it can work before the war begins."


    "But Jocelynn, my sweet little pear," Owain said, pinching her waist. Her face was so serious and earnest that he couldn¡¯t help but find her adorable, even if some of her thoughts were ones that he¡¯d already tried and failed with. "The guild masters won¡¯t accept the lands in the western hills. They called them ¡¯speculative gains at best¡¯ and ¡¯little better than promises of gold and jewels from a demon-infested mountain.¡¯ They won¡¯t accept those lands."


    "And we won¡¯t offer them to them," Jocelynn said with a coy smile. "We¡¯ll offer them lands along the western road, as far to the east of the Barony as possible. Far enough that they might as well be out of Baron Hanrahan¡¯s domain. But it needs to be a large parcel of land, two or three times the size of what you could offer near Lothian City."


    "She won¡¯t budge," Owain said. "She¡¯s too proud of her skills as an engineer, and that Tiernan fellow follows her around like a pecked hen, doing whatever she says unless it relates to mining and smelting or forging. She says that as masters of their trades, they need to stay close to the city and its people."


    "I remember from your letters," Jocelynn purred, picking up a bit of sausage from Owain¡¯s plate and playfully feeding it to him. "But I think she hasn¡¯t heard the message the right way. We just need to show her the lands and blame it on your father¡¯s insistence. Then, Baron Hanrahan can make a big show during the reception banquet of apologizing for wasting her time because he knows it¡¯s impossible for any engineer, but especially a woman like her, to accomplish what your father is demanding." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You want Baron Hanrahan to insult her? Do you really know this woman?" Owain said, looking at Jocelynn with a puzzled frown. "Do you have any idea how sharp her tongue is when she feels slighted?"


    "Of course I do," Jocelynn said with a playful wink, her seafoam eyes sparkling with mischief. "You said she¡¯s proud didn¡¯t you? Just explain things to Sir Hugo and make sure his father is ready to act as your foil. Baron Hanrahan will do anything to strengthen his barony, even if it means taking in a few ¡¯knights¡¯ that are really just promoted tradesmen, especially when you tell him that besides these two, you want to grant lands to a Master Weaponsmith and Master Armorer. He¡¯ll be falling all over himself to make a deal with these merchants."


    "Doesn¡¯t your plan seem a little backwards then?" Owain asked, puzzled by the young woman¡¯s circular reasoning. "If he¡¯s eager, why would he insult them? It doesn¡¯t seem like a good way to get what he wants."


    "Trust me, my brave hero," Jocelynn said, running a finger down the center of his chest. "When you insult a woman like Master Isabell and tell her that no man could do something, much less a woman, all you need to do is give her a chance to prove you wrong, and she¡¯ll leap into the trap you¡¯ve set. That¡¯s why you, my dear, need to be the voice of reason who can offer that chance while securing her interests with lands in the rear of Hanrahan barony...


    Owain was skeptical at first, but the more Jocelynn spoke, the more convinced he became. He¡¯d pushed too hard on the intractable merchants, and like stubborn mules, they¡¯d dug in their heels and refused to budge. Now, Jocelynn was offering a way to use their pride and business sense against them and, best of all, even if Master Isabell ¡¯proved them wrong¡¯ by building a fortified mine, the only lands he¡¯d need to give away belonged to Baron Hanrahan.


    It would never work on an ambitious and calculating man like Liam Dunn¡¯s father, who could already expand his lands through his own military capabilities. But for a weak man like Baron Ian Hanrahan, at the end of his rule, a last gamble to pass on something better to his son and secure it against vultures might just work.


    The details needed work, and there were preparations to be made, but as Owain put the pieces together, he realized that it didn¡¯t matter even if none of it worked. He¡¯d said that he would deal with his father, one way or another, and this trip would give him a convenient excuse to take Jocelynn on a trip to the countryside, conveniently removing them from Lothian City while his other plans had a chance to unfold...

 Chapter 452: The Price of Betrayal

    Chapter 452: The Price of BetrayalAs much as he hated sending her away, at the conclusion of their meal, Jocelynn¡¯s constant shadow since her arrival in Lothian March came to collect her after nearly precisely one hour. The stern-faced Confessor Eleanor gave Owain a stern look that suggested she realized how close he¡¯d come to robbing Jocelynn of her virtue before they could even be publicly betrothed, but she seemed to know her place well enough to keep her lips sealed about anything she witnessed.


    "I¡¯ll begin making preparations to visit Baron Hanrahan with you and the Guild Masters, my lord," Jocelynn said with an overly proper curtsey that nonetheless gave Owain a tantalizing view of her pert bosom as she left his dining room. "I look forward to being able to help you more now that I can be at your side while you negotiate with the merchants," she said, smiling warmly at him before schooling her features into an expression more appropriate for a sister-in-law than someone who would soon become his bride.


    "We shouldn¡¯t tarry, my lady," the raven-haired confessor said as she stepped smoothly between Owain and her young charge. "Young Lord Owain may be your brother-in-law, but so long as your ¡¯sister¡¯ is in the Summer Villa, idle tongues may give rise to inappropriate rumors if you linger too much."


    "Confessor Eleanor is correct as always," Owain said, visibly adjusting himself and giving the clergywoman a polite nod. "I have other business to conclude this evening, Sister-in-law, so I¡¯ll leave you in the Confessor¡¯s capable care rather than walking you back to your chambers myself."


    For a moment, Owain stood in the hall, admiring the way the elegant blue dress Jocelynn wore clung to her retreating backside before spilling in waves at her feet as though she were a native goddess returning to the sea from which she came.


    "Soon," he muttered under his breath as he returned to his chambers. "But rushing would only spoil the feast before she¡¯s ready to be devoured," he said, shaking his head and walking quickly to a wash basin to douse his head in cool water before he let thoughts of her ripening body drive him to distraction. There was work to be done tonight, and thoughts of women would only distract him from doing what needed to be done as quickly as possible.


    Half an hour later, a refreshed Owain Lothian paced in his chambers, awaiting the arrival of two of his knights. While there were many people he trusted to see his will done or even to fight beside him against demons, there were few he could trust to execute his will without questioning his intentions and even fewer that he could trust to keep their mouths shut when it mattered. Whether or not these two truly qualified... well, tonight¡¯s discussion would provide a fitting test to see if they could truly fill the shoes of their predecessors.


    Ever since Jocelynn had left, he¡¯d turned things over in his mind again and again as he replayed every word she spoken during their dinner. The more he paced and the more he thought, the more he trembled with the desire to lash out at his traitorous father or his scheming brother.


    His father had warned him in the past but, Owain had never once considered that the old man would actually strip him of his position as the heir. Each time his father had warned him, he¡¯d put on a show of obedience or crushed another demon village, returning with trophies and glory to satisfy the old man¡¯s desire to recapture his own glory days. It had worked every single time in the past, so why was the old man digging in his heels so badly this time? S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The answer had to be that his backstabbing brother had made a move he hadn¡¯t seen coming. It was bad enough that Loman rode in on top of the relationship that Owain had begun to cultivate with Liam Dunn, swooping in after Owain helped the Dunn heir apparent to raise his army for a summer campaign and stealing the glory that would have been Owain¡¯s if he hadn¡¯t been sent away to Blackwell County.


    But Loman¡¯s deeds seemed to be greater than just a single summer campaign against the demons. Jocelynn had been very clear that Loman had been seen making the rounds with the eastern barons and the knights who had once served their father in the last war. The snake hiding within priestly vestments seemed to have no shortage of ears to whisper in since Owain left for the coast.


    "Tommin," Owain realized, slamming a fist into the opposite hand as he recalled the looks that had passed between his conniving former guard and his usurper of a brother. "I don¡¯t know what that bastard said, but I know he¡¯s had a hand in whatever turned Loman into someone who would snatch the throne from me."


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts before two men he¡¯d come to know quite well over the past several months entered his chambers. Sir Hugo Hanrahan still didn¡¯t seem to have grown a spine, hunching slightly away from the portly figure of Sir Rian Aleese next to him even as they entered the room and knelt before their lord.


    The entire time they¡¯d been stuck in Blackwell County, when they weren¡¯t mired in the endless and often circular negotiations with the Guild Masters, both Sir Rian and Owain himself had attempted to whip the bastard Steward into shape, but even after months of practice, he still wasn¡¯t fit to march in battle against the demons. His mind might be keen and sharp, and his head for figures remained impeccable even after taking countless blows from Sir Rian¡¯s wooden sword, but as a knight, Owain still found him contemptably lacking.


    "You can stand," Owain said with an offhand wave as he dropped into a plush, overstuffed chair and looked at the two men. "This won¡¯t take long. Hugo, I need you to buy something for me," he said, tossing a bag stuffed with gold sovereigns and a few loose jewels at his steward.


    The pouch represented two years of earnings from his own estate, taken from the strongbox kept in his chambers, but at the moment, for what he wanted, he would spend thrice as much and still wouldn¡¯t wince at the cost.


    You could never put a price on revenge, and when that betrayal came from within your own family, no amount of gold was too much to see betrayal repaid

 Chapter 453: Forbidden Goods

    Chapter 453: Forbidden Goods"What, what do you need me to buy that would cost this much?" Hugo said as he peeked within the pouch, his eyes widening at the amount. At a quick glance, Hugo estimated that it was more than four times the amount of wealth they¡¯d taken to Blackwell County to cover the expenses of their journey. With that much coin, a family could retire and live the rest of their days in modest comfort even in expensive cities to the east, to say nothing about how far the coin would go in the still-developing Frontier.


    "Something for Lady Ashlynn that you weren¡¯t able to obtain in Blackwell City?" Hugo offered, trying to think of what could be so extravagant that his lord would need to reach so deeply into his personal funds. He knew that Owain had been frustrated when they ran short during the trip, but wasn¡¯t this an excessive overcorrection?


    "I need the venom of a spider demon," Owain said bluntly, lacing his fingers together and giving both men a hard stare. "You understand that no one must learn of this, don¡¯t you? Sir Rian has earned a bit of my trust on the battlefield against the flat tailed demons, but Hugo, with this, I¡¯m trusting you with far more than you¡¯ve earned. You know what that means, don¡¯t you?"


    "Don¡¯t worry a bit, m¡¯lord," Rian said, his thick, meaty hand landing solidly enough on Hugo¡¯s back to knock the wind out of the slender man before he could answer. "I¡¯ll watch over him while he does this thing for you. No one will learn of it. You have my word. His, too," he added, slapping Hugo on the back again.


    "But, but my lord," Hugo said, gasping for air and taking half a step to the side to put some distance between himself and the portly knight. "Spider demon venom is prohibited by the Church as an unholy evil. Just possessing it is a sin worthy of one hundred lashes in full view of a congregation. Using it..."


    "That isn¡¯t your concern, Hugo," Owain said sharply. Seeing his steward sniviling like this only made his temper worse. Sir Kaefin would never have whined or sniveled or mentioned punishments for anything that Owain needed done, but this bastard wasn¡¯t even a quarter of the man Sir Kaefin had been. "You just need to buy it and deliver it to me. Then, you¡¯re to forget you ever touched it. You understand?"


    "I understand," Hugo said, giving a formal bow, though his shoulders were slumped as he did. "But my lord," he added hesitantly. "I wouldn¡¯t begin to know where to look for something so..."


    "Of course you wouldn¡¯t," Owain interrupted. "You¡¯re far too useless for that. But you don¡¯t need to worry, it isn¡¯t as hard to obtain as you think. Tell me, do you know of a man called the ¡¯Black Merchant¡¯?" Owain asked. Hugo shook his head, but a slow smile appeared on Sir Rian¡¯s unshaven face.


    "He¡¯s real then, m¡¯lord?" Rian asked, restraining himself from rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "A man who can sell you anything? Essence of poppy or cigars raided from demon strongholds or..."


    "Oh, he¡¯s real enough," Owain said with a laugh. "Whatever you¡¯ve heard about him, though, it doesn¡¯t come close to the truth. Sir Kaefin," he said, his voice catching slightly as his hand clenched into a tight fist. "Sir Kaefin dealt with his intermediary more than once. Horned demon bone powder that can give a man the virility to bed a dozen women in a night, wine from the royal cellars, even treasures from across the sea."


    "He seems to have men in every city across the country and maybe even in the old countries as well," Owain said. "But here at home, you¡¯ll need to find a crooked young man named Marcel who frequents ale houses and upscale inns as a silkpant."


    "Tell him that I need enough venom to handle three people," Owain said, revising his plans slightly as he thought about the days when Kaefin would have handled all of this for him and the man who would have watched over his favored steward while he did so.


    "Well, two people and a child," he corrected himself, recalling that Sir Tommin¡¯s brat couldn¡¯t be more than ten summers old and wouldn¡¯t need half as much venom as it would take to kill his own father. For that matter, Sir Tommin¡¯s woman probably wouldn¡¯t need as much either, but it never hurt to have a little extra on hand as long as the price wasn¡¯t too high.


    "And Sir Rian," Owain added, looking at the man who had increasingly proved himself capable of ferreting out surprisingly useful people who hid themselves away from the authority of both their lords and the Church. "See if you can find someone skilled in handling such things. When this is all over, it needs to look like the work of demons."


    "I understand, m¡¯lord," Rian said with a dark smile. Whoever had crossed his lord was about to suffer an excruciating and slow death that only miracle workers from the Holy City could save a man from. The portly knight had no idea what had happened to enrage his lord to go to such extremes, but he firmly reminded himself that he never wanted to make the sorts of mistakes that could earn him such a harsh punishment.


    "Is there anything else m¡¯lord needs?" Rian offered, placing a hand firmly on Hugo before the young man could think of slipping away or running from the task they¡¯d been given. At this point, it was far too late to grow squeamish about serving Lord Owain, but he wouldn¡¯t put it past the cowardly bastard to slip into a Church confessional at the first opportunity if someone didn¡¯t watch over him.


    For a moment, he considered shoving Hugo out so he could have a private word and offer to dispose of Hugo after this was all over. After all, neither he nor Owain particularly liked the coward. But perhaps this was Owain¡¯s way of giving Hugo a chance to redeem himself. If the scrawny bastard could at least manage something this dark and kept his lips sealed over it, then perhaps there was some hope for him yet.


    "Make sure that this Marcel doesn¡¯t put his hands on Hugo in an inappropriate way," Owain said, shaking his hand at his easily cowed Steward. "Kaefin said that sometimes, the things I wanted couldn¡¯t be bought with coin and that the Black Merchant was always willing to trade for secrets. I don¡¯t want this Marcel sinking his claws into my Steward and learning things he shouldn¡¯t."


    "But if it comes down to it," Owain said after a moment of thought. "I still have the flat tailed demon bitch and her spawn in a cell at the summer villa," he said with a dark smile. "I won¡¯t let go of the pup easily, but perhaps the Black Merchant would be more interested in the bitch than gold in exchange for the venom. I¡¯ll be done with her once the pup is weaned anyway, but if she can serve one more use before she dies..." he said, his voice trailing off darkly.


    Neither man needed more explanation than that. Whether Owain would be successful in taming a pet demon remained to be seen, but letting its mother remain alive would only complicate things once Owain set his hand to the task of breaking the demon pup¡¯s will. Better to get rid of the mother soon while she still had some value than allow her to turn into a greater problem later.


    S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 454: Both Prisoners

    Chapter 454: Both PrisonersThat same night, long after the sun had set and the moon stood high overhead, at an hour when most people would be sound asleep, a dim golden glow began to peel back the darkness that filled the cells underneath the Summer Villa.


    Water from the constant rains seeped through cracks in the ancient mortar, and the entire dungeon smelled of damp, rotting straw and unwashed bodies. In decades past, when the cells beneath the Lothian stronghold had played host to members of the Lothian family who couldn¡¯t be trusted with their freedom during disputes over succession, the room would have been warm with a crackling fire burning in the central hearth and luxurious furniture behind the stout iron bars.


    Now, however, the dungeons hosted only two people, and one of them had been born in these very cells. There had been several times since her village fell to Owain Lothian¡¯s savagery that Noomi considered ending her own life before she could even give birth, but every time she brought a sharp claw to her neck, she swore that she could feel the arms of her fallen Esko wrapping around her.


    "Our little kit will be born soon," she¡¯d hear his voice whispering in our ear. "What should we name them?"


    Every time she had that thought, her resolve crumpled, and she couldn¡¯t bring herself to slice into the tender flesh beneath her soft brown fur. The Lothians had burned their burrow to the ground and with it, everything that Esko had ever carved with his own two hands. Now, the only trace of him that remained in this world was the child they¡¯d made together.


    Saku, their son, now lay curled in the only clean blanket in the filthy cell the Lothians rarely bothered to clean, snuggling tight against his mother¡¯s body for what little warmth she could offer in the cold, damp cell.


    "Noomi?" a soft, feminine voice called as a woman carrying an oil lamp entered the musty cells. "Are you awake?"


    "I am awake, Lady Jailor," Noomi said, more politely than she had months ago when the strange human noblewoman started visiting her cell.


    At first, the woman had said nothing, simply visiting in the company of several guards to stare at her. The soldiers had called the woman ¡¯Lady Ashlynn¡¯, and they attempted to persuade her to leave the cells where the air was foul and the ¡¯aura of a demon¡¯ was unescapable, but the strange noblewoman had insisted on not only staying for nearly ten minutes, but on returning several times later, especially as the birth of her child approached.


    "I brought food for you, Noomi," Samira said as she walked carefully across the uneven cobblestones of the cells, holding out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "I hollowed out the bread and filled it with tonight¡¯s mutton stew. The meat might be a little tough but..." she trailed off, glancing at the wickedly sharp front teeth that protruded from the flat tailed demon¡¯s mouth. "I, I suppose tough meat isn¡¯t a problem for you."


    "There¡¯s cheese too," she added. "I¡¯m told that it helps to sustain your milk while you¡¯re nursing so..."


    "Lady Jailor," Noomi said, looking at the nervous noblewoman with a complicated gaze. It had become increasingly obvious as the months progressed that the noblewoman¡¯s belly was growing heavier by the month as a child of her own grew within her belly. Even if she hadn¡¯t been more and more visibly pregnant as time went on, the questions she asked the captive member of the Heart Wood Clan made it clear that she was nervous about giving birth to her own first child.


    At first, Noomi hated the way her ¡¯lady jailor¡¯ plied her with food when she asked questions about what it had felt like to give birth, or how she¡¯d known that the time was upon her or a dozen other questions that she surely could have asked one of her own kind but for some reason didn¡¯t. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Over time, however, she¡¯d begun feeling like there was something deeply unusual about this human noblewoman. Bit by bit, her curiosity had grown while her fear and distrust dwindled, leaving her with a strange mix of emotions tangled in her heart like a burl wrapped around a tree trunk, spiky and strange with a growing curiosity about the character of wood that lay trapped within.


    "Why are you doing this?" Noomi asked for what felt like the dozenth time. "And don¡¯t say that it¡¯s because we¡¯re similar," she added as she took the bundle from the blonde noblewoman and began to carefully set out the meal that her captor provided. Not only was there cheese to go with the bread and stew, but her captor had even brought a small crock of fresh ewe¡¯s milk, just in case Noomi¡¯s milk had diminished too much to feed little Saku.


    "But, we are the same," Samira said, leaning against the bars of the cell and pressing a hand into her spine to ease the ache she felt after taking her midnight stroll down to the kitchen. Thankfully, the head cook, Otis, seemed to know frightfully little about the needs of a pregnant woman.


    When Samira said she got hungry in the middle of the night and didn¡¯t want him to force a servant to remain awake all night long to tend to her, he¡¯d objected at first but he quickly relented when Lady Jocelynn returned to Lothian City taking many of the servants with her.


    Now, he thanked the Holy Lord of Light that Lady Ashlynn wasn¡¯t as demanding as her younger sister and that he didn¡¯t need to keep the kitchens running all night long. Already, he¡¯d begun to wish that he¡¯d fled to wherever Ollie disappeared to when he vanished with that Lynnda woman after Otis set fire to the kitchens for the young couple to escape.


    After enduring the beating from one of Lord Owain¡¯s soldiers for allowing two of his kitchen servants to kill Sir Kaefin, set fire to the kithens, and escape into the wilderness, it was a miracle he¡¯d been allowed to stay on as a cook at all. He¡¯d almost been grateful when one of Lady Jocelynn¡¯s servants took over the kitchens during her stay until he realized that the ¡¯head cook¡¯ didn¡¯t expect to get his hands dirty and only intended to sit in the kitchens giving directions while everyone else worked.


    Now that Lady Jocelynn was gone, he was glad to be back to serving the far more understanding Lady Ashlynn. She seldom asked for much and at night, it was enough to set out a few items for the pregnant noblewoman that she might retrieve on her own, or not, depending on her mood each evening.


    "Noomi," Samira said softly as she wrestled with what she should say to the captive demon who had strangely become her only friend in this lonely villa. She¡¯d all but given up on the idea of befriending Lady Jocelynn, who seemed to resent her for resembling her late sister. The strained relationship between the real noblewoman and the one impersonating her fallen sister would likely be impossible to mend, especially when...


    "Noomi," Samira said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "You shouldn¡¯t call me ¡¯Lady Jailor¡¯," she said, finally making up her mind to cross the line she¡¯d been afraid to cross. "I, I¡¯m not really a lady. It¡¯s just pretend," she said, staring into the demon¡¯s soft hazel eyes and trying to find the words she had been struggling to say for the past month.


    "My name is Samira," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "I¡¯m not really ¡¯Lady Ashlynn¡¯, I¡¯m just pretending. And, and even though I have a little freedom to move around this villa, I¡¯m every bit as much of a prisoner here as you are."


    "Why?" Noomi asked, narrowing her eyes skeptically at the woman standing outside the bars, wearing fine silks with gold and jewels hanging from her neck. "Why would you do such a thing?" Noomi asked, pausing as she dipped the corner of the cloth into the ewe¡¯s milk so she could squeeze a few drops into little Saku¡¯s mouth.


    "Is this why you asked me so many questions about what it¡¯s like to be with child?" the captive woman asked, feeling like she¡¯d finally bitten into a corner of the truth. "So you would know how to act like a woman who was really with child?"


    "No, no, that isn¡¯t it at all," Samira said quickly. "I, I was supposed to be pretending. I have padding that I wore under my dress in the beginning but... but before Lord Owain left, he, he and I..." she said, lowering her head awkwardly and blushing. "So, even though I¡¯m not really the Ashlynn he married," she stammered. "The child in my belly is his."

 Chapter 455: A Simple Stick

    Chapter 455: A Simple StickIt took several minutes for Samira to explain everything that had happened to bring her to this point, long enough for Noomi to finish her meal and to tend to little Saku as well. Thankfully, her baby boy was well behaved and nodded back off to sleep as soon as he¡¯d finished nursing, though she wasn¡¯t sure how much longer that would last.


    "I don¡¯t know what you expect me to say, Lady Jailor," Noomi said at the end of it as she folded away the cloth that had contained her meal and handed it back through the bars to Samira. It was a measure of the disdain that her captives held for her that no one had noticed Samira¡¯s routine trips to the dungeons at night to supplement the meager meals she was given by the guards each day, but she wasn¡¯t about to be careless enough to keep things around that could expose the other woman¡¯s actions.


    "You seem to think that the man who murdered my husband and killed anyone he could find in my village will somehow be kind to you for bearing his child," she said, her tail thumping the cold ground of her cell in disbelief. "That man has no kindness in him. Only a mask he wears to conceal his cruelty from the world."


    The look of satisfaction on Owain Lothian¡¯s face when he drove his sword through her husband¡¯s chest before turning to her and commanding his men to take her alive was one that she would never forget for the rest of her days. He wasn¡¯t triumphant or exultant at winning a victory against a challenging foe. He¡¯d slaughtered a basket weaver and captured a pregnant woman and, doing so, left him... satisfied, as though he¡¯d done a good day¡¯s work in the forest chopping down trees.


    "I, that is," Samira started with some difficulty. "He was kind to me at first," she said awkwardly. "Sometimes, when he made love to me, I felt like I was already his wife..."


    "But you said he called you that other woman¡¯s name," Noomi said, shaking her head. "Any man who cries out another woman¡¯s name in the depths of pleasure should have his three treasures bitten off," she said, snapping her sharp teeth fiercely to make her point. "That¡¯s a man who doesn¡¯t see you at all, just a convenient field to plow."


    "I, I think... I think you¡¯re right," Samira said softly. "Once Lady Jocelynn arrived, he stopped seeing me. Not, not immediately," she added quickly. "We still made love once or twice more, and he said that he¡¯d keep me at his side along with Lady Jocelynn, but... I don¡¯t think she likes the idea. And now, now that he has a real Lady at his side..."


    "He has no need of a fake," Noomi said with a conflicted look at the other woman. "So run away from here. Raise up your child to remember your dream of him. But I doubt you¡¯ll be as lucky as you think you are," she added, choosing to pay back the sustenance she¡¯d received with a small measure of advice. "If he wants this other Lady to be his ¡¯public wife,¡¯ then you won¡¯t enjoy being a ¡¯little wife¡¯ if you have the oldest child. That other lady won¡¯t stand for it."


    "And that man," the captive woman said, remembering the look of flames reflected in Owain¡¯s eyes as her village burned. "That man won¡¯t hesitate to burn you and your little one alive if he thinks he needs to."


    "I still have some time," Samira said, gently stroking her belly. "Three months more before the little one is due. Just after the new year begins. Maybe, maybe he¡¯ll visit me, and I can see what he thinks," she said, though her voice was uncertain.


    "I think you¡¯re a fool for it," Noomi said, shaking her head. "But who knows. Perhaps you can keep me company from the cell next door if you try," she said with a dark laugh. "Then we¡¯d really be a perfect pair."


    "I, I don¡¯t want that," Samira said, clutching at the bars as she felt her knees go weak at the thought of being confined to this damp, abysmal place, forced to give birth to her child on a bed of soiled straw the way Noomi had been. "I, I¡¯ll think of something. Something for both of us," she added.


    "You don¡¯t have to pretend with me, Lady Jailor," Noomi said, leaning back against the cold stone wall of her cell. "You saving yourself from him would already be an impressive feat. You don¡¯t have anything to save me with. You can¡¯t fight, and you¡¯ll either be even more pregnant or carrying a wee one of your own. It¡¯s impossible for you to escape and trying to bring me with you..."


    "But you can fight, can¡¯t you?" Samira interrupted. "Aren¡¯t demons all terrifying warriors who can slay armored knights? Can¡¯t your tail crush a man¡¯s skull and your teeth tear through armor? If I can get the keys to your cell, I can even carry your little one while you fight and..."


    "And nothing, Lady Jailor," Noomi said with a shake of her head. "I¡¯m not a ¡¯demon.¡¯ I told you that before. That¡¯s your word. The Eldritch are people, not nightmares from your holy books. My Esko, he, he was just a basket weaver," she said, thinking back on how proud her husband was whenever people came to him asking for one of his baskets instead of making their own. "I made fish traps. If I could fight off knights, do you think I¡¯d be here like this?"


    "I know I¡¯m done for," Noomi said, closing her eyes and shifting herself to find the most comfortable spot on the damp straw that she could. "But maybe you really aren¡¯t. If you ever do find a way out of here," the captive woman said. "Would you take little Saku with you? I don¡¯t want that man of yours to get his hands on my little man and twist him into something as wicked and heartless as he is."


    "Don¡¯t, don¡¯t give up," Samira said as her eyes grew misty. Reaching into the cloak she wore to ward off the chill of the dungeons, she retrieved the other item she¡¯d fetched from the kitchens and stretched her arm through the bars to offer it to Noomi. "Here, I got this for you," she said.


    When Noomi opened her eyes, she was shocked to see her Lady Jailor clutching a short, splintered piece of red cedar. It wasn¡¯t very large, less than the length of her forearm, and there was a large knot halfway along the stick of wood, but it was a piece of wood nonetheless.


    "What is this for?" Noomi said without taking her eyes off the piece of cedar. "You think I can fight knights with this?"


    "No, no, that¡¯s not it," Samira said, shaking her head fiercely. "Didn¡¯t you say that you¡¯d have to wean Saku soon? And that you should have carved a weaning spoon for him by now? I, I know it¡¯s just a stick of firewood from the kitchens. There¡¯s not much here, but I thought... if you wanted, if it would help..."


    "Why?" Noomi said, turning away from the stick to look directly at her Lady Jailor. "Why would you give me this thing when you know they won¡¯t let my claws touch wood? They¡¯re all afraid I¡¯ll make some kind of ¡¯demon weapon¡¯ if they give me even a splinter to pick my teeth, but you¡¯re giving me this much? Aren¡¯t you afraid of what I¡¯ll do?"


    "I¡¯m not afraid of you, Noomi," Samira said, placing the stick in the captive woman¡¯s outstretched hand. "You just want to make a spoon to feed your little one with, don¡¯t you? A spoon that holds your feelings of love for him and your memories of his father, right? Isn¡¯t that what you said?"


    "So, make him a spoon," Samira said as she turned to leave. "And, and I¡¯ll try to find a way to get you out of here. Maybe, maybe even both of us out of here," she said as she began to walk toward the door.


    In her heart, she¡¯d already begun to believe that Owain wouldn¡¯t let her keep her child. Not with Lady Jocelynn around. But it wasn¡¯t until now, until she had a chance to say everything aloud to someone who saw the other side of Owain, that she realized that the fears she hadn¡¯t wanted to face weren¡¯t just idle fears of a day that would never come to pass. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Samira," Noomi said, clutching the small stick of cedar while her eyes filled with moisture. At the very least, even if she died in the days to come, her son wouldn¡¯t become an orphan. He¡¯d have something carved with his mother¡¯s own claws to feel for himself just how much she loved him. It was a small stick of cedar, but in her hands, it felt like a mighty tree that could prop up the world, or at least a little corner of it. "Thank you."

 Chapter 456: Warm and Tender

    Chapter 456: Warm and TenderSometime after Nyrielle enveloped Ashlynn in her sorcery, offering up her own strength to speed Ashlynn¡¯s recovery from her grievous wounds, Ashlynn found herself drifting somewhere warm and calm. Nyrielle¡¯s sorcery wrapped around her like a thousand hands, softly caressing her body and bringing soothing warmth as they drew out the strength of her healing gifts to soothe her body¡¯s aches and pains.


    Time slipped away from her in the warm, floating darkness where the only sound Ashlynn could hear was her own heartbeat and the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat alongside hers. Each soft -thump thump- faded into the next, reassuring her that no matter how bad the battle had been or how severe her wounds were, she still lived and Nyrielle did as well. As long as that was true, nothing else mattered.


    Eventually, the drifting feeling changed and the sounds of gently splashing water joined the beat of her heart, followed by the soft -lap, lap, lap- of waves reaching the edge of a pool. Next came the sounds of a crackling hearth and the faint scent of cedar woodsmoke and the lavender soap that always reminded her of Nyrielle.


    "Hello, my darling," Nyrielle whispered in Ashlynn¡¯s ear. Water splashed and Ashlynn felt Nyrielle¡¯s soft skin sliding over her own as her lover pulled her floating figure closer, enfolding her in a gentle embrace in the middle of a pool of water so perfectly warm on this chilly night that steam rolled just above it¡¯s surface.


    "We¡¯re dreaming," Ashlynn whispered, opening her eyes and finding herself in the luxurious marble bath that adjoined Nyrielle¡¯s bedroom, deep underground at her fortress in the Vale of Mists. It had been months since the days that Nyrielle brought her here for a restorative bath after Ashlynn pushed herself to exhaustion training with Thane but tonight was hardly the first time she¡¯d dreamed longingly of sharing a bath with Nyrielle in this place again.


    "We¡¯re not so far apart right now," Nyrielle said softly as she pulled Ashlynn over to one of the marble benches that ringed the steaming pool, keeping her injured lover close as she drew Ashlynn into her lap. "The last time we shared a dream, the sun rose even in your dream, pulling us apart."


    "This time, we can take our time together," the vampire whispered. Her soft lips brushed across Ashlynn¡¯s ear and she let the point of a fang trace ever so slightly against the soft morsel of flesh at the base of Ashlynn¡¯s ear before pulling herself back. At the same time, Nyrielle¡¯s slender arms tightened around Ashlynn¡¯s trim waist, pulling her tightly against Nyrielle¡¯s body as if she was afraid her lover would be torn away from her.


    "Will you hold me like this the whole time?" Ashlynn asked, smiling slightly and wrapping her arms around Nyrielle¡¯s, savoring the feeling or her lover¡¯s protective desires and the security she felt in the vampire¡¯s embrace. "Or can I look at you while you hold me?"


    "Stay like this," Nyrielle said, burying her face in Ashlynn¡¯s soft, pale blonde hair and clinging even more tightly. "Just for a little while."


    Holding Ashlynn like this, feeling her soft, smooth skin and smelling the warm, evergreen scent that clung to her, Nyrielle wanted to blot out the memory of Ashlynn¡¯s frostbitten flesh and her badly burned arm. Her darling had been cut by so many shards of ice that it took layers of bandages wound tightly over each other before the blood stopped seeping through, and even Tallauia¡¯s healing hadn¡¯t been able to completely suppress the pain Ashlynn must have been feeling from her wounds.


    The wounds were just as bad as the ones she¡¯d suffered from Owain on the night of her wedding to the Lothian heir, but this time, her bond with Nyrielle gave her the strength and the durability to keep fighting long past the point where she would have succumbed to her wounds before. Part of Nyrielle was grateful for their bond because without it, her Ashlynn would surely have died tonight. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Another part of her, however, cursed at how Ashlynn must have suffered under the relentless assault of the spirits possessing Hauke. Nyrielle knew all too well how little the dead cared for the living and how little they understood the suffering that often accompanied their actions. For what those spirits had done to Ashlynn alone, she intended to grind their horns to dust, but one feeling clawed uncomfortably at her heart whenever she considered what Ashlynn had endured.


    "I¡¯m sorry that I didn¡¯t come for you," Nyrielle said softly. "If I had broken you free from the beginning, then none of this..."


    "Hush," Ashlynn said, turning in Nyrielle¡¯s arms and brushing a stray lock of the vampire¡¯s dark hair out of the way so she could look directly into her lover¡¯s midnight eyes. "We¡¯re both alive," she said, pressing her forehead against Nyrielle¡¯s and looking directly into the deep, midnight abyss of the other woman¡¯s eyes. "That¡¯s all that matters, isn¡¯t it?"


    "No," Nyrielle said, pulling back and pushing Ashlynn away enough that she could truly look at her. In the dream, Ashlynn¡¯s skin was smooth and flawless. Beads of water ran down from her wet hair, gliding over the full swell of her breasts before sliding into the steaming water below. Her hands were soft and her limbs unbroken. Her chest rose and fell freely, without a wince of pain or shallow breath taken to spare her from the pain from cracked and broken ribs.


    The Ashlynn in the pool with her bore none of the wounds that the witch¡¯s body currently bore, but that didn¡¯t stop Nyrielle from remembering them when she looked at her lover here in this dream.


    "I¡¯m sorry that you suffered so," Nyrielle said with deep feeling and meaning every word. Much of what happened tonight was her fault for jumping at shadows and dashing off to hunt Shubnalu when, for all she knew, he was still on the opposite end of the continent, sleeping away the years in his domain or waiting for the other vampire lords to capture her. But there was more that she had to say than just a sincere apology.


    "Ashlynn," she said, taking the other woman¡¯s hands in hers and squeezing them tightly. She struggled for a moment with how to say what she needed to say next, and looking at Ashlynn¡¯s gentle, loving expression didn¡¯t make it any easier. But if she didn¡¯t, if she couldn¡¯t speak the words now, when everything was so fresh, she was afraid that she never would.


    "I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m also upset with you tonight. I want to give you the world," she said, reaching up to cup the younger woman¡¯s face gently while the tenderness in her voice faded into firm resolve. "And I never want to take your freedom away from you. But if you keep acting like you did tonight, then I swear to you, I¡¯ll never let you leave the Vale again."

 Chapter 457: Why Didn’t You…?

    Chapter 457: Why Didn¡¯t You...?"...I¡¯ll never let you leave the Vale again..."


    The words Nyrielle said, accompanied by the stern tone of her voice, washed over Ashlynn like a plunge from the hot tub directly into the ice and snow outside their shared dream. Her entire body trembled, and her emerald eyes quivered as she realized that when Nyrielle said the word ¡¯never,¡¯ she really, truly meant ¡¯never.¡¯ She wasn¡¯t just prepared to hold Ashlynn back in the Vale of Mists for a few weeks or months, but for years and centuries if they couldn¡¯t resolve this problem.


    "What? Why?" Ashlynn said with a voice that held none of her usual confidence. The notion that Nyrielle might try to control her, that the powerful vampire might one day turn on her, had long ago faded from Ashlynn¡¯s mind as the two drew closer together during their journey and even during their time apart.


    But for Nyrielle to threaten to imprison her... It cut far deeper than even her lover might have realized. For more than twenty years, almost all of her life, Ashlynn had been a prisoner in a gilded cage, rarely allowed out of the Blackwell manor. While it would have been impossible for her parents to completely isolate her from the outside world, it wasn¡¯t an exaggeration to say that she left her home fewer than a dozen times a year for most of her life, and even then, she was almost always tightly supervised.


    Those rare occasions when she slipped out of the house late at night, taking Jocelynn up to the cliffs to watch the sun rise and the ships setting sail were her most precious tastes of freedom until Owain had begun to court her. But even then, the stiff, semi-formal, and always supervised outings she had with her former husband couldn¡¯t compare to the taste of true freedom she¡¯d gained after binding herself to Nyrielle.


    In the six months since she¡¯d dug herself out of a shallow grave and fell into life as both Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and the Mother of Trees, Ashlynn had seen more wonders of the world than she¡¯d ever imagined existed.


    Whether it was the bustle and liveliness of High Fen City and it¡¯s towering arena, or the natural beauty of the golden waterfall at dawn where the White River spilled off a cliff before becoming the waters of the Briar and the Crystal Lake, each new destination brought countless new experiences and wonders into Ashlynn¡¯s ever expanding world.


    Even the cold, frozen lands of the High Pass had their own moments of warmth and crystaline, icy beauty that gave her world texture and depth that it had never had before. But now, Nyrielle was talking about snatchign that away from her, trapping her once again within a tiny portion of the world, held within a gilded cage, because she had... had what? What was it she had done that would upset her lover so?


    "Is this because of Hauke? Because I didn¡¯t kill him when I had the chance?" Ashlynn asked, thinking back on their very first conversations about the High Pass when Nyrielle had warned her that she would need to be ruthless with the Frost Walkers if she was going to succeed here.


    "That wasn¡¯t really Hauke," Ashlynn said, clutching Nyrielle¡¯s hand and hoping she would understand. "I told you, he was possessed by those ancestors and..." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You think I don¡¯t know your tender heart by now?" Nyrielle said, sliding the hand cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face over to her full lips, placing a finger there to interrupt Ashlynn¡¯s explanation before her hand slid lower, coming to rest high on Ashlynn¡¯s chest, above the swell of her full breasts and where she could best feel her lover¡¯s heartbeat.


    "I know that you would do everything in your power to rescue a friend," Nyrielle said gently, though her midnight eyes still lacked the warmth they usually held when she looked at Ashlynn. "I¡¯m not upset at you for trying. I¡¯m upset that you suffered so much by fighting him with one hand tied behind your back."


    "Our bond of blood goes both ways, my darling," Nyrielle said as her resolve to be cold crumpled into an expression of deep concern and... hurt. "Why, when you were hurting so badly, when you were fighting at such a heavy disadvantage, why didn¡¯t you draw on that bond for the strength you needed? Even if I am not by your side," Nyrielle said, clutching tightly at the hand she still held and interlacing her fingers with Ashlynn¡¯s. "You can still draw on my strength."


    "I, I didn¡¯t dare to," Ashlynn confessed. The moment she said it, her head dropped, and she turned her gaze away, looking to the great hearth crackling in the corner and filling the room with the faint smell of cedar smoke or the small fountain in the wall that continued to pour fresh, hot water into the bath. Anywhere but at the wounded expression on Nyrielle¡¯s face.


    "You didn¡¯t come for me," Ashlynn said softly. "You didn¡¯t break me free from the ice prison. But I still felt you," she said, forcing herself to look back at Nyrielle with emerald eyes that didn¡¯t contain the slightest trace of accusation. Instead, while Ashlynn¡¯s eyes brimmed with tears, they overflowed with a deep, unwavering trust in the other woman.


    "I felt your worry and your fear as you raced away," Ashlynn said as she fought back the sobs that wanted to erupt from her chest. "You were worried about something even more dangerous, so how could I weaken you when you were hunting a greater threat?"


    "I¡¯m not so fragile that I can¡¯t support you more when you need my strength, my darling," Nyrielle said before biting her lower lip and reconsidering her words. "But how could you know? You¡¯ve never once drawn on me consciously. The only time you¡¯ve ever drawn on my strength directly was during your blossoming period, and you were barely in control at the time."


    "I can accept that you feared for me," Nyrielle said, letting out a soft sigh as she regathered her resolve. "And I can forgive you for not relying on me when you didn¡¯t know it might affect me or what kind of battle I might be facing."


    "But I¡¯m not the only resource that you refused to draw on, and while I can forgive you for not drawing on me, it¡¯s harder to forgive you for ignoring this," she said as the hand resting above Ashlynn¡¯s chest slid lower until Nyrielle¡¯s index finger traced along a faint pink scar between Ashlynn¡¯s breasts.


    None of Ashlynn¡¯s other wounds were visible on her skin in this dream, but the fresh, pink scar stood out clearly against her pale, creamy flesh, looking even more visible in the heat of the bath.


    "How long have you been nurturing this seed of witchcraft, my darling?" Nyrielle asked. "How many months have you been showering it with the rich energy of life and growing things? You could have used all of the energy you stored there to fight back against Hauke, trapping him from the beginning, and it would have cost you nothing but the time you¡¯d invested in forming this seed."


    "Or is the person you¡¯re growing this seed for more precious to you than I am?" Nyrielle asked. "Is it more important to give this person the seed you¡¯re growing right now than it is to keep yourself safe?" Nyrielle asked as her eyes began to cloud over.


    "You suffered so much," she said, pulling Ashlynn forward and wrapping her arms tightly around the young witch. "So what was so important about this seed that you would suffer so much just to preserve it when its power could have brought you victory or, or even just to heal your wounds."


    "Who is it, if it isn¡¯t me?" Nyrielle said in a strained voice that was bereft of any of her earlier strength and dominance. "Who is it that you would suffer so much for?"

 Chapter 458: Just A Woman

    Chapter 458: Just A WomanFor a moment, Ashlynn sat stiffly in Nyrielle¡¯s tight embrace, stunned by the powerful vampire¡¯s words. The seed of witchcraft she was growing beside her heart had been there for several months now. She placed it there not long after Heila completed her trials so that she could take the time to nurture this seed properly, without subjecting its recipient to the added strain that came from attempting to receive a seed from an Ancient Tree.


    The seed had been there for so long, in fact, that Ashlynn herself barely thought about it. She showered it with her own energy and strength in the same way that she watered her herb garden in the Briar of her vegetable garden at Blackwell Manor. It was something simple and routine that she did with little thought. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When it came to the battle against the spirits possessing Hauke, the idea that she could reclaim all of that energy from the seed and use it in the battle or use it to heal herself had never occurred to her. Not once did the thought enter her mind. She hadn¡¯t chosen to make her battle harder in order to preserve the seed, it had just never occurred to her to use it that way.


    But Nyrielle was much older than her, and while she knew little about witchcraft, her knowledge about sorcery was extensive, and her experience with battles was much, much greater than Ashlynn¡¯s.


    To Nyrielle, it must have seemed like the most ordinary of things to use the energy contained within the seed like using water carried from a well. It didn¡¯t matter what you had drawn the bucket of water for originally, if you happened on a fire, using the water in the bucket you already had to put out the fire was so obvious that a child would think of it.


    But Ashlynn, who in many ways was still very new to using her powers, hadn¡¯t thought of it, and because of that, Nyrielle came to believe that her lover valued the seed more than she valued her own safety.


    "My love," Ashlynn said as she finally came to understand. Gently, she wrapped her arms around Nyrielle and shifted her position in the warm, steaming waters so she could pull the other woman¡¯s head close to her chest. "I just realized something," she said with a slight smile tugging at the corner of her curved lips.


    "All this time," Ashlynn said softly as she stroked Nyrielle¡¯s raven dark hair. "You¡¯ve always been the strongest person I could imagine. The wisest, most knowledgeable, most perfect person," she said, leaning down to bestow a kiss on the crown of Nyrielle¡¯s head. "But you¡¯re so, so much more than that."


    "You¡¯re avoiding the question," Nyrielle said in a tone that was a touch petulant. Pulling back from Ashlynn, she stared into her darling¡¯s eyes with eyes that had grown red and puffy, something that Ashlynn had never seen from her before and the vampire herself hadn¡¯t felt in countless years. "Why was the seed more important than protecting yourself?"


    "Is it for..." Nyrielle started, trembling as a name fluttered through her mind. Ollie, the former kitchen boy, came to mind first, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Her Ashlynn might care for the stray she¡¯d taken in, but did she really have feelings that ran so deep that she would endure such agonizing wounds for him?


    Other notions occurred to her and were discarded equally quickly. She had promised to take Ashlynn home to her family this winter, but it felt much too soon to prepare a seed for any of her family members... unless she thought it might resolve her father¡¯s issues with the succession by extending his life? But even then, it didn¡¯t feel like something she would endure so much for when she didn¡¯t know whether her family could accept her witchcraft or not.


    And yet, the notion that she might use the seed to resolve a political problem facing her own family triggered a thought that was much, much darker and burrowed into Nyrielle¡¯s mind like the roots of an insidious weed, refusing to let her look away from it once it had slipped into her thoughts. Ashlynn had proposed many methods to build peace with humans, but one thing she had never suggested was repairing her relationship with the man she had married.


    The idea of it alone should have been unthinkable, but when Nyrielle tried to think of who or what could be so important to Ashlynn to suffer so much, there were very few names that she could come up with. But there was one, one horrifying possibility of a world where Ashlynn was willing to return Owain Lothian with a seed of witchcraft as a means of securing an alliance...


    The idea of it was so revolting that for a moment, Nyrielle went completely still in Ashlynn¡¯s arms. It should have been too absurd to be possible, but Ashlynn was a woman who suffered horrific wounds in order to protect people she cared about and things she felt were important.


    She had already sacrificed herself once, offering herself up as a bride to Owain Lothian in order to secure a path to survival for her family. What if, this time, she was preparing to do the same thing again in order to give Nyrielle and the Vale of Mists a peace that couldn¡¯t be bought with anything else?


    "You aren¡¯t preparing to sacrifice yourself and this seed for me or the Vale, are you?" Nyrielle asked, her voice trembling with cold, heart-gripping fear as she spoke. "Is the seed for..."


    "It¡¯s for Ollie," Ashlynn interrupted, reaching out and cupping Nyrielle¡¯s face the same way her lover had touched her just minutes ago. "I¡¯ve torn away the life he had by involving him in my escape from the Summer Villa. By now, Owain may already have slaughtered anyone related to him in retaliation for what happened at the villa."


    "I hope he hasn¡¯t, and if he has, I can¡¯t replace the family that he¡¯s lost," Ashlynn said softly. "But a coven is like a family. The things I owe him aren¡¯t enough to give him a seed, but he also wants to help protect me during the day when you can¡¯t. When I¡¯m most vulnerable, he wants to stand up and help keep me safe, despite what I¡¯ve done to him. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s worth protecting?"


    "It¡¯s noble and kind," Nyrielle agreed. "And everything I expect of you," she added. "But it¡¯s not enough to endure what you endured," she added firmly, refusing to let the point go. She could accept that Ashlynn wanted to do so much for Ollie, and it was just that sort of kindness and compassion that kept drawing her back to her young lover, but there were limits to what simple kindness could explain.


    "You could have grown him another seed," Nyrielle pointed out before her mind began to conjure other explanations for why Ashlynn might have fought so hard to protect this seed for Ollie. "Or is this one irreplaceable? Or is it because there is something more growing between the two of you that..."


    "No," Ashlynn said firmly, moving her hand to place a finger over Nyrielle¡¯s lips. "No, never. I am yours and yours alone," she said, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle in an embrace and pulling the other woman close.


    At the moment, Nyrielle¡¯s lithe body felt almost thin and fragile in her arms. She had none of her domineering presence, and in the warmth of the bath, there was none of the coolness to her touch to remind Ashlynn that her lover wasn¡¯t truly alive. At the moment, she felt like any other woman, with fears and troubles that most women knew all too well.


    But when had Nyrielle ever had a chance to know these feelings? When had she ever worried that she might lose her lover to another partner, or that political necessity might force one of them into a marriage that no one wanted? When had Nyrielle ever been allowed to simply be a woman with a woman¡¯s heart and fears?


    "I love you," Ashlynn whispered as she held her trembling lover tightly. "And I would do anything, give anything, just to make you happy," she added. "But last night... I made a mistake. I didn¡¯t even remember that I had a seed that I could draw on. I¡¯m still not very good at fighting battles but last night, I wanted to show you," she said with hot tears filling her eyes.


    "I wanted to show you that I was strong enough to fight without you coming to my rescue. I wanted you to see that you didn¡¯t have to worry so much about me," Ashlynn said softly as her arms tightened around Nyrielle¡¯s slender, fragile feeling body. "I tried, and I got it so very, very wrong that I nearly died," she said, finally admitting to herself how close she had come to falling in her battle against the ancient spirits.


    "So please," Ashlynn said, pulling back to look at Nyrielle with emerald eyes that had grown just as red and puffy as her lover¡¯s. "Will you forgive me? Because I want to live the rest of our days together and I want to see the big, wide world with you. And I couldn¡¯t bear it if... if...." her voicer trailed off, unable to finish the statement as she gazed longingly into Nyrielle¡¯s midnight eyes, desperate to hear an answer that would soothe both of their hearts.

 Chapter 459: The Shadows In Our Hearts

    Chapter 459: The Shadows In Our Hearts"I¡¯ve done it again," Nyrielle said, splashing in the warm water to wash the tears from her eyes. "I¡¯m leaping at shadows again where there was nothing to fear in the first place."


    The wave of relief that washed over her left her knees weak and her face flushed, and if she hadn¡¯t been clinging to Ashlynn, she might have slipped beneath the steamy surface of the water as the tension melted from her body.


    She was upset at Ashlynn for pushing herself so hard and taking so many risks, but she¡¯d forgotten that even though her lover had begun to wield powers like her own, there was still a wide gap between them in terms of experience and the ability to use that power effectively. Rather than treating Ashlynn like a young woman still growing into her power, she¡¯d tried to treat her like a true equal before she was ready for everything that went with that.


    Ashlynn had impressed her so much with her progress in High Fen City, navigating the politics of the city in ways that Nyrielle herself had never thought to delve into, that she¡¯d forgotten how new to all of this Ashlynn still was... and how hard she must have been pushing herself, even in things as ¡¯ordinary¡¯ as negotiations with merchants, in order to accomplish as much as she had.


    "Promise me that you¡¯ll treasure yourself more," Nyrielle said solemnly. "That you¡¯ll reach out for help sooner and more often. And, and tell me when the burdens on your shoulders have become too heavy," she added softly.


    "You talk of snatching young Ollie away from the life he¡¯s known as though you haven¡¯t suffered the same and worse. For all the grace you give him," Nyrielle said, stretching up in the bath to gently kiss Ashlynn¡¯s brow. "Extend some of that same grace to yourself. If not for your own good, then do it for me."


    "I will," Ashlynn said, trembling under the brush of Nyrielle¡¯s lips. "For both of us. Now, let me make it up to you," she added, wrapping her arms around the other woman¡¯s lithe frame and relishing in the feeling of Nyrielle¡¯s silky soft skin sliding over her own. "You said that we have the whole day. Savor it with me," she said, leaning in to brush Nyrielle¡¯s lips with her own.


    What started as a chaste kiss quickly grew deeper as the vampire responded with enthusiasm, drinking in Ashlynn¡¯s taste as though she were a fine wine. Their tongues darted back and forth, rolling over each other in a constant back and forth of hunger and desire. In the dream they shared, their kiss lacked the sharp edge of Nyrielle¡¯s fangs and the familiar taste of blood and power that mingled with so many of their shared moments.


    Instead, each woman drank deeply in the other for physical proof of the words they¡¯d spoken. Hands sliding from shoulders to hip or fingers getting tangled in each other¡¯s wet hair while warm, steaming water splashed around them acted as constant reassurances of desire that went far beyond primal lust.


    Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat echoed in Ashlynn¡¯s chest, falling perfectly in tune with her own racing pulse as she used her body to tell Nyrielle that she truly belonged completely to her. At the same time, Ashlynn¡¯s hands clung to her lover, and her legs wrapped around the other woman¡¯s, trapping her lithe figure as if to say, ¡¯I belong to you, but you also belong to me.¡¯


    Words were completely unnecessary as their gentle back and forth became more and more intense, sending waves of water splashing against the marble edges of the tub as wave after wave of pleasure enveloped their bodies.


    Eventually, hot passion gave way to tender care. The scent of warm cedar smoke from the crackling hearth mingled with soft lavender and jasmine soaps as Nyrielle focused all her attention on her wounded lover. In the dream, Ashlynn might not feel the pain her body was feeling, but the strain of it piled up on her mind and soul, creating an ache that couldn¡¯t have been more obvious to her midnight eyes if it had been painted on Ashlynn¡¯s skin.


    "When you wake, there will be pain," Nyrielle said gently, her hand pausing at the center of Ashlynn¡¯s chest, barely touching her with a soft, soapy cloth. "I wish I could take it from you, but for now, this is the best I can do."


    "I know," Ashlynn said. She was dimly aware of her body, sleeping beneath a single fur blanket in the Frost Walker¡¯s ice fortress. The sensations of her body were distant and far away but already she could tell that Nyrielle¡¯s blood sorcery had reduced her healing time from more than a month to a mere week or two, and she would reduce that time even further once they returned to the Vale of Mists and she could draw on the strength of the forest to complete her recovery.


    "When night falls, I thought you would want to join me," Nyrielle said, returning to washing Ashlynn¡¯s body, sliding the soft cloth along her lover¡¯s generous curves and leaving behind the faintest sheen of soap on her smooth, flawless skin. After cautioning her lover about pushing herself far beyond her own limits without finding help, she was reluctant to give her a chance to push herself harder, but she knew her love too well to deny her the opportunity.


    "If I¡¯m wrong, I can send you with Talauia and Zedya to ride through the night and day until you return to the Vale," Nyrielle offered, though her hands stilled as she forced herself to make the offer genuinely. She didn¡¯t just want Ashlynn to stay because she thought Ashlynn would want to be present when she held court in judgment over the Frost Walkers. She wanted Ashlynn¡¯s sharp mind and keen insights during the proceeding as well. She wouldn¡¯t go so far as to say that she needed Ashlynn to be there, but she wanted her to be there very badly.


    "Your friend, the Thistle Witch, was very... insistent about getting you back to the forest as soon as possible," she added with a wry smile. "She seemed almost ready to fight me just to protect you."


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said softly, trapping Nyrielle¡¯s hand and bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss. "If we can settle things in one night, then we can leave in the morning. But you¡¯re right," she said, closing her eyes and remembering the glassy look in Hauke¡¯s eyes when he fell to the ground after she cut the ancestral horns away from him with her Severing Knife.


    "I can¡¯t leave until I¡¯ve had a chance to at least try to bring things together," Ashlynn said as she firmed up her resolve to do what needed to be done. "I can¡¯t call that night anything other than a tragedy," she said. "But if we work together tonight, I hope we can grow something beautiful out of the wreckage of the battle."


    "It¡¯s early," Nyrielle said, setting the cloth aside and fetching a softer soap for Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "Do you want to begin anyway? It isn¡¯t what we discussed but..."


    "But if we don¡¯t take this opportunity, then all we¡¯ve done is sow meaningless slaughter over a misunderstanding," Ashlynn said. "We always intended for Lothian March to be the first, but if we have to begin in the High Pass, then so be it," she said. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A younger Ashlynn would never have thought of exploiting a tragedy like this to advance her own plans, but Nyrielle had taught her much about being ruthless when you needed to be, and Amahle had taught her even more about how to approach things practically. After all, nature didn¡¯t care why a person had died, only that their body returned richness to the soil, fueling new growth in its place.


    For some parts of their discussions tonight, ¡¯why¡¯ would matter more than anything else. But for the final outcome that Ashlynn and Nyrielle hoped to achieve, all that mattered was that the Frost Walkers had been overwhelmed by superior force, and both their Eldritch Lord and their most powerful sorcerer had fallen in battle.


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t want to be cruel to the people of the High Pass, but one way or another, their lives would never be the same after suffering this defeat.

 Chapter 460: A Strange Banner

    Chapter 460: A Strange BannerIn the Great Hall of the Frost Walker¡¯s frozen fortress, Odette stood nervously on the first step of the great dias, watching as countless servants swarmed over the hall, ensuring that everything was in place for the trial that would begin once the sun slipped beneath the clouds that blanketed the pass beneath the fortress.


    The passage of time had been kind to Odette, once considered a great beauty among the Frost Walkers, traces of her former splendor remained in her lithe, powerful figure and the graceful aura of soft snow that enveloped her.


    While her strength had begun to fade with the advancing march of years, like her husband, she carried herself with the quiet dignity of one who had fought for the right to marry the strongest Frost Walker of her generation and now possessed the wisdom that came with the fading of that power. In the fading evening light, her pure white horn pulsed with a quiet anxiety as she fretted about the final arrangements taking place under her supervision. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As Lord Ritchel¡¯s wife, she wanted nothing more than to rush back to his chambers and sit at his bedside while the healer¡¯s tended to his wounds. The Thistle Witch might have withdrawn her poison, but the battle she¡¯d fought with the Frost Walker lord had been so intense that he had consumed one of the Blood Vitality Crystals that Lady Nyrielle gifted him, just to have a chance of surviving.


    Now, while he looked healthy, young, and as full of vigor as he had on the day of their wedding, his body was riddled with needle thin wounds that pierced his veins, tore at his ligaments and crippled his muscles.


    Already, one of the best healers among the clan was at his side, but even the best among those who possessed a pale green horn could only manage to prevent Ritchel¡¯s body from deteriorating further. If he wasn¡¯t truly healed by the time the Blood Vitality Crystal wore off, no one knew if he would ever walk again, much less return to his throne.


    With her husband in such dire straits, Odette wanted to remain close where she could help tend to him, even if she could do nothing more than what was already being done. But she wasn¡¯t just Lord Ritchel¡¯s wife, she was also the Mistress of the Castle.


    As such, responsibility for arranging tonight trial fell on her slender shoulders, pressing down on her like she was trying to carry the mountain itself. The presence of four towering Tuscans and more than twenty Golden Eyed soldiers from the Black Wolf Brigade made it impossible for the Frost Walkers to ignore the fact that their fortress had been thoroughly conquered.


    The banners hanging in the great hall made it even clearer that the Frost Walkers would have little say in this evening¡¯s deliberations. The stark red glyph on a black field that represented the Harbinger of Death was one that most people in the High Pass would recognize.


    When she¡¯d first seen it years ago, Ritchel told her that Lady Nyrielle¡¯s glyph was shaped to resemble a raven¡¯s wing on one side and the blade of an ax on the other. Perhaps the only surprise she felt at seeing it was that there weren¡¯t any drops of red to symbolize the blood she spilled in her days in the arena of the High Fen.


    It was the other banner, however, that felt very strange to her, and Lady Nyrielle¡¯s soldiers had hung just as many of the stange banner as they had of the familiar one.


    "Is that the banner of the Mother of Trees?" Odette finally asked after staring at the banner for a number of minutes. Standing not far from her, looking like an ink-stain in the midst of the icy white and blue setting of the Great Hall, a sorcerer from the Dark Feathered Clan supervised the work of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s people as they made their own preparations in the hall.


    "I¡¯m told that it¡¯s made in the human style," Master Aspakos said as he turned away from the servants to join the agitated Frost Walker. "Each color and symbol is supposed to cary a meaning of its own but it all feels rather busy doesn¡¯t it?"


    "It does," Odette said. "I can understand why the Mother of Trees would represent herself with a mighty tree on her banner, but why are there flowers around the base of the tree? And the blue and green," she added, frowning at the banner. "If the blue is the sky and the green is the earth, then I understand, but the colors aren¡¯t divided across the middle like that, they¡¯re divided diagonally, and the border is silver? Why so many colors?"


    "I think, perhaps, only Lady Nyrielle and a few of their inner circle truly know," the broken beaked sorcerer said with a twitch of his feathers. "Lady Ashlynn had several of these made in High Fen City and I¡¯m told that Lady Nyrielle is very pleased with their design. From what I¡¯ve learned of Lady Ashlynn, however, each choice is made carefully and I believe that she¡¯s doing it to honor Lady Nyrielle and her place in the Vale of Mists."


    "Oh?" Odette asked, grateful for the distraction from the preparations, even if it was over something relatively trivial. "There is neither a wing nor an ax on the banner, so how is she honoring Lady Nryielle and the Vale of Mists?"


    "I can¡¯t say for certain," the old scholar said, refusing almost reflexively to speak in absolute terms when he lacked a proven answer. "But Tausau of the Mongrel Horde mentioned that the flowers on her banner were favored by Lady Nyrielle¡¯s mother. The blue and the green are also interesting if we assume that the blue represents Lady Nyrielle and the green represents Lady Ashlynn."


    "Lady Ashlynn is Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal," Odette said with a frown. "Since she¡¯s a subordinate, shouldn¡¯t the green be completely beneath the blue? Or contained within it like the way the silver wraps around the whole thing?"


    "If she was an ordinary Seneschal, perhaps," the sorcerer said, now speaking completely as an academic who had studied countless cultures and their rituals over his many years. "But Lady Ashlynn is the Mother of Trees. In some places, she has to be able to reach the very top, even if she must yield most of the time. I¡¯ve heard from Captain Lennart that human heraldry is like this, densely packed with meaning that is intended to convey many messages to the nobles and powerful figures of the human world."


    "Perhaps one day," he added, tapping the vein of gold that welded the shattered pieces of his beak together. "We¡¯ll find ourselves adapting to customs like this, taking on traditions from those who forge peace with us rather than waging war against us," he said, giving the Frost Walker a pointed

 Chapter 461: Who to Hate?

    Chapter 461: Who to Hate?"I¡¯m just glad they¡¯re still letting my Ritchel¡¯s banner fly, even if it is at the back of the hall," Odette said, wilting slightly under the pointed gaze from Aspakos and trying to ignore the implication that came along with it. Instead, she pushed back as much as she dared, looking nervously in the direction of the white banner at the back of the hall that stood in stark contrast to either of the banners flown by their conquerors.


    Ritchel¡¯s glyph was simple, a few strokes to form a mountain and a final one to represent his horn sufficed. In ancient times, there had been more mountains on the banners of his predecessors, but now, simply holding on to one mountain at the highest point of the High Pass was an accomplishment for the dwindling clan.


    How long that banner would continue to fly, however, remained to be seen. As the sun slid toward the horizon, the final preparations were set in place. Tonight was an assembly of the court. There would be no tables and no feast, only two thrones upon the dias where Nyrielle and Ashlynn would sit in judgment and two rows of chairs beneath the dias facing each other where the leaders from each side would sit.


    The rest of the hall had begun to fill with with Frost Walkers on one side and Lady Nyrielle¡¯s people on the other. All of the other tables and chairs had been cleared away, leaving a vast area that could hold more than five hundred people standing through the deliberation.


    Some of those people were soldiers who had fought in the battle while others were common folk from either side of the conflict who had been given the opportunity to observe what would happen here tonight.


    The dark furred Commander Jannik stood at the second of the Frost Walker seats, signifying that he intended to let Odette take the most senior of the seats to speak in her husband¡¯s place. Next to him, the stooped figure of Old Svenja had already taken a seat, unwilling to waste her strength standing when the people in charge of their conquerors had yet to arrive. Two other elders stood beside her, leaving three remaining seats empty.


    One would have belonged to whoever succeeded Paulus¡¯s spot among the elders but two others belonged to elders who had stood as members of Lord Ritchel¡¯s honor guard. Looking at the empty seats, Odette¡¯s hands curled into tight fists and she lowered her horn in solemn respect. Without their courage and sacrifice, her husband might have fallen to the Thistle Witch before he could consume the Blood Vitality Crystal and defend himself. Each one of his honor guard who had died bought precious seconds for her husband and so she silently thanked each one of them even as she fought back tears for their loss.


    She wanted to hate Talauia for slaughtering them and she wanted to hate Nyrielle and Ashlynn for bringing their army to the High Pass in the first place but no matter how much she wanted to hate them... she couldn¡¯t. They hadn¡¯t been the ones to attack first.


    She didn¡¯t understand why the Ancestors had possessed Hauke and forced him to attack the witches, but she was certain it hadn¡¯t been her son who had done so. He was too excited to reunite with Lady Ashlynn and little Heila to have done anything to harm them but... if the Ancestors were the ones to attack, then in their considerable wisdom, they must have a good reason why.


    So, as much as Odette wanted to hate the ancestors for what they had done, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to hate them either. Yet still, her heart burned with hatred and it wouldn¡¯t rest if she couldn¡¯t direct that hatred somewhere... and so she directed it at the only place she could. At herself, her husband and the remainder of the council.


    It was their fault that Hauke had been allowed to wear the iridescent horns of the ancestors. It had been Ritchel¡¯s voice that swayed the divided council and she had supported it as well, hoping that Hauke could grow into a greater and stronger lord even sooner. One who could relieve his father of his burdens.


    Only now... because they had allowed him to do something that should have been forbidden, everything had gone so badly wrong. Silently, Odette resolved herself to offer up her horn as a prize to be made into a blade for the Mother of Trees herself if that¡¯s what it would take to secure her husband¡¯s life... or Hauke¡¯s.


    She¡¯s asked Master Aspakos more than once what he had concluded after he and the Artificer examined her son, but the sorcerer said nothing, keeping his beak sealed about whatever they had learned and telling her only that they would hear his report when he gave it to the Harbinger of Death.


    The one time she¡¯d visited him, his vacant eyes seemed filled with tears he couldn¡¯t shed but no matter how many times she called out to her son, his body never moved a muscle and his horn refused to glow. If not for the healer¡¯s assurances that his heart still beat and he still drew breath, she would have taken him for a corpse.


    It took all her strength to sit calmly next to his bed, whispering in his ear that she was still here, that his father was still alive, and that they were waiting with open arms for him to come home. Of all the people in this disaster, as far as Odette was concerned, Hauke bore the least blame, but whether or not she could convince Lady Nyrielle or Lady Ashlynn of that...


    "Master Aspakos," she began, turning to look at the brooding sorcerer. "Do you think that..."


    Before she could finish her question, however, the sudden sound of approaching drumms filled the hall. The Tuscans at the corners of the hall began to pound the butts of their spears on the floor in time to the drum beat and the soldiers accompanying them quickly formed ranks, preparing to receive the people who would decide the fate of the High Pass. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Never mind," Odette said softly as she turned to take her place at the head of the Frost Walker delegation. The time was upon them. One way or another, her questions about their future were about to be answered.

 Chapter 462: Making an Entrance

    Chapter 462: Making an EntranceIn the Frost Walker¡¯s Great Hall, the sounds of drums grew ever closer and the gathered people began to mutter and stir, filling the icy chamber with the sounds of countless overlapping whispers. Odette and the other Frost Walker leaders turned nervously toward the door, awaiting the arrival of the leaders of those who had conquered them. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Rumors had swept through the fortress that the Mother of Trees was badly injured, hanging on the edge of death, and that the Willow Witch didn¡¯t fare much better. Some in the crowd believed that this moment might be their last before the whole clan was exterminated for the offense of murdering such prominent people when they came and presented themselves as guests.


    Other rumors, however, seemed to say exactly the opposite. The Sorcerers of Sundered Earth had moved about the fortress, healing the injured on both sides of the battle. Some of those rumors were strange, suggesting that the sorcerers barely used magic at all after mending flesh with needles and thread and they were said to wash pain away with simple powders and ointments.


    Surely, if the clan was meant to fall today, they wouldn¡¯t spend so much effort to heal the injured... would they?


    Hundreds of murmering voices quieted as one when the towering doors of ice shuddered open, making way for a procession unlike any that had entered in recent memory.


    Even after spending the entire day resting, sustained by Nyrielle¡¯s gift of vital energy, Ashlynn was still weak and badly wounded. Walking in a long procession would have been impossible for the recovering witch and so Nyrielle ordered two grand chairs to be fitted with poles for carrying. Had she done so for Ashlynn alone, it would only have drawn attention to her lover¡¯s injuries, but instead, Nyrielle herself entered while seated on an elegantly carved throne made of ice and covered with rich furs.


    When Nyrielle and Ashlynn entered, they came one behind the other, carried by towering Tuscans and looking down on the assembled masses as though they were reigning monarchs inspecting their subjects.


    Both women dressed to impress, with Nyrielle donning a dress of flowing black silk so dark that it was difficult to tell where the dress ended and shadows began. Only the deep, plunging V-shaped neckline that reached nearly to her navel revealed enough of her alabaster flesh to suggest that she was a person and not a wraith wrapped in shadows.


    Sitting on her own icy throne, Ashlynn looked every bit as regal though the emerald dress she wore was much looser than normal, appearing more like the robes of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth than a dress and she had dispensed with her usual corset in favor of a simple emerald sash at her trim waist.


    Most striking to the onlookers, however, were her hands, peeking out from the spills of gold lace at her wrists, each of her hands had been wrapped gently in layer after layer of bandages until they resembled hands encased in white mittens. Those who looked more closely noticed even more bandages peaking out from the high neckline of her dress and the skin of her face seemed fresh and tender, as though she had only recently recovered from frost burns.


    Behind them, Heila walked next to Ignatious, her head held high despite the fatigue that dragged at her body. After waking to a ravenous hunger like none she¡¯d ever experienced, she finally understood why Ashlynn ate the way she did after Lady Nyrielle fed on her and she marveled at her lady¡¯s ability to do as much as she did the day after serving as a vampire¡¯s meal.


    At the moment, it took every bit of willpower Heila had to put on the appearance that she was a capable witch and warrior who the Frost Walkers should submit to rather than anger. She openly wore Snow Fang on her hip and as her grass-green eyes panned across the Frost Walker delegation, she almost seemed to be challenging them to say something about the blade¡¯s presence.


    No one inside the chamber needed to know that she¡¯d been so tired after donning her best dress and heavy War Hat, she needed Ignatious to carry her all the way to the Great Hall. The elegant vampire had seemed almost relieved when she asked for his help and were it not for the seriousness of the evening, she might have drifted back to sleep in his arms before he set her down outside the massive doors so she could make her entrance.


    Now, however, she summoned all of her strength for the challenges that would come. Too many people had died and even more were wounded. Nothing would come easily but she forced herself to be present tonight so she could speak up for Hauke. She hoped that, as the first person the ancestral spirits had attacked, a plea for mercy from her might carry more weight when it came time to judge the young Frost Walker Lord.


    Some people might think that he should be blameless in all of this and she was certain that some of the Frost Walkers would try to argue that point. As a man possessed by his ancestors, it was difficult to say that he should suffer for the actions of others.


    Heila¡¯s perspective on the matter was different. She¡¯d fought against the actions of the former Willow Witch, Cecile, who tried to twist her into a specific kind of witch through manipulation of the Ancient Willow¡¯s trial. In the end, Heila triumphed over the remnant spirit, freeing herself and earning the right to grow into her own kind of Willow Witch.


    Hauke confronted five spirits rather than one, but he did so in an attempt to harness their power. His attempt failed and he had to bear some of the responsibility for what happened as a result of his failure to defeat or subjugate the spirits he sought to learn from.


    In Heila¡¯s opinion, Hauke didn¡¯t need to suffer the same fate as the ancestral spirits themselves. If someone insisted that he did, even if it was Lady Nyrielle herself, Heila intended to speak out in Hauke¡¯s favor, but the most she was willing to plead for was mercy in his sentencing. Anything more than that felt like a betrayal of Lady Ashlynn who had suffered far more than she had.

 Chapter 463: The Demands of the Dead

    Chapter 463: The Demands of the DeadWhile many people in the audience focused on the entrance of the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees, with a few pointing and whispering at Heila¡¯s taboo blade or the terrifying sword of flame on Ignatious¡¯s hip, the few whispers that had begun to ripple through the crowd died instantly with several jaws snapping audibly shut at the entrance of the next two individuals.


    Behind Heila and Ignatious, Savis and Tausau exuded a dominating, almost ferral menace that paralyzed many in the Frost Walker audience with fright. People who only saw Tausau caring for his Mongrel Horde or those who saw Savis¡¯s disciplined leadership of his solders were no doubt surprised at the bloody aura spilling from the two vampires but the reaction among the Frost Walkers was considerably different.


    Some of them had seen the two powerful vampires, fighting against more than a dozen men at once atop the gatehouse during the battle and no one doubted that if they were to fight one on one, or even three on one, the vampires of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s line would tear them apart in an instant. A few of the sorcerers in the audience had an even better understanding of the danger the vampires represented, considering themselves lucky to have survived their confrontation with only minor wounds and deeply savaged pride.


    Moreover, unlike Heila and Ignatious who had yet to fully recover from their actions during the battle, the two vampires behind them seemed to have recovered fully after a night of rest and an opportunity to feed when they woke. In the entire hall, perhaps only Commander Jannik and the Elders stood any chance of fighting against these powerful vampires.


    Talauia brought up the rear of the procession, drifting along with wings that beat just fast enough to keep her feet from touching the icy floor. With so many injured on both sides of the battle, once she was certain that Ashlynn and Heila would be fine without her help, she¡¯d thrown herself into helping those she could. The energy of nature was thin on the mountain top but she refused to let that stop her when there were still people she could help.


    Now that she fully understood what had happened outside the gates, Talauia was doing everything she could to limit any further reprisals to the people who were responsible for this disaster. She¡¯d survived the fall of her own clan and she heard too many whispers during the day from people who were afraid they were about to face the same fate.


    She could tell them, she could tell them all she wished that it wouldn¡¯t be like that. That Auntie Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t slaughter a whole clan even if Lady Nyrielle might. But words were cheap and actions weren¡¯t, so she drove herself to help as many of the Frost Walkers as she could until she exhausted her energy and finally had to rest.


    "The High Pass has fallen," Nyrielle said, her rich voice echoing through the hall and pulling everyone from their thoughts as she and Ashlynn reached the top of the dias where the twin thrones belonging to Lord Ritchel and his wife Odette stood empty. "These are the seats of power for the High Pass. Set them aside," she commanded the Tuscans carrying her and Ashlynn.


    "There will come a day when someone sits upon these thrones again," Ashlynn added as the thrones of the High Pass were carefully moved off the dias to make room for her and Nyrielle. "But that day is not today. Today, we come as victims of treachery in demand of justice," she said in a strident voice that echoed off the back of the chambers.


    "Last night, in retribution for betrayal, the Vale of Mists conquered the High Pass," Nyrielle said, making her perspective on the night¡¯s events clear to everyone who was present. If anyone still hoped that this could be covered up like rotten fish buried under fresh snow, their last hopes died with Nyrielle¡¯s words.


    At the front of the Frost Walker delegation, Odette hung her head in shame, her white horn dimming so much that she could almost have been mistaken for a dead person ready to have their horn mounted in an ancestral hall.


    ¡¯Someone¡¯ would sit upon the thrones again, but because of her family¡¯s role in what the Harbinger of Death called a betrayal, she doubted that it would be Ritchel or Hauke. After what had happened, the next Lord of the High Pass might not even be a Frost Walker. But the thone wasn¡¯t the important part, Odette reminded herself. So long as there was a way for her family to survive, even if they had to give up those thrones and leave the High Pass forever, she was willing... so long as her family could survive, she was willing to do almost anything. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Tonight," Nyrielle said, looking over the crowd at the still open doors. "We will hear the demands of the dead who cry out for justice and vengeance. And before this night is over, the dead will have their demands answered!"


    As soon as Nyrielle¡¯s final words spilled from her lips, another sound began to fill the hall. This time, the drummers tapped out a slow, steady beat that was accompanied by the clank of chains and the sound of armored boots striking the frozen ground in perfect unison.


    When Zedya stepped into the hall at the head of another procession, the entire hall stilled at the sight of the usually unobtrusive vampire dressed head to toe in deep crimson with spills of lace that emulated the flow of blood. In a hall of icy white and blue, her choice of dress marked her instantly as someone standing apart even from the other dignitaries who took their seats before the dias.


    Behind Zedya, rank after rank of soldiers from the Black Wolf Brigade acted as pall bearers, carrying nearly two dozen coffins in various sizes. One by one, each coffin was laid on the ice before the dias, forming a morbid ¡¯third row¡¯ of dignitaries before the dias as each of the previous night¡¯s fallen were brought before Nyrielle to make their demands.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Zedya said, standing ramrod straight and allowing her voice to ripple across the entire hall. "I have come to act as a speaker for those who have fallen. Their deaths last night were needless and wasteful and their spirits cry out for justice. I have come to give voice to the demands of the dead."

 Chapter 464: Giving Death Meaning

    Chapter 464: Giving Death MeaningA fragile, crystalline silence filled the air after Zedya¡¯s pronouncement that she had come to speak for the fallen. Her appearance alone made it clear that she took the role very seriously, but there was something more to her entrance that gave everyone pause. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The coffins carried into the proceeding came in many different sizes and reflected the different traditions of their people. Even on short notice, the honored dead deserved to be cared for in a way that recognized who they were in life.


    Four of the coffins were simple but effective daybeds. While they lacked the comfort of the darksteel lined vaults that Nyrielle or Zedya used, the vampire¡¯s of Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde couldn¡¯t travel without them and now that they had fallen, their bodies couldn¡¯t risk exposure to sunlight, and so those very daybeds became their place of rest until Tausau could bring them home for their final rest.


    Another five coffins belonged to soldiers of the Black Wolf Brigade. They had been assembled quickly from supplies carried by Nyrielle¡¯s army and each one was marked with a red paw print representing the fallen soldier¡¯s courage to fight until death.


    The remaining eleven, however, were the ones that shocked the audience the most. Eleven Frost Walkers had been encased in ice, their horns flickering with the last traces of energy that had yet to fade from their frozen bodies. Many of them bore signs of the viscious wounds that had claimed their lives and six of them possessed an odd purplish-red sheen to their fur that no amount of careful washing had been able to remove after they died to the Thistle Witch¡¯s curse.


    Their mere presence, however, sent a strong message. Lady Nyrielle had promised that the dead¡¯s demand for justice and vengeance would be answered tonight, and she included the Frost Walker¡¯s fallen in that tally.


    "Who are the dead who demand justice and vengeance?" Nyrielle asked formally, her voice shattering the stillness of the room. "What are their grievances?"


    "The first of the dead are Shu, Kuupi, Ropart and Laya of the Mongrel Horde," Zedya said, moving to stand next to the coffins that held the vampires. When she learned that Nyrielle herself had flown into the chasm outside the fortress to retrieve the body of the fallen Laya, she knew that she needed to bring closure to these wounded, misshapen vampire¡¯s lives and she needed to ensure that those who lived understood how noble the frequently despised Clanless truly were.


    "As Clanless, not one of them has lived an easy life, and many of them were tormented by the pains of their own bodies. Few could live to become adults, yet these few found a way to survive even as their own bodies betrayed them."


    "Most died in the attempt, but these few found a second chance to live. Since reaching the safety of their Sire¡¯s side, they have never left his domain and never known the danger of the battlefield. Moreover, everyone knew that they were too weak to fight in battles against the Eldritch nations. Yet for you, Mistress Nyrielle," she continued, turning to face the powerful vampire sitting impassively on her throne of ice.


    "For you, they traveled a great distance so they could use dull fangs and feeble claws to tear away at the flanks of our human foes, dragging them down to protect the lives of our soldiers. They came to offer themselves as living weapons, using their own twisted appearances to strike terror into the hearts of our enemies even as they reaped the lives of those who would have supported the Lothian armies arrayed against us."


    "But last night, they died without ever facing a human foe, broken in a battle against an ally who should have guarded our back. They died bitter and unfulfilled, my lady," Zedya said, lowering her head and speaking solemnly. "The treachery of our allies cost them a noble death and deprived us of the strength they could have used in the war to come. They demand that their deaths be given meaning and purpose or they will not rest."


    Around the Great Hall, several people on both sides of the hall broke out in quiet mutters or whispers to their neighbors. How did someone even compensate for such a senseless, meaningless death? How did someone make amends for this?


    If a hunter died, his spirit might rest if the guilty party took up the burden of feeding his children until they were grown, taking up the burdens that would leave a spirit restless. When a child died unjustly and nothing could fill that hole it left in the spirits of their parents but the death of the murderer then the child would be avenged and the murderer put to death.


    But how did you give a senseless death meaning? The Clanless members of the Mongrel Horde already had next to no one. No parents to mourn them, no children to care for, just a life filled with pain and a death bereft of meaning. So how could anyone give them what the dead demanded?


    All eyes turned to the small delegation representing the Frost Walkers with many of the gazes collecting on Odette, expecting her to speak in Lord Ritchel¡¯s place. But what could she say? Even as she sat there, nothing occurred to her that would answer the challenge they had been given.


    As she drew breath to speak, hoping she could figure out something once negotiations began, she was interrupted by a sharp look from elsewhere in the delegation. ¡¯Save your words for your husband¡¯ the figure mouthed to Odette before turning to address Nyrielle and Ashlynn atop the dias.


    "Your Eternity," an aged voice said as Old Svenja stood to address their conqueror. "Your Dominion, Speaker Zedya," she continued formally, bowing to each person in turn. "I know more of our ancestors than any living member of our clan. I know how we have treated the Clanless. We have pittied them, exiled them, even granted them merciful deaths as children rather than subjecting them to the cruelty of their own lives."


    "Last night, the Mongrel Horde taught us that even the Clanless can fight with courage and ferocity," she continued, turning her gaze to the collection of coffins at Zedya¡¯s feet. "More than that, these people, Shu, Kuupi, Ropart and Laya of the Mongrel Horde, have shown us that the Clanless can die bravely, fighting for a cause or a leader they believe in. Their deaths¡¯ have meaning."


    "They died so that we might see their courage and remember it," the old Frost Walker said, lowering her horn until it pointed at the ice beneath the coffins. "So in their names, I make this promise. For as long as the Mongrel Horde accepts the Clanless, the Frost Walkers will protect any of the Clanless who wish to make the journey to join Tausau¡¯s Horde, including any of our own who are born Clanless."


    The declaration was a reversal of hundreds if not thousands of years of tradition and when she said it, it seemed like half the hall burst into outraged mutters. Many among the Frost Walkers leaped to their feet with icy energy swirling around their horns and hot words on their lips. So few people visited the Frost Walkers that affairs of love between clans were extraordinarily rare, but the child of an unwilling union was far more common. This alone was reason enough to maintain the tradition of granting a merciful death to any child born of such a union but now their Elder was promising to allow them to live?


    "The Clanless are always blameless," Svenja said, holding her head up high and glaring at the younger members of her clan until they stilled their tongues and the aura of icy menace filling the Great Hall faded. "The Mongrel Horde have fought hard to survive their own births. And these four have fought hard and died so we might learn to treat them differently."


    "I am an old woman," Svenja continued, turning back to Zedya. "Soon, I will die, but I swear to you that I will carve this lesson into my horn so that I may speak of it to a thousand years of descendants. Shu, Kuupi, Ropart, and Laya have earned this with their deaths. I hope that they may rest knowing that their deaths held meaning."


    "Young woman," Tausau said, wiping a pinkish tear from his eyes as he stood to address Svenja. "All the Clanless have ever wanted was to live their lives and perhaps, chase their dreams. For this simple wish, they have been hunted, murdered, and scorned by the world."


    "But if you will send them to us, and protect the ones you find who seek us out," he said. "Then the Mongrel Horde will find a way to take them in. To die for such a gift," he said, forcing the words out through a throat that wanted to clench tighter than his fists. "To die for such a gift is a worthy death indeed. In the name of my fallen progeny, we accept your gift in the hopes that their spirits may rest."


    "If Uncle Tausau is at peace with it," Nyrielle said, giving her tearful great-uncle a momentary soft smile. "Then I am at peace with it. Let it be carved in stone and ice that there is an understanding between the Frost Walkers of the High Pass and the Mongrel Horde," Nyrielle pronounced, her face growing solemn again as she turned to Zedya¡¯s solitary figure standing among the coffins.


    "Who else among the dead cries out for justice and

 Chapter 465: Choosing Death to Save a Life

    Chapter 465: Choosing Death to Save a Life"Who else among the dead cries out for justice and revenge?"


    Nyrielle¡¯s words once again brought all eyes to Zedya¡¯s crimson figure. Some looked next to the coffins holding the bodies of the Black Wolf Brigade, marked by their red paw prints as though promising violence to anyone who failed to honor their deaths. But while most expected Zedya to move on to the next victims on Nyrielle¡¯s side of the tragedy, she moved instead to a cluster of six giant blocks of ice, each holding the body of a venerable and respected Frost Walker.


    "While few at the time knew for certain what had happened to young lord Hauke," Zedya began as she prepared to reveal a truth that few knew for certain even if many had already heard rumors. "Lord Ritchel understood the moment he attacked that his son had been possessed by the ancestral spirits of the horns he carried."


    "For a brief moment during the battle, the Mother of Trees had been suppressed, the Willow Witch had retreated, and Young Lorde Hauke stood alone," Zedya explained, painting a clear picture for those in the audience who hadn¡¯t been able to witness the outbreak of hostilities. "Lord Ritchel attempted to seize that moment to imprison his son before the violence could escalate."


    "If he had succeeded, the entire tragedy that followed may have been averted," Zedya said with a heavy sigh. "Six men stood beside him and aided in the construction of that prison of ice. Gunter, Hrosskel, Artur, Sturla, Hulda, and Daldis," she said, reciting each name in turn. "These men of honor stood by their lord and took action against one of their own in the hopes of preventing further bloodshed. Their honor at that moment shone as pure and brightly as fresh snow."


    Hearing Zedya¡¯s words, Talauia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Now that there had been an opportunity for Zedya to interrogate the captive lord, the truth of his intentions was being laid out before everyone. Moreover, in Zedya¡¯s retelling, Ritchel and his honor guard were clearly honorable heroes, which meant that she was doomed to play the role of the villain.


    Briefly, for perhaps all of two wingbeats of time, Talauia thought of fleeing the proceedings before the crowd could turn against her. It was only when she received a gentle, reassuring look from Heila that she stilled her trembling wings and forced herself to remain in her seat. She wasn¡¯t alone this time, she reminded herself.


    She had friends here, and her strongest friends were the strongest ones present. Nothing would go wrong, nothing could go wrong, she told herself again and again until she almost believed it was true. She believed it, but her hand still gripped the wand at her waist and her multifaceted eyes never stopped tracking the people in the room who might pose a threat to her.


    "Lord Ritchel failed to isolate Hauke," Zedya continued, telling the complex story as simply and directly as she could. "And in his failure, he trapped the Mother of Trees in a prison of ice with the most powerful ancestral spirits the Frost Walker Clan has ever seen. Spirits who were hostile to her and the Willow Witch for the ¡¯offense¡¯ of carrying a blade carved from the horn of a traitor to the Frost Walker Clan."


    "That failure cemented the perception that the Frost Walkers had become traitors in the minds of many, including the Thistle Witch, Talauia," Zedya said, turning to face the winged assassin. "The Thistle Witch who had already seen her dear friend gravely injured and one of the most important witches outside of her own coven imprisoned," Zedya emphasized. "She didn¡¯t know then that Lord Ritchel and his honor guard were only trying to help. But she knew that if they died, it would allow her friend to break free from their prison."


    Across the room, people¡¯s expressions grew complex as they looked at the anxious, fidgety witch. Among the Frost Walkers, many looked on with gazes that showed a trace of sympathy while others burned with icy fury. None of the sorcerers in Lord Ritchel¡¯s honor guard had been young men and some of the Frost Walkers gathered in the crowd were their wives, children, or even grandchildren. For some of them, nothing less than the death of the Thistle Witch would satisfy their need for revenge.


    "Gunter, Hrosskel, Artur, Sturla, Hulda, and Daldis," Zedya said, repeating the names and turning to face Nyrielle and Ashlynn on the dias. "These six men fell one by one to the needles and poison of the Thistle Witch. Each of them died a hero, buying time for Lord Ritchel to absorb the power of a Blood Vitality Crystal without which he never would have survived battle with the Thistle Witch."


    "But these men have died with their work unfinished," Zedya said, returning to the six men frozen in ice. "They died so that their lord might live, but now he lays in the cells below the fortress, balanced on the edge between life and death. In a few day¡¯s time, when the Blood Vitality Crystal¡¯s energy is exhausted, he will likely become crippled for the remainder of his days."


    At those words, the restraint that had prevailed in the hall shattered like a thin sheet of ice as several young warriors among the Frost Walkers surged forward.


    "Save Lord Ritchel! You can¡¯t let him die!"


    "He did nothing wrong! He tried to save us all!"


    "If Lord Ritchel dies, the Thistle Witch must die! Justice for Lord Ritchel!"


    "Justice for Lord Ritchel and death to the Thistle Witch!" S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Justice for Lord Ritchel and..."


    "I WILL HAVE SILENCE!" Nyrielle said, infusing a trace of the deep abyss into her voice and instantly robbing the young men of their momentary surge of courage. Her midnight eyes had become deep wells of darkness like the depths of the chasm outside the keep and anyone who met her gaze felt their knees weaken while their innards turned to jelly.


    "Young Ritchel is my friend," Nyrielle said into the deafening silence that followed her command. "As was his father before him and his grandfather before him. Or have you all forgotten? Do you think I am happy to see him wounded and in pain?"


    "Now is not the time to decide whether or not he did anything wrong last night," Nyrielle said firmly, directing her cold stare at the young men who insisted that Ritchel did nothing wrong. "Now it is time to find peace for the fallen. We will discuss Lord Ritchel¡¯s future and the future of the High Pass once the dead have had a chance to have their grievances heard and answered. Zedya," she said, turning back to the vampire in crimson. "Please continue."


    "Yes Mistress," Zedya said with a polite curtsey before she swept her amethyst eyes over the gathered Frost Walkers. "These heroes who sacrificed their lives so their lord might live need not die bitter and unfulfilled. Their sacrifice can still have meaning if Lord Ritchel¡¯s life can be preserved. Lady Talauia," she said, turning to look at the witch who looked like she was about to rush for the nearest exit.


    "Will you heal Lord Ritchel," Zedya asked. "Will you restore him from the wounds you inflicted and honor the last wish of those who died so that he might live?"


    Odette¡¯s heart raced in her chest, beating so hard that she thought it had transformed into one of the drums that announced Nyrielle¡¯s arrival. Her pure white horn glittered with half-formed snowflakes as hope began to build within her that her love could still be saved. Lady Nyrielle refused to talk about the fate of his throne, but if they could secure his life... Her hope, however, was short-lived when the Thistle Witch gave her answer.


    "I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t restore him from what was done," Talauia said with misty eyes as she watched the gazes of the Frost Walkers grow increasingly hostile. "Some things, some things, once you break them, they can¡¯t ever be fixed. I didn¡¯t... didn¡¯t leave a way out for Ritchel..." she said in a voice that grew quieter and quieter the more she spoke.


    Heila had told her that they needed to ask him questions, she was supposed to keep him alive long enough to ask their questions, but... she¡¯d never intended for him to survive for more than a few days. It would have been enough time to get all the answers they needed, but now, to change her mind and grant him life because he hadn¡¯t died yet... She really couldn¡¯t do it!

 Chapter 466: How Can You Understand?

    Chapter 466: How Can You Understand?Sitting atop her frozen throne, a cold chill gripped Ashlynn¡¯s heart when she heard Talauia¡¯s words. Some things, they really shouldn¡¯t be healed, even if it was possible. She¡¯d learned that lesson with painful clarity during the trial the Ancient Willow subjected her to.


    In her vision, Ollie was brought before her with horrible wounds and a severed arm. She and Heila had combined their power to restore his lost limb, unknowingly inflicting harm on the Ancient Oak that it might never recover from. Moreover, because Heila had exhausted herself to heal Ollie, later on, she wasn¡¯t able to help heal anyone else and several more people died from their wounds because of Ashlynn¡¯s selfish decision.


    Just because a thing was possible didn¡¯t mean the price was one that should be paid. As Ashlynn looked at the trembling figure of Talauia, her wings trembling with the weight of countless angry stares and the even heavier tears flowing from Odette¡¯s eyes, Ashlynn wondered whether Ritchel¡¯s wounds were truly impossible, or the price was simply too high for Talauia to pay.


    "That¡¯s not right!" a young hunter among the Frost Walkers shouted. "My father died to protect Lord Ritchel, but this witch won¡¯t heal him? She¡¯s just going to let him die? Where is the justice in that? There isn¡¯t any!" he shouted, his dark purple horn swirling with furious energy. "If there is no justice, I demand vengeance for the dead! If Lord Ritchel dies, then the witch dies!"


    "Yes! Justice or vengeance," another young Frost Walker standing nearby shouted. "Kill the witch!"


    "Justice or vengeance!"


    "Kill the witch!"


    "Save Lord Ritchel!"


    "She killed my husband! Where is my justice? I will have my vengeance!"


    The shouts grew louder and louder, particularly those coming from the family members of Ritchel¡¯s fallen Honor Guard and icy energy began to gather in the hall once again.


    At a look from Nyrielle, Savis, and Tausau both moved from their seats, taking up positions to either side of the Thistle Witch and radiating bloodthirsty menace outward, making it clear to everyone that to attack her meant attacking everyone who Nyrielle had brought to the High Pass.


    Talauia jumped in surprise, having momentarily expected the powerful vampires to seize her and offer her up to the Frost Walkers in order to secure their cooperation. It would hardly be the first time she¡¯d found herself confronted by ancient vampires trying to rob her of her freedom, but when these two arrived, it was the Clanless Tausau who gave her a reassuring look before he faced the angry crowd.


    "You fought with us," Tausau said softly. "That makes you a sister in battle. We will not give you over to these cowards who can only shout for someone else to give them justice."


    "I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know what to..." Talauia began to say, taken completely off guard by their actions but before she could say anything further, the hall began to still as Ashlynn made her move at last.


    Unlike Nyrielle, she didn¡¯t demand silence. Her powers were weak enough at the moment that she saved what energy she had for things that were truly important and shouting down a crowd wasn¡¯t among them. Instead, she simply stood and raised one bandage-wrapped hand high above her head.


    The effect wasn¡¯t immediate, but it didn¡¯t take long for the people who were shouting and glaring hatefully at Talauia to realize that their companions had gone quiet and turned in the direction of the dias. One by one, people turned in the direction of the dias, waiting to hear what the Mother of Trees had to say.


    Or at least, most people did. There was still one person, the young Frost Walker who had started this outburst, who dared to step forward and address the Mother of Trees directly.


    "Your Dominion," he said, his voice echoing off the distant walls and high ceiling of the Great Hall. "The Thistle Witch isn¡¯t of your coven, but you are the greatest witch here. Please, grant us our revenge. Give her over to us and let us claim her life for the lives of our fallen fathers and grandfathers. Give us our vengeance!"


    "You want to be given vengeance?" Ashlynn said, looking down at the young man and shaking her head. "What grave did you crawl out of to be owed vengeance? What crippling wounds have you suffered to need someone to claim your vengeance for you? You want vengeance?" Ashlynn asked in a mocking tone.


    "Tell me your name, young man," she commanded. "Tell me who dares to ask the Mother of Trees for vengeance."


    "I am Darfrir, son of Daldis who died at the Thistle Witch¡¯s hands," the young man shouted, refusing to back down. "My mother lost her husband and my father will never see me take a mate. He will never rest if he died a meaningless death, so I am owed this vengeance!"


    "Very well, Dafrir, son of Daldis," Ashlynn said calmly. "Clear a path for this young avenger. Captain Virve," she added, looking into the crowd of Nyrielle¡¯s people behind the formal delegation and finding the head of her guard there. "If he lacks a blade, give him one so that he may fight to claim his revenge."


    "Auntie Ashlynn, Auntie Ashlynn," Talauia said, turning multifaceted purple eyes on her friend that were filled with hurt. "I won¡¯t let him, I won¡¯t let him kill me. He¡¯ll die if he tries, he¡¯ll really die!"


    "I know he¡¯d die," Ashlynn said, startling the young Frost Walker who had just begun to make his way through the crowd and stopping him in his tracks. "He¡¯s weak and angry, and crying out in hurts. He wants revenge because he thinks it will stop the pain he feels and so he¡¯s flinging himself forward like a madman to die at your hands, achieving nothing other than adding to the tragedy of a battle that should never have been fought."


    "Shut up," Dafrir barked only for his horn to dim abruptly when he realized who he¡¯d just snapped at. "Your Dominion, you don¡¯t know! You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to see the person who killed your father standing right there, and to be able to do nothing about it! But if you give me a chance, even if there are nine chances in ten that I die without taking her down with me, I¡¯ll still turn my life into a spear and hurl it at her heart!"


    "You think my darling doesn¡¯t know what it is to burn in the fires of hatred that drive revenge?" Nyrielle said with a light, musical laugh. "If your father was the sort of person my Ashlynn was, he would have crawled out of his own grave, refusing to die until he¡¯d had his revenge."


    "After that," Nyrielle continued in a voice filled with pride. "He would have driven his body to the breaking point again and again, turning himself into a weapon and an instrument of vengeance that could tear through the walls of thorns of the Briar, stopping at nothing until he tore the Thistle Witch¡¯s heart from her chest."


    All around the hall, many eyes opened wide with shock. For the few who knew Ashlynn¡¯s story, people like Heila, Virve, and Lennart, their hearts filled with the same pride as they heard from Nyrielle as they thought of everything they had seen Ashlynn endure on her path to claim her revenge against Owain Lothian. To hear her used as an example now, before so many people, brought mist to their eyes as they watched comprehension begin to dawn on the remainder of the audience.


    "I met my darling Ashlynn the night of her marriage to Owain Lothian. The night that he beat her to death before dumping her in a shallow grave with nothing more than a bedsheet," Nyrielle explained with dark eyes that seemed to suck the light out of the young hunter¡¯s horn as she glared at him.


    "She crawled out of that grave on her own, and she walked to the edge of the Vale in the cold and the rain. When I offered her the power to obtain her revenge, she paid with an unending life of service to obtain the chance, just the chance, of claiming her revenge."


    "Next to her, what are you?" Nyrielle asked coldly. "Jumping about, shouting about trading your life for revenge when there isn¡¯t even a wound on your body. And you say she doesn¡¯t understand? Boy, it¡¯s you who doesn¡¯t understand. But if you¡¯d like," she said, standing from her throne and gathering dark energy around her hands. "I can wound you the way she was wounded and then you can fight for your vengeance..."


    "Enough, my love," Ashlynn said, stepping next to Nyrielle and placing a hand gently on her forearm. "I think young Dafrir understands the point now," Ashlynn said, turning her attention back to the slack-jawed young man.


    "I won¡¯t deny you your vengeance," Ashlynn said, lowering her head and hiding her eyes behind the brim of her witch¡¯s hat as if she couldn¡¯t bear the sight of watching him try to claim it. He might give himself one in ten odds of succeeding but anyone who had seen or heard what Talauia was capable of put his much, much lower. If he were truly to try, the scene that followed might dye half the hall red with his blood.


    "Your heart can burn and drive you to madness, but ask yourself something first. Go and stand beside your father¡¯s body and ask yourself this question. Would his spirit rest better if you were to die senselessly today? Or would he rest better if you found that mate you mentioned and brought a grand child to pay respects to his horn in the ancestral cave?"


    "But before you even ask that question," Ashlynn continued. "Ask yourself if there¡¯s any need for vengeance in the first place. The Thistle Witch said that she could not heal Lord Ritchel to allow your father¡¯s spirit to rest, but that may not mean that his life is lost," she said, turning her attention back to Talauia.


    "Tala, my friend," Ashlynn said gently. "Will you answer a few questions for me?" S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 467: Finish What Was Started

    Chapter 467: Finish What Was Started"I will answer, I will answer," Talauia said as soon as Ashlynn asked. "But I won¡¯t be bullied," she said, rounding her multifaceted gaze on the assembled Frost Walkers. "I won¡¯t be shouted at. I won¡¯t be threatened. If you do, if you do, then I won¡¯t just stand for it again!"


    "No one will shout at you," Ashlynn promised, raising the brim of her hat and looking out over the assembled Frost Walkers. "We¡¯ve heard the words of the living and their demands. But right now, I want to address the demands of the dead," she said, nodding slightly at Zedya¡¯s crimson figure before touching Nyrielle lightly and returning to her throne.


    "Tala," Ashlynn said, trying to relax the formal atmosphere as much as she could, as though she and the Thistle Witch were once again sitting on the floor around Amahle¡¯s table and sharing a meal they¡¯d cooked together rather than holding court formally before hundreds of onlookers. "You said that some things can¡¯t be fixed, but you didn¡¯t tell us why. Is it because Lord Ritchel¡¯s wounds are too severe or is it because this mountain is a barren place that lacks the resources you need to make him well."


    At the head of the Frost Walker delegation, Odette trembled in her seat, trying to contain the glimmer of hope that Ashlynn¡¯s words rekindled. None of them had considered it when Talauia first spoke but to ask a member of the Mother of Thorns coven to perform a healing miracle in this desolate, icy place... it might really be too difficult.


    "It¡¯s both, it¡¯s both things that are a problem," Talauia said slowly, keeping an eye on the crowd to see if they would do as Ashlynn had commanded and remain silent while she explained. "I pulled back my poison, I did, but it already tore at his whole body. My poison, it¡¯s like putting thousands of tiny needles in his blood. They poke and tear all over until he bleeds on the inside or the poison collects in his heart and tears it apart."


    "Lord Ritchel, Lord Ritchel fought off the poison with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Blood Vitality Crystal," Talauia explained. "His blood is strong right now and that¡¯s keeping him alive. He¡¯s constantly healing to remain young and in his prime. But when that stops, when that stops then everything that was cut and torn will tear open again. He¡¯ll bleed and bleed and bleed until his body fails."


    "But isn¡¯t there a chance that he might survive, even if he¡¯s crippled from his injuries?" Ashlynn asked. She¡¯d heard the Frost Walker healers speculate that such a dismal fate might be the best that Lord Ritchel could hope for but she wanted to hear it from Talauia directly. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "He might, he might," the Thistle Witch said without much hope. "But only because of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s blood sorcery. I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know if it will be enough to let him live but he won¡¯t live well, not well at all if he survives. And... and not for very long," she added quietly. "Maybe only a few years."


    "You can¡¯t heal him," Heila said, gingerly sliding off of her icy seat and walking over to stand next to Talauia. "But cousin, the Willow is better at healing than the Thistle. If I help," she said, turning to look briefly at Ashlynn before continuing. "If Mother Ashlynn and I both help and if we take Lord Ritchel to the Vale of Mists for healing... is there a chance?"


    "It won¡¯t matter, won¡¯t matter at all," Talauia said, shaking her head fiercely. "It¡¯s just like pouring water into a sieve. You can keep pouring and pouring and it will hold for a moment before it all empties again. The holes and tears, there are too many of them. Even if all three of us try, even if I could heal a hundred wounds and together we could heal five hundred wounds, he has thousands of tiny wounds," the Thistle Witch said. "It¡¯s not enough. Not enough at all."


    "I see," Ashlynn said solemnly before turning to face Odette. "I cannot promise to save your husband," she began, drawing a clear line before she offered the fragile woman any more hope. "But I think there is a way that we might. It will require even more sacrifice on top of the sacrifice that Gunter, Hrosskel, Artur, Sturla, Hulda, and Daldis have already made," she said, gesturing at the bodies of the fallen honor guard. "Are you willing to make an offering if it might save your husband¡¯s life? Or would you prefer to let him pass peacefully?"


    "I do not wish to see my young friend lose his life so soon," Nyrielle added from her throne beside Ashlynn. "But he fought against the greatest assassin of the Glimmerwing Clan, the Thistle Witch herself. It isn¡¯t a shameful death to be defeated by such a powerful witch. In his place, you will have to choose, Castle Mistress Odette."


    "If it will save my husband¡¯s life so that he can return to his duties and protect our people as a lord should," Odette said firmly. "Then I will offer up my life in his place. Our people need his strength more than they need mine. Take whatever you need from me to give him back his life."


    "I never promised that he could return to his throne," Ashlynn said carefully. The time for that conversation was approaching but the moment wasn¡¯t upon them yet. "Only that we would try to save his life. Young Dafrir," Ashlynn continued, turning to face the young hunter who had demanded vengeance.


    "Will you insist on the vengeance your heart burns for? Or will you follow in your father¡¯s example and stake your life to save Lord Ritchel? Will you and all your brethren," she said, gesturing to the other children of the fallen Honor Guard. "Will you do as your honored dead have done and risk your lives to finish the mission they started?"


    "I will," a young, childish voice said from among the gathered Frost Walkers. "Grandfather said we could only ever do our best. He did his best," she said, pushing her way forward until she stood beside the frozen figure of her fallen grandfather. "But it wasn¡¯t good enough. So, since he couldn¡¯t finish, then I¡¯ll help him do it. Then, then you can rest, can¡¯t you grandfather?" She said, lowering her shining blue horn until it touched the ice that contained her grandfather¡¯s body.


    "What would you require from us, Your Dominion?" Odette asked, stepping forward and resting a hand gently on the young girl¡¯s shoulder. "How can we help to save my husband?"


    "Tala said it herself," Ashlynn said with a smile at the winged witch. "Alone, she might heal a hundred wounds, but together, if we return to the Vale of Mists, we could heal five hundred. She also said something else important," Nyrielle said, turning to face Nyrielle.


    "Mistress," Ashlynn said formally. "If we brought enough of his people with us and you could feed on them frequently, could you prepare more Blood Vitality Crystals for Lord Ritchel? Your magic is what¡¯s sustaining him now. He still has four crystals more from the gift you gave him before. If we can sustain him for long enough that he no longer deteriorates between healing sessions..." she said, allowing her voice to trail off.


    In order to create a single Blood Vitality Crystal, Nyrielle would need to gorge herself on far more blood than she needed to survive, until she was all but overflowing with the energy of the blood she¡¯d consumed. Condensing that power into a single crystal was an act of sorcery that only True Vampires like her were capable of and the effects were truly miraculous, restoring even an aging man like Lord Ritchel to the prime of his life and infusing him with the restorative power of blood purified and fortified by a vampire¡¯s power to defy death itself.


    Once she laid it out before everyone, it seemed like such an obvious solution, but before Nyrielle could give an answer, someone else spoke out.


    "I know that the dead demand justice," Commander Jannik said, giving Odette a complicated look as he stood. "But there is a limit to what the dead can demand of the living. You already wish to take Lord Ritchel away to receive healing and this much I can understand. I can even accept it," he said, striding forward to stand between the gathered Frost Walkers and Nyrielle.


    "But I cannot stand idly by and allow my people to be turned into food! There has to be a limit," the dark-furred Frost Walker said. "If Lord Ritchel¡¯s family wishes to sustain him in this way, then that is their choice. But beyond that, no more! No more of our people will be allowed to fall to vampire fangs for this tragedy. And if someone wants to insist that they do, then they must defeat me first!"

 Chapter 468: An Honor

    Chapter 468: An HonorCommander Jannik stood defiantly on the icy floor of the Great Hall, his dark blue horn blazing with determination as he stood his ground between Nyrielle and the assembled Frost Walkers behind him. Inwardly, his heart pounded in his chest filling his limbs with power and fury that he¡¯d thought he¡¯d left behind along with the tempestuious days of his youth when he contended with Ritchel for the title of Lord of the High Pass.


    Ever since that bitter defeat, Jannik honed himself into the best weapon he could, growing from a powerful warrior and fearless hunter into a steady commander who could both lead his men and stand back to see the larger picture. With each year that passed, though his body softened ever so slightly, his mind sharpened by twice as much, turning him into a spear that Ritchel could rely on to vanquish their enemies and protect their people.


    It hadn¡¯t happened over night, but the years of rivalry between the two men had slowly melted before refreezing in the shape of an unshakable friendship. Seeing the bodies of Ritchel¡¯s Honor Guard was hard enough, but the visit he¡¯d paid his friend and the sight of his wounded, powerless body was even worse. He¡¯d promised then that, whatever it took, he would fight for his friend and more importantly, fight to protect their people now that the mighty Ritchel no longer could.


    At first, Jannik¡¯s heart shuddered in relief when the Mother of Trees said there might be a chance, but when she explained her plan, everything that had been joyous in that moment twisted like a snake, sinking its fangs into the hand that dared to hold it.


    "You have already crippled Lord Ritchel," Jannik said, glaring from the Mother of Trees to the Thistle Witch. "Six of our greatest sorcerers have fallen and five more of our young warriors lay not far from them. Our Young Lord lays broken and mindless in the cells below and there is no one else who can practice the fearsome sorcery he learned from the ancestors. Our greatest strengths have all been broken like ice hurled upon the stones," he said.


    "But even this isn¡¯t enough for you!" Jannik shouted, clenching his fists until the tips of his claws pierced the thick flesh of his palms, spilling a trace of blood into his dark fur. "Now you would feed on our people, draining away our literal lifeblood and for what? A chance that you might restore Lord Ritchel? A hope that you can hold over us for as long as you like?"


    "We are not sheep like the Horned Clan to be grazed upon like livestock!" he roared, his voice growing louder with every sentence. "We will not stand for this!"


    "Childish," Nyrielle said, shaking her head at his outburst and raising a hand shrouded in dark, shadowy energy as she prepared to ¡¯defeat¡¯ the disruptive commander before he could further derail the proceedings.


    She was willing to invest as long as it took to create however many Blood Vitality Crystals were necessary to save Ritchel¡¯s life. Even if the Frost Walkers didn¡¯t supply her with blood, she would seek offerings from within the Vale of Mists or prey on human villages if she needed to in order to save the grandson of the man who had sheltered so many of her people when the Vale of Mists fell to Cellach Lothian.


    All those years ago, it had been Ritchel¡¯s grandfather who led Frost Walker hunters into the low lands to gather lost refugees fleeing across the mountains. Even though he did nothing to fight the humans, the safety he provided to her people had earned him generations of thanks from Nyrielle. Thanks that had, over the past several decades, turned into an enduring friendship with his descendants. A friendship that meant even more to her now, after Ashlynn reawakened her slumbering heart, than it had just a few years ago. She wasn¡¯t about to throw away one of her few friendships over this, but why did this fool have to make things so difficult?


    "My love," Ashlynn said, placing a hand over Nyrielle¡¯s before she could strike the defiant commander down. Her emerald eyes were soft and pleading as she looked at her lover but her voice was firm and confident. "Let me speak a little more. They need to understand or we will stumble and fall later."


    "I blame my recent impatience on you, my darling," Nyrielle said, withdrawing the shadowy energy, lowering her hand, and giving Ashlynn a brief smile. "But see that they do not test what patience remains. I know that you don¡¯t want to see more blood spilled," she said, turning her midnight gaze on the dark-furred Frost Walker commander. "But I do not share your commitment to non-violence here."


    "This won¡¯t take long," Ashlynn said, returning Nyrielle¡¯s smile before turning back to Commander Jannik. "You speak of feeding vampires as though it makes us less than you. As though the act of giving something of ourselves so that another might continue to live is something to be ashamed of, afraid of or run from."


    "The people of the Vale of Mists do not see it this way," she said, pulling down the collar of her dress to reveal two very faint scars on her neck from the very first time Nyrielle fed on her. Within another few months, those scars would be gone entirely, but in the chill air of the Great Hall, her flushed skin revealed the marks clearly.


    "Generations of people in the vale have grown up knowing peace and comfort in their lives because of the vampires who protected them," Ashlynn said, gesturing at the people assembled on Nyrielle¡¯s side of the Great Hall. "Since coming to the Vale of Mists, I have offered up my blood to Mistress Nyrielle many times. She has never once taken it from me when it wasn¡¯t a gift freely and lovingly given," she said. As she spoke, she reached out a hand and quietly gripped Nyrielle¡¯s, interlacing their fingers and holding tightly.


    "People of the Vale, who among you have offered up blood and life to sustain our guardians and protectors?"


    "I have," Heila said instantly, stepping forward and raising a wrist bearing two fresh pink bite marks. "I have learned so much from Madame Zedya and I offered myself up in thanks during our journey to the briar. Later, during the battle, I offered myself to Sir Ignatious so that he might heal from his wounds and help to rescue Mother Ashlynn from the prison of ice." Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I have never been harmed by a vampire who fed on me and, and if they asked," she said as her face began to grow warm. "If they asked, then I would offer myself up again," she said in a quieter voice as she carefully avoided meeting Ignatious¡¯s warm, gentle gaze.


    "I have offered blood and my life, more than once on this journey," Lennart said, stepping forward from the crowd with several soldiers around him stepping forward as well. "Lady Nyrielle will only feed on her own people just enough to slake her hunger but when she was injured in the battle for the Tangled Tower, I would have given all of my life¡¯s blood to heal her wounds. She has done far more for us than the sacrifice of one life."


    "I have given my blood..."


    "I fought to be the best in my unit to earn the right to offer myself to Sir Thane last year..."


    "Madame Zedya once asked for my help..."


    The stories flowed like water, spilling from the lips of the people from the Vale of Mists in an unending flow that left the audience on both sides of the hall stunned. Those who had joined Nyrielle¡¯s army in High Fen City had yet to experience the traditions of the Vale and a few of them wondered if they had joined an army of madmen or worse... fanatics.


    Others, however, saw the genuine compassion and even concern that came with the stories that Lady Nyrielle¡¯s people told. Some spoke of times when the vampires in their midst were injured, while others were proud that they¡¯d earned the privilege of offering themselves up but not one of them sounded unwilling.


    "You see, Commander Jannik?" Ashlynn said after everyone from the Vale of Mists had a chance to tell their tale. "In the Vale of Mists, we know that there is more than one way to offer your life to help another. You do not need to take up arms and fight to your dying breath to do something noble that sustains a life."


    "My coven and I are offering to use our witchcraft and Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s blood sorcery to save Ritchel¡¯s life if it can be saved," Ashlynn said. "But the Vale of Mists is still small and every person that Nyrielle must gorge herself on will take at least a month of rest to recover afterward. If we must, we will bear this burden ourselves to save Ritchel¡¯s life and help the fallen members of his Honor Guard to know peace in death..."


    "But it would mean much to both the living and the dead if some of your own people would share in this burden," Ashlynn said, turning away from Jannik to address Odette and the other family members of the fallen men directly. "No one will compel you, but the dead demand justice. You can fight for vengeance, or you can bleed to save a life. The choice is yours."

 Chapter 469: The Final Demand of the Dead

    Chapter 469: The Final Demand of the Dead"Enough, Commander Jannik," Odette said, leaving her chair and striding forward to place a hand on the powerful commander¡¯s shoulder. "How often have we said that the ice is melting and we must learn to live in a world that is different from the ones our ancestors knew?"


    "The Vale of Mists of today is not the Vale of Mists of our father¡¯s era," she said, lowering her pure white horn in a show of respect to Nyrielle. "Or perhaps they are and we never truly knew their strength. But today, their army is already camped within our walls. Our forces have already been defeated. It is good to speak up if you feel like we are being taken advantage of in our moment of defeat, but it¡¯s clear that Her Dominion doesn¡¯t see matters the way we do."


    "You can let this one go, Commander Jannik," Old Svenja¡¯s brittle voice followed Odette¡¯s. "You have stood for what is right and that is good, but anything more would only be foolish defiance for the sake of pride... And the High Pass cannot afford to lose any more of our strongest warriors to foolish pride."


    Standing out in front of the delegation, Jannik closed his eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath while he wrestled with his conscience. In his entire life, the High Pass had stood resolute and unconquerable, bound in ice that protected it from the world outside. There had been battles to be sure. The threat of Tuscans and other raiders who sought to plunder horns from their Ancestral Caves was constant.


    But defeat? The fall of their mighty fortress? How many generations of commanders had preceded him without anyone facing this humiliation and shame? How many had stood where he stood now, fighting for the honor of the dead and arguing over whether or not the price to save their fallen lord¡¯s life was too high? He couldn¡¯t think of a single one who had faced such a challenge.


    "Promise me something, Your Eternity," Jannik said, opening his eyes and staring directly into Nyrielle¡¯s midnight gaze. "Promise me that you will not kill my clansmen who offer their blood to you. Promise that Lord Ritchel won¡¯t find that his recovery came at the cost of young men like Dafrir."


    "I cannot give you that promise," Nyrielle said, holding up a hand before the impulsive commander could object. "But I promise you that I will teach them the way an offering is to be made, and if it gives you comfort, then my darling Ashlynn will remain by their side while I feed to pull them free if they fail to tell me when they¡¯ve reached their limit."


    "You are not a child, Commander Jannik," Nyrielle continued, speaking in a tone that carried the weight of her considerable years. "You should know that any great working that would defy death itself carries risk. I will not give you false hope just as Ashlynn will not promise success, even if I believe in her ability to save Ritchel¡¯s life with this method. We will all do our part, we will do our best. We can promise no more than that," she said firmly.


    "Then, I have no further complaints," the dark-furred warrior said, returning to his seat in defeat. "Castle Mistress, I leave this matter in your hands," he said formally, leaving the final decision to Odette.


    "These brave men died so that my husband might live," Odette said, returning to the young girl¡¯s side and scooping her up into her arms so she could look down and see her fallen Grandfather¡¯s face one last time. "As Her Dominion said, it falls to us to finish what they started. I will offer myself and I will bring any others who wish to do the same with me. Lady Ashlynn, if we do this thing, how soon do you think my husband could be healed? And can he make a full recovery?"


    "This will not be fast," Ashlynn cautioned. "At least a month. Perhaps two. More than that I cannot say until we¡¯ve returned to the Vale and begun to treat him. But we will do everything we can, and in the end, I hope that he will be just as strong as he was before this tragedy."


    "Two months is not such a long time to be away from his throne," Odette said with a smile. "Commander Jannik, we¡¯ll be relying on you to protect it in his absence."


    "Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself, Castle Mistress Odette," Nyrielle said. "We will do all we can to save his life. Whether or not he returns to his throne is another matter. For now, Zedya, there are still those among the dead who must be spoken for."


    "Yes, Mistress Nyrielle," Zedya said as she moved to stand between two different groups of coffins. On one side, several young Frost Walker soldiers lay encased in ice, and on the other, the men of the Black Wolf Brigade in their wooden coffins marked by a blood-red paw print.


    "Sadagares, Patza, Berig, Teias, and Braga of the Black Wolf Brigade," Zedya intoned formally. "They fought under the banner of Hamdi¡¯s Defeated Dogs, covered in shame for their failure to defend the Tangled Tower, they traveled across several nations, assigned the most menial of duties, awaiting the day they could redeem themselves in battle against the humans. Yet instead of redemption, these five died deaths without glory fighting a battle over a misunderstanding. The only men who fell to their claws were our friends and allies."


    When Zedya put it that way, several people in the crowd couldn¡¯t help but shake their heads at the tragedy of these brave soldier¡¯s deaths. To be defeated by the Harbinger of Death and her forces shouldn¡¯t be as shameful as they made it out to be. Those who had fought at the Tangled Tower, however, could only tuck their tails between their legs at the memory of their failure to defeat Nyrielle¡¯s soldiers even when they outnumbered them by more than three to one. The shame that these men carried to their deaths hadn¡¯t been exaggerated in the slightest.


    "Urho, Pekka, Eljas, Jalo, and Torsti of the High Pass," Zedya said, moving to stand next to the frozen Frost Walkers. "Young men all of them, eager to prove themselves in the first real battle they¡¯d ever faced. They came dressed in their finest, expecting a ceremony, and were plunged into a brief, bloody war. They died in the first charge, before anyone took command of the battle or gave any orders. They died not as soldiers or as men, but as boys too young to lose their lives so tragically when there was no worthy cause demanding their sacrifice."


    "Both groups of warriors cry out at the waste of their deaths," Zedya said. "They demand justice from the person responsible for this tragedy. In the end, it was the actions of a single person who caused so much violence and bloodshed and robbed them of their chance to fight for something that mattered," she concluded, her words echoing off the ceiling high above.


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Zedya said, turning to face the dias. "It is the demand of these fallen warriors that Young Lord Hauke stand before them, to be tried for his crimes and punished for his wrongs. Only then will the dead rest peacefully."


    "The dead are within their rights to demand a trial," Nyrielle acknowledged. "And whether it was Hauke himself or the spirits of ancient ancestors acting through him, the guilty must be punished for what happened last night."


    "Bring the prisoner before us," Zedya called loudly enough to be heard outside the Great Hall. The moment she spoke, the massive doors shuddered and slowly began to open revealing Artificer Erkembalt standing beside a glassy-eyed Hauke.


    The Young Lord looked no more aware of his surroundings than he had at the end of the battle, but now he had been bathed and dressed in his finest robes before he was chained to a wooden chair to be carried into the chamber.


    Standing behind him, five sorcerers in elaborate flowing robes bearing the symbols of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth each carried a single metal box containing the iridescent horn of one of the ancestors who had possessed Hauke.


    "Your Eternity," Erkembalt said formally as he strode forward, leading the strange procession that included ¡¯captive¡¯ horns and the bound but helpless young lord. "By your command, I have brought the prisoners to stand trial for their crimes." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 470: Hauke’s Stars

    Chapter 470: Hauke¡¯s StarsFor Hauke, time seemed to pass incredibly slowly in the aftermath of the battle. Trapped in the frozen cave of his own mind, it seemed like his struggles were utterly futile against Eraric¡¯s sorcery. The ancestor most famed for the constructs he birthed from Eternal Ice hadn¡¯t held back when he retaliated against Hauke for the young lord¡¯s interference in the battle against Ashlynn.


    Now, with his hands and feet frozen in place, after what felt like hours of struggling even if it had only been dozens of minutes, the captive Frost Walker finally gave up in his struggles against the ice that held him captive. No matter how much strength he expended, it seemed like the ice only grew thicker in response to his struggles. If he wanted to defeat the ice and free himself from the prison within his own mind, he would have to outthink it rather than overpowering it.


    In the world outside, Erkembalt and Aspakos carefully transferred the young Frost Walker to a litter in order to carry him into the castle. While there were times when everything should be left exactly in place before disturbing anything that might have been an important part of a ritual, Hauke¡¯s circumstances amounted to battlefield injuries and the best thing to do would be to take him somewhere out of the cold.


    Or at least, that¡¯s what the two sorcerers told themselves as they hurried into the shelter and relative warmth of the icy fortress. Nothing in this frozen world could ever be called ¡¯warm¡¯ but at least with shelter, they could escape the biting mountain winds that sliced through their clothing like countless freezing needles.


    "Do you want me to examine him, old friend?" Aspakos said once they¡¯d been guided to a cell in which they could do their work. "I can still do at least that much."


    "Can you?" Erkembalt said as he sat a heavy leather case on a nearby table and began pulling out tools, neatly arranging them on the table as he gathered his thoughts about the curse that seemed to have taken hold of the young Frost Walker. "That bloody aura of yours won¡¯t taint the work?"


    The artificer paused in his preparations, looking at his dark-feathered friend with eyes that barely concealed the pain he felt behind a layer of professional skepticism. In the days since their reunion, he¡¯d seen how often Aspakos restrained himself from what should have been simple, ordinary actions because of the smothering aura of crimson darkness that had settled over him.


    When Aspakos said that his hands could no longer hold the tools of their trade, he¡¯d been understating the limitations he suffered for attempting to use sorcery meant for the founder of their order alone. It wasn¡¯t only the tools of creation that he¡¯d been forbidden from, even common cutlery, forks, and spoons were impossible for his taloned hands to hold.


    Weapons, however... nothing prevented the sorcerer with a broken beak from picking up weapons, as if the only power left to him was the power of destruction.


    "I have lost some things, but I see more clearly now," Aspakos said as he knelt beside Hauke¡¯s glassy-eyed figure. Heavy iron shackles bound his wrists and ankles, binding his movements in case he recovered enough to pose a threat, though both men in the cell thought that it was exceptionally unlikely. Whatever bound Hauke, it wouldn¡¯t release him easily or the young man would have broken free of it by now.


    "Do not disturb me, old friend," Askapos said as he used one taloned claw to pierce the flesh of his brow in several places, forming the pattern of the constellation of Sitka the Weaver in tiny drops of blood.


    "Celestial eyes that watch and wait,


    Unveil the threads of woven fate.


    Through starlit night and endless days,


    Into tomorrow¡¯s tomorrow I cast my gaze."


    Steel clattered on wood and stone as tools fell forgotten from Erkembalt¡¯s hands the moment Aspakos¡¯s words reached his ears. He wanted to shout at his friend to stop, to tell him that this young lord wasn¡¯t important enough to harm himself even further with the founder¡¯s art, but the words caught in his throat as he watched the air above Aspakos darken until it resembled a patch of the night sky, filled with tiny twinkling lights.


    "For this sight, I yield my path,


    Freely accept dark aftermath.


    One step deeper into night,


    One truth closer to the light."


    An inky darkness blacker than the night sky swirled in Aspakos¡¯s eyes, reflecting the hundreds of twinkling lights above. Then, ever so slowly, several of the lights within his eyes grew dim before winking out entirely. Meanwhile, above him, a series of lights grew brighter, twinkling in colors of pale blue, dark purple, pure white and soft green before the entire scene faded away as though it had never been there at all


    But to Erkembalt¡¯s eyes, the darkness enveloping his friend had grown greater still and his shoulders slumped as though he¡¯d picked up another burden to bear.


    "Aspakos, why?" Erkembalt asked. His tail hung low, nearly tucked against his legs as he watched his friend stand up, shaking his shoulders as if adjusting to a new pain... or a new absence. "What did you trade away this time?" the artificer asked flatly. "What did you need to know so badly that you couldn¡¯t even wait until I¡¯d had my turn?"


    "Be easy, old friend," the dark-feathered sorcerer said, crossing the room to place a taloned hand on Erkembalt¡¯s shoulder. "This young man, he¡¯s only just begun his journey. That¡¯s what I needed to know," he said with a slight smile.


    "I said it outside, didn¡¯t I? That it might be justice for him to be left this way," Aspakos said slowly. He didn¡¯t regret his words, they¡¯d been the right words to give to the Harbinger of Death after she¡¯d seen what this young man had done to the Mother of Trees, but he didn¡¯t want those words to become a prophecy all their own.


    "Whether it is justice or not," he continued. "If his journey ends here, then so will many others in the years to come. Many lights will fade before their time and the world we live in will grow darker still."


    "Whether it is just for him to recover or not," the sorcerer said, looking at Hauke¡¯s slack-jawwed, shackled figure. "It would be better if he does. Now, it¡¯s your turn old friend. Find a way to mend the broken," he said, as though he were talking about fixing broken pottery like nothing could be more simple. "Young Hauke¡¯s future is in your hands."


    sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 471: Practical Methods

    Chapter 471: Practical Methods"Young Hauke¡¯s future is in your hands."


    Aspakos¡¯s words weighed on Erkembalt like an anvil strapped around his tail, dragging him down to the ground and forcing him to look at the captive Frost Walker like a person rather than a puzzle to be solved. The aging artificer would have preferred to treat Hauke¡¯s condition as nothing more than a challenge to his skills, one that he could succeed or fail at without real consequence. After all, Lady Nyrielle had only asked that they try, she had never demanded results.


    But now, his old friend had not only reminded him that this was a painfully young man, younger even than Erkembalt¡¯s own children, but he was a young man who could be incredibly useful in the days to come.


    It didn¡¯t take a prophet to understand that Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn likely hoped to use the Frost Walkers to blunt the fire sorcerers, the so called priests of the invading human army. One look at the Holy Flame Blade had been enough to show both men the sort of enemy they were up against and a sorcerer like Hauke formed a natural counter to those sorcerers.


    But beyond that, he was a young man... one who was suffering a curse that was far too cruel for someone who seemed to have blundered into the schemes of ancient spiritual revenants.


    "You take the joy from my life with words like those, old friend," Erkembalt said, collecting the tools he¡¯d dropped and returning them to their place on the table. "Be a second pair of eyes for me while I work," he said gruffly as he brought a cone of incense and a burner to Hauke¡¯s feet. "Tell me if you notice anything that I don¡¯t."


    Pulling a small mechanical striker from one of his vest¡¯s many bulging pockets, the artificer quickly lit the incense before lowering a set of colored lenses over his ordinary spectacles, blocking out the light cast by torches and focusing only on the flow of faintly visible energy as it circulated thorough Hauke¡¯s body.


    Within his icy prison, Hauke watched carefully as the sorcerers performed their work. He didn¡¯t know what the strange feathered sorcerer had seen in his vision but the feeling of great power pulling aside a vast curtain reached Hauke even in the prison of his own mind. The brief brush with power gave him a feeling of an immense world of possibilities and at the same time, the heavy feeling of dozens of hopes and dreams dying all at once.


    Sorcery like that was far beyond anything that Hauke had ever experienced but since it seemed to have convinced the man called Aspakos that he should spare the young Frost Walker lord, Hauke was inclined to at least respect the power of the sorcery even if he didn¡¯t know what kind of revelation it had provided.


    Right now, however, he was watching Erkembalt work as the artificer carefully fanned incense until a cloud of haze enveloped the Hauke from the tip of his horn to the ends of his toes.


    "Look here," Erkembalt said, pointing at a swirling pattern in the smoke above Hauke¡¯s head. "It¡¯s like his energy has been broken into two distinct flows. His mind and his body are nearly completely separated from each other."


    "Not completely," Aspakos said, hovering far enough away that he wouldn¡¯t disturb his friend¡¯s delicate work but close enough that he could see things from a different perspective. "Look closer. There are three flows. One for his body, another for his head, and a third, a paper thin shell surrounding the two and holding everything together. But his horn has pierced into the shell."


    "Mmm, and it¡¯s doing more than that," Erkembalt agreed, watching the flow of the smoke. "If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say this was a vampire¡¯s curse. His horn is drawing energy away from his body to fuel the curse keeping his mind sealed away..."


    "That¡¯s not how vampire curses work at all," Aspakos snorted. "This is Frost Walker sorcery, very old Frost Walker sorcery. It¡¯s like it¡¯s using cold wind to steal the heat from his body and giving that heat to the curse that binds him," he muttered before walking over to the table and peering through Erkembalt¡¯s tools. "Do you have Silver Leaf Purity Powder? Or have you prepared any Thief¡¯s Revealing Mist?"


    "Do I have any Silver Leaf Purity Powder," Erkembalt muttered with a disgruntled -humpf- sound as he padded back across the prison cell to his tools. "Wouldn¡¯t be much of a curse breaker if I couldn¡¯t look for corruption beneath the surface would I? It¡¯s in the canister labled ¡¯dirt samples.¡¯"


    "Dirt samples?" the dark feathered sorcerer said in surprise. "Why do you keep your purity powder with dirt samples?"


    "I don¡¯t," Erkembalt said, opening a wooden canister to reveal several neatly stored vials, each one containing a different unique, glittering powder. "You think I¡¯ve never had burglers rifle through my things? The outside world isn¡¯t like things were back in the Forsaken Lands. Even children will try to snatch things that look like they¡¯re valuable if they think they can get away with it. A starving man will snatch anything labled ¡¯silver¡¯ even if it¡¯s just ground up plants that are worthless outside of the trade, but no one snatches ¡¯dirt samples.¡¯"


    "Now look," Erkembalt said, his tail standing up straight in anticipation as he carefull withdrew a pinch of the silvery powder and sprinkled it over Hauke¡¯s iridescent horn. As soon as he did, the bright silvery powder turned dark, settling on the horn in patches that slowly grew larger as the artificer added more powder until a pattern began to emerge.


    "Chains," Aspakos said, clicking his tongue in disgust. "His horn is the anchor of the curse that binds him. This is intricate," he added as he examined the chains, noticing patterns in the chains that almost resembled glyphs from an older form of Eldritch. "This would never work on someone who wasn¡¯t a Frost Walker... and maybe it would only work on another Frost Walker with an iridescent horn like his."


    "That makes it fairly simple though," Erkembalt said, walking across the prison cell to retrieve a saw that would cut through the limbs of a person just as easily as it would cut through the limbs of a tree. "All we have to do is remove his horn and the curse should completely unravel..."


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 Chapter 472: A Good Student

    Chapter 472: A Good Student"Noooo!" Hauke shouted from deep within his mind. He¡¯d been listening attentively and observing while the two men worked but now, what was this madness? They wanted to cut off his horn to break the curse? He would rather die!


    "No, you can¡¯t!" Hauke roared, his voice echoing off the icy walls of the cavern within his mind. "Why can¡¯t you hear me! Do something so you can hear me first, old man! Do something so you can talk to me before you start cutting on me!"


    The cave that held Hauke prisoner shook and trembled with a combination of his fear and anger as he threw himself once again at Eraric¡¯s binding spell, trying to do anything, anything at all to demonstrate how unwilling he was to suffer such an extreme mutilation.


    "You can¡¯t touch his horn," Aspakos said, stepping between Hauke and the smiling artificer. "I promised that we wouldn¡¯t treat him until Lady Nyrielle passed judgment and she¡¯s not going to do that until she holds court tomorrow night. Put the saw down and think of what else could be done to free him from this curse."


    "You know that my sign says ¡¯curses broken¡¯, not ¡¯curses gently removed¡¯ right?" Erkembalt said with a huff as he put down the saw. "I¡¯m not a healer. My methods aren¡¯t delicate and my customers understand that." S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I doubt your customers would come to you if they had any other alternative," the other sorcerer said ruffling his feathers and heaving a heavy sigh of relief that his friend hadn¡¯t been insistent about following the quickest path forward. "But we have alternatives. We¡¯re traveling with witches now, aren¡¯t we? If you can reveal the intricacies of the curse, then the Severing Knife of a witch is the perfect tool for gently prying it out."


    "Reveal it¡¯s intricacies? Do you know how long that would take?" Erkembalt says, shaking his head. "We have at most a day. In that time, I can find one or two other methods to remove the curse by force but if you want me to reveal it¡¯s intricacies well enough to unravel it..."


    "Then, not enough to unravel it," Aspakos suggested, thinking of a different approach he could take with his stubborn friend. "Understand it well enough to explain to Lady Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle. When they sit in judgment, they will want to know what we¡¯ve learned. Since you¡¯ve found one solution already," he said, charitably referring to the notion of cutting off the young Frost Walker¡¯s horn as a ¡¯solution.¡¯ "Let¡¯s see how many more we can find."


    Inwardly, Hauke heaved a huge sigh of relief of his own. He¡¯d started to notice something when they applied the strange, silvery powder to his horn but before he could consider it, the mad butcher had picked up a saw and started talking about cutting off his horn!


    Now that the man with the broken beak had managed to once again talk sense into the saw wielding madman, Hauke returned his attention to the strange sensations he felt from his horn since Erkembalt applied the powder.


    Before, he¡¯d only noticed the way the curse manifested on him within his own mind. He could feel the ice surrounding his hands and feet, binding him in place, trapping him between two pillars of ice within his mind, but the mental space he¡¯d shared with the ancestral spirits was so realistic he¡¯d forgotten that it was only a manifestation of imagination.


    This space was his own mind, and within it, he should be its master. The actions of the ancestors had robbed him of his ability to control his own body, but his mind was still his to do with as he pleased. While he might not be able to free himself from the ice that bound him, he could still do a great deal to change the space around him.


    "Polished Ice. Reflect My Truth." They were simple words for what should have been a simple act of sorcery but drawing on his energy felt like cutting open his own veins and filling them with ice water. Freezing pain tore through Hauke¡¯s mind, nearly breaking his concentration before he could complete the working. Closing his eyes, he poured all of his will into the simple act of sorcery until finally, he felt the space within his mind shift around him.


    When he opened his eyes, the vision of the ancestral cave that the ancestors had constructed in his mind had vanished, replaced by a brightly lit chamber of ice. The walls of ice around him were polished so smoothly that each one acted like a mirror, reflecting back images of the young Frost Walker lord trapped in the center of the chamber.


    Now that he could see himself, he realized that the men examining him were right about the chains on his horn. The patterns of chains stood out starkly thanks to the Silver Leaf Purity Powder that revealed any trace of corruption and the curse certainly counted as a corrupting influence.


    More importantly, however, while the men examining him might not recognize the ancient runes formed by the patterns of chains, Hauke did. A slow smile spread on his face as he thanked Kimsel for her many lessons in the ancient symbols used to shape eternal ice. Eraric might have been a master of using the runes to form constructs, but no one compared to Kimsel in terms of accumulation of knowledge and her lessons were particularly useful now.


    "This binding isn¡¯t something Eraric designed," Hauke realized as he inspected the runes. All this time, he¡¯d thought himself trapped by the mightiest architect to ever be born into the Frost Walker Clan but he¡¯d been wrong. This binding was not only something that Eraric had learned from someone else, it had been hastily applied to restrict Hauke¡¯s attempt to escape!


    "There are flaws in this," Hauke said as his eyes darted around the room, examining reflections of the binding from every possible angle. "I just need to find a way to attack those flaws," he said as he grasped the first glimmer of true hope that he¡¯d had since this nightmare began. "Now, what else do you know, old men," he said, returning his attention to the conversation between the two sorcerers.


    It was clear that they have very little experience with ancient Frost Walker sorcery and both men worked carefully, making their observations as they studied the magic holding Hauke captive. Hauke, however, soaked in their observations like a sponge, fitting them into the lessons he¡¯d taken from Eraric, Ines, Kimsel and even Eugen.


    As the hours wore on with night turning into day and even daylight beginning to fade, Hauke began to despair that he could shatter the binding from within. There were cracks in the binding, or rather, there were gaps.


    Those gaps allowed him to hear and see what happened in the outside world and they had likely been left there deliberately in order to let the ancestors observe what happened while Ansgar treated Hauke¡¯s body like a weapon to weild.


    "Escaping is too difficult," he admitted when the men finally left in order to rest before night fell and the trials were to begin. "But just because I can¡¯t escape, that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t do something else," he mused, carefully considering the lessons he¡¯d received from the other ancestors.


    "What I need is a way to talk to people," he reasoned. "If I could speak to them... then there might be a way out of this without letting that butcher saw off my horn."


    There was still time. Only a few hours perhaps, but as long as he had any time at all, Hauke resolved to spend every last moment applying everything he had learned to find a way out of this unending nightmare.


    He was the last student of the five greatest Frost Walkers to ever live, or at least the five greatest to pass down their horns. If he couldn¡¯t find something to use to take control of his own destiny, then what had been the point of becoming their student in the first place?

 Chapter 473: Hauke’s Trial Begins

    Chapter 473: Hauke¡¯s Trial BeginsSitting on her frozen throne in the Great Hall, Ashlynn felt ice grip her heart when Hauke was carried in. Chains bound his body, securing him to the chair that was so heavy it took several men to move, but even if he wasn¡¯t bound, there was nothing the young man could do.


    His wounds from the battle the night before had been washed and bandaged but with healers in such short supply, no one had done more than provide minimal care for the young Frost Walker lord who many felt was responsible for starting the night of tragedy. If he could feel, the pain of thouse wounds would likely be immense but at the moment, seeing his vacant, glassy-eyed stare, Ashlynn could only hope that he wasn¡¯t suffering.


    "The dead cry out for justice," Zedya said formally when the soldiers set Hauke at the front of the hall and Erkembalt joined Aspakos with the remainder of the delegation. "Many witnesses saw how last night¡¯s tragedy began. Young Lord Hauke cried ¡¯defiler¡¯ and launched an unprovoked attack at Lady Heila. Because of that action, what should have been a simple, ceremonial greeting between two allies turned into a night of blood and death."


    "Lady Ashlynn," Zedya said, turning to face the Mother of Trees on her throne of ice. "You understand what happened better than anyone, and while the Willow Witch suffered at his hands, you suffered far more grievous wounds. Will you tell everyone gathered here, living and dead, what happened last night?"


    "I will," Ashlynn said smoothly as she tried to assess the mood of the crowd. Several of the youngest Frost Walkers present glared at Hauke with open hostility while the elders among them wore far more complicated looks that contained a measure of guilt and sorrow. Surprisingly, the hostility was far more intense on Nyrielle¡¯s side of the Great Hall, though Ashlynn wasn¡¯t sure if it was hostility on behalf of the fallen soldiers or for something else entirely.


    "But not yet," she said. "Last night¡¯s tragedy comes near the end of a story and too many here, including the honored dead, have never heard it," she explained, casting a glance at Nyrielle and giving her lover¡¯s hand a gentle squeeze. "Let my love speak first."


    "Some secretes should stay buried with the dead," Nyrielle said with a heavy sigh. She¡¯d discussed whether or not to reveal these secrets with Ashlynn and she¡¯d been strongly opposed to doing so, but her lover wanted to build toward something greater and insisted that lies and secretes would only undermine the foundation of anything they tried to build in the aftermath of this nightmare.


    Nyrielle, however, was worried that a poorly understood truth could do more harm than good, and while she knew more of the truth now than they had before, there were still many questions that only her mentor, Shubnalu, could answer. Without his cooperation, some things could never be fully understood, even if the fragments they possessed were revealed. In the end, they¡¯d compromised, and Nyrielle agreed to reveal a portion of what she had learned in the ancestral cave where they had first encountered the Blood Golems.


    "My darling Ashlynn has asked me to share a piece of history long lost to your people," Nyrielle said, looking out over the Frost Walkers. "But understand that this comes from a time long ago. So long ago that my teacher, the Fangs of Death, was a young man under the tutelage of Acat, a True Vampire who bore the title of ¡¯Jaws of Death.¡¯ Acat fell more than five hundred years ago, leaving his seat vacant until Bardas was born into the world to inherit his title and traditions." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Several mutters swept through the crowd at the revelation, particularly among the Mongrel Hord. Savis and Tausau shared an even more troubled look. Hamdi was one of Bardas¡¯s progeny so they had some interaction with the famed Jaws of Death of the current age, but to hear that events last night began with their progenitor¡¯s predecessor cast things in a very different light for every vampire in the room.


    "At the height of your clan¡¯s power, the Frost Walkers brought about an Age of Ice that covered the world beneath a blanket of ice and snow," Nyrielle explained. "By rights, according to the traditions of the Jaws of Death, your clan should have been exterminated for what they had done. Those who threaten the lives of all people cannot be allowed to continue their rule.


    "But instead of slaughtering your people," Nyrielle continued. "Acat sealed away the power that threatened the world, breaking the bloodline of Frost Walkers into its component parts and ending the tyranny of a clan where almost everyone possessed an iridescent horn like Haukes."


    "Tyranny?" Commander Jannik said derisively, unable to contain the storm of emotions that engulfed his heart at Nyrielle¡¯s words. "You mean to tell me that this Acat stripped us of the chance to grow into greatness the way Hauke could have, breaking the power of our clan and turning us into prey for the likes of Tuscans and artificers who would turn our horns into weapons, and yet we were the tyrants?"


    "Jannik!" Odette cried out, rushing from her chair to his side to hold him back before he could do anything impulsive again. "Please, hear what Her Eternity has to say before you speak. I¡¯m sure there is more to this."


    "There is more," Nyrielle said calmly as she looked down at the troubled commander who had already demonstrated his poor opinions about vampires and their traditions once during this evening¡¯s proceedings. "But you should understand one thing first. The Frost Walker clan of today is not the Frost Walker clan of old. That power was broken because it caused untold deaths and devastation. So when I call the Frost Walker clan of old ¡¯tyrants¡¯ I mean it. They deserved the label for nearly exterminating every other clan on the continent," she said in a voice dripping with condemnation.


    "I will say it again," Nyrielle said as he eyes filled with a deep darkness and her voice grew distant as though she spoke from the depths of a limitless abyss. "The Frost Walkers of old deserved their eradication, but they were spared by Acat¡¯s hand all those years ago. Instead of destroying your clan, he stripped your clan of the power to destroy the world."


    "But you can see that even then, your clan wasn¡¯t left without hope for a bright future," Ashlynn added, squeezing Nyrielle¡¯s hand gently before she pointed at Hauke, sitting in chains at the foot of the dais. "Iridescent horns are still born into the Frost Walker Clan. It is too much power for everyone to have," she said, nodding at Savis and Tausau who quickly nodded in agreement.


    "But in the hands of the right person, that power can still pave the way to a brighter future for the entire clan," Ashlynn said. "I know that that¡¯s what Hauke was trying to do," she added in a softer tone. "And he was trying to learn how to do so from ancestors who shared his unique gifts, because no one could understand what it really takes to master an iridescent horn other than the people who possessed one before him."


    "If only it were as simple as learning from those who came before," Nyrielle said, calming herself enough to continue telling her tale. Inwardly, she worried that what she had to say next would draw even more ire from Commander Jannik and those who thought like him, but... she had promised Ashlynn that she would try.


    If words failed, there was still the option to use force... she only hoped that, for Ashlynn¡¯s sake, it didn¡¯t come to that so soon in their attempts to forge something greater.

 Chapter 474: Twisted Ancestors

    Chapter 474: Twisted AncestorsHauke watched in stunned silence from within the prison of his own mind as Nyrielle laid out a history of his people that he had never heard, even from the ancestors who had dwelled within his mind.


    From Ansgar, he had heard of the era of Seven Peaks when the Frost Walkers ruled not just the High Pass but Airgead Mountain and several other nearby mountains whose summits rose above the clouds. In that era, Ansgar hadn¡¯t been the Lord of High Pass but the High Lord of Seven Peaks and Frost Walkers held power for nearly the entire length of the eastern mountains.


    Each generation after that dwindled as the ice and snow of the glaciers retreated and by the time Kimsel ruled, only the High Pass remained within the Frost Walker¡¯s domain. This was the history that they¡¯d shared with him but they said nothing of an age of ice before, nor of a vampire breaking their bloodline!


    But now, as he listened to Nyrielle¡¯s words, Hauke felt like the powerful vampire was about to explain something even more important, and even more relevant to people like him who managed to manifest the iridescent horn that belonged to the broken bloodline of his clan.


    "It¡¯s true that Acat¡¯s sorcery, however it functioned, made it possible for people with iridescent horns to be born again," Nyrielle said, continuing her explanation. "But I doubt that this was deliberate, even though it might be fortunate," she said with a brief glance at Hauke¡¯s listless figure.


    "It was my mentor Shubnalu who responded to the reemergence of the iridescent horns among your people, when a powerful High Lord used his strength to extend the glaciers for the first time in hundreds of years, linking seven mountains together in a world of ice that lasted through even the hottest summers," Nyrielle explained.


    "The Fangs of Death exist to reap the lives of individuals who have grown so powerful that they can shake the foundations of the world with their will," she said, turning her gaze back to the crowd who now hung on her every word. "But once again, vampires showed mercy. Shubnalu offered a choice to this powerful High Lord. Rule as a man for the remainder of his life, or preside over his people for eternity as a powerful guardian who could ensure that the nation he built never failed."


    The account of the ¡¯bargain¡¯ that Shubnalu had made with High Lord Ansgar wasn¡¯t outlined in great detail on the tablet Nyrielle found in the ancestral cave. Her mentor left behind just enough information for whoever followed after him to continue the legacy in order to suppress the Frost Walkers and contain their threat, but it was enough to understand the many lies Shubnalu must have told the High Lord of Seven Peaks for him to agree to what happened next.


    "Shubnalu never offered to take this High Lord as his progeny," Nyrielle said. Or if he had, the offer had been rejected and her mentor hadn¡¯t written of it. "Instead, he offered to turn him into an immortal guardian formed of frozen blood. A guardian who could watch over his people for all time."


    "I have seen the records of the sorcery used to create these ¡¯Frozen Blood Guardians,¡¯" Nyrielle said as she suppressed a shudder. "You cannot imagine the cruelty and sacrifice that was required to produce just one of these immortal guardians, let alone five of them. Before I leave the High Pass, I will shatter the records of the ritual so that it can never be attempted again."


    "Why?" Commander Jannik asked, though he did not shout or stand from his seat. "Vampires took away our strongest bloodline, and when it reemerged, they gave us the gift of these guardians. Now you would take away the gift that your own teacher gave us? Just how far must our people be ground down for what happened centuries before any of us were born?"


    "Still childish," Nyrielle said, glaring at the dark-furred commander. "I spare you the horrors but you demand to hear them for yourself. So be it," she said, narrowing her midnight eyes as she looked at the assembled Frost Walkers.


    "If I drained your body of blood, do you think there would be enough blood to form a statue of ice the same size as you?" Nyrielle asked bluntly. "Of course there wouldn¡¯t. So to craft the body of a Frozen Blood Guardian, more blood must be obtained. Only it isn¡¯t enough to take just the blood," she added.


    "A Blood Golem is a simple construct formed from blood around the heart of a creature. The heart provides a ¡¯will¡¯, a desire strong enough to give the construct purpose. Defend this place. Attack people from your most hated enemy. The desires of blood golems are not complicated because have no mind, only hearts filled with a single purpose."


    As she spoke, comprehension began to dawn on the faces of the sorcerers among the crowd as they realized that, unlike the willing offerings given by Nyrielle¡¯s people when a vampire needed to feed, the formation of these ¡¯Frozen Blood Guardians¡¯ would require a much greater sacrifice. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You begin to understand," Nyrielle said as she watched comprehension turn into horror on more and more faces. "These ¡¯immortal guardians¡¯ were much like blood golems. They existed for the singular purpose of protecting your people. Everything else they either cut away or lost to the millstone of time after giving their lives in ritual sacrifice to take their place in the ancestral cave with their companions."


    At this point, Ashlynn stood up from her chair, gathering all eyes on her while she gave Nyrielle a brief smile of thanks. Everything that had happened before brought them to the tragedy of the night before, but without understanding what had really happened to the ancestors, the people gathered would never be able to understand what had happened to Hauke.


    Now that they understood, Ashlynn could begin her own part of the story. One that she hoped would result in not only understanding, but a willingness to step forward on a different path than the dark one that had haunted Frost Walkers since the end of the Age of Ice.


    "By the time the Fangs of Death was done with them," Ashlynn said, taking over the explanation. "They weren¡¯t the same as the ancestors you visit in your ancestral halls. They had been turned into weapons little different than the one my Lady Heila wears at her waist. And after centuries spent sealed away in a flooded ancestral cave with sorcery that unraveled with each passing year, they had transformed from immortal guardians into weapons that hungered to be used..."

 Chapter 475: A Broken Pawn

    Chapter 475: A Broken PawnStanding before the assembled men and women of Nyrielle¡¯s army as well as hundreds of Frost Walkers, Ashlynn tried to summon a fraction of the calm, self assured demeanor she¡¯d seen so often from her father when he sat upon his throne in Blackwell Manor. Nothing ever seemed to phase him when he sat in judgment, no matter whether he was overseeing a dispute about a fence line or pronouncing the sentence for a convicted murderer.


    Whether he could maintain that calm in front of this audience or not, she had no idea, but just the thought of him sitting here beside her, watching her do as he had done so many times helped her to firm up her resolve as they approached the critical point in this trial. Perhaps one day, he truly would be able to watch over her, but for now, she would have to continue on as he taught her.


    "Old Svenja," Ashlynn said, turning to face the oldest of the Frost Walkers present, the woman who was considered to be closest to the ancestors. "I encountered the ancestors who had become ¡¯Frozen Blood Guardians¡¯ when they were at their worse. When I left, Hauke said that he intended to preserve their horns in order to learn from them. In the time that I¡¯ve been away, can you tell me what¡¯s happened?"


    "What would you like to know, your Dominion?" Svenja asked carefully. Already, her spirit felt restless and her body trembled with a dozen contradictory feelings. Shock at what Nyrielle had revealed, outrage at what had been done in the name of their honored ancestors, and wrapping around all of that, more fear and anxiety than she knew where to put.


    Already, she wanted to call a recess to this entire proceeding, withdraw into her chambers for a week or more to think through everything she had heard in the past hour and try to form some semblance of a scap of wisdom she could offer her people who were doubtless struggling even more than she was at the moment. But the dead would not wait for justice and the living would wait even less for vengeance.


    "Many of us were anxious about allowing young Hauke to learn from the ancestors in the way that he wished to," Svenja said, lowering her horn in shame. "There were voices that were opposed to it. Hauke said that he needed to keep their horns close and he wore them on his body. He said that if he did not sustain them in this way that the ancestors would crumble away now that they had lost their purpose."


    "He did not lie to you," Nyrielle said, speaking up for the young lord who couldn¡¯t speak for himself. "Without the frozen blood that sustained them, they would suffer all the ravages of time that the blood held at bay. Years would pass in days and centuries in months until there was nothing left but dust."


    "So he said, your Eternity," Svenja said. "Others still disagreed. We wished to place them in an ancestral cave of their own, mounted on traditional statues so that they could be sustained by ordinary sorcery. From your words, I assume that we were wrong and our attempt would have failed?"


    "I¡¯m sure they would have endured for a time," Nyrielle said, choosing her words with care. "Whether you were wrong or not is a different matter. After all, if you had done so, last night¡¯s tragedy would never have occurred. There would be no dead to demand justice and your lives would continue much as they had before."


    "Who made the final decision?" Ashlynn asked, taking back control of the conversation so she could nudge it in the direction that it needed to go. "Was it left to Hauke to choose? Or were the elders persuaded?"


    "Lord Ritchel made the final decision," Svenja said, casting an apologetic glance at Odette. "As Lord of the High Pass and Hauke¡¯s father, he judged it acceptable if it would allow Hauke to harness the powers of the ancestors for the good of our people. Perhaps, he hoped that doing so would allow young Hauke to succeed him sooner."


    "And do you think that was likely?" Ashlynn asked. From her experience fighting against the spirits controlling him, it certainly felt like it would have helped Hauke to secure his position as the next Lord of the High Pass but she didn¡¯t know how much of that power Hauke had mastered in the time she¡¯d been away.


    "I¡¯ll speak to that, Old Svenja," Commander Jannik said as he stood to address not only Ashlynn but all of the people assembled as well. "In just a few short months, Hauke transformed into a different kind of person. Before, we would have called him exceptional for his age and it was clear that he was first among his peers." S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But once he began to learn from the ancestors," Jannik said, shaking slightly as he recalled the way Hauke had stood over him at the end of their last sparring match. Never in all his years competing against Ritchel had he felt so... inadequate as he did when he faced off against the young lord just a few weeks ago. "Once he began to learn their arts, he became a terrifying force with no equal among our clan," he admitted.


    Saying that Hauke had no equal was selling things considerably short. When Commander Jannik faced off against the young lord, in the first two of their bouts, he never made it past Hauke¡¯s blizzards or storms of icy projectiles. He¡¯d been blinded, disoriented and pummeled into submission without ever brushing a claw through the younger man¡¯s fur.


    When they fought hand to hand it was even worse. Hauke¡¯s movements had gained a refinement that they¡¯d lacked, as if he was receiving guidance on even the slightest of mistakes when he practiced and ruthlessly eliminating him until he could fight with brutal efficiency that left Jannik breathless. The transformation was so extreme that at times, he wondered if he was really fighting against Hauke, or if one of the ancestors had taken over his body to teach the current commander a painful lesson about his own inadequacies.


    "So, in learning from the ancestors, he gained great power," Ashlynn said as she prepared to ask her next and most important question. Thus far, she only had suspicions. There hadn¡¯t been enough time to gather much information while she slept away the day, recovering from her wounds, but the few things that Virve had learned and reported back to her gave her an idea of what had been happening.


    "Now tell me, Commander Jannik, Castle Mistress Odette or Old Svenja," Ashlynn said, looking at the three foremost leaders among the Frost Walkers in Ritchel¡¯s absence. "Did Hauke ever speak of plans for the future, or a purpose that he needed to fulfill with the power he gained? Had he begun to express ideas that might not have been his own, that would have reshaped the High Pass or the clan itself?"


    "He, he did," Odette said, trembling as pieces fell together in her mind. Things had seemed so innocent then, but now that she heard about the way the ancestors had ruled... "He was learning a powerful protective magic, one designed by the ancestor who designed this very fortress," she explained slowly.


    "He would have transformed the pass into a tunnel, covered by a vast sheet of Eternal Ice that spanned between the two mountains," Odette explained. "He said that it would allow us to close the pass to humans, even in the summer months, if humans ever made it past the Vale of Mists. He also said that in time, after a decade or two, it would make it easier to traverse from here to Airgead Mountain without having to descend into the warmer lowlands."


    "So it¡¯s true," Ashlynn said, nodding as she heard confirmation of one of the stranger rumors that Virve had brought her when she woke. "Hauke was trying to reverse the retreat of the glaciers," she said, thinking back to the conversation she¡¯d once had with Hauke during her first visit.


    The young lord was very concerned with the shrinking of the glaciers and the warming of the world that reduced the Frost Walker¡¯s territory by inches every year. Knowing how much he cared about his people, it wasn¡¯t hard to guess how quickly Hauke would have jumped at the suggestion that there was something he could do to reverse the trend. He might even have believed that it was his responsibility to do so.


    "His actions were likely paving a way to restore the Seven Peaks," Ashlynn said with growing confidence as she considered the unwavering, intractable positions the ancestral spirits held when she talked to them during their battle. They seemed frozen in their thinking, products of an age that no longer existed, but what if it was more than that? What if they wanted to bring about a return to that very age?


    "And maybe," Ashlynn said, speaking aloud as wondered if the ancestors had been as unaware of their own history as everyone had assumed as well. "Maybe, the magic Hauke was learning from the ancestors would have been capable of ushering in the return of the Age of Ice."

 Chapter 476: All I Wanted To Do...

    Chapter 476: All I Wanted To Do...Hauke watched in frozen horror as Ashlynn methodically built her way to what seemed like the only logical conclusion. By the time she arrived at the end, everything seemed to fit neatly in place. So neatly that any other explanation wouldn¡¯t make any sense at all.


    Nyrielle had explained what the Frost Walkers had lost over the years. She even told them who was responsible for it! And now, hundreds of years later, the rulers of the once mighty Frost Walker nation of the Seven Peaks had returned, finding a ready-made pawn who was eager to participate in their scheme to restore their fallen empire.


    But for Hauke, it hadn¡¯t been like that at all!


    He¡¯d shared with the ancestors everything that Ashlynn had told them about humans, their church, and the power of their Crusades. He explained the threat facing the Frost Walkers and how much they needed strength to face the battles to come. It was only because of those threats that the ancestors had offered up ways he could use his powers to rebuild ancient defenses for his people.


    Everything he learned from them had a purpose. Ansgar taught him how to fight against mighty champions while Eraric taught him how to create strong fortifications. Though he¡¯d had little opportunity to use the healing arts he¡¯d studied with Eugen, Hauke struggled to see how those or the lessons in managing a nation he¡¯d received from Kimsel...


    Suddenly his mind froze as he began to look at those lessons from Kimsel from a different perspective.


    "You will need these methods for now," she had told him in one lesson when she spoke of methods to advance while seeming to retreat when negotiating with more powerful nations. "But in time, strength will accomplish what honeyed words can not. By the time you are as old as I once was, perhaps no one would dare to suggest you give way to them."


    Other lessons also sounded different if he listened to them again with fresh ears.


    "The air above us contains vast pockets of even greater cold," Ines explained during her first lesson on Sky Ribbons. "When you can connect the peak of a mountain to those pockets of cold, you can do far more than simply prevent a glacier¡¯s retreat..."


    When he¡¯d heard her explanation, he¡¯d been eager to apply her lessons to his home mountain as soon as possible. Anything that would stop the shrinking of their glacier and preserve the ancestral caves that were in increasing danger of being exposed each summer would be a welcome boon. If it did more than that, then that was all well and good, but he never expected to be as great a man as people like Ansgar were.


    For Hauke, it would have been enough if he could protect his people from the human threat and forge an even stronger alliance with the Vale of Mists. If he could have gained the qualifications to become a witch and join Ashlynn¡¯s coven, that would have been even better but he never expected such an outlandish dream to come true.


    Every time he spoke with the ancestors, he thought he understood them better. He believed that they were making the best of what little time they had left to help him grow into the kind of guardian for their people that they had once been. But was it really that simple? sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Would you really have faded away?" Hauke asked the empty chamber of ice, his voice trembling with fear. "Or would I have been the one to be locked away," he wondered, taking another look at the reflection of the binding on his horn.


    It wasn¡¯t Eraric¡¯s work and it had been applied in haste but... The powerful architect had recalled such a complicated working in an instant and applied it with brutal efficiency. Had he been studying the thing, perhaps with the other ancestors? Had this been the fate they always intended for Hauke?


    "I¡¯ve been such a fool," he said, slumping against the ice that held him prisoner. "This whole time I thought they were my teachers. I thought I gave them a purpose that they could hang on to but... they had their own purpose all along."


    Maybe they hadn¡¯t all agreed on it yet. Maybe Kimsel and Eugen were still trying to teach him so that he could resurrect their once mighty nation and rule it in his own right. But Ansgar... Ansgar controlled his body like a puppet, wielding Hauke like an unfamiliar weapon in his hands. In time, however, Hauke was certain that the unfamiliarity would have gone away until no one could tell the difference between Hauke and the ancestor who he had unknowingly surrendered his life to.


    Now, as he turned his attention back to Ashlynn who had returned to her seat on the icy throne, he realized that the time had almost arrived for Nyrielle to render her judgment and yet he had never been able to say a single word in his own defense or anyone else¡¯s.


    "No, no, no, no, no, no," he muttered as he tried to calm his mind and regather his composure enough to use what little sorcery he felt he could manage.


    His mind remained his to control but his body was closed to him, leaving him as limp as a rag doll and helpless to do anything. He dared not dream of defeating the binding placed on him, he already knew that was futile, but if he could expand the area that he had control of, just a little bit then perhaps he could at least speak.


    "Healing Wind of Gentle Warmth," he said, guiding the thinnest ribbon of warm green energy around the bonds at the tip of his horn. "Bitter Cold, Sudden Freeze," he said a moment later, instantly freezing the energy that gathered at the tip of his horn.


    The world around him shook and trembled, going from warm to cold in the blink of an eye, but Hauke wasn¡¯t done yet. Again and again, he summoned the opposing forces, pushing the warmth further and further into the spaces between the links of the chain each time before freezing them again.


    Like ice wearing away at stones as it melted and froze again, Hauke battered the edges of the bonds that held him in place, struggling for a moment of freedom, just one chance to speak before the chains snapped tightly around him again...


    "Mistress Nyrielle," Ashlynn said, turning to look at her lover with a faint, hopeful expression. The people seemed to accept the story they¡¯d unfolded, though there was a great deal of speculation filling the gaps between solid facts.


    Whether they were right or not, it was impossible to say, but given her own experience with ghosts who wouldn¡¯t easily give up any chance they had to control or influence the living, she felt it was more likely than not.


    "I think that..."


    "Wait!" Hauke¡¯s trembling, strained voice cried out, shocking everyone present in the hall. His appearance hadn¡¯t changed much, his body still hung limp against his chains, but now he held his head up high and his eyes had gone from unfocused and glassy to clear and filled with purpose while the tip of his horn pulsed with a feeble green and blue flickering light.


    "Before you. Pass judgment," he said slowly as he struggled against the curse that bound him. "Please, let me speak!"

 Chapter 477: A Few Words

    Chapter 477: A Few Words"Hauke!" Ashlynn cried, jumping down from her throne and stumbling down the icy steps of the dais in her haste to reach the young Frost Walker¡¯s side. All thoughts about her dignity as the Mother of Trees, her role in presiding over the trial and the path she¡¯d been carefully building toward the future left her mind as she focused on the only thing that mattered. Her friend.


    Odette moved just a handful of seconds later, similarly abandoning decorum at her son¡¯s first sign of movement since they brought his listless, unresponsive body into the room. Seeing him like that had crushed what little resolve she had left, but now she cast aside all of her worries as she dashed across the icy floor to join the Mother of Trees at her son¡¯s side.


    "Hauke, you¡¯re alive," Ashlynn said, reaching out gently to stroke the soft white flowing fur of Hauke¡¯s mane. Alternating warm and bitter cold magic rippled across her fingers as soon as she came close to his face and she quickly snatched back her hand as she realized that the young lord wasn¡¯t nearly as free of this curse as she thought he¡¯d been.


    When she met Hauke before, his magic had always felt fresh, joyful, even playful when he created an ice house on the lake or showed off his ability to form complex constructs from pure ice. Now, however, the feeling of warm wind that brushed against her fingers felt like the steaming breath of an overworked beast of burden in the cold winter air while the cold energy felt like a howling mountain wind that pierced through clothing and stung the flesh.


    More than that, his magic felt... desperate and barely under control.


    "Step back, Lady Odette," Ashlynn said, holding out an arm to block the older woman¡¯s path and taking a step back herself as she did. "Hauke," she continued, not taking her eyes off her friend¡¯s for a moment. "You¡¯re struggling, I can feel it. How can we help you break free?"


    "Need to say. Say something," Hauke said through gritted teeth as he struggled against the magic holding him back. Freeing even a portion of himself from the binding took as much effort as holding a man his father¡¯s side above his head and that effort grew greater every second as he exhausted the limited reserve of energy he¡¯d been able to gather during the day.


    "Yes, you need to tell us how to help you," Ashlynn said, frantically waving at Erkembalt and Aspakos to join her at the young man¡¯s side. "How are you speaking to us? We can at least make it easier for you." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "My fault," Hauke said, ignoring Ashlynn¡¯s pleas to focus on what he needed to say. He might be young, but even he could tell that Ashlynn had been working hard to force the blame for the disaster onto the ancestors and onto his father for granting him permission to wear the horns. She¡¯d been working hard to build a way out for him by casting him as a puppet of the ancestors but if he let her do that then even if he escaped responsibility for what happened, his father wouldn¡¯t.


    "My fault, for trusting them," he said, looking from Ashlynn¡¯s worried face to his mother¡¯s tearstained visage. "Father. Didn¡¯t know. Enough. To say no. And I," Hauke said, struggling for every word. "I didn¡¯t. Tell him. Enough."


    "Save the explanations for when you can speak freely, young lord," Erkembalt said as he stepped around Ashlynn to examine Hauke, pulling a series of lenses from one of his many bulging pockets and fitting them carefully over his spectacles before carefully inspecting Hauke¡¯s horn.


    "Mother," Hauke said, ignoring the artificer¡¯s advice. "I¡¯m sorry," he said as his faltering strength failed at last and his eyes once again turned glassy and unfocused.


    "Hauke!" Odette cried, pushing past Ashlynn and flinging her arms around her son as she sobbed. "Hauke, come back! Come back to me," she wailed, sobbing into her unresponsive son¡¯s tunic.


    "Well?" Ashlynn asked, stepping back from Hauke and his mother and addressing the pair of sorcerers. "Were you able to see how he slipped free? I only felt a moment of warm and cold energy from him but what he was doing with it, I couldn¡¯t say," she said helplessly.


    It was her first time getting a chance to examine the magic that held Hauke¡¯s mind captive but one look was all it took for her to realize that it was much, much more complicated than anything she¡¯d ever dealt with in the past.


    "He¡¯s cracking the chains that bind his mind using alternating heat and cold," Erkembalt said, shaking his head in wonder at the young man¡¯s recklessness and at the courage required to endure such a painful method, just to speak a few words in his father¡¯s favor. "It won¡¯t free him. At most, it let him have a few minutes of freedom to speak."


    "What do you mean a few minutes of freedom to speak?" Odette asked, looking at the artificer with eyes that were red and swollen from her tears. "What chains that bind him?"


    "This..." Aspakos began, trailing off as he turned to look at Nyrielle atop her frozen throne. He and Erkembalt had come to explain Hauke¡¯s condition but only after Nyrielle revealed her judgment, or if it seemed necessary to gain acceptance for what she and Ashlynn planned for the evening. To reveal it now...


    "Go ahead," Nyrielle said, smiling softly as she felt the warmth and concern flowing from Ashlynn¡¯s trembling heart. Whether it undermined their goals or not no longer mattered to her lover. Six months ago, Nyrielle would have chastised Ashlynn for being naive and wasting an opportunity, but now, she sat back on her throne and let events play out as they would. And who knew, perhaps her love was right that sometimes, even politics had to give way to matters of the heart.

 Chapter 478: The Curse Laid Bare

    Chapter 478: The Curse Laid Bare"Hauke is cursed," the dark-feathered sorcerer said, addressing not only Odette but all of the gathered people in the Great Hall, speaking as though he was giving a lecture to a gathering of researchers and scholars. "He was cursed sometime during the battle, perhaps from the very beginning of the battle."


    "He is trapped within his own mind," Aspakos continued, raising his voice to speak louder over the sudden whispers and exclamations from the crowd. "He can see and he can hear, but he cannot control his own body and until this moment, he could not speak. He has been this way ever since Lady Ashlynn used her Severing Knife to free him from the control of the Ancestors."


    "She did this to him?" an outraged voice from the crowd of Frost Walkers shouted. It should have come as no surprise that it came from Darfrir, the young man who had spoken out initially against Talauia before his right to avenge his father¡¯s death was denied to him. Now, it seemed as though he¡¯d turned his ire on the next witch to give him an excuse to vent his bottled-up grief as he once again attempted to gather the support of the crowd to denounce Ashlynn for what she¡¯d done to their young lord. "She crippled him like this!"


    "This is the outcome, young man," Aspakos said, glaring at the youth with dark eyes that radiated a hint of barely suppressed bloodlust. "Do not misunderstand and do not interrupt again. You do not wish to anger me and you should wish to anger Her Eternity even less," he said, giving the young man a not-so-subtle reminder of the person he would ultimately offend if he tried to decry Ashlynn over this affair.


    Instantly, the few young men who had begun to move forward to support Darfrir took several steps back, putting distance and as many other people as they could between themselves and the young troublemaker. It was one thing to join in as the hands pushing a spear forward, but none of them wanted to be cut down when the Harbinger of Death decided that the spear should fall into the abyss, never to be seen or heard from again!


    "Please understand," Ashlynn said quickly, before the young man could build momentum among the crowd again. Aspakos thinly veiled threat had intimidated a few among the youths, but what one person said, ten other men thought and Ashlynn wanted to dispel any lingering feelings among those who hadn¡¯t spoken before they could cause problems.


    "The alternative was either killing him, or allowing the ancestors to continue using him as their puppet," she said, omitting the other outcomes where continued attempts to spare him resulted in her own death or worse. "Severing the ancestors was the best I could do in the time that I had."


    "A warrior understands that decisions made in the heat of battle may not be judged by the same standards as those made while planning for war," Commander Jannik said, adding his voice to support Ashlynn and glaring at the youths who seemed eager to stir up trouble.


    "But I want to be clear about what has just been said," the dark-furred commander said, looking between Ashlynn and the sorcerers. "You¡¯re saying that the ancestors whose horns Hauke wore are the ones who placed this curse on him? That he was unable to control his own body for the entirety of the battle?"


    "Yes, that¡¯s what we¡¯re saying," Ashlynn said firmly. "When I fought him, he didn¡¯t feel like the ¡¯Hauke¡¯ I knew at all, even allowing for anything he had learned while studying with the ancestors. He felt like a puppet on strings, and at times, a poorly controlled puppet. He did break free for a moment," she added as she thought back on the battle. "That moment likely saved my life, but after that moment, there was nothing else from him, even when things were at their most desperate."


    "Now, Master Erkembalt," Ashlynn said, shaking off her memories of the way Hauke had been abused by his own ancestors and focusing on how to help him as she turned to face the artificer. "Can you replicate what Hauke has done in order to free him?"


    "Not likely," the artificer said bluntly. "You don¡¯t want me to try either. What Hauke did, it might have cracked his chains a bit, but it also cracked his horn. Look here," he said, pointing at the tip of Hauke¡¯s iridescent horn with one claw.


    "You can¡¯t see them with the bare eye, but if you want to borrow a jeweler¡¯s loop, the cracks are visible, plain as day," he explained. "Hot and cold, hot and cold, it cracks anything that¡¯s hard, horns included. If I did enough of that to break his chains, I might as well take off his horn with a saw," he said, giving Aspakos a pointed look as if to say ¡¯if we were going to end up here anyway, you should have let me do it in the first place.¡¯


    "But his mind is intact, and a way can be found to free him from this curse," Nyrielle said from the throne, inwardly relieved that the worst outcomes had already been avoided. But now, Hauke¡¯s presence presented a host of problems, not the least of which was that he would harm himself further if he felt compelled to speak out when she delivered her judgment.


    "Since we know those things, there is no more reason for him to suffer here. He must have suffered greatly to speak those few words," Nyrielle said formally. "So I will consider them carefully when I deliver my judgment."


    "For now, Master Erkembalt, please take him away. I trust that you can concoct something to soothe him to sleep?"


    "Easy enough, Your Eternity," the artificer said with a brief, awkward bow. "I might even have something here," he said, fishing in an overstuffed vest pocket before moving to a different pocket in his coat and then a pouch at his waist...


    "Take him away, Master Erkembalt," Nyrielle said, suppressing a sigh at the artificer¡¯s antics. "Let him rest without chains, though his door must be barred. Lady Odette can visit him after we¡¯ve finished here. If she wishes, he may rest alongside his father."


    "Please," Odette said, clutching at Hauke¡¯s limp hand before forcing herself to let go. "And, thank you, your Eternity. For being so kind."


    "Don¡¯t thank me yet, Castle Mistress," Nyrielle said, gesturing for Ashlynn to rejoin her on the dais overlooking the crowd. "After everything we¡¯ve heard tonight, I¡¯m ready to give my judgment so the dead may rest and so we may decide the fate of the High Pass." Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 479: Nyrielle’s Judgment

    Chapter 479: Nyrielle¡¯s JudgmentNyrielle¡¯s words echoed though the Great Hall, bringing everyone¡¯s attention back to the uncertain future of the High Pass while a group of soldiers helped Erkembalt to take Hauke away from the proceedings. The departure of the cursed young lord seemed to be a signal that reminded everyone how far the Frost Walkers had fallen in a single night.


    Along the walls, the Nyrielle¡¯s black and red banners alternated with Ashlynn¡¯s blue and green ones, with only a single banner at the back of the hall to represent the fallen Frost Walker Lord. At the beginning of the evening¡¯s proceedings, many people thought that the banners were only here to honor the powerful visitors who had come to negotiate a conclusion to the previous night¡¯s hostilities.


    By this point, however, Nyrielle and Ashlynn had made it clear that they weren¡¯t negotiating. While the Frost Walker delegation had been permitted to speak, it had been Zedya who spoke on behalf of their dead. While it might not have been their intention when they arrived, the forces of the Vale of Mists acted like conquerors and now they were going to pronounce their sentence on the conquered.


    "The world is changing," Nyrielle said once the hall had settled down. "In the east, more humans arrive from across the seas every year and their appetite for new lands to conquer knows no bounds. Here in the mountains, the ice is retreating and the shape of the High Pass is nothing like it was in ancient times. Everything is changing," she said in a voice that was heavy with the weight of her long years of life.


    Her words rippled through the Great Hall, creating distinct waves of reaction among the gathered Frost Walkers. The older members of the clan exchanged knowing glances, their fading horns glowing with dim energy as they dipped in acknowledgment of truths they¡¯d witnessed across decades.


    The winters were already shorter than they had been in their youth and the summers weren¡¯t only longer, they also felt warmer. The children among them had never once experienced a year when the pass remained closed all year, but they remembered.


    In stark contrast, several younger warriors stood behind Darfrir, their spines rigid with defiance while their horns pulsed with vibrant, stubborn energy as they refused to accept what they perceived as a complete surrender dressed in pretty words.


    Near the back of the hall, the mothers and widows of the fallen Honor Guard pulled their children closer, hugging them tight as they waited to hear the fate that awaited them now that the greatest pillars of their clan and their families had fallen, leaving them at the mercy of the powerful vampire sitting atop a throne of ice in the place their own lord should sit, handing out the justice he should have.


    "Last night, the High Pass was struck by an avalanche that will change its future just as much as the end of the Age of Ice and the fall of the Seven Peaks," Nyrielle pronounced, invoking the two greatest changes to the fate of the Frost Walker clan in it¡¯s long history.


    The moment she did, several people on the Frost Walker side grew restless and Commander Jannik¡¯s face contorted into a mask of barely contained fury. It seemd that once again, a vampire had come to grind down their clan, as though it was a right of passage for the mighty vampires, each one following in the wake of their teacher to further suppress his people. At this point, he only wondered how much further they would fall. Would they be taken away in chains to fight against the humans? Or did the vampires intend something even worse for them.


    "Before we can consider the future, we must grant justice to the dead, and in this matter, it is clear who bears the greatest guilt and who bears the least," Nyrielle said, sweeping her eyes across the gathered crowd.


    "Young Lord Hauke bears the least guilt in all of this," she said, fixing her eyes on Odette and offering Hauke¡¯s mother a gentle smile. "He was not in control of his own body from the moment last night¡¯s disaster began and as such, he cannot be held responsible for everything that occurred."


    "Thank, thank you, your Eternity," Odette said, kneeling on the frozen floor of the Great Hall and bowing at the waist until the tip of her pure white horn brushed against the ground. "Thank you for sparing my son and our hope for the future."


    "It would be an even greater tragedy if he was made to bear the blame as a scapegoat for a tragedy that he wished to prevent," Nyrielle said gently before her face lost most of its warmth.


    "Still, he isn¡¯t blameless in this. By his own admission, he withheld knowledge about the ancestral spirits¡¯ actions from his father, Lord Ritchel, and garnered support for providing those spirits a method to influence the world of the living directly. This is his crime and the ruler of the High Pass must hand down a sentence for it," she said.


    "The, the ruler of the High Pass?" a confused elder Frost Walker said, turning to look at the other elders around them. "Does that mean that Lady Nyrielle doesn¡¯t intend to rule over the High Pass?"


    "Hush, do you think she can¡¯t hear you?" another elder hissed. "Listen first. If we have objections, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll let us speak our minds. She¡¯s been kind enough, even when young brats spoke out of turn."


    "While Hauke wasn¡¯t fully in control of himself and therefore bears the least guilt for what happened last night," Nyrielle said, pulling the crowd¡¯s attention back to her and quieting those who were whispering with a dark look. "Lord Ritchel cannot make the same claim. As the Lord of the High Pass, he is charged with protecting the High Pass from all threats, whether they come from outside enemies or forces within his own nation."


    "Lord Ritchel¡¯s failures are many, including his failure to detect traitors in his own ruling council that led to an attack by Tuscans on his son and my seneschal in the spring," Nyrielle explained as she began to firmly establish Ritchel¡¯s guilt as a Lord in the minds of the crowd. "He also failed to detect the treachery of the ancestral spirits, allowing them to gain power over his son and the presumed heir to his throne."


    "Such failures might be forgiven if he was a capable war leader," Nyrielle said, giving a pointed look at Commander Jannik. "But here too, Lord Ritchel failed. He failed in his determination to keep Lady Ashlynn trapped with the ancestral spirits, sparking the misunderstanding. He failed further when he led his Honor Guard to their deaths before finally suffering defeat at the Thistle Witch¡¯s hands."


    "In every way that an Eldritch Lord must be strong and capable, Ritchel has failed every extraordinary test he was given," Nyrielle said, looking down at Odette¡¯s kneeling figure with dark eyes that held deep sorrow.


    Each of Nyrielle¡¯s words landed on Odette like a stone tumbling from the top of the mountain. The Ritchel that Nyrielle described was oblivious to cracks in the ice beneath his feat, clumsy in his defense of his people, and weak when confronted with a powerful foe.


    But that didn¡¯t describe her husband at all. Ritchel¡¯s rivalry with Jannik for the throne had been a legendary struggle between two of the greatest warriors their generation had ever seen and the friendship they established kept the Frost Walker Clan safe from most threats for more than two decades.


    Ritchel hadn¡¯t been perfect. There had been losses, and each time they lost a member of the clan to raiders intent on claiming their horns, the entire clan had seen their lord¡¯s fury and his strong reprisals. But only Odette had seen his better tears and helpless cries in the privacy of their own chambers.


    To everyone else, Ritchel had to be a flawless pillar of polished ice, strong enough to hold up the mountain. To Odette, he hadn¡¯t just been a lord who struggled each day to do his best for his clan. He had been a husband who brought her every joy her heart desired and gifted her the most wonderful, compassionate child she¡¯d ever known.


    Ritchel had his failures like any man did. But now, as Nyrielle prepared to hand down her judgment, it seemed like Ritchel¡¯s failures, small though some of them might be, had finally crossed an invisible line, adding just enough to trigger the avalanche that would bury him.


    "To atone for his failures, Lord Ritchel must be stripped of his title as Lord of the High Pass," Nyrielle said, giving the only sentence that she felt the living and the dead could accept. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This changes nothing about my feelings for Ritchel as a friend and an ally that I have trusted with my back for many years," Nyrielle added softly. Her sudden change in tone startled Odette enough to lift her head, gazing at the top of the dais where she was shocked to find the powerful vampire looking at her with a gentle smile. "It also changes nothing about my promise to help the Mother of Trees and her witches in their attempt to preserve his life.


    "Thank you, your Eternity," Odette said. Her throat was tight and her heart felt like it was holding back all the snow atop the mountain, preventing her from saying more than those few words without breaking down completely. But to Nyrielle and to everyone else watching, the tears freezing on Odette¡¯s cheeks said more than words ever could.


    "Come," Zedya said softly, appearing at Odette¡¯s side in a flash of crimson faster than most eyes could follow. "There is more that must be said, but you have done your part," she said, lifting the towering Frost Walker gently off the floor and guiding her back to her seat.


    "Ritchel and Hauke both played their part in last night¡¯s tragedy," Nyrielle said formally once Zedya finished helping the third member of the small Frost Walker family back to her seat. "But the greatest responsibility lies with the people who conspired behind Ritchel¡¯s back and treated Hauke like a puppet."


    "Master Aspakos," Nyrielle said, turning to the sorcerer with the broken beak. "Bring forth the horns of the ancestors who caused this disaster. It is time that the lingering dead learn that there are consequences to their actions and prices to be paid, even among the dead..."

 Chapter 480: Sentenced To The Void

    Chapter 480: Sentenced To The VoidA chill settled over the hall as five soldiers from the Black Wolf Brigade stepped forward, each of them carrying a sealed case that contained one of the ancestral horns containing the last remnants of the greatest Frost Walkers of their respective eras. Carefully, working on one case at a time, the soldiers removed thick locks and heavy chains that secured each of the cases, opening it to reveal the icy horns within.


    At the center of the row of horns stood a powerful horn twice as thick and half again as long as any other in the collection, radiating a powerful and oppressive chill that momentarily froze the breath of the men opening the cases.


    The horns that followed were each distinct, ranging from slender and delicate with a soft, snowy presence to one so small it could have belonged to a young child, surrounded with a pure, almost innocent energy that made the heart feel lighter just to stand near.


    Yet for all of their differences, each of the horns radiated the same sense of power and majesty, instantly commanding reverence from the Frost Walkers in attendance. Opposite the Frost Walkers, however, Heila and Talauia stepped forward instantly, raising their wands to ward off the powerful influence of the horns and shielding those behind them from the whispers that tickled the back of their minds.


    On her icy throne, Ashlynn shifted slightly as pain flared along her skin where flesh that had yet to recover from extreme frostbite grew even colder under the pressure emitted from the horns. They hadn¡¯t felt this... overwhelming when she first encountered them, nor when Hauke wore them, but now that they had been given an opportunity to strengthen themselves, it was clear that the horns contained even more power than they¡¯d first realized.


    "Kiss of the Void," Nyrielle intoned, raising her hand and releasing a surge of dark energy that swept over the horns. "Fading Presence."


    The moment her energy collided with the horns, a formation of ice crystals began to shimmer into existence before them, momentarily pausing the advancement of Nyrielle¡¯s dark power. The layer of ice lasted for less than a heartbeat, shattering under the force of Nyrielle¡¯s assault and leaving the horns defenseless against the oppressive sorcery that robbed the horns of their powerful, majestic auras.


    People on both sides of the great hall sat with mouths agape at how instantly the Harbinger of Death had suppressed the powerful horns. But then, moments later, the Frost Walkers shuddered in a different kind of horror as they realized how close they had come to bowing before the majestic relics of their ancestors, all but prostrating themselves in supplication to the heroes of old.


    "Now you all see what Hauke endured in order to learn from these ¡¯revered ancestors,¡¯" Nyrielle said with a voice filled with admiration for the young Frost Walker¡¯s endurance. "How many of you could have faced all five of them for weeks and months on end, just for the chance to learn something that might be of use to your nation?"


    "I can see now why he kept secrets," Odette said, trembling in her seat. If this power had been directed at her, or Ritchel... or any of the elders on the council, she didn¡¯t believe for a moment that they could have resisted it. "He must have thought he was sheltering us from them..."


    "Whatever he thought, and whatever his reasons were," Nyrielle said. "It is a fact that he endured more than most of you will ever understand in order to seize an opportunity. An opportunity that nearly cost him his life more than once. Do not forget the risk he took in dealing with these ancestors, or the reason why he did it."


    "We will remember," Old Svenja promised as she struggled to regain her composure. As the woman who knew the ancestors better than anyone, she thought she understood the power of the ancestors. But, compared to these five horns, the power of every horn gathered in five separate ancestral caves couldn¡¯t compare, not even by half!


    "Good that you will remember," Nyrielle said with a slight smile directed at Ashlynn before she turned to face the horns. "Relics of the past, you stand before the Harbinger of Death. You stand convicted of high crimes against the High Pass Nation, of conspiring to possess the heir to its throne and to plunge the world back into an age of ice."


    "Because of your actions, dozens have died and dozens more have been severly injured," Nyrielle continued in a voice that carried the dark condemnation of the grave with every word, stilling the hearts of everyone who listened to her speak. "Ritchel, Lord of the High Pass, fell because of your schemes and Hauke, his heir, remains trapped by your curse. These crimes can never be forgotten or forgiven."


    Pressure mounted in the hall as Nyrielle stood from her throne, extending her dark wings behind her and enveloping half the Great Hall in a darkness deeper than the sky on a moonless night. Shadows bent and twisted around her hand, forming a long handled executioner¡¯s ax that dripped with midnight blue energy.


    "As the Harbinger of Death, I condemn your souls or watever remains of them to the depths of the void," she said formally, striding forward to the waiting row of horns. The instant she moved, the soldiers standing beside the boxes quickly moved aside, leaving Nyrielle alone at the base of the dais, directly confronting the horns.


    "Your Eternity, please wait!" Old Svenja cried when she realized what Nyrielle was about to do. "Right or wrong, they are our most honored ancestors. May we... may we have a moment to send them off? To thank them for all they have done for us while they lived and for the centuries they endured as immortal guardians? We, their descendants, owe them that much at least..." she said, her voice growing weaker and quieter to the end as she saw the darkness in Nyrielle¡¯s eyes turn toward her.


    "Grant them this moment, my love," Ashlynn said from her icy throne as she felt Nyrielle¡¯s heart begin to tremble with irritation at the interruption. "Whether the ancestral spirits deserve it or not is irrelevant. Old Svenja has served her people well for many decades and has the right to ask for this boon. We can grant them a few moments to pay respects to the people these horns once belonged to, even if they have been twisted into something that no longer deserves those honors."


    What Ashlynn said was true but it wasn¡¯t the only reason to grant them this moment. The Frost Walkers were losing too much after the fall of Ritchel and Hauke along with several of their greatest sorcerers. At the moment, Svenja had asked for a small moment of dignity, something so easy to grant that Nyrielle would barely have to lift a finger to grant their wish.


    If Nyrielle denied that request, she could assert her dominance over the Frost Walkers, proving once and for all that she intended to reshape them into something new that obeyed her authority in the wake of Ritchel¡¯s removal as Lord of the High Pass. But if she gave ground now, the message she sent would be something different entirely.


    "Then I will indulge you, Svenja," Nyrielle said, temporarily withdrawing her dark energy and stepping back from the horns. "But I will not release the binding of the void. Left unchecked, I cannot say what sort of new tragedy they might provoke." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Moving slowly, both out of reverence for the ancestors and fear of Nyrielle¡¯s menacing presence, Old Svenja gathered up the Frost Walkers who wished to pay respects to their ancestors and brought them to face the horns.


    Some, like Darfrir and the young men who followed him, held themselves back, casting dark looks at the relics of the ancestors who had upended their lives. Most of the Frost walkers in the Great Hall, however, nearly two hundred in total, gathered behind Old Svenja to lower their horns in respect to the relics of the ancestors.


    In a fleeting, ephemeral space hastily woven together by the weakest and smallest among the horns, five spirits gathered to witness what looked like the final subjugation of their once mighty empire.


    "So this is how it ends," Ansgar said in a voice that dripped with scorn and disdain for the people prostrating themselves before them. "Thousands gathered to mourn the day I sacrificed my horn to guard our people. Now, even brats refuse to lower their horns in our honor."


    "Do you regret it, my love?" Ines said, pressing her body up against the towering figure of the mightiest High Lord of the Seven peaks. "Do you regret trying to lift them up again?"


    "Regret is a useless thing to fill your heart with at the end," Kimsel said, shaking her head at the lovers who had never known the softness of eachother¡¯s fur in life. "We have done all that we could. Now, they are on their own."


    "Not entirely on their own," Eraric said with a complicated expression as he gazed out at the bowing Frost Walkers. "The relics we¡¯ve left behind may still be of use to young Hauke. There will be a chance for our people to rise again if he manages to overcome my binding. If he does that, he should have the strength to lift our people up again."


    "Not as high as we would have," Ansgar said as he wrapped an arm around Ines and pulled her close. "The world we¡¯d have created... he could have ruled like an emperor. Now, the best he can manage is to hug the thighs of vampires and witches, hoping for scraps from their table."


    "Any different, were we?" Eugen asked softly as he watched the assembled Frost Walkers withdrawing, giving way before the dark presence of the Harbinger of Death. "For Shubnalu¡¯s plans, much did we do. But here at the end, where is our master? Our sacrifice, has he really honored it?"


    "One to rule and one to serve," Ines said, repeating the Fangs¡¯ of Death¡¯s ancient promise. "Perhaps one day the ones he took will come to avenge what happened here."


    "Whether they come or not," Ansgar said, turning to gaze one last time at Ines¡¯s cool beauty. "At least we were able to..."


    "Kiss of the Void. Oblivion¡¯s Embrace," Nyrielle said, swinging her ax in a wide horizontal arc that severed the horns cleanly in two, shattering the fragile space that allowed their spirits to connect for one last time and sweeping everything that remained of the once mighty Frost Walkers into the darkness of the void.


    Perhaps, if Ashlynn¡¯s Heavenly Shores truly existed, then what little remained of Ansgar, Ines, Eraric, Kimsel, and Eugen would be born again someday to make their way toward the land of light far to the west. But in this life, all they had earned from her was an eternal slumber in the infinite void that lay beyond death.


    After what they had done to Ashlynn, it was the most merciful fate she could grant them and more than they deserved by far!

 Chapter 481: Ripples Through Hearts

    Chapter 481: Ripples Through HeartsA deep silence fell over the Great Hall as the halves of the ancestral horns clattered to the ground, each piece rolling briefly on the ground as the iridescent light that once illuminated it seemed to bleed into the air before fading away like fog on the wind leaving the severed horns cold and lifeless. The sound of Nyrielle¡¯s ax passing through the horns, a high pitched -CRACK- like elegant crystal shattering on stone, continued to ring in everyone¡¯s ears long after the severed horns rolled to a stop.


    In her chair, Old Svenja trembled visibly and her stoop-shouldered frame seemed to shrink further as she watched darkness ripple across the horns, devouring what little light they had left and rendering them as lifeless as the stones of the mountain. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Once the greatest of her people, their stories had only recently been rediscovered, yet now, instead of taking places of honor in Ancestral Caves where generations could learn from their wisdom, they would only be remembered as the scheming manipulators who caused the fall of the High Pass. It hardly seemed fair for so many centuries of service to count for so little in the end, but if her long life had taught her anything it was that life was rarely fair.


    Beside her, Commander Jannik stood rigid, his dark fur bristling along his shoulders as conflicting emotions warred within him. Part of him wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all. Twice this year, Lady Nyrielle had visited, and twice this year, she had destroyed the horns of his clansmen. For this alone, he should hate her from the soles of his feet to the tip of his horn.


    And yet, when he recalled the overwhelming presence and the near irresistible urge to worship the horns of these ancestors... he struggled to say that Lady Nyrielle was wrong to destroy them. They had seen first hand the lifeless husk that the ancestors had turned Hauke into when he fought back against their control and he didn¡¯t believe for a moment that he would have fared better than the young lord had.


    Caught between both feelings, he could neither celebrate the destruction of their ancestral relics nor show gratitude for the woman who had freed them from a potential life of servitude, controlled by the ghosts of heroes long dead. Caught up in the maelstrom of conflicting feelings within his heart, he could only turn his eyes to the powerful vampire, waiting to hear what fate she had in mind for his people now that the trial had come to an end.


    Further back in the room, Darfrir and his young followers responded differently. While the elders wore faces of deep loss and inner turmoil, the young men saw the world through much simpler eyes.


    They finally understood just how strong Young Hauke had been to stand up against the ancient ancestors for as long as he had and seeing the way he had struggled to speak up on behalf of his father instead of pleading for his own life had cemented his position in their minds as the greatest Frost Walker of their generation.


    "Next they will announce the new ruler of the High Pass," he whispered to his companions. "I hate it but... I cannot fight the vampires or the witches," he admitted, even though it pained him. Nyrielle¡¯s single blow with her shadowy ax had removed every last doubt in his mind and heart that he could stand against her.


    "But I haven¡¯t lost my tongue to speak or my will to use it," the young warrior said. "When the time comes, I will speak up for Young Lord Hauke. No one else has his strength and I¡¯m done with being lorded over by these old, fading relics who bow and scrape and surrender instead of fighting to the end. When I speak out, will you speak with me?" Darfrir asked. The others nodded grimly, quickly agreeing that it was time for someone who understood them to take the throne. Someone like Hauke who would fight with all his strength for his family and his clan.


    On Nyrielle¡¯s side of the hall, reactions varied just as widely as they had among the frost walkers, though there were far fewer expressions of grief or loss and many more who gazed upon the Harbinger of Death with a newfound sense of awe.


    Standing tall and proud with Nyrielle¡¯s delegation, Savis¡¯s golden eyes spent little time watching Nyrielle dispensing justice and focused instead on the widely expressive faces of the crowd. Wherever he looked, he found traces of reverence, fear, sorrow, triumph and so many other emotions that he was momentarily overtaken by the feeling that he¡¯d been encased in ice, trapped on the other side of an impenetrable barrier that prevented him from sharing in the feelings that drove so many of the people around him.


    Beside him, Tausau¡¯s mismatched features betrayed a surprising compassion as he watched the Frost Walkers process their loss while his own Mongrel Horde seemed cloaked in a strange form of pride. They had lost more than one in ten of their people, but tonight, the loss of their Clanless kin had been mourned and honored and the woman they fought for made it clear that she would not cast them aside or diminish their achievements.


    They were all feelings that Savis could recognize and even dimly remember, but his own heart didn¡¯t tremble in the slightest. For him, this had been a short battle, worth celebrating for the great victory he had helped to achieve, but filled with little glory or opportunity to fully rouse his bloodlust. Instead, even as the people around him began to turn their minds to celebration, he turned his attention to Nyrielle, once again wondering what she might demand from him to receive the gift she¡¯d bestowed on Tausau to let him feel again.


    In front of the fearsome vampires from the Tangled Wood, Heila lowered her wand slowly, her grass-green eyes filled with a mixture of awe and relief. The overwhelming pressure that had emanated from the horns had reminded her too much of Cecile¡¯s attempts to control her during her own trial and she was immensely grateful that Talauia stood with her when she pulled her wand to protect the common people behind her who had come to bear witness to the trial.


    Her heart swelled with fear and determination when she moved, but her body lacked the strength to do more than raise a feeble shield against the overwhelming presence of the ancient ancestors.


    "You¡¯ve done enough," Ignatious said softly, appearing silently beside Heila and kneeling in a smooth, graceful movement as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her before her strength failed her entirely.


    "Come sit with me," he added, scooping her up and carrying her back to their seats at the head of the delegation from Nyrielle¡¯s side. Warm, soothing energy flowed from him, banishing the chill of the Frost Walker¡¯s Great Hall and enveloping her in a gentle warmth that carried the slightest trace of freshly split firewood and a crackling hearth on a cold winter¡¯s day.


    "Don¡¯t let me sleep," Heila said quietly as she drew closer to the fallen Inquisitor¡¯s rekindled warmth. "I need to be here for Lady Ashlynn," she insisted. "For what comes next."


    "I know," Ignatious said, gently running his fingers through her soft, tousled curls and tucking a stray strand of hair behind a curled horn. "It won¡¯t be long now..."


    As the last echoes of the horns¡¯ shattering faded, Nyrielle turned away from the broken relics, making a small gesture for the soldiers who had carried them into the great hall to take them away but paying them no further attention. Her executioner¡¯s ax dissolved into wisps of shadow that curled around her like ravens returning home to roost at the edges of her wings before blending seamlessly with the inky black aura that clung to her dark feathers.


    With a slow, measured stride that carried all the weight of the onlooker¡¯s expectations, she ascended the dais once more to rejoin Ashlynn, her midnight eyes reflecting nothing of the emotions that had briefly flickered across her face during Old Svenja¡¯s plea for dignity. The time to consider the needs of the dead had passed, and the people who had harmed her darling had finally met their end.


    Now, it was time for her to withdraw and pass the honor of the hour to the woman who had come to mean more to her than even her beloved Vale of Mists. Tonight, she and Ashlynn would take a step forward on a path that no one had dared to walk for centuries. It wasn¡¯t the way they had intended to begin, but even her kind and gentle lover recognized the opportunity before them that would never come again.


    "The dead have had their justice," Nyrielle declared formally, bringing the trial to a close. "Now, it is time to focus on the needs of the living. The throne of the Eldritch Lord of the High Pass sits vacant. It is time to fill that void..."

 Chapter 482: The Next Lord of the High Pass

    Chapter 482: The Next Lord of the High PassSitting next to Nyrielle, Ashlynn took a deep breath and tried to still her beating heart, or at least quiet it enough for her to take comfort in the calm, steady echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest.


    They had discussed what was to come and worked hard to build toward this moment, but until they arrived at the conclusion, every step felt like it was taken on thin ice over a vast chasm. Hauke¡¯s momentary escape from his curse had given her great hope, both for her friend and for the future of the High Pass, but now, as the final moment was upon them, she couldn¡¯t help but tremble with anxiety that something would go wrong at the end.


    "Last night, Lord Ritchel fell in single combat against the Thistle Witch," Nyrielle said, shocking everyone in the hall with what seemed to be a decision to grant the throne of the High Pass to Talauia by right of conquest.


    "If this was enough to lose his place as Eldritch Lord of the High Pass, then no lord would ever risk their thones to stand in battle with their own army," Nyrielle continued before someone like the young Darfrir could raise a fuss.


    "There are times when a lord must suffer a personal defeat for his nation to claim victory. Because we understand this, even though she defeated Lord Ritchel, the Thistle Witch Talauia will not claim the throne of the High Pass," Nyrielle said. "Unless you wish to contest my judgment?" she asked, raising a dark eyebrow at the winged witch.


    "Not at all, not at all," Talauia said, hovering above her seat with wings that beat rapidly. "I cannot, cannot rule this place at all," she declared before any of the people who still looked her with eyes filled with hostility over the death of the Honor Guard could make trouble for her. "I never wanted to take the High Pass. I just wanted, just wanted to break his sorcery and free Auntie Ashlynn."


    "You did the right thing, Talauia," Ashlynn said with a gentle, reassuring look. "If you and Sir Ignatious hadn¡¯t done what you did to break the ice prison, I might have fallen to the ancestors. If that had happened, I doubt that anyone would have survived the aftermath of my death," she said, reaching out for Nyrielle and lacing her fingers through the other woman¡¯s hand.


    "So if not the Thistle Witch by right of conquest," Commander Jannik said, standing up and squaring his shoulders as he faced the two women on the dais. "Then who will take the throne of the High Pass? Do you intend to open the floor for challengers now?" the dark-furred Frost Walker asked, flexing his claws with eagerness at the notion.


    "There has already been a challenge issued for the Throne of the High Pass," Nyrielle said smoothly as though she had anticipated the question. "The spirits of your ancestors issued a challenge, hoping to claim the throne directly. My Seneschal Ashlynn answered that challenge, defeating them in single combat."


    "As the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists, I witnessed the end of her duel," Nyrielle said, sweeping her dark, midnight gaze across the assembled crowd. "A challenge was made and the challenge was met. To the victor goes the throne!"


    On one half of the hall, the people who followed Nyrielle leaped to their feet, many shouting and cheering at the proclamation. Those who had witnessed the battle personally had already told the story dozens of times to those who hadn¡¯t, and there wasn¡¯t a person on either side of the battle who hadn¡¯t seen her transform night into day with a pillar of fire unleashed from the Holy Flame Blade.


    Now, hearing that she would become the Eldritch Lady of the High Pass, the exultation and triumph felt by Nyrielle¡¯s forces was impossible to contain.


    "Wait, wait, wait!" Commander Jannik shouted, trying to be heard above the clamor that broke out among Nyrielle¡¯s people.


    "This isn¡¯t right!" Darfrir shouted. "The High Pass belongs to the Frost Walkers! We won¡¯t be ruled by an outsider!"


    Next to Ignatious, Heila sat up as straight as she could, one hand dropping to the handle of her whip as she held her breath, hoping she wouldn¡¯t need to use it. It hadn¡¯t been easy, not a single moment of the evening¡¯s events had been easy for anyone, but they were so, so close to the end that she didn¡¯t want to ruin things with violence.


    But if any of those Frost Walkers tried to take advantage of Lady Ashlynn¡¯s injuries to attack her now... Heila¡¯s hand tightened on the handle of her willow whip until her knuckles turned white from the pressure. Anyone who wanted to harm Ashlynn would have to get past her first.


    "My friends," Ashlynn said, standing from her throne and holding her bandaged hands up high in the air. The motion hurt more than she expected, and a look of intense discomfort flickered briefly across her face before schooled her features into a calmer mask that imitated Nyrielle¡¯s unflappable appearance.


    "My friends, please, let me speak," Ashlynn said, directing her plea to Nyrielle¡¯s forces and quickly quieting them before she turned to face the Frost Walkers. "My friends, please, listen to my words and then judge me for them."


    "Her Dominion has suffered greatly at the hands of our ancestors," Odette said, standing up to face her own people. "Yet she has promised to heal my husband, to help my son escape the curse of the ancestors... and even though we¡¯ve hurt her and her people, she still calls us friends. Please," she said, placing a hand gently on Commander Jannik¡¯s arm. "At least hear her words."


    For a moment, no one spoke as all eyes settled on the dark-furred commander. Even the headstrong young men following Darfrir seemed willing to let Jannik be the point of the spear resisting this outrageous proclamation.


    "Very well," Jannik said after taking and releasing a deep, shuddering breath. "But do not think that we will submit quietly to injustice," he added in a dark tone as he returned to his seat, looking at Ashlynn with a hostile gaze that said he expected the worst from the servant of yet another ancient vampire who had come to conquer them.


    "The throne of the High Pass cannot remain empty," Ashlynn said firmly. "And as the Eldritch Lady of the High Pass, I must occupy it... at least for now. I am not an ideal ruler of the High Pass for many reasons, and I will not hold the throne for longer than I must," she promised.


    Among the Frost Walkers, many began to whisper among each other, wondering who she thought should sit on the throne and how long she intended to occupy it. They were questions that everyone wanted an answer to, and Ashlynn didn¡¯t leave them waiting for long. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But now, as your Eldritch Lady, there is something that has not been concluded which must be done," Ashlynn said firmly. "Mistress Nyrielle said earlier tonight that Young Lord Hauke bore some blame for the tragedy that unfolded last night, and I agree with her judgment. At the same time, he labored under incredible pressure to preserve and resurrect long lost techniques that are sacred to the Frost Walker Clan, hoping only to benefit his people."


    "Hauke is a good man," Ashlynn said. "And I cannot bear to see him suffer the way he currently does. But he must be punished for the danger he brought among the people of the High Pass," she said, trying to be as even-handed in her presentation of the issue as possible.


    "Hauke isn¡¯t much younger than my little sister, Jocelynn," Ashlynn added, surprising many in the audience with the sudden personal revelation. "He¡¯s too young to take up the burdens he tried to carry, and he has yet to grow into his power or potential. As he currently is, if he were to be returned to the High Pass as soon as his curse is broken, he would struggle to take up the weight of his nation¡¯s expectations."


    "Therefore, as punishment for his mistakes, Hauke will spend the next five years in exile," Ashlynn said, her words unleashing an avalanche of emotions and shouts of protest from the Frost Walker side of the hall.


    "My love," Ashlynn said, turning to Nyrielle with a pained expression on her face. It was taking all of her strength just to get through the night¡¯s proceedings, and she had nothing left to awe the crowd into submission. If her words couldn¡¯t carry the way...


    "You will listen," Nyrielle said, filling the air of the great hall with a trace of her dark, menacing aura. "Wait until my Seneschal has finished speaking before you protest her words. She is far kinder than I, and her terms are far more generous than the ones I would have offered," she said with a final menacing glare before gesturing for Ashlynn to continue.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said softly before turning back to the agitated crowd. "I said that Hauke will spend the next five years in exile, but where he spends those five years is vital to what comes next," she explained. "For the next five years, Hauke will live among the people of the Vale of Mists. He will learn at my side as an apprentice to the Mother of Trees!"


    As soon as she mentioned that Hauke would become her apprentice, more whispers broke out among the crowd, this time on both sides of the Great Hall. To be exiled was certainly a punishment, but to become the apprentice of one of the great witches of the world was an honor that most could never dream of! Was this... was this really a punishment?


    "While he is in exile, Hauke will learn not only sorcery, but the things that a ruler must know in order to safeguard his nation," Ashlynn explained. "And when the time comes and he has grown into his power, when he is ready to bear the responsibility of the throne, then I will step down as Eldritch Lady of the High Pass and surrender its throne to Young Lord Hauke!"

 Chapter 483: Relief At Last

    Chapter 483: Relief At Last"I will step down as Eldritch Lady of the High Pass and surrender its throne to Young Lord Hauke!"


    Ashlynn¡¯s words unleashed a storm of emotional cheers on both sides of the Great Hall. Some, like Odette, dropped to their knees and wept openly in relief. They had been conquered, but the Vale of Mists would only rule over them while Hauke had a chance to grow and learn under the guidance of both the Mother of Trees and the Eldritch Lady of the Vale.


    To learn sorcery from one of the great witches was already an honor beyond words, but the fact that Hauke would also benefit from being able to learn how Lady Nyrielle ruled over the Vale of Mists was almost more valuable than whatever Hauke could learn from Ashlynn. The High Pass had long kept to their ways and their traditions, but Nyrielle was right that the world was changing.


    Now, Hauke would be able to learn from one of the people confronting those changes directly. When Hauke returned from his exile, Odette was certain that he would face some opposition by the more traditional among the elders. But by then, he would likely command the strength to overrule any serious objections.


    On the opposite side, Heila finally took her hand off the handle of her whip and slumped against the warm, comforting figure of Ignatious. They¡¯d done it. Her lady had passed the most fragile, delicate moment of this transition of power, and no blood had been shed to secure their victory.


    Now, feeling drained as if she were a wet towel that had been thoroughly wrung out, Heila let go of the last of her reservations and clutched at Ignatious¡¯s crimson and gold tunic, burying her face in the soft fabric and inhaling his warm, comforting scent. Her mind drifted at the edge of sleep, and keeping her eyes open felt like far too much work, but her ears remained attentive, listening to everything happening around the hall.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Commander Jannik¡¯s rich, powerful voice called out over the din of the crowd¡¯s celebration. "Lady Ashlynn, will you give me a word?"


    "No," Ashlynn said, her voice barely carrying across the hall as she gripped the edge of her throne to steady herself. The room seemed to tilt slightly beneath her feet, and the bandages on her hands had begun to show faint crimson stains where her wounds had reopened from the evening¡¯s exertions. Each breath felt like drawing air through wet cloth as the pain in her ribs intensified, but she forced herself to stand straight, knowing the importance of appearing strong in this moment.


    "Commander Jannik, if you wish a word with me, you may have it another time," Ashlynn continued, the subtle tremor in her voice noticeable only to those closest to her. Sweat beaded along her hairline despite the chill of the hall, and her complexion had taken on an alarming pallor that contrasted sharply with the vivid green of her dress. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "There are many things that need to be done," Ashlynn explained. "But things that should be sacred, like the crowning of a new Eldritch Lady of the High Pass, will have to wait for things that cannot be delayed, like the healing of Ritchel and Hauke as well as my own recovery."


    "My darling Ashlynn has endured enough," Nyrielle said, stepping forward to wrap her arms and one wing around her exhausted lover. While Nyrielle¡¯s protective appearance beside her was seemed to be a simple act of offectionate support it was also increasingly necessary as Ashlynn¡¯s strength visibly ebbed with each passing moment. "Castle Mistress Odette, I¡¯m certain that you wish to join your husband and your son, but for now, we require your presence here in the High Pass."


    "Me?" Odette asked, blinking in confusion as she stood, particularly when she was addressed as ¡¯Castle Mistress.¡¯ The title she held was one that belonged to the wife of the current Lord of the High Pass, or, should the high pass be ruled by a woman, her husband would be titled ¡¯Castle Master.¡¯ The instant that Ritchel was stripped of his title, she should have been stripped of hers as well.


    "I will be away from the High Pass for some time," Ashlynn said. "And though I am its Eldritch Lady, I can never dwell here the way your ruler should. The High Pass is truly beautiful," she said, gazing out the crystal clear windows of ice along the Great Hall and at the frosty, snow-covered world beyond.


    Sitting above the clouds and under the vast night sky, it truly felt like a place that belonged more to the fairy tales she¡¯d read as a young girl than the real world. But as beautiful as it was, it was barren and all but lifeless. This was no place for the Mother of Trees to dwell. Even looking at filled her heart with a complex ache, yearning for the lush forest of the Vale of Mists, the dense overgrowth of the Briar, or even the windswept fields of seagrass that surrounded Blackwell County. Anything that felt more alive than this desolate place.


    "In my place, the people need someone who can care for them," Ashlynn explained. "You can rely on Commander Jannik to protect your people and keep the peace," she added, with a nod at the dark-furred commander. "But right now, after everything your people have just been through, they need a heart that breaks and weeps for those who suffer more than they need a stout arm or stridant voice to keep them in line."


    "Be their source of comfort and guidance, Castle Mistress," Ashlynn said with a weak smile. "Do this for me now, and I will send word when you can visit Ritchel and Hauke. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll understand that you can¡¯t be at their sides while they heal, as much as you wish to."


    "As you command, my lady," Odette said, kneeling formally and lowering her horn to the woman who held all of her hopes in her hand. Ashlynn was right that she wanted nothing more than to rush to Ritchel¡¯s side and accompany him to the Vale, to be with him every day during his healing and recovery, but...


    When she thought of her proud husband, brought low by the petite Thistle Witch, the agony of his wounds surely paled in comparison to the shame he felt at everything that had happened. When the thought struck her, her pale eyes widened in surprise and she looked at the Mother of Trees to see the young woman giving her a very knowing look.


    Lady Ashlynn had only met Ritchel on a few occasions, and the time she spent with Hauke wasn¡¯t much greater, but she knew. She knew that neither man would feel comfortable with the wife and mother they loved so dearly hovering over them when they were at their weakest.


    Asking Odette to care for the High Pass wasn¡¯t just about caring for her clansmen, it was also about caring for her family. Neither woman said anything aloud, but for a moment, a knowing look passed between them as they acknowledged that Ashlynn¡¯s intention had been recognized. Ashlynn would tend to not only their physical wounds, but also the emotional scars as well. All Odette needed to do was play along.


    Toward the back of the hall, Commander Jannik stewed in bitterness that he was denied even the chance to speak at this critical moment. Everyone was cheering for Hauke¡¯s appointment as an apprentice of the Mother of Trees, and they were celebrating his confirmation as the next Lord of the High Pass, but no one was looking at the reality of the situation.


    The witches and vampires would have five whole years to mold and indoctrinate the future ruler of the High Pass. By then, would he even be someone they recognized as one of their own? He cared deeply for the High Pass, but one group of powerful people had already led him to disaster. Now that his leash was being passed to a new master, everyone seemed to be celebrating, as if they were blind to the chains Hauke would surely bring with him when he returned to become Nyrielle and Ashlynn¡¯s puppet ruler.


    "Darfrir," Jannik said, approaching the young man and the gathering of celebrating young hunters around him. "I respect you for speaking up tonight. What you did, it took courage."


    "Thank you, sir," the young warrior said, tapping the tips of his claws to his chest in a brief salute. "I¡¯m just glad that we won in the end. Young Lord Hauke will be a good Lord of the High Pass."


    "Perhaps," Jannik said, tapping his chin for a moment as he organized his thoughts. "But Hauke will need capable men at his side when he returns. Men who can stand up to him and challenge him when he¡¯s wrong, or he may find himself caught in a trap designed for him that only others could see."


    "Come with me and bring your men," Jannik said. "By the time Hauke ascends the throne, he¡¯ll need a new Commander at his side. I may be growing old, but you and your men can¡¯t ask for a better mentor to shape you into the best weapon at Hauke¡¯s side," he said with a smile.


    And perhaps, he thought to himself. If Hauke truly became a puppet of the vampires and the witches, these boys would be the only weapon that could come close enough to the future lord to bring an end to the tyranny that Jannik feared he would bring with him when he returned from his exile.

 Chapter 484: The Vale Welcomes You Home

    Chapter 484: The Vale Welcomes You HomeThree days after the battle that fundamentally reshaped the balance of power in the High Pass, Ollie stood nervously at the western entrance to Orava Village, fidgeting with the spill of lace that fell from the cuffs of his fur trimmed coat and trying not to draw any more attention to himself than his appearance in this village already had.


    Messenger birds arrived at the ancient fortress at the heart of the Vale of Mists two nights ago, carrying word that Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn had arrived in the High Pass and would be returning to the Vale soon. That piece of news alone took the entire Vale by storm as preparations were made for a grand welcoming ceremony to take place when they arrived.


    The more detailed letter, meant only for Sir Thane and the others who managed the Vale of Mists in Nyrielle¡¯s absence, carried much more concerning news. A battle had been fought in the High Pass and Lady Ashlynn had suffered extensive injuries. According to the letter, the injuries were extensive enough that Lady Nyrielle was sending Ashlynn ahead of the rest of the returning army so that she could spend time in the forest recovering from her wounds before returning to the ancient fortress.


    "The people of the Vale don¡¯t need to know how serious Lady Ashlynn¡¯s wounds are," Thane told Ollie when the two met in Sir Thane¡¯s office in the ancient fortress. "When she returns, I¡¯ll need you to prepare a place for her to recover away from prying eyes, at least until Mistress Nyrielle returns."


    Over the past six months, Thane and Marcel had taken Ollie under their dark wings, coming to view the former kitchen boy as something between a lost puppy in need of care and a little brother in need of a good mentor.


    Ollie had shown himself early on to be a man who could inspire others with his kindness, compassion, and a deep desire to do the right thing. Some of that idealism, in Thane¡¯s opinion, flowed from an almost unhealthy fixation on Lady Ashlynn and Ollie¡¯s determination to show her that the faith she placed in him wasn¡¯t a mistake.


    In truth, Thane didn¡¯t think Ashlynn wanted to see the young man pushing himself as hard as he did, but Ollie had formed his opinions about what was ¡¯proper¡¯ when he watched Ashlynn driving herself to the brink of exhaustion during the final weeks of her blossoming period. Ever since then, the former kitchen boy had thrown himself into trying to master his new responsibilities with a vigor that was achievable only by the very young and people like Thane and Marcel who were no longer human.


    All of that hard work had paid off, and Ollie had grown into his new role in the Vale of Mists in more ways than one. When he arrived at the ancient fortress, he had been a tall, gangly youth with a wild mane of flame red hair and an awkwardness that came from constantly bowing and scraping before his supposed betters at the Lothian Manor.


    Now, he stood tall and proud with a confidence that came a growing series of successes. His cheeks had lost the slightly sunken look of a man who never got enough to eat and his once gangly frame had filled out with lean muscles honed by hard work building a village and long nights spent training with weapons. If Thane could find any fault with the man that Ollie was growing into it was that he was still too naive in matters of politics.


    "Why keep her hidden?" Ollie asked, scratching the close cropped hair at the back of his head as he tried to understand why Thane wanted to be so quiet about things. "You don¡¯t think anyone here would try to harm her, do you?" Ollie asked, giving the only reason he could think of that Lady Ashlynn¡¯s injuries would need to be kept quiet. "There¡¯s no way that anyone could harm her in the fortress. Not with you here, and Commander Bassinger has plenty of men to stand guard during the day."


    "That¡¯s not what I¡¯m worried about," Thane said, turning away from the young man to gaze out the window to the west, where he could feel Nyrielle¡¯s presence closer than it had been for several months.


    Evening fog had already enveloped the Vale, and only the mightiest of trees poked up through the gray blanket that covered the vale on this dark, moonless night, but no amount of fog could ever shroud his ability to sense the woman who had transformed him from an ordinary night into a powerful vampire. He might not be able to sense Ashlynn through the bond she shared with Nyrielle, but he knew she was out there as well, drawing closer even now.


    "Rumors have a way of growing wings, and people who haven¡¯t seen her or heard the entire story may believe the wrong things," Thane said as he watched clouds drift across the moon, dimming the silvery light that filtered into his dimly lit office. "The fighting with the Dunns has only just died down, and many of our people, especially the newcomers from the outlying villages, are looking to Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn as sources of strength." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What do you think they would feel if one of the people they had been pinning their hopes on finally arrived, but rather than a powerful witch, they see a woman so badly injured that she can only spend a few hours a day out of her bed?" Thane asked, turning back to the young man and giving him a questioning look.


    "It would shake their faith," Ollie said, understanding Thane¡¯s point instantly. "But it¡¯s just a few days before Lady Nyrielle will arrive. Will Lady Ashlynn really be able to recover enough by the time Lady Nyrielle arrives? If she¡¯s that badly injured," he said, his voice quavering with a sudden, terrifying thought. "Will she ever truly recover?"


    "Don¡¯t get the wrong idea," Thane said, stepping around his desk to clap an arm around Ollie¡¯s broad shoulders. "Lady Ashlynn is the Mother of Trees. The High Pass is a bad place for her to fight and a worse place for her to heal. Once she¡¯s back in the forest, she¡¯ll be right as rain in no time."


    "I hope so," Ollie said, putting his faith in the vampire¡¯s long decades of experience. "Can I bring a few people with me to prepare her welcome?" Ollie asked, turning the conversation to practical matters. "If she needs to recover in Orava Village, then it would help if I could bring a few people from the castle to help make her comfortable."


    "Pft, don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know who you have in mind," Thane said with a barely suppressed snort of laughter. "Go ahead, I¡¯m sure that Georg is eager to cook for her, but you have to take him quietly," the vampire knight emphasized.


    "Don¡¯t let him yammer on about cooking for Lady Ashlynn while he tries to pack up half the castle kitchen to go with him. Lie to him about where you¡¯re taking him and why if you have to," Thane added with a firm look. "Georg is a good man with a good heart, like you, but he can¡¯t keep a secret to save his life."


    "I understand," Ollie said with a wide, toothy grin. "I¡¯ll only take him from the kitchens, and a few others to help make things easier for her in the village. No one will even notice they¡¯re missing."


    "Good lad," Thane said, clasping Ollie¡¯s wrist firmly. "And once Lady Ashlynn has recovered, I promise that I¡¯ll talk to her about your position here in the Vale. She may have her own ideas, but as far as I¡¯m concerned, it¡¯s long past time for you to become ¡¯Sir Ollie¡¯ in truth, and not just in the eyes of everyone you¡¯ve helped since coming here."


    Thane had made the offer to formally knight Ollie on more than one occasion in the months since Ashlynn¡¯s departure, especially when the young man completed the construction of a new village for the refugees in just a few months¡¯ time. But Ollie stubbornly refused, insisting that he would wait until Lady Ashlynn decided he was worthy of the honor.


    Now, Ollie stood at the western gate of Orava Village, his eyes fixed on the bend in the road where the lead carriage of Ashlynn¡¯s entourage had just rolled into view. Six months ago, she had completely changed his life in ways that the former kitchen boy had never dreamed would be possible.


    Finally, after months apart, he would get to see her again. In his dreams, he¡¯d eagerly introduced her to Milo, Old Nan, and all of the other villagers he¡¯d come to know so well in the past several months before guiding her on a tour of the freshly constructed village.


    He imagined telling her stories about recovering carvings from the burned village of the Heartwood Clan, or the kitchen he¡¯d built next to a stream in order to feed refugees or... or a thousand other things, all in the hopes of seeing that kind smile on her lips and perhaps a bit of pride reflected in her emerald eyes.


    But now that she was almost here, his heart was filled with anxiety over her injuries and doubts clawed at his heart, filling it with worry that his preparations for her arrival hadn¡¯t been sufficient in some way that he should have thought of but failed to.


    The time for worry, however, was long over as her carriage pulled to a stop directly in front of Ollie and the people who had come with him to welcome Lady Ashlynn home. As the door of her carriage opened, Ollie took a deep breath before striding forward and offering an old-fashioned bow, exactly the way that Thane had taught him.


    "Lady Ashlynn," he said with the slightest tremble in his voice. "The Vale of Mists welcomes you home."

 Chapter 485: No Longer A Boy

    Chapter 485: No Longer A BoyFor a moment, as soon as the carriage came to a stop, Ashlynn sat absolutely still, closing her eyes and soaking in the energy of the living earth that surrounded Orava Village. Compared to the Briar or even High Fen City, the feeling of lush, growing things was muted, but compared to the barren High Pass, it felt like stepping from a harsh desert into a vibrant oasis.


    The trees that surrounded the village were all stunted with roots that dug their way inch by inch through the hard, semi-frozen earth. Like the mighty cypress trees of the Briar, these tenacious pines clung to life in a world tried every year to tear them from the soil they¡¯d claimed as their own and the strength they radiated called out to Ashlynn like a loyal butler, offering to help her up and out of the carriage if only she would lean on their gentle arms.


    "Come, my lady," Heila said, standing up in the carriage and offering a hand to help Ashlynn stand. "It will feel even better once we¡¯re able to walk among the trees."


    "Give me a moment," Ashlynn said without opening her eyes. The messenger birds that Nyrielle sent from the High Pass ensured that there were fresh horses waiting for them at waystations by the time Ashlynn¡¯s carriage reached them and they¡¯d made the journey from the Frost Walker fortress to Orava Village swiftly, but the days spent in a bouncing carriage had done little to aid her recovery.


    "By steadfast pines where few can thrive,


    Where harshest winters leave few alive, S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Let patient strength of mountain trees,


    Flow through my flesh and bring me ease."


    Ashlynn¡¯s invocation was simple and she refused to draw too deeply on the younger trees that were close to the village, but despite her reluctance, the trees of the vale seemed almost eager to offer up a portion of their vast reserves of strength to the badly injured Mother of Trees. Much like the night that Owain¡¯s men had dumped her body in a shallow grave, each tree within a hundred paces of the carriage offered up a bit of their energy to ease her aches and strengthen her body.


    A dark, rich, emerald energy gathered around Ashlynn, flowing across her bandaged hands and feet before sinking deeper into her flesh, washing away pain and aches like a cleansing summer rain. A minute later, when she opened her eyes again, they lacked the pinched strain of pain that had haunted her gaze during much of the journey and her chest rose and fell smoothly, without the trembling ache that had accompanied every breath since bitter cold air invaded her lungs during her battle with the ancestors.


    "Now we can go," Ashlynn said, offering a warm, relaxed smile to her lady-in-waiting. "It sounds like they¡¯ve gathered a few people to meet us," she added as she heard the sounds of boots crunching over the frost covered dirt road that connected the village to the ancient roadway that led over the mountains.


    "Lady Ashlynn," a familiar voice called when Heila opened the door. "The Vale of Mists welcomes you home."


    "Ollie," Heila said as she hopped out of the carriage, landing lightly and briefly savoring the moment her cloven hooves touched the soil of the Vale of Mists again. Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes, as if her body recognized the strain of being away from home more than her mind had, but she stubbornly blinked the joyful tears away and focused on practical matters.


    "Lady Ashlynn could use a gentleman¡¯s arm to guide her to a place where she can rest from the journey," Heila said, offering the young man a smile that was far warmer than he would have expected from the maid who had left the Vale of Mists with Ashlynn so many months ago. "Come take care of Mother," she added with a teasing look. "She¡¯s been looking forward to seeing you again for some time now."


    "Me? Why would she be..." he started to say, surprised by the glittering, almost mischievous look in Heila¡¯s eyes, as if she had some secret that she delighted in keeping from him. "That is, of course," he quickly corrected himself, striding forward and holding out an arm to help Lady Ashlynn descend from the carriage.


    The moment Ashlynn saw him, her breath caught in her chest and it took Heila clearing her throat for Ashlynn to realize she¡¯d frozen like a startled deer as soon as she got a look at the former kitchen boy.


    Only, ¡¯boy¡¯ was a descriptor that she could hardly apply to the young man who stood before her now. Gone was the gangly youth wearing an ill-fitted tunic stained with soot and grease from long hours spent working in the bowels of the Lothian Kitchens.


    In his place stood an elegant young lord who carried himself with a clear sense of purpose and strength that went far beyond the physical might of his clearly defined muscles. Tight breaches clung to his sculpted legs before vanishing into the turned down tops of polished cavalry boots that gave him the appearance of a knight on his day off.


    The greas stained tunic had likewise given way to an elegant cream colored blouse with lace sleeves that peeked out from the cuffs of his fur-trimmed coat, worn loosely buttoned against the chill of the air in the mountain village.


    Most striking, however, was the face that seemed to have transformed from boy to young man in a single summer. Only the faintest traces of reddish stubble could be seen along his jaw and chin, but the last bit of boyish softness in his features had melted away, leaving behind a cool elegance that would have made any young lady¡¯s heart flutter.


    "I was worried," Ashlynn said as she took the hand he offered and leaned into the strength of his lean, muscular arms to descend from the carriage. "I was afraid that life in the Vale of Mists, living among the Eldritch, would turn into a prison that tormented you. Instead, it seems like you¡¯ve found the soil where you can grow and flourish."


    "I owe it to your kindness and generosity, my lady," Ollie said, helping her down from the carriage and trying not to stare at the bandages wrapped around the fingers of her hand as he felt how much she depended on his strength just to take a few steps down from the carriage.


    "Let me take you to the longhouse we¡¯ve prepared for your stay," he said, breaking with the etiquette he¡¯d carefully studied and skipping introductions for the people who had followed him to welcome her home. There would be time for those later. For now, all he wanted to do was help her to the place where she could rest.


    "Georg," Ashlynn called, singling out one of the waiting figures beside the gate as they drew closer. "It¡¯s rude of me, but I hope you won¡¯t mind treating Heila and I to an oversized meal as soon as you can. The journey has been hard and I¡¯ve missed your cooking."


    "The stew is already simmering, my lady," the bearish cook said with a heart felt smile and a deep bow. "Welcome home."

 Chapter 486: Friends Old and New

    Chapter 486: Friends Old and New"Thank you, Georg," Ashlynn said warmly, nodding in acknowledgement as Ollie led her toward the village gate. As much as she wanted to linger for proper greetings, the witchcraft she¡¯d used in the carriage would provide temporary relief at best, and more than anything, she wanted to settle into a comfortable chair by a warm fire with a hot meal. Once she had soaked in the rich, tenacious energy of the forest around the village, she would be better company for everyone who had come to meet her here.


    As she walked alongside Ollie, Orava Village spread before them like a memory from another time, a relic of the years when Nyrielle had been forced to reconquer the Vale of Mists after Cellach Lothian¡¯s soldiers and the Church¡¯s Inquisitors burned most of the Vale¡¯s settlements to the ground.


    Surrounding the village, a high wooden palisade wall rose against the backdrop of stunted pines, its timbers weathered to a silvery-gray that looked like the weathered bones of the mountain in the pale autumn sunlight. These days, the wall stood not as much for protection as tradition, a reminder of harsher times when refugees fleeing Lothian territories would arrive at these gates seeking safety before they continued their flight across the mountains.


    When Ollie escorted Ashlynn through the main gate, she noticed the well-worn grooves in the ground where the gates swung wide to admit both people on foot and wagons packed with people and goods, evidence of generations who had passed through these same gates.


    Generations ago, in the years after Nyrielle¡¯s victory over the Lothians, much of the traffic came from people returning to the Vale after being driven from their homes. Though the village hadn¡¯t welcomed such refugees in many decades, Ashlynn hoped that Orava village would soon play host to the descendants of those refugees who might finally make the pilgrimage back to the homeland of their ancestors.


    Whether they came to visit or to resettle, Ashlynn didn¡¯t care, though she hoped that more people would choose to make their homes in the Vale after seeing what it would become in the years to come. For now, however, as long as more people found a reason to cross the mountains and visit their corner of the Eldritch world, Ashlynn would be happy.


    "There¡¯s a longhouse that¡¯s reserved for guests and visitors," Ollie explained, gesturing toward one of the structures that dominated the village interior. Each longhouse rose tall against the crisp autumn sky, built to accommodate the larger frames of bear-like clan members who preferred communal living. The structures formed a loose circle around a central gathering space, and beside each stood garden plots now largely dormant in the late-autumn chill. Only a few hardy greens and root vegetables remained, most covered with cloths to protect them from early frosts.


    "I hope you don¡¯t mind, my lady," he added a touch awkwardly as they approached the worn, aging structure that stood slightly apart from the others in the village. "I brought some comforts from the castle, but the guesthouse mostly serves as a stopover for traders crossing the High Pass during the summer. It, it may not be up to your standards," he apologized, worried that she would feel somehow slighted by the humble interior of the long house once they arrived.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said with an amused smile. "Heila and I spent the entire summer living in huts in a swamp. Whatever arrangements you¡¯ve made, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be fine," she said, giving his muscular forearm a reassuring squeeze.


    As they walked the packed-earth path, Ashlynn felt the weight of watchful eyes. From doorways and windows, villagers observed their passage with undisguised curiosity, but all of them maintained a careful distance.


    These were people who had chosen Orava for its remoteness, preferring to live as far from the Lothian borders as they could manage while also avoiding the bustle of the fortress town at the Vale¡¯s heart. Though none of them looked resentful at her arrival, they lacked the near reverence that she had encountered in villages closer to the ancient fortress.


    Even the pointed hats that she and Heila wore only drew curious glances without any deep emotions of fear or worship that she¡¯d encountered in Eldritch lands, though she supposed that the people of the Vale had little contact with witches in the years since High Lord Torbin¡¯s death and the Vale¡¯s decline to obscurity.


    "They don¡¯t mean any disrespect," Ollie said quietly, noticing Ashlynn¡¯s awareness of the silent observers. "They¡¯re just..."


    "People who prefer to be left alone," Ashlynn finished for him with an understanding look. "It¡¯s fine, really. Right now, I need to be left alone a bit myself," she said before quickly following up to clarify what she meant. "That doesn¡¯t include you, Ollie. You can stay with me as much as you¡¯d like while we wait for Mistress Nyrielle to return."


    The inside of the long house was warmed by several crackling hearths along the walls, and the floors were covered by thick carpets that stopped the earthen floor beneath them from leaching heat out of the wide open space. Several curtained-off areas functioned as individual sleeping quarters while piles of cushions formed a semicircle around the largest, central hearth, looking particularly cozy and inviting after spending so many days in the frigid lands of the High Pass.


    "This is perfect," Ashlynn said, holding Ollie¡¯s hand as she gingerly lowered herself onto a pile of soft cushions before wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and over her lap. "Now, sit, everyone, please," Ashlynn said, gesturing to the remaining piles of cushions. "Knowing Georg, I¡¯m sure he has plenty of stew for everyone, so join us for a meal."


    "Are you sure, Lady Ashlynn?" a short, horned soldier asked as he stood uncomfortably beside a pile of cushions. "I can help to bring your things in if you need..."


    "Your name is Harrod, is that right?" Ashlynn said, recognizing the soldier who had guided her and Ollie toward Captain Lennart¡¯s troop in the hills when they fled from the summer villa. "Harrod, you don¡¯t need to be so formal. I¡¯m not even ¡¯officially here¡¯ yet, so for now, just sit and eat. We¡¯ll be joined soon enough by the men in charge of the carriage and wagons, so don¡¯t worry about doing their work and take your ease while you can."


    "I¡¯m honored you remember me, Lady Ashlynn," Harrod said, bowing slightly before taking a seat on a pile of cushions.


    "You already know Harrod and Georg," Ollie said, taking a seat comfortably on Ashlynn¡¯s right side while Heila took her place to Ashlynn¡¯s left. "Let me introduce you to two of my good friends," he said, gesturing to a pair of cloaked figures who had stood patiently off to the side while old friends reunited.


    "This is Milo, from the Heartwood Clan," Ollie said warmly. "And standing next to him is his wife, Juni. I heard that Heila had been injured as well, so I thought that if you needed an attendant..."


    "Sir Ollie speaks very highly of you, Your Dominion," Juni said, her whiskers twitching in barely concealed anticipation as she gave her best curtsy to the powerful witch. Her tail bobbed up and down, nearly thumping the ground with excitement as she felt the rich, wooden energy radiating from the Mother of Trees and the shorter, horned witch beside her.


    Of all the witches to walk the world, the Mother of Trees was an almost sacred existence to the Heartwood Clan, and when Sir Ollie had mentioned that she might need an attendant for the next few days because the woman who usually served at her side had also been injured, it had been all Juni could do to keep from throwing herself at his feet to plead for the opportunity.


    As is, she¡¯d spent every moment of her free time since arriving working on a small carving made from a fallen branch of the hearty pines outside the village. She¡¯d kept the design simple, working to create a practical hairpin that ended in the shape of a pinecone in the hopes that her feelings of deep reverence could be felt by the current Mother of Trees, even if she lacked claws of her own to read the heart of the person who carved it.


    After all, of all the Eldritch people, few had a deeper relationship with trees and wood than the Heartwood clan, and there wasn¡¯t a little girl alive who hadn¡¯t dreamed that one day a new Mother of Trees would sweep them into a magical journey to join her coven. Such opportunities were incredibly rare, and Juni herself had done nothing noteworthy to earn such an honor, but at the very least, she wanted to present something to the newest Mother of Trees that expressed the feelings held by her entire clan.


    "Be easy, my love," Milo teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and his tail around her waist. "We¡¯re embarrassing Sir Ollie like this," he said, giving her a playful poke in the ribs. It wasn¡¯t that Lady Ashlynn¡¯s presence didn¡¯t have a similar effect on him that it had on his beloved wife, but the veteran archer had already given his loyalty to Sir Ollie.


    Right now, as he felt the strong, vibrant energy of the Mother of Trees, his greatest concern wasn¡¯t how he could win her favor for himself, but how he could best help his friend realize his own dream of becoming a knight in her service.


    "Sir Ollie, is it?" Ashlynn said, raising an eyebrow at the flame-haired young man sitting next to her. "Has Sir Thane made it formal then? I know it was something you wanted." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No! No, he hasn¡¯t!" Ollie said with a panicked expression on his elegant features, returning him in an instant to the kitchen boy he had been when they first met. "That is, he offered, but I wouldn¡¯t let him. Not without talking to you first," he said in a rush.


    "Lady Ashlynn," Ollie said, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I want to be a knight, and I¡¯ve worked hard since you left to learn how, but I won¡¯t ever call myself a knight until you tell me that I can. I don¡¯t want to be just another knight leading a village in the Vale of Mists," he explained. "I want to be your knight. That is, if you¡¯ll have me," he finished quietly.


    "Just another knight leading a village?" Ashlynn asked with a brow raised. "Sir Ollie, why do I feel like there¡¯s a story that I should hear?"


    "Oh, there¡¯s quite the story," Georg said, entering the open area with a tray holding several bowls of steaming hot stew that smelled richly of fresh herbs and red meat, along with sections of warm, crusty bread kept warm by the hearth while awaiting Ashlynn¡¯s arrival.


    "And if Sir Ollie leaves anything out and tries to be humble about all that he¡¯s done," Milo said, giving the young man a pointed look. "Then Juni and I will be sure to tell you how he saved our people from Owain Lothian¡¯s savagery and gave us a place to call home again."


    "From Owain?" Ashlynn said, warmth fading from her face as she sat up straight. "This, I have to hear..."

 Chapter 487: Ollie’s Virtues (Part One)

    Chapter 487: Ollie¡¯s Virtues (Part One)Telling Ollie¡¯s story took over an hour, and just as they¡¯d promised, Milo and Juni were merciless in pointing out any attempt on Ollie¡¯s part to take less credit for something than he deserved or to downplay the difficulties of what he¡¯d done.


    During that time, the remainder of Ashlynn¡¯s traveling companions slowly filtered into the long house once they¡¯d completed their duties, including an eager and attentive young Emmie who seemed almost upset that Georg had taken charge of attending to Heila¡¯s needs along with everyone else instead of summoning her to take care of her lady. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ll have plenty of opportunities to wait on me when we reach the castle," Heila said with a laugh as she pulled her young squire onto the pile of cushions next to her. "For now, enjoy Georg¡¯s cooking while you can. It¡¯s a rare treat for him to cook for you personally."


    "Now, now, little Heila," Georg said with a hearty laugh that shook his soft belly. "You know that I always save a few treats for people who are special. I saved treats for you, didn¡¯t I? Besides, Sir Ollie helped this time. This is just as much his work as it is mine."


    "You know," Ashlynn teased from her pile of cushions as she sipped a rich, full-bodied red wine that tasted earthy and slightly smoky as it slid smoothly across her tongue. In a place like this, she had no doubt that Georg had brought the bottle specifically from Nyrielle¡¯s personal cellar, but the smile on Ashlynn¡¯s lips when she relaxed to savor the flavor told him that it was more than worth the effort.


    "I didn¡¯t expect that you would take humility as one of your virtues, Ollie," Ashlynn said, giving the young man a look that swirled with hints of curiosity, consideration and a soft, gentle pride in the young man who had come so far from his days scrubbing pots in the Lothian kitchens. "Have you selected your others?"


    "I didn¡¯t really plan to take humility as a virtue either," the flame-haired young man said, ducking his head in embarrassment as he became the center of attention. "But Sir Thane said that if I didn¡¯t, I wasn¡¯t being honest with myself about who I really am."


    "Big brother Thane is right," Ashlynn said with a nod. "You have to know yourself, know the kind of person you truly are and the kind of person you want to become, or you¡¯ll fail at the very first step," she said, sharing a knowing look with Heila. "So what else have you taken as a virtue?"


    Something about Ashlynn¡¯s tone suggested that she wasn¡¯t just making idle conversation, and Ollie realized that a moment he hadn¡¯t expected to come for several days was already upon him. After listening to the praise heaped on him by Milo, Juni, and even Georg, and the way everyone from the Vale of Mists addressed him as ¡¯Sir¡¯ Ollie, Ashlynn was testing him to see if he was prepared to live up to the title.


    In the Kingdom of Gaal, by tradition, every knight swore to uphold five virtues above all others. Not every knight chose the same virtues, but there were a few that were so common they were seen as almost required.


    "Lady Ashlynn won¡¯t care about tradition," Sir Thane had advised him one night when they spoke at length about what it would mean for Ollie to become one of Ashlynn¡¯s knights. "She¡¯s broken with the Church, and I doubt that you¡¯ll find any reason to proclaim ¡¯Faith¡¯ as one of your five virtues. Humility suits you, but you should think very carefully about the other four."


    The question had plagued the former kitchen boy for weeks, and he¡¯d spent more evenings than he could count talking to everyone from Commander Bassinger to Georg to gain some perspective on how the Vale of Mists thought about virtues, but in the end, his decisions needed to come from his heart and no one could make those choices for him.


    "Even though I¡¯m not very brave," Ollie began. "I¡¯ve decided to take Courage as one of my virtues. I hope, one day, to live up to it, but for now I can only do my best so I can live up to it someday in the future."


    The instant he said it, Milo shook his head at the man who called himself a ¡¯coward¡¯ even while he constantly threw himself into difficult and sometimes dangerous tasks in the name of caring for others.


    Ollie¡¯s brand of ¡¯cowardice¡¯ had given Milo the courage he needed to step back from his vengeance against the Lothians and to focus on building a village and caring for his own family. It wasn¡¯t the kind of courage he¡¯d grown up having childish fantasies about.


    But when he faced the decision to join Commander Bassinger¡¯s army in the fight against the Lothians or return to the village Ollie was building for Milo¡¯s family and the other refugees... he¡¯d realized that sometimes, staying away from the fight took even more courage than rushing into it, and he couldn¡¯t have reached that point without the young human¡¯s example.


    "I¡¯ve also taken Strength as a virtue," Ollie said, surprising both Ashlynn and Heila with his third choice. "Among the Eldritch people, strength is a requirement to protect anything else. My words won¡¯t carry much weight if I¡¯m weak, and my people, I mean, the people in the village," he said, his face turning red when he realized he¡¯d casually referred to the villagers as ¡¯my people.¡¯ "Well, they¡¯re counting on me to watch out for them, and without strength, I can¡¯t do that."


    "Everyone needs strength in this world," Heila said softly, giving Ollie a gentle look that contained a core of deep strength, like the roots of a tree that had sunk deep into the earth. That strength hadn¡¯t been there when she left the Vale of Mists, but looking at her now, it was undeniable that she spoke from experience.


    "Even healers need the strength to strike down enemies who would harm the people in their care," Heila added. "So I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything wrong with taking Strength as one of your virtues, no matter what kind of knight you¡¯re going to grow into."


    "Um, thank you," Ollie said at the unexpected advice from an even more unexpected source. "Um, little Emmie said she was your squire now. Does that mean that you¡¯ve become ¡¯Dame Heila?¡¯ Are you a knight now?"

 Chapter 488: Ollie’s Virtues (Part Two)

    Chapter 488: Ollie¡¯s Virtues (Part Two)"I¡¯m not a knight, little brother Ollie," Heila said with a light, musical laugh as she sipped on a watered down mug of warmed cider. After spending months with Ashlynn discussing the future of their little coven, she understood what Ashlynn was hoping to see in Ollie better than anyone except, perhaps, Aunt Amahle.


    In Heila¡¯s estimation, Ollie had done even better at growing into the kind of person who could endure the trial of a seed of witchcraft than she had. Of course, he had no idea that the mentoring he¡¯d received to become a knight would help him so much with what was to come, but that hardly mattered.


    In a way, she almost envied him. She was certain that he would have an easier time of his trial than she did with hers, but then, she hadn¡¯t had the luxury of time to prepare for months before facing the trial of the Ancient Willow. But, since it was not becoming increasingly certain that Ollie would become the second witch of Ashlynn¡¯s coven, it was her job as the ¡¯big sister¡¯ to make sure he was ready to become part of their intimate little family.


    "I¡¯m the Willow Witch now," she said, puffing her chest up with pride. "And Mother Ashlynn¡¯s lady-in-waiting," she added, placing extra emphasis on the word ¡¯mother.¡¯ "But just because I¡¯m not a knight doesn¡¯t mean that little Emmie can¡¯t be my squire," she said, giving her young squire an affectionate tap on the shoulder.


    "Oh," Ollie said with a puzzled look on his face. Since when was he ¡¯little brother Ollie?¡¯ But, hearing her refer to Ashlynn as ¡¯mother¡¯ he assumed it must have something to do with the traditions of witches, so he quickly put it out of his mind. After all, even though Lady Ashlynn was a witch herself, the traditions of witches didn¡¯t have very much to do with him. "I see. So, you didn¡¯t have to choose virtues for yourself. Or did you? Do ladies-in-waiting have virtues the way knights do?"


    "They don¡¯t," Ashlynn said, setting down her cup of wine before she drank too much of it. As much as she enjoyed the flavor, it was a heady vintage and she couldn¡¯t afford to loose herself to wine when there were still important things to discuss. Besides, if she was going to loose herself to strong drink, she¡¯d prefer to do it when Nyrielle was here to carry her away to somewhere private afterward...


    "But we¡¯re wandering off the topic," Ashlynn said, bringing the focus back to Ollie. "Humility, Courage, Strength," she said, counting on three fingers and giving him an evaluating look. "What else have you chosen to form the core of your oath as a knight?"


    "Justice," Ollie said, without even a hint of hesitation. "I, I don¡¯t know how I feel about vengeance," he continued with slightly less confidence, giving Milo an apologetic look before he returned his gaze to Ashlynn¡¯s emerald eyes.


    "I know people who have lost a great deal," he explained. "And I understand their motivations for revenge. I cant¡¯ give them what they want from vengeance. But, I can hold the people who wronged them accountable," he explained.


    "Whether it¡¯s the Lothians or the Dunns or the Church, it doesn¡¯t matter. People with power have hurt people who just wanted to live their lives and care for their families. That¡¯s not right," the young man said firmly. "So, I intend to stand up for what is right. For the people who don¡¯t have the strength to stand up for themselves."


    "Thats¡¯ very noble, Ollie," Ashlynn said, accepting his views without challenging them. There would come a time, someday in the future, when she would need to see if he could hold on to these virtues when he was tested in battles of life and death or faced even harder choices, but that day wasn¡¯t today. For now, she just wanted to understand how he¡¯d aligned his moral compass and what kind of person he¡¯d chosen to become.


    Everything she¡¯d heard so far already put her mind at ease. She hadn¡¯t been wrong in the seed she¡¯d chosen for him and she hadn¡¯t been wrong to think that he would grow into the kind of man who would be worthy of it. Now, she just needed to see if he was ready to take the hardest step of his life in order to become something even greater than the knight he dreamed of being.


    "And your last one?" Ashlynn asked, raising a brow at the young would-be knight. "What is your final virtue?" she asked.


    "Hope," Ollie said, looking around the room at everyone gathered together, enjoying each other¡¯s company after a meal that had been cooked by both Human and Eldritch hands. "I know it might sound silly, maybe even childish. I know that the real world isn¡¯t a fairytale, even when some things seem like one," he said, thinking of how he felt like he¡¯d been pulled into a minstrel¡¯s tale when Ashlynn scooped him out of the kitchens and took him on a grand adventure to escape to the Vale of Mists. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But I hope that one day, the fighting can stop," Ollie said, his pale eyes flashing with determination. "For people like Milo and Juni to raise their kit in peace," he added. "And for everyone else who¡¯s just trying to live a good life... I want them to have that. So, I¡¯m taking Hope as one of my virtues. I¡¯m no one special," he added quietly. "But if I can help give people a bit of hope for a better life tomorrow... I think that¡¯s worth fighting for."


    "I think you¡¯re right," Ashlynn said with a firm nod of agreement. "Humility, Courage, Strength, Justice and Hope. They¡¯re fine choices and they suit you, Sir Ollie," she said, joining the others from the Vale in addressing him as the knight he clearly conducted himself like. To be honest, compared to some of the knights who surrounded Owain, Ollie was even more of a knight than they were!


    "But there¡¯s more to life than becoming a knight," she said, giving Heila a knowing look. "Heila, help me up," she said, holding out a hand. "Ollie, come with us for a stroll in the forest outside the walls," she added once she was standing.


    "I have something to talk to you about, but it demands more privacy than the longhouse can really offer us," she explained gesturing at the curtains that provided the only room dividers within the guest house.


    "Ofcourse," Ollie said, quickly scrambling to his feet. If Ashlynn wanted to talk to him in private, he would hardly refuse her. It was just... what could she want to talk to him about that was so important that she¡¯d go out into the forest at night, just so no one else could overhear their conversation?


    Just what was this about?

 Chapter 489: Human Contact

    Chapter 489: Human ContactThe pale autumn light had faded away by the time Ashlynn, Heila and Ollie exited the longhouse. Smoke poured from the chimneys of every loghouse, filling the air with the faint scent of burning pine and the distant sound of large families gathering around the central hearth to begin their own evening meals.


    High above, the brightest stars were just barely beginning to pierce their way through the soft, midnight blue sky, sending a momentary pang of loneliness through Ashlynn¡¯s heart. After spending the entire summer apart, and most of fall as well, it felt like she¡¯d only just returned to her lover¡¯s side before they were forced to separate yet again.


    This time it would be brief, only a few more days before she could gaze once again into Nyrielle¡¯s glittering, midnight eyes, but every day they were apart felt longer than it should, and the nights they shared together felt far too brief.


    "Heila," Ashlynn said, shaking off the feelings of loneliness that flowed from her separation from Nyrielle and focusing instead on the small and growing family around her. "Please light the way for us. Ollie," she said, holding out an arm to the would-be knight. "I¡¯ll be relying on your support."


    "Of course, my lady," Ollie said, taking Ashlynn¡¯s arm while Hiela drew her wand and filled the area around them with dozens of softly glowing motes of silvery-green light, like lightning bugs at night, dancing slowly around them and illuminating their path toward the woods.


    "How do you do that without even speaking?" Ollie asked while they walked. "I¡¯ve learned a little bit of sorcery from Sir Thane and Sir Marcel, but if I don¡¯t use words to focus, I can¡¯t make anything come together."


    "We use words, too, Ollie," Ashlynn said, giving his arm a gentle pat. "But what Heila just did isn¡¯t very difficult. Not for a witch anyway," she added with a smile.


    For the next several minutes, no one spoke as everyone sank into their own thoughts. The autumn air of the quiet mountain village was crisp and cool, but for Ashlynn, it resembled the warm, balmy summer nights of the Briar after spending so many days making the passage through the High Pass.


    The cool, moist air soothed her battered and abused flesh and she could feel her body drinking in the energy of life as they slipped beneath the cover of gently swaying pine branches. More than the strength of life flowing through the air, however, she drank in the simple comfort of human touch as she walked alongside Ollie into the woods.


    It wasn¡¯t until she saw him standing outside her carriage that she realized how much she¡¯d missed the familiar faces of other humans. Nyrielle, Zedya, and Ignatious were almost human, but they¡¯d all lost some of the things that made them feel human, making them feel subtly wrong until she learned to accept the vampires for what they were instead of expecting them to be humans who just happened to be a little older.


    Ollie, however, didn¡¯t suffer that problem, even after living among the Eldritch ever since they fled from the Summer Villa in the spring. He¡¯d grown, certainly, and in more ways than just the muscles he¡¯d put on. But despite the many changes she felt in him, he was still very human.


    "After the summer you¡¯ve had and everything you¡¯ve been through," Ashlynn said softly as they walked, leaning into Ollie¡¯s strong, reassuring presence while picking their way over the rocky soil. "Do you miss living among other humans? Does it ever feel... lonely?" Ashlynn asked, turning her emerald eyes away from the pass to watch his graceful features when he answered.


    "Sometimes," the flame-haired young man said, scratching his head in thought. "Mostly, I¡¯m too busy to think about that sort of thing very much. I miss my parents," he said in a voice that felt heavier than even he had expected it to. "Sir Marcel, he, he looked into things for me," he began.


    "After we ran away from the Summer Villa, Owain captured my parents to find out what they knew about ¡¯Lynnda¡¯ and me," he explained. "I think he was looking for someone else he could blame for what happened when we escaped."


    "Oh, Ollie," Ashlynn said, freezing in her tracks and looking at him with eyes brimming with moisture as a chill gripped her heart. "Owain didn¡¯t... he didn¡¯t do anything to your parents, did he?"


    "He might have tried," Ollie said, nudging Ashlynn slightly to keep up with Heila¡¯s steady pace. The rocky terrain meant nothing to the diminutive witch from the Horned Clan, who seemed to know exactly where to step and never once faltered over the uneven ground. "I don¡¯t know how to feel about it, but they were rescued by the Inquisition."


    "The Inquisition rescued your parents?" Ashlynn said, blinking in surprise.


    "According to Sir Marcel, an Inquisitor named Diarmuid rounded up everyone who might have been connected to events at the Summer Villa," Ollie said with a light laugh. "They were very determined to find ¡¯Lynnda¡¯ and anyone who knew anything about the woman who killed knights and made soldiers vanish in the forest without a trace."


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said as she racked her mind for the right way to respond to what Ollie had just shared. "Did Marcel ever try to rescue your parents? To bring them to the Vale?"


    "He can¡¯t," Ollie said, pausing to help Ashlynn navigate over a sudden drop in the ground as they worked their way deeper into the forest. "He said that the Church has placed barriers around the Lothian Manor that prevent the entrance of Vampires. Supposedly, just setting foot on the grounds is no different than walking into the open at full sun in summer. The protection is that strong."


    "We were able to retrieve the family members of some of the other men who, um, came with us, from the Summer Villa," Ollie said awkwardly. "A few of them even settled into the village with the other refugees. I think it was easier for them to be around other folks who had just moved house."


    His words were light, but the way he said ¡¯moved house¡¯ made it clear that nothing had been as simple as packing up and moving to a different place to live. From the story he¡¯d told, there were at least six different clans living shoulder to shoulder in that village, and now there were humans too?


    "I want to see it," Ashlynn said. "I want to see this village you built where humans can live with the Eldritch in peace."


    "Not many humans," Ollie said, holding up a hand before Ashlynn could get too excited. "Really, it¡¯s just two families, both with small children." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Children..." Ashlynn said with a heavy sigh. After years of expecting that she would do her duty to bear an heir both for Blackwell County and Lothian March, she¡¯d expected for a very long time that she would have children one day. She¡¯d dreamed of what it would be like to become a mother, and how she would raise her children to grow into wise, kind rulers.


    Once, she and Owain had even discussed names. She was partial to Gaerith in honor of the pioneer who first discovered Blackwell Harbor while Owain wanted to name a son Caeleb after his great uncle who was famed for his skill with a sword. When she¡¯d asked about girls¡¯ names, though, Owain only laughed.


    "Silly girl," Owain had told her when she brought it up a few days before their wedding. "Lothian men don¡¯t sire daughters. Don¡¯t worry your pretty little head about it, just raise our boys up to be brave and strong and I¡¯ll turn them into fine warriors," he promised her.


    Now, it all seemed distant and unreal. For her and Nyrielle, children were doubly impossible. Even if they weren¡¯t both women, vampires were all but infertile. Her parents¡¯ giving birth to a child at all was a rare miracle, never repeated for the rest of their lives.


    Ashlynn thought she¡¯d made peace with the notion, but thinking of it now, while she prepared to offer Ollie the chance to join her coven, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he¡¯d be willing to accept the changes that came with becoming a witch.


    He was already growing into a fine young man, and he¡¯d no doubt be a capable knight someday soon, even without becoming a witch. But as soon as he did, he¡¯d never again live the life of a normal human. It was a bridge that, once crossed, had no way to return from.


    "Ollie?" Ashlynn asked, pausing and tugging on his arm until he turned to face her very serious gaze. "Have you given any thought to starting a family of your own? Is there... is there a woman in your life that you want to return to? Or to rescue from the Lothian Manor? Have we... have we taken that chance away from you?"


    Ashlynn¡¯s question struck the flame-haired young man like a bolt of thunder out of clear skies, shaking his world from the crown of his head to the soles of his boots. Of all the things that she could ask, she wanted to know if there was a woman he was interested in? Why would she need to know?


    But, she¡¯d brought him out here to talk privately, away from prying ears who might overhear. Was it for this? Was this the question that she needed to ask him? But that didn¡¯t make any sense! She was already with Lady Nyrielle, wasn¡¯t she?


    Wasn¡¯t

 Chapter 490: The Second?

    Chapter 490: The Second?A cool autumn wind blew down the mountain, dancing through the sparse, stunted pine trees and whistling through cracks in rocks worn down by year after year of heavy frost. Faint whisps of clouds drifted by overhead, parting to reveal a sliver of the moon, gazing down on the trio making their way through the woods by the silvery-green light of Heila¡¯s witchcraft.


    "A, a woman, my lady?" Ollie said, tugging at the lace collar at his neck that suddenly felt far too tight. "There¡¯s no one, but, I mean... You and Lady Nyrielle are... and I.... Um," he stammered awkwardly, pulling a soft, musical chuckle from Heila.


    "You¡¯ve confused him, my lady," Heila said, hopping up on a nearby rock to give Ollie a teasing poke. "Mother Ashlynn is asking about your love life because, the life we lead, it¡¯s a hard one," she said, her grass green eyes growing briefly cloudy before they warmed and the smile on her lips grew wider.


    "I thought I was done looking for love," Heila added, her cheeks heating as she spoke. "At least, until the war ended. But... maybe something found me. She¡¯s just asking if love already found you because she¡¯s worried about you. She doesn¡¯t want to see you living a lonely life."


    "Oh, um, I see," Ollie said, wishing he could hide his burning face in the hood of a cloak or anything that would mask his embarrassment. "There¡¯s no one, really," he said quickly. "Even when I was working in the kitchens, there wasn¡¯t really anyone who had much interest in me. So, so you don¡¯t need to worry about anything."


    "No, I absolutely have to worry," Ashlynn said, reaching up to give Ollie¡¯s cheek a playful pinch. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? If you were a few years older and I didn¡¯t have Nyrielle in my life, even I might swoon over you. But you¡¯re prettier like this I think," she added, tapping his face gently with her hand.


    "But when you¡¯re this good of a man, you leave me with a very difficult decision to make, Ollie," Ashlynn said as she tugged him along with her. "Do I introduce you to Jocey? Or do I hide you from her. Because I think that pretty face of yours is going to be very, very dangerous once you make your debut as Sir Ollie among other humans."


    "Jocey?" Ollie asked, struggling to keep up with the whiplash in the conversation. She hadn¡¯t been interested in him but was she offering to play matchmaker? Where had this come from? "Wait, do you mean your sister? Lady Jocelynn?"


    "The very same," Ashlynn said with a wistful smile. "You and she would be an amazing pair," she said as they walked. "You¡¯re kind and brave, and I know that you¡¯d protect her. She¡¯s clever and she¡¯s very good at helping people find ways to come together, even when they seem like unlikely partners. It¡¯s just..."


    "Just what?" Ollie asked when Ashynn¡¯s voice trailed off and she showed no sign of continuing.


    "She should be close, you know?" Ashlynn said softly as a quiet yearning built within her heart. "The Summer Villa isn¡¯t far from here. Just a day or two if we move swiftly. Close enough to go for a visit..."


    "Not yet, my Lady," Heila said, reaching out to give Ashlynn¡¯s free hand a gentle squeeze. "You know it isn¡¯t time yet."


    "I know," Ashlynn said, trying to shake off the wave of melancholy that threatened to overtake her. "She hadn¡¯t arrived in Lothian March yet when I left or I might have tried to rescue her. Now, I just hope that Owain hasn¡¯t done anything to her in the time she¡¯s been here. If he¡¯s hurt her..."


    "I don¡¯t think he¡¯s done anything to her," Ollie said quickly, hoping to offer up at least a small balm for the hurt and anxiety he could hear in her voice. "Marcel sends regular updates when he hears word of your sister, Lady Jocelynn. But she isn¡¯t at the Summer Villa anymore. She¡¯s been at Lothian Mannor ever since the Harvest Festival."


    "Well, there will be time for introductions later," she said with a wistful smile. "I didn¡¯t mean to talk so much about her. I really meant to talk about you," she said. Casting her eyes around the forest they were walking through, she quickly located a few larger stones that could double as seats in the wilderness and gestured for Ollie to help her over the rocky ground to reach them.


    "Ollie, I have a very serious question for you," Ashlynn said, loosing her playful manner once she took a seat. "A good friend recently taught me that serious questions like this shouldn¡¯t be answered instantly, so no matter what your answer is, I won¡¯t take a ¡¯yes¡¯ or a ¡¯no¡¯ until we¡¯ve returned to the keep."


    "I want you to give this a good amount of thought before you make a decision, you understand?" she asked.


    "I understand," Ollie said. "But I¡¯ve already put a great deal of thought into what I want. I know you offered a chance to become a knight as a reward for helping you escape the Summer Villa... but, this whole time, I¡¯ve been working as hard as I can to be worthy of that offer."


    "I want to be the kind of person who deserves to be a knight," he said, dropping to one knee in front of Ashlynn and placing a fist over his heart. "I want to be worthy of being your knight. So, whatever you have to ask, the answer is ¡¯yes,¡¯ before you even say the words."


    "Even if that ¡¯yes¡¯ might get you killed?" Ashlynn asked, staring directly into his pale eyes as she weighed his words.


    "Listen to her, little brother," Heila said, taking a seat on the ground at Ashlynn¡¯s feet. "I nearly died. Mother Ashlynn, she had to watch me dying, for days, because I said ¡¯yes.¡¯ And if I died, I don¡¯t think she¡¯d ever forgive herself, even though it would have been my fault for failing."


    "Heila," Ashlynn said sharply. "It wouldn¡¯t have been your fault. It would have been Cecile¡¯s fault for sabotaging you, and my fault and Big Sister Amahle¡¯s fault for taking a shortcut with you that was more dangerous than we realized. It wouldn¡¯t have been your fault at all."


    "See?" the diminutive witch said, turning her grass-green gaze to Ollie. "She would have blamed herself for my death, and it would become a wound in her heart that would take years to heal. So don¡¯t go saying that you¡¯ll say ¡¯yes¡¯ when you don¡¯t understand yet. You might be willing to die for her, but she¡¯s not willing to lose you."


    "I, I don¡¯t know what to say," Ollie said, taken aback by the intensity of the exchange between Heila and Ashlynn. Just what had happened that nearly cost the diminutive lady-in-waiting her life? Just how much danger had they faced on their journey?


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said softly. "I know you¡¯ve been working hard to become a good man and a good knight for me. This whole time we¡¯ve been away, I¡¯ve been thinking about what I can offer you that would match up to the dedication and the... the heart that you¡¯re so generously offering me. Being someone¡¯s liege-lady, it¡¯s a heavy thing and in the same way that you want to be worthy of me, I want to be worthy of you." sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "In the Briar," Ashlynn said, her voice growing stronger as she gathered momentum. "I learned how to transform a person into a witch. How to welcome them into my coven. A coven is a special kind of family," she explained, seeing the confusion on his face. "Heila is the first. That¡¯s why she calls me ¡¯mother¡¯ sometimes. I¡¯m not just the Mother of Trees, I¡¯m the ¡¯mother¡¯ of every witch in my coven, and she is the first."


    "You, you want me to become the second?" Ollie asked, blinking several times in surprise. Until he found out Heila had become a witch, he hadn¡¯t even known that it was possible for someone who wasn¡¯t born with a mark of the witch to become one. The idea of becoming a witch was so far removed from possible in his mind that he¡¯d never once considered it.


    "Is that why you¡¯ve been calling me ¡¯little brother¡¯?" Ollie asked, turning to look at Heila. "Because you knew she was going to ask me to join her, um, her coven?"


    "Our family," Heilla said, reaching out to rest a hand on the tall human¡¯s knee. "Our small but growing family. It¡¯s not an easy thing to make a seed of witchcraft for someone, you know," she added, glancing at Ashlynn before looking back at Ollie and continuing.


    "Mother Ashlynn, she¡¯s known what she wanted to offer you since months ago, and she¡¯s been growing a seed of witchcraft that¡¯s meant for you," Heila said. "There are other things to that she has..."


    "Heila, enough," Ashlynn said, raising a hand before her friend could say anymore. Already she could feel the pressure gathering on Ollie¡¯s shoulders, but the only pressure she wanted him to face was the decision itself. She wanted him to choose based on his own views, not because he could feel the weight of her expectations and hopes weighing him down.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said. "The transformation from a normal person into a witch isn¡¯t easy. There are trials to face and if you fail them, then you¡¯ll die, leaving nothing behind but a tree that contains an echo of the person you once were. I¡¯m not asking you to risk your life in battle," she added. "You want to be a knight and I respect that. A knight will inevitably risk their life in battle and I won¡¯t try to shield you unreasonably from those dangers."


    "But this is different," she said, placing a hand over the spot on her chest where the seed of witchcraft pulsed with the energy she¡¯d spent several months showering it with. "There¡¯s no enemy to protect me from, no opponent but yourself and the question of whether or not you can come out the otherside of the seed¡¯s trial."


    "Knowing that," Ashlynn said, giving the flame-haired young man a very serious look. "Knowing that, would you still say ¡¯yes¡¯, now that you¡¯ve heard the words?"

 Chapter 491: Still a Knight?

    Chapter 491: Still a Knight?For several minutes, the trio of Ashlynn, Heila and Ollie sat in silence as Ashlynn¡¯s question hung in the cool mountain air between them. Pine needles rustled overhead as another gust swept down from the peaks, and Heila¡¯s magical lights cast shifting shadows across their faces as the floating motes of light danced on the wind like fallen autumn leaves.


    Once or twice, Heila looked like she wanted to speak, to explain more to her soon-to-be little brother. She wanted to tell him that his trial wouldn¡¯t be that bad, and that if someone as common and unworthy as her could pass the trial, she was certain that he could.


    A stern look from Ashlynn, however, was all it took to keep the Willow Witch silent. It was clear to Ashlynn that Ollie had grown up in more ways than one while they were away. It wasn¡¯t just the transformation of his body, brought about by a vastly improved diet, fighting lessons from Marcel and Thane, and all of the physical labor he¡¯d done to care for his new village either.


    Ollie¡¯s transformation went far deeper than that. He didn¡¯t just carry responsibility for his own life anymore and his awareness of that fact was clear when he spoke of taking Justice and Hope as two of his virtues. Thane¡¯s mentoring might be behind some of those changes, but all the elder vampire could do was provide the lessons. It was up to Ollie to learn them.


    Now, Ashlynn wanted to know how far those lessons had carried him. The decision she¡¯d laid before him was the hardest one he had ever faced. Joining her coven would transform him in ways he couldn¡¯t possibly understand and the risk of death was only one of the challenges he would need to overcome. Ultimately, Ashlynn doubted that there was anything Ollie could do or say that would change her mind about offering a place in her coven, but if his answer was to place blind faith in her...


    Across from her, Ollie¡¯s brow furrowed in thought as he stared at the dancing motes of Heila¡¯s magic light, which had drifted closer to the trees as if drawn to their stunted branches. The night had quickly grown colder with the setting of the sun and his breath now formed a small cloud that almost glittered in the silvery-green illumination of Heila¡¯s witchcraft.


    "Can I ask questions?" Ollie said after several moments of careful thought. "Just a few," he added quickly. "I just want to understand a few things before I give you my answer."


    "Of course," Ashlynn said with a smile, relieved that he wouldn¡¯t just accept blindly. "Ask all that you want."


    "If I become a witch," Ollie asked hesitantly. "If I join your coven, can I still become your knight?"


    "Why is it important to become a knight?" Ashlynn asked, turning the question back to him instead of giving a direct answer. "If it¡¯s about status then your status as a witch, a member of the Mother of Trees¡¯ coven, is far greater than just being an ordinary knight."


    "No, it isn¡¯t the status," Ollie said quickly before a thought flickered across his face, bringing with it a shadow of doubt. "Or, maybe it is about status, I guess. Sir Thane wanted to make me a knight when he asked me to build the village, but I refused until I could talk to you. Now though, there is a whole village worth of people, hundreds of people, who look at me to care for them. If I¡¯m not a knight, then can I really remain as their protector?"


    "If that¡¯s your concern, then we don¡¯t need to worry about keeping to human traditions," Ashlynn said. "Not every village in the Vale of Mists is protected by a ¡¯knight.¡¯ In fact, most of them aren¡¯t. If a village in the Vale of Mists is protected by a witch instead of a knight, I think that most people in the village would be even prouder." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That," Ollie started, wringing his hands as he tried to find the words to express what he meant. "That¡¯s part of it, I guess. But then, as a witch, I suppose I wouldn¡¯t have to swear a knight¡¯s oath or take up five virtues or," he said, his voice trailing off as his shoulders began to slump. "Or can a witch still do all of those things?"


    "You still cook in the kitchens, don¡¯t you?" Ashlynn asked gently. "You¡¯re not a kitchen boy anymore, but you still do those things, even though you don¡¯t have to. You didn¡¯t have to help Georg cook tonight, he would have been happy cooking all by himself, but you did it because that¡¯s part of who you are."


    "I wanted to make something special for you to say ¡¯welcome home,¡¯" Ollie said awkwardly. "Not fancy, I still can¡¯t make fancy things like Georg does and I know you¡¯ll get something fancy from him when you feel better. But simple things like tonight¡¯s stew, I¡¯m still pretty good at, so I just... I just wanted to help while I could."


    Once, Ollie might have boasted that he could even cook for a lord¡¯s table, despite the fact that he rarely completed an entire dish by himself when he was working in the Lothian kitchens. Now, however, after seeing the delicate and carefully composed dishes that Georg assembled as though they were works of art on a plate, he knew that his skills were more humble and ordinary.


    Now that he thought about it, maybe he¡¯d been fooling himself to cling to his time in the kitchens. In the village, in memory of the meals they¡¯d shared as refugees, Ollie had organized a communal meal to be held on the night of the full moon each month. At first, he¡¯d wanted to cook for the hard-working villagers himself, to give back to them for all the work that they¡¯d done, but the celebration had quickly grown too large for any one person to manage.


    Now, Ollie found himself providing guidance, but his hands rarely held a knife to chop vegetables or butcher a carcass. Instead, as his responsibilities grew, his closeness to the things that once defined him fell away, as though they were childhood games that needed to be put down to become a man.


    Now, as he listened to Ashlynn pointing out that he still cooked, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder how much longer that would still be true. And if that was the case, would his dream of being a knight one day turn out much the same way? Was it the last fantasy of childhood he would need to surrender in order to become the kind of man that Lady Ashlynn needed at her side?

 Chapter 492: Not Just One Thing

    Chapter 492: Not Just One Thing"Ollie, none of us are just one thing," Ashlynn said, startling him out of his inwardly spiralling thoughts. Picking up a loose twig from the ground, soft scratching sounds filled the air as the witch began to sketch a simple circle in the frost-covered dirt at her feet.


    "Sometimes, I¡¯m Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal," she explained, carving out a piece of the circle. "As her Senescahl, I¡¯m expected to attend to matters during the day while she hides herself away from the sun and can¡¯t interact with the waking world. At those times, I speak with her voice to execute her will, or I act on my own, but always on her behalf," she explained.


    A Seneschal was the first among all of a vampire¡¯s servants, standing even above their progeny, but it was always a subservient role. As Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal, she might be second only to Nyrielle within the Vale of Mists, but that was an authority and position that flowed entirely from her bond with Nyrielle. For some people, that would be enough to define their entire being, and no purpose could be greater in their lives, but Ashlynn¡¯s life was far from that simple.


    "Other times, I¡¯m the Mother of Trees," she added, carving out another piece of the circle."I¡¯m responsible for my own coven, and I walk the world with authority no less than the High Lords or True Vampires of the Eldritch world. The magic that flows from that shapes me in ways that are hard to describe, but I can¡¯t deny that becoming the Mother of Trees has changed a part of me in ways that run just as deep as the blood bond I share with Mistress Nyrielle."


    "And I¡¯m still ¡¯Lady Ashlynn¡¯ from Blackwell County," she said as she carved out yet another piece of the circle. "I still plan to seize control of Lothian March when I deal with Owain," she added, her voice growing momentarily hard as her eyes narrowed at the thought of her rapidly approaching reunion with her former husband.


    She supposed that a part of her circle should be labeled ¡¯avenging ghost¡¯, but doing so would only distract from the lesson she was trying to give. With a deep, shuddering breath, she did her best to clear away her lingering resentments and focus instead on what she wanted Ollie to learn from her example.


    "All of these things are parts that make up the whole of who I am," she said, tapping her comfortable Traveling Hat and smiling at the young man. "Witches are used to wearing many hats. Heila is the Willow Witch, the famed Willow Whip and Champion of the Arena in the High Fen, and she¡¯s also my lady-in-waiting. She¡¯s all of those things and more."


    "Arena Champion?" Ollie said, blinking several times in confusion as he looked at the elegantly dressed lady-in-waiting who stood less than half his own height. "Willow Whip?"


    "I¡¯ll tell you later," Heila said with a mischievous smile on her lips. She hadn¡¯t realized it at the time when she watched Talauia teasing Jacques, but there was a delicious sort of pleasure that came from having a ¡¯little brother¡¯ that was so much bigger than she was.


    She knew her advantage of strength and experience wouldn¡¯t last long. Talauia was decades older than Jacques, and it was unlikely the reptilian witch would ever catch up with his petite ¡¯big sister¡¯, but the gap between Heila and Ollie wouldn¡¯t be nearly as large. But for the moment, as long as she held a little bit of advantage over the flame-haired young man, she intended to enjoy every minute of it. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Maybe we can make it a tradition," Heila teased excitedly, giving the heavy-bladed fighting knives at Ollie¡¯s waist a playful tap. "You can go fight in the arena for ten days to help win champions for Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army."


    "Heila," Ashlynn said with a frown that she forced herself to wear to suppress the giggle that wanted to erupt at the notion of sending a string of witches to High Lady Erna¡¯s arena to constantly empty it of worthy champions. If she did, she might be the first coven in history to provoke a war with a High Lord for ¡¯casually bullying¡¯ them.


    "What I meant to say, Ollie, is that if it¡¯s important for you to become a knight because that¡¯s part of the person you want to be," Ashlynn said warmly. "Then of course, you can still become a knight. I¡¯ll bestow your seed of witchcraft at the start of your vigil, and when you rise from it, you will be both a knight and a witch of my coven. That is, assuming you¡¯re willing to join the coven to become a witch?"


    "Of course I¡¯m willing," Ollie said with a broad, toothy grin, smiling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn¡¯t realize until Ashlynn presented him with a different path just how much becoming a knight had come to mean to him.


    Part of it was wrapped up in his desire to serve Ashlynn well, to repay her for everything she had done for him after they ran away from the Summer Villa together. Compared to the human soldiers they¡¯d captured after her duel with Sir Broll, Ollie was living a much better life with the kind of privileges that he¡¯d only ever dreamed of while scouring pots in the Lothian kitchens. For that alone, he felt a debt of gratitude that he could never truly repay.


    But as his lessons with Thane continued and he worked more and more on turning a scattered group of refugees into a cohesive village, the dream of being a worthy knight and leader for those people, his people, became much, much more real than simply an idle fantasy.


    But if he didn¡¯t have to let go of his dream of becoming a worthy knight and he could also join Ashlynn¡¯s coven as a witch... why would he say no to that?


    "Um, can I ask one other question?" Ollie said after a few moments of thought. "Can you help me understand what the difference is between being a witch and just being a sorcerer is? I thought that witches were born to it, but, since it¡¯s possible to become one, then, what does it mean to become a witch?"

 Chapter 493: Ashlynn’s Demonstration

    Chapter 493: Ashlynn¡¯s Demonstration"The simple answer is that sorcery uses the power of your own body and life to influence the world," Ashlynn said with a smile as she recalled the lesson she¡¯d received from Nyrielle what felt like a lifetime ago. "Witches give shape to the power of the world, bending it to their desires however they please," she added, using a description of witchcraft that came more from Amahle¡¯s teachings than Nyrielle¡¯s.


    "I think what you need is a demonstration," Ashlynn said as she stood from the stone she¡¯d been resting on and dusted off her skirt. "Heila, you can dismiss your lights for now. Let Ollie see everything as it is."


    "Yes, Mother," Heila said, waving her wand and plunging the forest into darkness illuminated only by the twinkling lights of the stars above and the faint sliver of light from the crescent moon. That darkness didn¡¯t last long, however, as Ashlynn drew a gnarled oak wand from the sash at her waist and began to gather faint, emerald green energy as though it were dew settling on a branch.


    For a moment, Ashlynn wondered if she should stop to inscribe a circle. The wounds inflicted by the Frost Walker ancestors had been stubborn with frostbite that seeped all the way into her bones, chilling her even now. The burns inflicted by the Holy Flame Sword were just as tenacious, refusing to yield in the face of her body¡¯s immense capacity for healing.


    Nyrielle¡¯s gifts allowed her to heal ever so slightly faster than the lingering energies in her body could inflict more damage, and the strength and resilience she gained from her blood bond with the vampire allowed her to endure despite the pain, but it was a fragile equilibrium at best.


    A circle would make it easier to control the energy she was preparing to gather from the forest, but it would also take more time to prepare,e and she didn¡¯t have any items on hand that felt suitable to use as anchor points for the working.


    Besides, she told herself firmly, so long as the focus of her witchcraft was herself, she shouldn¡¯t need to struggle against the trees, even ones as gnarled and stubborn as these. With her decision made, Ashlynn began to recite the incantation she¡¯d carefully prepared during the days she spent in the carriage, racing from the High Pass to deliver her to a place where she could finally heal.


    "Through twisted limbs and weathered bark,


    Where mountain winds have left their mark,


    I draw the power seasons stored,


    In rings of life, in heartwood¡¯s core,


    I now call upon your deep reserves,


    The strength each gnarled branch preserves."


    Ollie¡¯s eyes went wide and his jaw hung low as he watched Ashlynn¡¯s wand trace a wide circle in the air above her, leaving a trail of glittering motes of emerald light that blew away on the mountain breeze like the seeds of a dandelion. Each tiny trace of light drifted to one of the trees surrounding them until Ashlynn¡¯s energy had reached dozens of trees, maybe even hundreds beyond his sight!


    Then, as Ashlynn¡¯s voice began to resonate, echoing from each tree that bore one of her seeds of light, the trees themselves began to glow, dripping tiny drops of dark green energy from their needles as though they were shaking off the last remnants of an autumn storm.


    That energy crept along the ground, resembling a tapestry of roots snaking over rocks and sometimes eachother, merging together into thicker, stronger, brighter roots of light as they stretched toward¡¯s Ashlynn¡¯s feet, offering up everything the trees were willing to give, and in some cases, every last bit of life they had.


    "This borrowed power, freely lent, S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now mends what fire and frost have rent.


    From frostbit skin to charred remains,


    From shattered bone to severed veins,


    As trees heal scars with patient grace,


    Let my wounds close, leave not a trace."


    Slowly, like a wick dipped in oil, Ashlynn drew in the energy the forest offered, drinking deeply as she guided the strength and vitality of the trees toward her abused and battered flesh. In the distance, the sounds of cracking branches and falling trees could be heard as those trees that barely clung to life on the side of the mountain gave up their struggle at last, offering their final days or years to the Mother of Trees in her time of need.


    All around them, Ollie watched in amazement as the needles of some trees turned brown, dropping to the ground in a quiet shower that combined with the distant cracking to create the illusion that the forest itself was in the midst of a thunderstorm of powerful magic. And Ashlynn, wreathed in brilliant emerald light, stood at the center of it all.


    Nothing could be done in an instant, and Ashlynn¡¯s witchcraft had already spread to every tree within one hundred paces or more. But slowly, the pain that had plagued her body since the battle in the High Pass began to fade. Sharp pains dulled as cracked bones became whole and feeling returned to flesh too burned or frozen to feel anything at all.


    The energy flowed deeper within her, wrapping around her heart and the seed she¡¯d nurtured there, giving both a gentle whisper of soothing energy before flowing through her veins, mending muscles torn by strain and lungs too scarred by frost to draw deep breaths.


    For ten minutes or more, while the forest bent to offer up the strength she needed to rise again, Ashlynn stood all but unmoving, focused entirely on healing her body from the wounds that tormented her and everyone who looked upon her.


    As the energy flowed into Ashlynn¡¯s battered body, Ollie jumped nervously every time he heard another tree limb crack and break or the crash of another mighty trunk falling to the rocky ground of the mountainside, shattering itself on the rocks like a ship broken in a storm.


    "How, how much is she going to, going to take?" Ollie asked, licking his lips as he found his mouth had gone dry. "Is this what it means to be a witch? She¡¯s like a vampire who preys on trees the way vampires feed on people?"


    And quietly, too softly to be heard above the sounds of shaking trees and the mountain wind, a deeper question hung on his lips.


    "Is that what I¡¯ll become if I join her coven?"

 Chapter 494: Part of the Cycle

    Chapter 494: Part of the Cycle"We¡¯re not the same as vampires," Heila said, taking Ollie¡¯s hand in hers and giving him a reassuring squeeze as they watched Ashlynn drink in the energy her body so desperately needed to recover from her wounds.


    "The whole world is a living, breathing thing," Heila explained. "There¡¯s a little bit of magic in everything that shapes the world."


    "You mean in every living thing?" Ollie asked, turning his attention away from Ashlynn to focus on Heila as he struggled to understand what he was witnessing. "Like the energy vampires feed on when they take blood? Sir Thane says that the reason vampires need to feed on people is because there isn¡¯t enough ¡¯vitality¡¯ in beasts."


    "Ignore vampires," Heila said, thinking back on all of the misunderstandings she¡¯d had to clear up while learning because she¡¯d been like Ollie, seeing the similarities that were only present on the surface without understanding how different things were underneath.


    "I said everything that shapes the world," she said, repeating one of Amahle¡¯s early lessons. "The wind has energy, the rocks have energy, the storming seas have energy. Everything that shapes the world has power, but that power doesn¡¯t have any desires. The trees don¡¯t want to do anything with their power, they just collect it and then they offer it up to others when they fall."


    "But, doesn¡¯t every living thing want to keep on living?" Ollie protested. "If she keeps going like this, and all the trees die, there won¡¯t be a forest left here at all," he said, shuddering at the thought of clearing an entire mountainside of trees. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The Heartwood clan held trees to be sacred, and while they were building the village, the refugees from the village Owain burned worked very hard to identify the trees that were sickly, beginning to rot or who had poor conditions to grow in to be the first they felled while building the dam that would serve the village or harvesting trees for timber.


    When they dug their burrows, they used the limbs of trees to weave together their walls and roofs instead of hewing their trunks into planks the way others did, felling as few trees as possible. Ollie hadn¡¯t realized it at the time, but the more time he spent with Milo and his family, the more that reverence rubbed off on him until watching Ashlynn fell trees by the dozen filled his heart with a strange kind of distress that he¡¯d never felt before.


    "In a few days, Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army will arrive, and trees will be felled to fuel their campfires and cook their meals. Orava village will grow in the years to come and more of these trees will be felled to build new long houses," she added.


    "What Mother Ashlynn is doing is actually a kindness to the forest," Heila explained. "Now, the trees that were weakest will be the ones to fall. When the army arrives, we can send them to gather up the fallen timber instead of felling young, hearty trees. But there¡¯s more to it than that," she added as she felt Ashlynn¡¯s spell drawing to its final stage.


    "Vampires exist outside of life and death, but in nature, the old must eventually die to make way for the young to thrive," Heila said. "If Mother Ashlynn was a cruel witch, she might not care about what comes after she takes what she needs, but she isn¡¯t like that," Heila said proudly. "Watch," she whispered, pointing Ollie¡¯s attention back at Ashlynn¡¯s luminous figure.


    Finally, when Ashlynn felt the last of the frozen and fiery energies that refused to allow her to recover naturally fading and flickering away, she lowered her wand and began the final verse with the faintest traces of lingering energy that clung to the ground around her.


    "The withered ones who fall today,


    Your final gift I shall repay.


    Your essence flows to seeds unborn,


    That when they sprout in coming morn,


    Your strength lives on in saplings new,


    The circle whole, your gift stays true."


    Suddenly, the flow of energy reversed and the last of the energy that clung to Ashlynn flowed outward, seeking the pinecones that fell from trees as they died, placing within them a spark of life that would quickly propel their growth, allowing them to catch up to saplings planted two or even three years ago before they had to face the winter¡¯s frost.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn called softly when the last of the magic faded away. "Heila. Come help me with the bandages," she said, tugging back the loose sleeves of her dress to reveal arms that had been wrapped to well above her elbows. "Ollie, see for yourself the difference between a sorcerer¡¯s healing and what a witch can do."


    "Is it, is it really fine?" Ollie asked, uncertain about helping her with such an intimate feeling task as removing bandages from her body. It felt, somehow, like he was helping her to undress, and that felt very, very wrong. Dangerous even when he considered how Lady Nyrielle might react to it if she heard that he had put his hands on her!


    "It¡¯s fine, Little Brother," Heila said, stepping forward confidently to take one of Ashlynn¡¯s hands in her own and beginning to unwind the layers of bandages that had protected the flesh burned by the Holy Flame Blade. "Get her other arm, that one wasn¡¯t broken by the Holy Flame Blade¡¯s power, so you don¡¯t have to be as gentle."


    "Holy Flame Blade..." Ollie said numbly, realizing that there was far more than Heila¡¯s apparent battles in the arena that he had to catch up on. "If you¡¯re certain then," he said, stepping forward and gently lifting Ashlynn¡¯s bandaged hand to unwind the layers of soft fabric.


    When he saw the flesh beneath the bandage, however, his eyes opened wide in surprise as he kept waiting to see flesh that looked painfully tender or showed scars of healing the way sorcery made wounds look like they¡¯d been healed years in the past. But unlike the limited healing he¡¯d witnessed in his time in the Vale of Mists, Ashlynn¡¯s slender, toned arms looked... flawless. As though she¡¯d never been injured in the first place!


    "You see, Ollie?" Ashlynn said softly as she looked into his pale, awe-filled eyes. "This is the power that witches wield. This is part of what it means to be the Mother of Trees. So I¡¯ll ask one last time tonight and hear your final answer when we return to the castle," she said.


    "Will you join Heila and become my Cypress Witch?"

 Chapter 495: A Seed for Ollie (Part One)

    Chapter 495: A Seed for Ollie (Part One)"Cypress Witch?" Ollie asked, cocking his head to the side as he tried to puzzle out what the title meant, his breath forming small clouds in the chilly mountain air. A pine needle drifted down from above, landing on his shoulder as the forest creaked and settled around them.


    Knights were often given titles for deeds of great valor and those titles could only be conferred by powerful lords like a Marquis or Duke, or even the King himself. But to be granted such a title at the beginning, before he had even accomplished anything, it had to be different somehow.


    But she¡¯d called Heila the ¡¯Willow Witch¡¯ and the ¡¯Willow Whip, Champion of the Arena¡¯... That was a title earned through dangerous battles wasn¡¯t it?


    "Each witch in my coven will bear a seed of witchcraft," Ashlynn explained, unlacing the top of her dress to reveal the faint scar that vanished into her impressive cleavage, seemingly oblivious to the effect her action had on the flame-haired young man.


    Ollie¡¯s eyes widened momentarily before he quickly averted his gaze, fixing his attention on a distant tree while heat rose from his collar to the tips of his ears. His hands, previously relaxed at his sides, suddenly seemed impossible to position naturally, and he finally clasped them in his lap as he shifted his position akwardly to conceal the reaction from his traitorous body.


    "I take a seed from a specific tree," Ashlynn continued, seemingly oblivious to the young man¡¯s distress, "and nurture that seed next to my heart until it is ready to be given to the witch who will bear it."


    "I¡¯m the willow witch because my seed came from an Ancient Willow tree," Heila said, providing a welcome distraction from Ashlynn¡¯s unintentionally provocative display, or at least it was welcome until she traced a finger between her own humble breasts, pulling the fabric of her dress tight against her bust and revealing the top of the fading scar on her chest.


    "The seed is what allows you to connect to the energy of the world and direct it¡¯s power. It also bestows it¡¯s own mark of the witch on you once it¡¯s grown into a permanent part of you."


    "Oh," Ollie said, trying to look thoughtful as he stared at the ground to escape the near scandalous actions of both women as he focused on what they had to say, slowly coming to understand the meaning behind some of their earlier words.


    "So, when you said that you could transform a person into a witch, you really meant it. Just like when," he started to say only to cut himself short when he saw Heila narrowing her eyes at him. "Similar to how people are transformed into vampires, but different, because, um, vampires are transformed into predators while witches are transformed into part of the natural cycle of life?"


    "It is a similar transformation, yes," Ashlynn agreed with a knowing look as she glanced at Heila who smiled proudly at her ¡¯little brother¡¯s¡¯ understanding. "And similar in that both transformations are very dangerous. Life threatening even. But the two transformations have less in common than they have areas of difference," she continued.


    "For example, the type of tree your seed comes from is important because it will shape your powers in profound ways," Ashlynn explained. "And there can only be one of each witch in each coven. Further, while each new vampire can create progeny of their own, only a Mother or Father of the Earth is capable of creating a witch."


    "So, the seed that you¡¯re growing for me," Ollie said, pointedly not staring at Ashlynn¡¯s full bust, though his darting glances betrayed his struggle to maintain proper eye contact. He wished that she would lace her dress back up now that she¡¯d shown him what she needed to but he feared that he said anything it would only make the moment even more awkward for both of them.


    So instead of saying anything, he tried to focus on the conversation at hand, grateful for the dim light that might conceal the flush still warming his cheeks, even though he was certain that she¡¯d noticed the way his eyes couldn¡¯t seem to meet her gaze.


    "It¡¯s a seed that comes from a Cypress tree?" he said, carefully pronouncing the name of the unfamiliar tree. "What sort of tree is that?"


    "One that was hard to choose for you," Ashlynn said, returning to the stone she¡¯d rest on earlier and gesturing for Ollie and Heila to take seats as well. Now that she had healed her wounds, she would only need a few days to restore her strength but she had still used a significant amount of energy tonight and standing around to talk felt like more effort than it was worth.


    "I know you wanted to be a knight, so I considered using a seed from the Ancient Oak for you," Ashlynn explained slowly, provoking a sudden intake of breath from Heila. "Oak Witches are known for developing not only tremendous physical strength but exceptional fortitude as well, with the endurance to outlast even the greatest of challenges," she explained.


    "It¡¯s just that, when I confer a seed from an Oak on someone, I intend to use one of the seeds I received from the Ancient Oak," Ashlynn said slowly. "The seed Heila received from the Ancient Willow was very powerful and I have no doubt that the person who receives the seed from the Ancient Oak will be just as mighty, but using the seed of an Ancient tree comes with risks that I don¡¯t want you to face."


    "It¡¯s really good you won¡¯t get the seed from the Ancient Oak," Heila said, shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold mountain breeze and everything to do with her memories of the spectre of Cecile who twisted her trial at the hands of the Ancient Willow into one that nearly killed her, and might have if Ashlynn hadn¡¯t found a way to lend her a portion of her strength to overcome Cecile in the end.


    Ollie, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he had fallen short of the diminutive Willow Witch in some way. On the surface of it, they both had so much in common. Heila had been a serving girl before she became Lady Ashlynn¡¯s first witch and he had been a kitchen boy. It wasn¡¯t like Heila had been a great warrior or sorcereress to begin with. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    So, if she could receive an Ancient Seed but he couldn¡¯t, then what was the difference between them? Was it because she was from one of the Eldritch Clans and he wasn¡¯t? Or was there something else that he lacked that made Ashlynn unwilling to bestow one of the powerful seeds on him?

 Chapter 496: A Seed for Ollie (Part Two)

    Chapter 496: A Seed for Ollie (Part Two)"It¡¯s better that you get a normal seed," Heila added, rushing to reassure Ollie as she could see a trace of disappointment forming on his face when he heard he wouldn¡¯t receive the seed that he wouldn¡¯t be receiving a seed that would make him as mighty has Heila seemed to have become. "The Ancient Trees have seeds that are powerful from the beginning but they come with all sorts of catches and challenges that make them dangerous," she explained. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But your seed," Heila added. "Mother Ashlynn has been nurturing your seed for months so it will be just as powerful as mine, but it won¡¯t be twisted by an ancient tree¡¯s spirit. It¡¯s harder for her to make your seed, but Mother Ashlynn cares so much, she..."


    "Enough Heila," Ashlynn said, stretching out an hand to ruffle Heila¡¯s soft brown curls. "I think he understands now. The seeds from ancient trees have advantages, but they have disadvantages as well. The seed I¡¯ve prepared for you is one that is free of entanglements so you can grow into the kind of knight you want to be, and the kind of witch as well."


    "I see," Ollie said, nodding as the shadow of disappointment cleared from his features. "But that doesn¡¯t tell me what kind of tree the Cypress is or why you picked it for me. Is it strong the way an oak is strong? Or is it softer like the red cedar trees of the Vale of Mists?"


    "The red cedar wouldn¡¯t suit you at all," Ashlynn said with a laugh. "That tree is suited to people who meld with the world, changing their shape and blending in with the earth. People who can show one face to the world while their heart holds something different entirely. That tree doesn¡¯t describe you at all."


    "No, I guess it doesn¡¯t," Ollie thought, though he wondered if it fit a little too well for someone else. "I don¡¯t exactly blend in," he added, gesturing at his flame-red hair and tall figure.


    "The Cypress tree is one that grows in adversity," Ashlynn explained. "They take root in the swamps of places like the Briar and the Endless Marsh, far beyond the High Pass. Some day, I¡¯ll take you there, but I brought several seeds with me if there¡¯s somewhere you¡¯d like to have them planted. Maybe in this village of yours?"


    "They grow in swamps?" Ollie said, raising a brow in confusion. "But wouldn¡¯t the waters just wash them away?"


    "That¡¯s what makes them such powerful guardians," Ashlynn said with a smile. "They surround themselves with walls of... well, they¡¯re called ¡¯knees¡¯ and they¡¯re neither roots nor trunks but they help to shield the tree from storm surges, they anchor it in place and help it to breathe," she explained.


    "More than that though," Ashlynn continued when she saw him struggling to visualize the strange trees. "They become anchors for all manner of creaturs to rely on and shelters that can withstand the worst of storms."


    "So it¡¯s a tree for protectors," Ollie said with a wide smile as he began to understand. "A tree that won¡¯t break or yield while it guards it¡¯s people."


    "It¡¯s the opposite of my tree," Heila chimed in. "The willow survives by bending and flexing, but the cypress stands tall and never breaks, no matter how fierce the winds blow."


    "So, what do you think, Ollie?" Ashlynn asked. "Did I choose well for you?"


    "Yes," the future witch said, nodding excitedly as visions of this strange guardian tree that surrounded itself with defensive walls began to fill his mind. "This way, I can help to protect you the next time someone tries to hurt you," he said, shuddering as he thought about how extensive her wounds had been and how much pain she must have endured to have so much of her body covered by bandages.


    "Not just me," Ashlynn said as she stood to return to the guest house, yearning for the warmth of its hearth. Frost had begun to form on the stones where they sat, and the temperature was dropping rapidly as night deepened. She held up a hand and conjured a pale golden flame that resembled the fires of a torch, casting long shadows of the three figures among the trees as it guided them back toward the village path.


    "Now, you¡¯ll be able to protect your villagers too. No matter what comes," she said, making a promise that she hoped would hold true during the challenges they were certain to face in the coming conflict with the Lothians and behind them, a full fledged Crusade led by the Church of the Holy Lord of Light.


    Of course, everything she had told Ollie was true. But behind those reasons, another hid in the shadows deep within her mind. The memory of the vision the Ancient Willow had given her of Ollie falling in battle with an arm torn from his body and wounds so horrific that it had required the sacrifice of the Ancient Oak to restore him to what he had been before a templar nearly cut him in two...


    The Ollie in her vision hadn¡¯t become a witch yet and she hadn¡¯t known at the time what kind of path she would choose for him. Now, she¡¯d selfishly chosen to bestow a seed on him that she felt offered the best opportunities to safeguard his life. She only hoped that he didn¡¯t come to resent her for it one day when he outgrew the need for such heavy handed protection.


    But without that protection now, when he was young and vulnerable, she was far too worried that he wouldn¡¯t survive to outgrow her protective instincts and if the worst happened and she¡¯d chosen something else like the Lacebark Tree with it¡¯s powerful connection to flames that could rival those of the Church¡¯s Exemplars, giving him the strength to fight in the fiercest of battles while putting his life on the line...


    She¡¯d never forgive herself for handing him something so dangerous when she¡¯d already torn him away from the safety of the life he knew. She owed him far too much for dragging him into her world of wars and vengeance and even put his parents at risk because she¡¯d latched onto him at the Summer Villa. She only hoped that this would help to tip the scales back toward even and give him the strength to protect the people he was coming to care for in his new life in the Vale of Mists.


    And if it wasn¡¯t, there was still one more gift waiting for him that could give him powers no other Cypress Witch had ever hoped to wield.

 Chapter 497: A Strange Meeting

    Chapter 497: A Strange MeetingThat same night, hours after the sun had set on distant Lothian City, a carriage from Lothian Manor clattered across the well-worn cobblestone roadways, splashing through puddles from an afternoon rainstorm as it carried two unique guests of the manor into the heart of the merchant quarter of the city.


    Master Isabell of Blackwell County¡¯s Illustrious Guild of Engineers, and Master Tiernan of the Iron Monger¡¯s Guild occupied an awkward position in the social order of Lothian Manor. Neither of them were nobles of any sort, and as such, they should be bound by the rules that required commoners, even commoners who had been invited by Marquis Bors Lothian, to find accommodations in one of the city¡¯s many inns.


    But it was an open secret among the servants of the manor that Marquis Bors intended to grant knighthood on the visiting Guild Masters, making them proper nobles as well as his personal vassals. So while their status as noblemen hadn¡¯t been confirmed, and no one among the household staff would dare to address them as ¡¯Sir Tiernan¡¯ or ¡¯Dame Isabell¡¯, they were both treated with the same level of respect and privilege as a junior member of the peerage.


    If things had ended there, then the servants of the manor could have adapted easily enough, but the visiting Guild Masters went even further in flaunting traditions, placing Master Isabell in charge of nearly everything while the taciturn Master Tiernan seemed content to only voice his opinions on matters directly related to his trade.


    The strange arrangement had led to a number of unsavory rumors about the pair, with some even speculating that Master Tiernan had become a eunuch in some kind of unfortunate smelting accident. After all, to the hot-blooded men of the frontier, nothing else could explain the way such a physically imposing man would act so henpecked around a woman who wasn¡¯t even his wife.


    Neither master seemed to care much for what people whispered in the halls and servants¡¯ quarters during their visit to Lothian City. Instead, both of them were more concerned with the strange request that one of Owain Lothian¡¯s knights had brought them to meet with a merchant in the city.


    "Who exactly is this Marcel?" Isabell had asked when Sir Hugo Hanrahan brought the invitation to a private dinner. "And why has he requested to meet privately with us?"


    "Who he is is a little awkward to explain," the timid steward said. "He¡¯s not a person of importance, but he represents one of the most well-connected businessmen of the frontier. Lord Owain had some business with his master now that we¡¯ve returned to Lothian City, and while I was speaking with Mister Marcel, he mentioned that he would consider it a favor for his master if he could meet privately with the two of you."


    "What nonsense," Master Tiernan had said at the time, folding his thickly muscled arms over his chest. "I don¡¯t meet with people for no reason."


    "I doubt it¡¯s for no reason," Isabell said, placing a hand gently on the burly man¡¯s shoulder. "I assume, Steward Hugo, that Lord Owain would consider it a favor from us if we were to accede to this request? In the interests of furthering his own business with the man that Mister Marcel represents?"


    "Yes, yes," Hugo said, nodding his head like a chicken pecking at grain. "If you two would meet with Mister Marcel, I¡¯m sure the goodwill Lord Owain would receive for making the arrangements would go a long way to smoothing out his other business. Very much so," he said with a relieved look on his face.


    "At least tell us who this man represents," Tiernan said with a dark scowl rippling across his brow. "That¡¯s not asking too much, is it, Master Isabell?"


    "I¡¯m sure we can find out when we meet with this Mister Marcel," Isabell said, carefully noting the way sweat formed on the timid knight¡¯s brow. Clearly, the young man wanted to say as little as possible about his lord¡¯s business, but facilitating this meeting put him in an uncomfortably awkward position.


    In Isabell¡¯s opinion, there was little to be gained from squeezing Hugo Hanrahan. The man had already been badly whipped into subservience to one lord. Squeezing such a man further was little better than attempting to wring water from a stone.


    Kindness, however, could go a long way toward placing the poor man in her debt, and it was much easier to ask him for the occasional ¡¯small kindness¡¯ to repay the small kindnesses she¡¯d shown him than to bark and threaten when he was already backed into a corner by Lord Owain.


    Now, as the carriage rolled up to the brightly lit exterior of the Gilded Horns, a widely celebrated establishment that catered to the most wealthy among the commoners of Lothian City, the two guild masters were looking forward to getting some answers.


    The building itself wasn¡¯t that impressive by the standards of Blackwell City, standing only three stories tall and lacking any of the grand statues or intricate stonework that would have marked a similar establishment in their home city.


    What it lacked in common grandeur, however, it more than made up for with the row of gilded horns, each taken from the skull of a horned demon, that ringed the entrance to the stately building. By quick count, Isabell estimated that there were at least a hundred horns on display, making it brutally obvious how the original owner of the establishment had acquired his fortune to open such an opulent business in the frontier. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I thought they had to hand the horns over to the Church to receive the bounty offered on these," Master Tiernan said, pausing to admire the grizzly display. "Do you think these are cast replicas of the original horns?"


    "Oh, these are real, friend," a young, handsomely dressed man in tight breeches and a loose midnight blue tunic said from the doorway as he flashed the arriving guild masters a dazzling smile. "Cast replicas would come off as idle boasting, don¡¯t you think? Anyone can take a single horn and make replicas, but to acquire these... it takes something different, doesn¡¯t it?"


    "That it does, Mister...?" Isabell asked, adjusting the silver rimmed spectacles on her nose and taking a closer look at the dark-haired youth. The steel haired woman was no stranger to spoiled youths with more money than sense, and looking at this fellow, he certainly dressed the part with expensive silk and hammered silver buttons and buckles but when he moved, there wasn¡¯t the slightest hint of carelessness that she was used to seeing from young men who grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth.


    "Marcel, at your service," he said with a graceful, exaggerated bow. "Now, Master Isabell, Master Tiernan, I¡¯ve reserved a private dining room for us on the top floor. I hope you¡¯ll indulge me in your company for a few hours tonight," turning to guide them into the lavish interior of the Gilded Horns.


    "After all," he called over his shoulder. "We have much to discuss."

 Chapter 498: A Private Meal

    Chapter 498: A Private MealMarcel led the two guild masters through the heavy oaken doors of the Gilded Horns, which swung open on silent hinges to reveal an interior that rivaled the grandeur of any noble¡¯s hall in Lothian March, perhaps even exceeding the opulence on display in the halls of the western barons closest to demon-occupied territories.


    The common dining area sprawled before them, its high-beamed ceiling supported by massive timber pillars carved with scenes of legendary hunts and battles against demons with thin layers of gold leaf applied to the horns of horned demons, the claws of clawed demons or any other defining feature of the myriad types of demons who plagued the frontier. The display didn¡¯t escape Master Tiernan¡¯s discerning eye, who carefully noted that any feature of the carving that had been covered in gold leaf was a treasure the Church would pay a hefty bounty for.


    A great hearth dominated the far wall, large enough to roast an entire ox, its dancing flames casting long shadows across the rush-strewn floor interspersed with fresh-cut herbs that released their fragrance with each step guests and servants took across the wide open space.


    The aroma mingled with the rich scents of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spices so expensive they were normally only available to the nobility in the frontier. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg brought at great expense from the old countries across the sea tantalized the nose along with fresher herbs of tarragon and thyme.


    All around the room, merchants and wealthy tradesmen rubbed elbows with accomplished demon hunters at heavy oak tables draped with fine linen cloths. Servants in the establishment¡¯s colors, midnight blue and gold, moved with practiced efficiency between kitchen and tables, bearing enormous platters laden with autumn¡¯s bounty.


    At one table, a whole roasted turkey had been reassembled in its plumage, its flesh arranged on a bed of turnips, parsnips, and apples glazed with honey. At another, a suckling pig turned slowly on a spit, its skin crackling and glistening with fat as a server carved slices for eager guests.


    In the corner of the room on a raised wooden platform, a trio of musicians plucked gently at their instruments, filling the air with the faint music of harps and a citole that looked to be as old and well cared for as the Gilded Horn itself. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A grand staircase of polished walnut rose along the western wall, its banisters adorned with more of the gilded horns that gave the establishment its name. Each step was covered in plush carpeting imported from the eastern duchies, a luxury that muffled footfalls and proclaimed the owner¡¯s reach and connections more clearly than any herald.


    The staircase split at a landing halfway up, one branch leading to a gallery overlooking the common room, the other continuing upward to the third floor where private dining chambers offered discretion for more sensitive conversations.


    "This way, if you please," Marcel said, gesturing toward the staircase. "The finest wines are reserved for the upper chambers, and I¡¯ve taken the liberty of arranging a meal that I believe will suit your discerning palates."


    "You¡¯re going a long way to impress a simple smith," Master Tiernan said as he ascended the stairs, carefully inspecting the craftsmanship of everything from the polished banister to the gilded candelabras hanging from the rafters.


    He¡¯d visited the Guild Halls and manors of plenty of men who plastered gold leaf over shoddy work in an attempt to appear prosperous, but what he saw in the precisely riveted fittings and smoothly polished woodwork spoke of an attention to detail rarely found outside the halls of counts and dukes.


    "You¡¯re important people who have come a long way to visit this lonely corner of the frontier," Marcel said smoothly, bowing slightly as he ushered them into a small dining room hung with rich tapestries depicting ancient mist-filled forests and grand waterfalls along the river Luath. One wall even held an oil painting depicting a demon fortress wreathed in flames behind an army flying banners of the Lothian family and the Templars of the Church.


    Marcel studdied their reactions to the artwork carefully, noticing the way Tiernan seemed more interested in the subtle, natural beauty of the misty forest while Isabell¡¯s eyes seemed to have become caught on the painting, flickering over countless details that felt far too accurate to have been accidental.


    "This painting," Isabell said when she could no longer hold back her curiosity. "How, how old is it and which master painted it?" she asked, moving to stand directly before it and adjusting her silver rimmed spectacles as she examined everything from the orderly arrangement of the invading army to the crumbling walls broken by the miracle workers of the Church. Even the roads leading away from the burning fortress town were meticulously drawn in, dotted with tiny figures of demons fleeing the carnage to the hills beyond.


    "I cannot name the painter," Marcel said slowly. "But the painting dates to the reign of Cellach Lothian, and the painter is said to have borne witness to this battle. Whether it¡¯s true or not, I cannot say," he said with a helpless shrug.


    "It¡¯s a bit sad to look at over a meal," Tiernan said, definitively choosing a seat that placed his back to the painting. "I prefer this one," he said, pointing at the tapestry of the misty forest on the opposite wall. "Somewhere quiet."


    "You chose a strange profession for someone who prefers the quiet, my friend," Master Isabell said as she pulled herself away from her examination of the exquisitely detailed painting to take a seat next to the burly iron monger, choosing to angle herself in a way that let her observe both the misty forest and the churning waters of the river Lauth.


    "I prefer the quiet because of my profession," Tiernan said, tapping the side of his shaven head just in front of his ear. "Too many years, too many hammers on anvils and too many clattering chains. A foundry is a noisy place," he told their youthful-looking host. "But maybe one day soon I¡¯ll have a place like that to call my own," he said, pointing a thick, sausage-like finger at the tapestry.


    "I¡¯m sure that one day you will," Marcel said with a knowing smile and a twinkle in his eye as he took his seat at the table, ringing a bell to signal the staff that they were ready to be served. "I hope you¡¯ll pardon me for the small talk while we wait for our meal," he said, taking a crystal decanter of fragrant red wine from the table and filling each of their goblets. "The things we have to discuss tonight, they aren¡¯t for most ears to hear, even in a place like this."


    Before either master could respond to his statement, the doors on the opposite side of the private room opened, revealing a narrow hallway and several servants bearing platters piled high with spit roasted boar sitting on a bed of cabbage leaves wrapped around balls of ground meat and nuts, a steaming pot filled with rich, creamy rabbit stew, and several individual pies stuffed with either sweet fruit preserves or savory roasted vegetables.


    "There are only two of us, Mister Marcel," Isabell said as the stream of servants continued bringing in even more dishes until the table was almost completely covered with enough food to feed a dozen men Master Tiernan¡¯s size. "Or do you mean to tell me that you have a young man¡¯s appetite to eat for three grown men? My youngest just grew out of that stage a few years ago..."


    "Oh, I just like to nibble on a little of everything," Marcel said, wishing for the dozenth time that he could bring the cooks of the Gilded Horn back to the Vale of Mists to study Georg¡¯s method of cooking small portions for vampires who only ate for the joy of a flavor and had no need of food for sustenance. For now, it was a distant dream, but if Lady Ashlynn had her way, that might change.


    "If you only have one thing, then may I suggest the Rainbow Trout?" Marcel said, pointing at a platter with two fillets of tender, flaky fish nestled between the preserved head and tail of the fish.


    "Lady Ashlynn seemed to take quite a liking to it the last time we dined together," he said, carefully watching the faces of the guild masters for their reaction.


    "Mister Marcel," Isabell said, her hands pausing in the air halfway to the serving tools for the fish. "It sounds like we do have important things to discuss tonight. Tell me," she asked as the last of the servants exited the dining room, closing the door behind them. "When was the last time you dined with Lady Ashlynn?"

 Chapter 499: Straight Answers (Part One)

    Chapter 499: Straight Answers (Part One)"It¡¯s been some time," Marcel said as he began to fill the plate before him with small morsels of boar, roast vegetables, and slender slices of fruit pies. "One of the last times I spoke with her, she asked me to arrange for letters to be delivered to the two of you and a few other acquaintances in Blackwell City," he said, taking a delicate bite of the rich, slightly nutty tasting boar and chewing slowly to savor it¡¯s slightly springy texture while his mouth filled savory juices that carried the faintest hint of fresh herbs.


    "Tell me, esteemed masters," Marcel said, smiling in genuine appreciation of the cook¡¯s work with the boar. "Did the letters I arranged arrive safely? It¡¯s rare, but there have been occasions where my curriers fail to reach their destination."


    "We received a single letter each," Isabell said carefully, finally shaking herself free of her shock enough to begin serving herself a portion of the fish, though her hands trembled with more than just the shakes of her advancing years. "Should there have been others? I¡¯ve heard that Lady Ashlynn only receives a few visitors at the Summer Villa, so I can¡¯t imagine she¡¯s had much opportunity to send others, unless you visit frequently?"


    "Have you made plans to visit her at the Summer Villa?" Marcel asked without answering the engineer¡¯s question. "I imagine that she would make an exception to allow a visit for friends she felt were important enough to write to so soon after she arrived in Lothian March," he said as he swirled the rich red wine in his goblet.


    "I¡¯m afraid we haven¡¯t been granted the opportunity," Isabell said, frowning at the young man who seemed to be toying with his words. "Lord Owain will be taking us to visit Baron Hanrahan in the hopes that we find the lands near Airgead Mountain to be to our taste."


    "That¡¯s a shame," Marcel said, using his goblet of wine to gesture at the tapestry of the misty forest. "You would enjoy the lands around the Dunn barony more if you want to see places like the one in that tapestry."


    "That¡¯s a real place then?" Tiernan asked, raising a thick, bushy brow at the delicate young man. "Is that the famous Vale of Mists?"


    "It might be," Marcel said, taking a sip of the heady red wine. "Or it might be somewhere nearby. The woman who wove that tapestry is an old friend and she¡¯s exceedingly well traveled," he said with a faint smile. "She has a better eye for detail than most, and she has a way of pulling her into a world of her own making with her work. It might be real, or it might be one of the most vivid dreams she¡¯s ever manifested."


    "Do you have an allergy to direct answers, Mister Marcel?" Isabell asked, tapping her long nails on the table in irritation. "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard a straight answer from you since we arrived here. Or is this more of the ¡¯small talk¡¯ you need to dole out while prying ears are nearby? If this place isn¡¯t safe enough to talk, then I¡¯m happy to skip the meal to discuss more important things."


    "We are discussing important things," Marcel said, smiling while his dark eyes tracked Isabell¡¯s every irritated movement and his ears listened to the subtle shifts in the pitch of her voice. "You¡¯re worried about Lady Ashlynn, aren¡¯t you?"


    "We both are," Master Tiernan said, intercepting the question before Isabell could be drawn into a spat with the strange young man. Reaching across the table, he placed himself momentarily between the two of them to fetch a selection of small meat pies, loading up his plate before turning to regard the dark-haired youth with the same intensity he¡¯d directed at the craftsmanship of the furnishings earlier.


    "Giving Lady Ashlynn privacy to be on her rest makes sense," the burly guild master said. "My Nisa spent most of two months in bed, barely taking more than a dozen steps to the privy or to wash before our oldest was born. A giant of a lad who takes too much after his father," he said, gesturing at his own heavy frame.


    "But when Nisa was laid up on bed rest, she wanted visitors more than anything," he added. "She hated being cooped up at home. Her sisters came twice a week, her mother once a week, and she even asked the baker down the street from us to deliver bread at the end of the day so the two of them could gossip like she used to when she did the shopping herself."


    "So to hear that Lady Ashlynn will take no visitors because she¡¯s with child," Tearnan said around a mouthful of meat pie. "It¡¯s a bit strange now, isn¡¯t it?"


    "Mister Marcel," Isabel said, looking at him with tired, pleading eyes that couldn¡¯t hide their anxiety behind her silver rimmed spectacles. "I¡¯ve spoken with Lord Owain, but he seems to be in no hurry to visit his wife. Instead, he invites us to tour the countryside with him and Lady Jocelynn, who also seems to have no interest in spending time with her sister."


    "The Blackwell sisters were always close," Isabell said softly. "Lady Ashlynn even asked me to show her how she could sneak out of Blackwell Manor while my guild was rebuilding one of the wings. When I showed her a path the work crews used to haul stone from the work yard, she was as giddy as a girl half her age and she couldn¡¯t wait to tell her sister, but now, when I ask Lady Jocelynn how her sister is fairing she tells me that she¡¯s ¡¯sure her sister is doing well¡¯ and that she¡¯s happily ¡¯holed up in her room with her books.¡¯"


    Perhaps if she didn¡¯t know Ashlynn as well as she did, Isabell would have believed the polite non-answers she received from Lothian family and Ashlynn¡¯s own sister when she asked after the young lady¡¯s condition. Perhaps if she hadn¡¯t received Lady Ashlynn¡¯s warning about Sir Kaefin dying because he couldn¡¯t keep his hands to himself, she would have trusted the safety that Lord Owain claimed he¡¯d provided to the missing Blackwell sister.


    But too many pieces of the puzzle didn¡¯t fit together the way they were ¡¯supposed to¡¯ for the engineer to be satisfied with the answers she was getting. And so, since this young man seemed to have the answers she didn¡¯t, she was determined to get the truth out of him, one way or another.


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 Chapter 500: Straight Answers (Part Two)

    Chapter 500: Straight Answers (Part Two)"That¡¯s fitting, isn¡¯t it?" Marcel asked as he speared a cabbage roll and began cutting it into smaller pieces. The intense stare that Isabell directed at him rolled off his pale skin like water off the back of a duck. At this point, he¡¯d lost count of how many determined, focused people he¡¯d sat across a table from, and the look she gave him was no different from the hostile looks he¡¯d received from men who were old when she was still a child.


    "Wasn¡¯t it always said that she kept to herself?" Marcel asked as though the answer was common knowledge. "It¡¯s been said that she rarely left the manor because of her poor health, hasn¡¯t it? Lady Jocelynn¡¯s words aren¡¯t too out of place then, are they?"


    "Lady Jocelynn says what outsiders expect to hear," Isabell said bitterly, pushing the flakes of fish around on her plate, unable to find any joy in the careful preparation of the local trout while anxiety about Lady Ashlynn gnawed at her belly.


    "But anyone who really met Lady Ashlynn knows that she¡¯s always busy doing something. She planted her own garden in Blackwell Manor and dug in the dirt with her bare hands," she said with a snort as she tried to imagine the frail, withdrawing image of Ashlynn that she¡¯d been told about next to the rambunctious young girl she¡¯d known for several years.


    "She snuck out of the manor at night to go up on the cliffs and watch the ships come in when the sun rose," Isabell said, repeating the story she¡¯d heard from Ashlynn¡¯s mother, the Countess, when she asked about revealing a way for the mischievous young Ashlynn to slip out at night. She hadn¡¯t been surprised that the Countess knew about her daughter¡¯s escapades, but the resigned look she had when she gave her permission to reveal a small secret had always troubled the engineer.


    "But now, she¡¯s holed up in a room in the villa, unable to receive guests and doing nothing but reading?" Isabell said incredulously. "That doesn¡¯t sound like the Lady Ashlynn that I knew. Not one bit."


    "So you two are worried about her," Marcell said, setting his cutlery down and growing very still as he regarded the pair of guild masters. "The question is, if it came down to it, would you stand on her side? Even if it meant you had to stand in opposition to Lord Owain?"


    "I knew it," Tiernan said. "I told you that things weren¡¯t well between her and her husband. Is that why you wanted to meet with us?" the Iron Monger asked, looking expectantly at Isabell as he fit the pieces together in his mind. "Let me guess. Lady Ashlynn¡¯s not holed up in the Summer Villa because of her pregnancy. She¡¯s held prisoner there and you need us, need Master Isabell, to engineer a way out for her."


    "If that¡¯s what¡¯s happening," Isabell said slowly. "Then of course, I¡¯ll stand with Lady Ashlynn. But when I received her letter, she didn¡¯t ask me to help her escape. She asked for my help engineering an escape for Lady Jocelynn. The way she wrote, it sounded like she¡¯d given up on any hope of escape for herself," she said, looking at Marcel and fervently wishing that she¡¯d read Lady Ashlynn¡¯s intention incorrectly.


    "Good," Marcel said, offering the pair a smile that felt cold, calculated, and... triumphant. "As long as you remain committed to stand on Lady Ashlynn¡¯s side, I will treat you as her allies in what¡¯s to come. But I will warn you," he said as his already dark eyes seemed to become even darker, turning into bottomless pits that could devour a person¡¯s soul.


    "If you betray this trust," he said in a voice that seemed to echo from somewhere far away. "Death would be a release from the fate that finds you. If you cannot promise me that you will carry the secrets I share to your graves and beyond, then we should part ways now and pretend this meeting never happened." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You can trust in our word," Tiernan said, standing quickly and moving to place his burly frame between Isabell and the suddenly menacing dark-haired youth. "But if you¡¯re going to make threats," he added, cupping one meaty hand over a massive fist and cracking his knuckles. "Know that I don¡¯t take kindly to threatening people, especially people like Master Isabell."


    "Relax, Master Tiernan," Isabell said from behind her towering companion, placing a hand on his shoulder and gesturing for him to return to his seat. "I¡¯m sure that Mister Marcel is just making things clear before he invites his hidden master to reveal these secrets to us."


    "That¡¯s the real reason you¡¯ve been playing all these word games, isn¡¯t it?" Isabell asked, looking directly at Marcell¡¯s dark eyes. "We¡¯ve heard of this ¡¯well-connected¡¯ individual you serve as an intermediary for," she added, looking at the door the servants had used to enter the room. "Isn¡¯t it time for the man behind the curtain to reveal himself?"


    "Hidden Master?" Marcel said, blinking several times before he burst out in laughter. "While it¡¯s true that I¡¯m bound to the service of a powerful Mistress, I assure you that she isn¡¯t here. More importantly, unless my Mistress orders me otherwise, Lady Ashlynn¡¯s orders are the second only to hers."


    "The person you¡¯ve likely been told about is a real person," Marcel admitted to the suddenly confused engineer who thought she¡¯d assembled all the pieces correctly. "He¡¯s known as the ¡¯Black Merchant¡¯, but that name has always referred to me," he said, giving a self-deprecating bow from his seat.


    "You¡¯re the incredibly powerful and well-connected individual that Owain Lothian is doing business with?" Master Isabell asked, blinking several times as she tried to fit the puzzle pieces together in a way that made sense. "But if you¡¯re bound in service to Lady Ashlynn..."


    "Lady Ashlynn needs strong supporters who can fight at her side, whether that¡¯s on the field of battle or in the halls of power where alliances are forged and rivals are toppled in fair and just confrontations," Marcel said smoothly.


    "She also needs supporters who have ears in many places, and hands in many pockets," he added. "I¡¯ve done those things for my Mistress for a very long time, and now I do them for Lady Ashlynn as well. But in order for you to understand your role in what¡¯s to come and the way you can most be of use to Lady Ashlynn, there are secrets you should know or nothing else will make any sense," he said.


    "You mentioned secrets," Teirnan said, giving both doors an evaluating look. "Is it safe to speak here? Should we go somewhere that someone won¡¯t accidentally enter here?"


    "No one will disturb us here," Marcel said confidently. "Now that we have our meal, no one else is even allowed on this floor. The other dining rooms are all empty, and I promise you that I would notice anyone intruding where they shouldn¡¯t be long before they could hear what I have to say."


    "Now, let me start with the most important secret," Marcel said before the pair could interrupt with any further questions. "Lady Ashlynn isn¡¯t in the Summer Villa. She isn¡¯t even in Lothian March and she hasn¡¯t been since the night of her wedding when Owain failed to murder her," he said.


    For the next several seconds, Marcel said nothing as he waited for the pair to process what he¡¯d just said. Isabell¡¯s face instantly lost all color, quickly looking almost as pale as Marcel himself did, while Tiernan¡¯s face turned bright crimson with barely suppressed outrage as he clenched his fists and visibly shook with fury.


    "I just received news the other night," he added in the hopes that he could help them channel the intense feelings storming in their hearts. "Lady Ashlynn is returning from the place where she¡¯s been in hiding. When she returns, she intends to confront Owain and lay claim to Lothian March."


    "The only question is," the dark-haired youth asked. "When the time comes, are you prepared to

 Chapter 501: A Bank of Trust

    Chapter 501: A Bank of TrustIt took nearly a minute before either guild master was able to speak after the shocking revelation that Owain had tried and failed to kill Lady Ashlynn Blackwell on the night of their wedding. For Tiernan, the struggle he faced played out across his face as hot anger warred with wisdom that said hasty responses would only lead to shoddy work in the end.


    Master Isabell faced an entirely different struggle. Her methodical mind drew all the way back to the beginning and the letter she¡¯d received from Lady Ashlynn with its cryptic warning and heartfelt plea to watch over Lady Jocelynn if she was able to. When viewed in light of what Marcel had just told them many things made more sense but there were still too many pieces missing for her to assemble a clear view of the puzzle.


    "Mister Marcel," Isabell said carefully as she set aside her plate of fish. The dish smelled wonderful, but the conversation made it difficult to maintain any interest in the sumptuous feast the dark-haired youth had laid out before them.


    "Do you have any proof to offer us? To accuse the heir to the Lothian March of attempted murder and a grand conspiracy to conceal that murder, you must have some proof to support your claims."


    Though she asked for proof, Isabell didn¡¯t expect anything grand or even conclusive. If such wicked plots were easily exposed then they would have unraveled months ago. The fact that they hadn¡¯t was a sign that things were complex, murky, or that people with information ¡¯disappeared¡¯ with enough frequency that those who held evidence of wrongdoing were reluctant to share it.


    No, Isabell wasn¡¯t looking for proof, but she was looking for more information that would help her see the complete puzzle.


    "You aren¡¯t ready for proof," Marcel said, shaking his head at the cautious engineer. "I¡¯ve already given you a loan. The knowledge that Lord Owain attempted to murder Lady Ashlynn and that she has been living in hiding while he keeps an imposter in the Summer Villa to maintain appearances should already demonstrate the amount of trust I¡¯m willing to extend to you on Lady Ashlynn¡¯s endorsement of your character alone," he said.


    "Deeper secrets that would prove my words will cost you," the dark-eyed vampire said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he gestured at the pair with a blunt butter knife. "My bank of trust has limits on loans until you make deposits that demonstrate you can be trusted further. As guild masters, you should understand this well."


    "You¡¯re treating this like you¡¯re making a loan on ore shipments," Tiernan said after taking a large swig of wine that drained half his goblet at once. "But you said Lady Ashlynn intends to seize Lothian March, like she¡¯s coming to collect on a lien against a mine. But these things aren¡¯t the same at all! If you¡¯re going to ask us to wade into something like this, the amount of trust you need to extend is much, much greater."


    "Well, you¡¯re right about that," Marcel said, setting his knife down after buttering a soft roll that he began to tear into several small, bite-sized pieces. "But you¡¯re also very wrong. You¡¯re untested, untempered, and at least to me, largely unknown. The damage you can do if I¡¯ve placed my trust wrongly is greater than you can imagine." Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So, instead of arguing about what you should and shouldn¡¯t be told," Marcel proposed. "Why don¡¯t we move on to what you can do to help Lady Ashlynn? Once you¡¯ve made a few deposits in my bank of trust, I¡¯m happy to reveal more to you."


    "No, I want to know at least one thing more before we talk about any kind of cooperation," Master Isabell said, removing her silver rimmed spectacles to give the strange young man a very direct look. "Just tell me why. Why would Lord Owain try to murder Lady Ashlynn on her wedding night? If you can¡¯t tell me something that makes that make sense, then I can¡¯t put enough trust in you to cooperate with you."


    "If that¡¯s all it takes," Marcel said with a smile as he popped a piece of buttered bread into his mouth. "On the night of her wedding to Owain Lothian, someone told the young lord that Lady Ashlynn bears the mark of the witch. Whether she was a witch or not, I¡¯m sure you have a good understanding," he said in a tone that suggested the idea was preposterous. "But it is true that she possesses a birthmark in an area few would see. Make of that what you will, but it was enough for Owain to beat her nearly to death."


    -CLANK-


    The sound of dishes and silverware clattering as Tiernan¡¯s meaty fist slammed into the table momentarily startled everyone, and the smoldering rage burning in his eyes grew even hotter. He might not have known Ashlynn well, but as a father of a girl just coming into the age to consider marriage, his blood boiled at the thought of a man so vile that he would lay hands on a woman the night she left the protection of her own flesh and blood!


    "How did Lady Ashlynn get away from him?" Isabell asked, resting a hand gently on the powerful ironmonger¡¯s muscular shoulder while she focused on the details of Marcel¡¯s story. She wasn¡¯t without a slow-burning fury of her own, but getting lost in that anger would only cause her to miss important details, and right now, the young man¡¯s story still didn¡¯t entirely add up.


    "She¡¯s not a strong woman. For all her sneaking about, she¡¯s not a trained swordswoman who could take on a knight like Owain. If she¡¯s not a witch," she asked suspiciously, "then how did she escape when Owain attacked her?"


    "I think that Lady Ashlynn is stronger than you think," Marcel said with a light laugh. "But you¡¯ve made an assumption in error. Lady Ashlynn didn¡¯t fight her way free of him. Sir Tommin and Sir Broll dumped her body in a shallow grave outside the march, at the edge of the Vale of Mists," he said. "Lady Ashlynn ¡¯escaped¡¯ by clinging to life so hard that she crawled out of her own grave and wandered the darkness until she found help."


    "That¡¯s also why the secret I¡¯ve given you is greater than you may realize," Marcel added. "As far as the people of Lothian March are aware, Lady Ashlynn is either alive and pregnant with Owain¡¯s heir in the Summer Villa, or she¡¯s dead and buried in an unmarked grave in the wilderness."


    "Within the whole of Lothian March, the number of people who know that she¡¯s alive and planning her return can be counted on the fingers of one hand," Marcel said, holding up one hand and wiggling his slender, dextrous fingers. "So, is that enough of a loan of trust to win your cooperation?"

 Chapter 502: Too Many Sides (Part One)

    Chapter 502: Too Many Sides (Part One)"It¡¯s enough," Master Tiernan said, picking up a long carving knife and spearing a section of roast boar with enough violence to suggest that he wished it was Owain Lothian before him rather than a hunk of roasted meat.


    "Tiernan," Master Isabell said, looking at him with a complex expression as her normally placid companion lost much of his composure. "There are still things we should consider. Perhaps we should discuss this privately tonight and return tomorrow," she said, casting a questioning glance at the dark-haired youth.


    "No, we¡¯ve heard enough," Tiernan said. "Already, I don¡¯t know how I can tolerate being in that conniving lordling¡¯s presence after what I¡¯ve heard tonight. No, I want to hear what kind of help this young fellow wants from us. Maybe then I can feel like I¡¯m doing something to wash this, this sickening feeling from my belly."


    Already, the notion of crushing Owain Lothian¡¯s skull between a pair of his forging hammers or even with his bare hands had flickered through the normally gentle giant¡¯s mind, but he instantly shoved them down. Owan was a well trained and powerful knight and brute strength would never be enough to overcome him.


    Moreover, if he attacked the Lothian heir, the retribution wouldn¡¯t be confined to him alone. He might be a powerful guild master in Blackwell County, but he was still a commonor and the crime of assaulting a nobelman carried a sentance that would punish his wife and children at the same time it punished him.


    The consequences were simply too great to bear, whether he succeeded or not, so he could only swallow his rage and look for a more constructive way to work against the murderous lordling.


    "What I hope you can do, right now, is actually very simple," Marcel said, clearing aside his plate filled with tiny morsels and fetching a rolled up map of Lothian March to lay out his request. "I¡¯ll be honest with you, you¡¯ve arrived in Lothian March sooner than Lady Ashlynn and I expected when I helped her to deliver those letters," he began.


    "This is good because it gives us time, but also dangerous for you because you¡¯ve arrived before she can do much to ensure your safety," Marcel explained. "Right now, the very best thing that you can do is to serve as a wedge between a few factions and don¡¯t let anyone sweep you entirely into their camp."


    "No need to worry about that," Isabell said, finally summoning enough appetite to select a small meat pie to nibble on while Marcel spoke. The buttery crust of the pastry broke into dozens of soft flakes as soon as she cut into it with a fork and the rich, earthy smell of fresh herbs and minced lamb helped to ground thoughts as she nibbled. "We have no intention of allying ourselves closely with Owain Lothian, even before all of this. We¡¯ve always intended to stand where Lady Ashlynn stands."


    "That¡¯s a good notion for later, once Lady Ashlynn makes her return," Marcel said, weighting down the corners of the map with a handful of serving utensils as he began to explain. "Owain¡¯s greatest support comes from the barons to the south and west," he said, gesturing at the Hanrahan and Aleese baronies that bordered Airgead Mountain and the Southern Steppe respectively.


    "He¡¯s popular in these territories because of the victories he¡¯s won against demons to the south, and he¡¯s taken on retainers from both families to solidify his position with the southern barons in the west," Marcel explained.


    "So this is why he wants us going out to Hanrahan Barrony," Tiernan said around a mouthful of roasted meat. "He wants to butter up his allies a bit more by offering them ¡¯fresh blood¡¯ and the money that comes with building out our lands."


    "That¡¯s part of it, I¡¯m sure," Marcel agreed. "But there¡¯s another problem to understand, north of the Liver Luath," he said, tapping the map on the opposite side of the river from Hanrahan Barrony, closer to the Vale of Mists. "The Dunn Barony has been chafing at the bit to become the Dunn County for ages and Baron Dunn has stood in opposition to Bors Lothian a number of times over the years, calling for more capable leadership against the demons," he said.


    "Recently, Loman Lothian has thrown in with Baron Dunn¡¯s heir, Liam Dunn in a war against the villages outside the Vale of Mists," Marcel explained, pausing to make sure both guild masters were following along before he continued. "Loman also took in one of the knights who dumped Lady Ashlynn in a shallow grave, Sir Tommin, and inducted him into the Templars."


    "Loman Lothian intends to contend for his father¡¯s throne," Isabell realized. "He¡¯d actually leave the church for that? Why? Everything I¡¯d heard about him said he was particularly devout. There was even a rumor some time ago that he¡¯d been asked to take a pilgrimage to the Holy City to study under the Exemplars."


    "That may have been true once," Marcell acknowledged. "But things seemed to have changed for Loman after Lady Ashlynn¡¯s ¡¯death.¡¯ Since he has Sir Tommin at his side, I have to assume that he knows the truth of what happened to his sister-in-law. That may make him an ally, if he¡¯s standing in opposition to his brother Owain on some kind of principle of justice for Lady Ashlynn, but it also makes him an obstacle to her plans." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "How so?" Tiernan asked bluntly. "If he stops Owain from taking the throne, isn¡¯t that a good thing? Serves the wretch right if he loses the throne for what he did," he said.


    "That might be true," Isabell siad, pushing aside her half eaten meat pie to focus entirely on the conversation. "But not if Lady Ashlynn wants to seize control of Lothian March. Her only claim to the throne comes from her status as Lord Owain¡¯s legal wife. If the throne goes to Loman, then it skips around her entirely."


    Suddenly Isabell realized why Lady Ashlynn had asked her to look after her sister if she was able to. It wasn¡¯t because Lady Ashlynn had given up on herself and was helplessly trapped, it was because she had waded so far into developing her counterattack that she was afraid her sister would suffer retribution if she failed.


    But Lady Ashlynn had far too few allies to make such a move. She was walking on the edge of a knife, clinging to a marriage that some people might not even recognize in order to have claim to a throne that had passed from father to son for generations. If she was going to pull this off, then the margin for error was razor thin.


    And the consequences for failure, she thought... the consequences for failure could end with all of their heads on the executioner¡¯s block!

 Chapter 503: Too Many Sides (Part Two)

    Chapter 503: Too Many Sides (Part Two)"Loman¡¯s faction is still very under-developed," Marcel said, his voice snapping Isabell out of her inwardly spiralling thoughts.


    "The Church seems to be behind him, though the fact that an Inquisitor spent months digging around after Lady Ashlynn¡¯s ¡¯death¡¯ and never took action against Owain suggests the Church isn¡¯t fully comitted to either brother. Other than that," he added, tapping on Lothian City. "Loman¡¯s greatest popularity is with the common people close to home where he¡¯s been building support for years as a priest of the Church."


    "So you want us to press for lands to the east of Lothian March," Isabell said, looking at the eastern barronies they¡¯d passed through on their way to the city from Blackwell County. "To stop them from building their factions there."


    "No, that wouldn¡¯t do you any good," Marcel said. "The old men hanging onto their barronies far from the active front lines value tradition. They¡¯re in Bors Lothian¡¯s camp, and even the young ones who have taken succeeded their fathers in the past few years still look to the Marquis for direction. They¡¯ll side with whomever Bors picks."


    "So we¡¯re caught between two brothers, the father, and the Church," Tiernan said, frowning at the map. "But if we¡¯re not pushing for lands in the east, where do you want us to go?"


    "Here," Marcel said, tapping the unclaimed region along the banks of the river Luath where only a few sparse hamletts dotted the lands closest to the ancient roadway leading into the Vale of Mists. "You wanted somewhere peaceful to rest, this region will give it to you."


    "That¡¯s madness!" Tiernan sputtered, nearly spitting out his wine. "I haven¡¯t been here long, but I¡¯ve heard stories about the Demon Lady of the Vale already. They say she skins men alive, bathing in their blood and devouring their flesh. Nothing that is built too close to the Vale is ever safe. These people living so close," he said, tapping on the scattered hamlets on the map. "They¡¯re gambling with their lives. What could be here that would be worth taking the risk?"


    "Nothing," Marcel said with a slow smile at the way the locals had described Lady Nyrielle. Who would bathe in blood? It was such a waste, like bathing in wine, yet the myth persisted for decades without anyone ever questioning it. "There¡¯s nothing of value here right now, but it does three important things."


    "First," Marcel said, raising a slender finger. "It pulls you away from the Hanrahans and second, it puts you closer to the Dunns. This should be enough for Liam Dunn to wonder if he can pull you into his camp, and if he doesn¡¯t, Loman should. Placing the two of you, and by extension, the agreement with the guilds of Blackwell City, in a place where your support must be contested for will keep both sides busy."


    "I see," Isabell said, nodding slowly. So long as she removed the danger from the Vale of Mists, what Marcel was asking them to do wasn¡¯t that unreasonable. They were already intending to tour the countryside while negotiating for the lands that would form their domains as knights of Lothian March. Putting themselves squarely between the feuding brothers wasn¡¯t a move without risk, but it wasn¡¯t something that would put their lives in peril either.


    As a favor to ask, Marcel seemed to be moving slowly with them. The request was small, but accepting it would be a notable deposit in his ¡¯bank of trust.¡¯ Once they¡¯d concluded matters there, they could discuss deeper cooperation and pry free more of the secrets he was holding back from them, or perhaps, they could secure a meeting with Lady Ashlynn and get away from the Black Merchant entirely. There was only one problem with the arrangement he proposed.


    "What about the Vale of Mists?" Isabell asked. "If we¡¯re that close to the Vale when winter comes, won¡¯t we just be stretching our necks out for the Demon Lady of the Vale and her horde of demons to harvest like fish in the net?" S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Don¡¯t worry about the Vale," Marcel said cryptically. "I said that placing your lands here accomplished three things. My Mistress and Lady Ashlynn have plans for the Vale of Mists and I have no doubt that you¡¯ll both be of vital importance to them," he said with a smile that failed to be as reassuring as he hoped.


    "More importantly, if you place your lands here, that will give you an excuse to travel to the border of the Vale of Mists frequently," the Black Merchant added. "And from there, it¡¯s much, much more convenient for you to meet with Lady Ashlynn directly."


    "Why would that be more convenient?" Tiernan asked as his bushy brows lowered in confusion. "Unless..."


    "Mister Marcel," Isabell said with a slight tremble in her voice. "The place that Lady Ashlynn has been hiding... Has she hidden herself in the Vale of Mist? Is she, is she living among the demons?" It seemed impossible but, if the person who betrayed Lady Ashlynn to Owain had spoken the truth, if Lady Ashlynn really was a witch...


    "I can assure you," Marcel said, choosing his words with care. "Lady Ashlynn has been far from the Vale of Mists for quite some time now. That doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s powerless to protect you from its dangers."


    "I know it may be difficult to accept," Marcell said, as he saw the reluctance forming on their faces. "I can only ask you to trust me. But if you can succeed in securing lands here," he added, attacking one of the few vulnerabilities the pair possessed this early in forming their relationship. "I can promise you a meeting with Lady Ashlynn when you visit your lands."


    "Truly?" Isabell asked with a healthy amount of skepticism as she placed her silver rimmed spectacles back on her nose, peering over the rims at the odd young man. "Then I suppose we¡¯re loaning each other trust," she said after a lengthy pause. "But if we do this and you fail to deliver, understand that we¡¯ll expose you for manipulating us into settling there. Even if the Lothians don¡¯t do anything about it, the Church and the Inquisition might become very curious about why a merchant is so interested in settling a group of freshly raised knights so close to the Vale of Mists," she warned.


    "Of course," Marcel said, rolling up the map and smiling at his guests. "I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way."

 Chapter 504: Change Arrives in the Vale of Mists

    Chapter 504: Change Arrives in the Vale of MistsFive days after Ashlynn¡¯s arrival in Orava Village, an army the likes of which the Vale of Mists had never seen marched into the small town that surrounded the ancient fortress. Townspeople lined the roads despite the late hour, pressing up against each other for a glimpse of their long-absent Eldritch Lady. But despite their curiosity, the curtains of her dark carriage remained tightly shut, offering not even a peek of the powerful vampire or her Seneschal.


    Even though they weren¡¯t able to see the Eldritch Lady of the Vale herself, the remainder of her army still made for an impressive sight. It had been decades since outsiders made a habit of visiting the Vale of Mists, and only a few people took up trades that required them to travel across the mountains where they might encounter other clans.


    From Savis and his Golden Eyed Black Wolf Brigade to the shocking appearance of more than a dozen clanless vampires of Tausau¡¯s Mongrel Horde, each new group produced exclaimations of shock and excitement from the crowd.


    "She¡¯s done it again," an old man with hair that had turned as bone-white as his horns said, smiling as more and more soldiers marched into view. "Last time, she was gone for less than a month before she returned with forty-seven champions. This time, she was gone for half the year and returned with an army."


    "Did you see her champions last time, Grandpa Gill?" a young boy with horns that barely peeked out of his tousled hair said as he clung to one of the brightly lit street lamps, hoping for a better view of the giants with shaggy wool and tusks that reached nearly to the ground. "Are these champions even stronger?"


    "How old do you think I am, boy?" Old Gill said, rapping the young boy¡¯s thing with the handle of his cane. "I wasn¡¯t even born yet to see such a thing. But my father saw it. Forty-seven of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, storming into the Vale like the black wind of death. But this is different," he added.


    "With this many people," the old man said. "Lady Nyrielle might even reconquer the villages outside the Vale, so all those newcomers could go home again."


    "But what if they don¡¯t want to go home? Will they have to? Qebicq likes it here," he added with eyes that grew misty at the thought of his new friend leaving after they¡¯d only just met. "He doesn¡¯t have to go away, does he?"


    "Who knows," the old man said, looking out over the train of wagons that trailed after the soldiers of the army. An army¡¯s supply train would always be nearly as large as the army itself, but this looked like far more than a supply train. There were carts full of common folk, laborers, and tradesmen, and even carriages carrying wealthy merchants into the Vale of Mists for the first time in generations.


    "Who knows what all of this will bring?" the old man said. "Maybe you¡¯ll have even more children to make friends with," he added, pointing at a few of the wagons rolling past. With this many strangers entering their small town, many of them coming with entire wagons full of their worldly possessions, it was clear that not everyone who came was planning for a short visit.


    But how the Vale of Mists would change with a second influx of outsiders was anyone¡¯s guess, especially when these outsiders had never known the terror of humans with their Templars and Inquisitors who stormed into villages and burned them to the ground.


    Would the newcomers respect the people of the Vale for the generations they¡¯d spent holding back the tide of human aggression? Or would they see themselves as heroes who had come to liberate the weak and ¡¯backwards¡¯ people of the Vale who had yet to return to the glory of their days as the home of High Lord Torbin?


    The old man didn¡¯t know, and the only one who might be able to tell them had taken her carriage directly to the ancient fortress without uttering a word about her plans. Without that, the common folk in the street could only speculate.


    Inside the ancient fortress, Nyrielle¡¯s dark carriage came to a rest at last before a small welcoming party led by a familiar dashing figure.


    "Welcome home, Mistress Nyrielle," Thane said, taking a knee and placing a hand over his slowly beating heart. Despite the chill of the late autumn air, Thane wore his simple white tunic unlaced to his sternum, revealing the powerfully built chest beneath.


    The former knight¡¯s amber eyes flashed with the barest hint of anticipation as the carriage doors opened to reveal both Nyrielle and Ashlynn, looking as though they were disappointed that their intimate carriage ride through the Vale from Orava village had finally come to an end.


    "It¡¯s been hard on you this time, Thane," Nyrielle said with more warmth in her voice than her eldest human progeny was accustomed to hearing from her. "And I¡¯m sorry to say it, but I need more from you still before you can take a well-deserved rest. We need to..."


    "Thane," Ashlynn said, moving past Nyrielle with short, quick strides until she arrived beside the handsome vampire who had offered to be her ¡¯big brother¡¯ in the Vale of Mists when she felt hopelessly lost after Owain¡¯s betrayal and everything that happened after that.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said with genuine feeling as she flung her arms around the startled vampire to give him a hug strong enough to be uncomfortable even to a knight with a vampire¡¯s enhanced physique. "Thank you for everything," she whispered.


    They¡¯d only spent two months together, but in that short amount of time, Thane had done more to shape her growth and development during her blossoming period than anyone else. More than that, he¡¯d understood her needs in a way that Nyrielle wasn¡¯t yet capable of and helped her to feel like the Vale of Mists truly could be her new home.


    Now, after so many months apart, the deep desire she held to see him again mingled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the lessons he¡¯d given her during those days. Without his training, she¡¯d have died to the Tuscans, or to the ancient ancestors, or... Or to Sir Kaefin at the Summer Villa, or Sir Broll during her escape... Without him and his patient guidance then, she wouldn¡¯t be standing here at all.


    "Ah, hem," Nyrielle coughed from behind the pair. "Thane, I feel as though, when it comes to my darling Ashlynn, you¡¯re always stealing things from me. Or this time, is it my willful love who is stealing my progeny away?"


    "We¡¯ll have time to catch up soon enough," Thane said, chuckling lightly at the way the the normally refined and elegant Lady Ashlynn threw away all the trappings of station to treat him like the older brother he¡¯d offered to be.


    Placing his hands on Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders he gently withdrew from her embrace, resisting the urge to pat her head the way he would have treated his own sister in the years before her death. Ashlynn was Ashlynn and as much as she seemed ready to throw away decorum for familial comfort, the two of them hadn¡¯t spent enough time together to form their own language of comforting touches.


    Forcing her to adopt the rituals he¡¯d once used for someone else, while she might never know, would have been too disrespectful for both women, and so he held himself back and gripped her shoulders gently instead.


    "I¡¯m sure you have many stories to tell," he said simply. "And I can¡¯t wait to hear them. Or to see how much you¡¯ve learned in the time you were away," he added with a challenging grin.


    "I do have stories," Ashlynn said, smiling brightly at the vampire who held responsibility for overseeing the Vale in Nyrielle¡¯s absence. "And I¡¯m sure you have stories too. But my love is right," she said, returning to Nyrielle¡¯s side. "There¡¯s still work to be done before we can relax."


    "What are your orders, Mistress?" Thane asked, his face becoming cool and composed in a way that only vampires could manage with perfect stillness as he awaited Nyrielle¡¯s words.


    "Send word throughout the Vale," Nyrielle said formally. "In eleven days, on the first night of the new moon, we will hold a welcoming festival for everyone who has come to the Vale, whether from beyond its walls or across the mountains."


    "Every village is to attend the first night with as many people as may come," she said with a mischievous smile. "At midnight on the first night, I will have several announcements for our people. No one will want to miss the news we have to share."


    "Your will, my hands," Thane said, bowing deeply. "Is there anything that I can tell them about what you intend to announce? The leaders in the villages will want some kind of indication so they know how to prepare."


    "You¡¯re right," Nyrielle said, her midnight eyes twinkling in barely contained delight. "I made a promise to Ashlynn that I would give her a real wedding one day," Nyrielle said, turning to a startled Ashlynn and taking both of her hands in her own. "I cannot bear to leave you with the status of a servant before our people, my darling," the powerful vampire said, her cheeks heating in a rare moment of shyness.


    "Your wedding is still yours to define as you wish," Nyrielle continued. "But if you will allow it, I will announce our betrothal before our people, along with the other announcements. They should know that you aren¡¯t simply the first among all who serve me, you are first in my heart, and I want the world to know it."


    "Nyri," Ashlynn said, rushing forward to fling her arms around her lover in what felt like the tightest embrace of her life. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks, and her heart seemed to be racing along with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest, telling her in ways no words could just how anxious her lover was at this moment. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Of course I¡¯ll allow it," Ashlynn said as she wiped tears from her eyes. "Because ever since we met, even before I knew it, my heart has only beat for you. And, and I also want the world to know that no one matters more to me than you."

 Chapter 505: Siblings’ Reunion

    Chapter 505: Siblings¡¯ ReunionMoving with the silence that only vampires could manage, two figures appeared next to Thane, smiling brightly as they watched their Mistress proclaim her love to Lady Ashlynn. Zedya had seen firsthand how Nyrielle had changed over the months as her bond with Ashlynn grew deeper and Ignatious¡¯s heart glowed with a warmth it hadn¡¯t felt in decades at the sight of the two women¡¯s simple, joyful love for each other.


    For a moment, the former Inquisitor¡¯s eyes drifted to the carriage that Heila had just emerged from, lingering on her diminutive figure and the warm smile that formed on her pert lips when the Willow Witch beheld the leader of her coven in the arms of her lover. On her face, he saw the simple joy of knowing someone you cared for deeply was happy, and for far too many years, it was one that he hadn¡¯t been able to conceive of. Now, however, thanks to Heila, his hart warmed when he returned his gaze to Mistress Nyrielle and Ashlynn as they grew increasingly oblivious of the people around them


    Standing between the two vampires, Thane could only smile at the transformation his Mistress had undergone since Lady Ashlynn¡¯s arrival. Love, it seemed, had the power to heal even the most wounded and walled-off hearts.


    Eighty years ago, he¡¯d never expected the woman who offered him the power to avenge his little-sister¡¯s death could care for people as anything more than tools. At the time, he¡¯d accepted his status as little more than a blade in her hand. So long as they shared the same enemies, that was enough.


    Decades later, however, he¡¯d found himself searching for something greater that could reignite the passions in his life and restore a sense of purpose to the sword he weilded in Nyrielle¡¯s name. Now, it seemed he¡¯d finally found a piece of the purpose he¡¯d been lacking. If he accomplished nothing else, protecting the love he saw unfolding between Nyrielle and Ashlynn was a worthy mission for any knight, even one who had fallen as far as he had.


    "I¡¯ll need your help spreading the word," he told his younger ¡¯siblings¡¯ as he turned away from Nyrielle and Ashlynn. "For a festival with this kind of news, nearly everyone will want to offer a betrothal gift, and the preparations can¡¯t be lacking."


    "I don¡¯t think the fortress has hosted a celebration like this since," Thane said, trying to think back through the decades before arriving at an uncomfortable answer. "Since before any of us became her progeny," he said. There had been celebrations over the years, but when he thought about the incidents that sparked them, they all followed great battles, and each of them blended celebration with mourning for the fallen.


    Of course, the Vale of Mists still had its own celebrations to mark the seasons, but Nyrielle herself rarely participated, and none of them could match the scale of what this festival would demand.


    "Should we call the others home?" Zedya asked. "There¡¯s time if we can send a fast enough messenger to Airgead Mountain and the Southern Steppe."


    "Send messages," Thane said after a moment of hesitation. "But don¡¯t recall them. As important as this is, I¡¯m sure that Mistress has her own plans for dealing with the Lord Jalal of Airgead Mountain and the High Lord Dirar of the Southern Steppe. If we pull back our support while the Lothians are building their strength at the borders, it might be misunderstood."


    "Sybyll will be upset," Zedya warned, giving Thane a knowing look. "And Airgead Mountain isn¡¯t that far away. She could return in a matter of days now that the nights have grown so long, and return just as quickly. Surely Lord Jalal can do without his ¡¯Crimson Knight¡¯ for a few days."


    "You¡¯re pampering her too much," Thane laughed as he recalled the red haired woman who had become one of the keys to forcing Bors Lothian to give up his raids on Airgead Mountain more than twenty years ago. Ever since then, the bloodthirsty woman had been ¡¯on loan¡¯ to the Eldritch Lord who ruled the valuable mountain in exchange for a trickle of its riches to support the Vale of Mists.


    "But you always did have a soft spot for her," Thane added, setting a hand on Zedya¡¯s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You can talk to Mistress about it tomorrow before we release the messenger birds. I know she won¡¯t recall Wolstan from the Southern Steppe for this, so I doubt she¡¯ll decide anything different for Sybyll," he said, feeling a slight pang at the dejected look that flickered across Zedya¡¯s face, reminding him of the years shortly after she¡¯d become one of Nyrielle¡¯s progeny.


    "But the day will come soon," Thane said, turning away from Zedya and slipping an arm around Ignatious¡¯s shoulders in a brotherly hug. The instant he touched the second eldest among Nyrielle¡¯s human progeny, Ignatious flinched, as though he expected violence from his ¡¯big brother.¡¯


    In truth, the reaction wasn¡¯t completely unfounded. Thane and Ignatious¡¯s relationship had been ¡¯incindiary¡¯ to say the least before Nyrielle had exiled the fallen Inquisitor across the mountains and under his loosely flowing shirt, Thane still bore scars from a few of the burns inflicted by his younger sibling.


    If Thane followed the hug with a powerful punch or something worse, Ignatious wouldn¡¯t just have expected it, he felt that the attack was something he deserved for all the harm he¡¯d caused in those days when he was consumed by rage at what Nyrielle had done to him. When seconds slipped past without any sign of hostility, however, he could only raise a dark brow at the older man in silent question at his unexpectedly gentle actions. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Don¡¯t look at me like that," Thane said with a gentle smile. "Mistress¡¯s letter mentioned your return and that you helped her to defeat High Lord Hamdi. I won¡¯t hold the past against you," he said, gesturing in the direction of Ashlynn and Nyrielle, who had become completely lost in a world that belonged only to them. "When our future looks like that," Thane said, "I can¡¯t bring myself to care much for what came before."


    "That¡¯s generous of you," Ignatious said a touch awkwardly. "But I still owe you an apology. The wounds I inflicted on you... do they still pain you?" If they did, if Thane had been suffering all this time because of him, Ignatious wanted to do whatever he could to make amends for the lingering hurts. He knew that he still had much to atone for before he could hold his head up high in the Vale of Mists and he intended to make a beginning of that work with Thane, no matter how difficult it might seem.


    "Mistress Nyrielle borrowed the help of a Frost Walker sorcerer to quench the lingering heat of your flames long ago," Thane said, clapping the fallen priest on the back and gesturing for both of the younger vampires to accompany him into the fortress. "Leave the past buried where it belongs. The night might be long, but the three of us have much to discuss if we¡¯re going to give Mistress Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn the celebration they deserve," he said.


    "So, from now on, just put your focus on the future we¡¯re building," Thane said warmly. "I¡¯m starting to feel like it¡¯s one that we all want to see with our own

 Chapter 506: A Coven Forms

    Chapter 506: A Coven FormsThe following day, pale sunlight filtered into the Vale of Mists through a thick fog that clung to the river valley, shrouding everything in a gray haze that made it difficult to see more than a few dozen feet ahead. The towering cedars of the Vale poked out of the fog as if they were stretching for a glimpse of the sun above the fog.


    Sitting comfortably on her terrace overlooking the Vale, Ashlynn turned away from the sight of the Vale¡¯s natural beauty to focus on the small circle of people who had gathered to join her for a late lunch. Her face momentarily flushed as she recalled the way Nyrielle had kept her up late into the night when Ashlynn answered her lover¡¯s proposal with hot kisses and torn clothing.


    Originally, the Mother of Trees had planned to host this gathering as a late breakfast, but even she couldn¡¯t pretend that it was still morning by the time Heila roused her with a hearty meal. Thankfully, the bite marks Nyrielle had left on her thigh weren¡¯t visible to her other guests, or her face would have turned red enough to match the wine in her goblet as she looked at her closest friends.


    "I¡¯m sorry for turning this into something that feels formal," Ashlynn told the group as she gestured to the artful arrangements of sweet and savory pastries, delicate sandwiches, and sliced cheeses that Georg had sent for their gathering. "I feel like we should have started in the kitchens today, cooking together the way a coven should, but since I slept so late..."


    "It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine," Talauia said, fluttering her wings lightly in the misty air and reveling in the feeling of a cool mist against her delicate wings. The Briar was cloaked in its own fog but the fog of the Briar was thick, cloying and always left her feeling slightly sticky and sweaty. Here, the fog was both familiar and comforting after the harsh, frigid air of the High Pass, and at the same time, it was delightful and novel for someone who had spent most of her adult life in the oppressively humid swamp.


    "Even Mother refused to cook whenever we visited other places," Talauia said, displaying her wickedly sharp teeth as she devoured a pastry stuffed with wilted spinach and soft cheese. "And you only just got home. Take some time, some time to settle in, before you start building your traditions."


    "Besides," Heila added as she popped a dainty fruit tart into her mouth. "I missed the things that Georg can make with his whole kitchen. So this is a treat for us."


    "I don¡¯t know," Virve said as she eyed the pile of sandwiches suspiciously and debated about how many of them she could take without feeling like she was depriving the others at the table. "I miss the stews and roasts he made in Orava village. Maybe I should just abstain for now and I can bother him later for something more substantial," she said, ultimately deciding to take only a handful of the small sandwiches and a few savory pastries.


    "Just come to the kitchens with me afterward," Ollie said as he selected a handful of pastries for himself. The delicate, flaky layers that the bearish chef accomplished with practiced ease continued to amaze the former kitchen boy who already saw delicate pie crusts as an exacting skill. Perhaps one day he¡¯d match Georg¡¯s delicate touch with food that resembled works of art, but that day was still far in the future.


    "I¡¯m preparing for my vigil tonight, and Sir Thane said that I should prepare myself with a hearty meal before my first watch begins," the future knight explained.


    "And you¡¯re doing it, right? You¡¯re starting your trial of witchcraft tonight, aren¡¯t you?" Talauia asked directly.


    "I am," Ollie said firmly, looking at Ashlynn with a smile that he couldn¡¯t contain despite the serious topic. "Knight and Witch. I¡¯ll be become both at the end of my vigil."


    "Congratulations, Sir Ollie," Virve said, giving him a heartfelt bow from her seat across the table from him. She hadn¡¯t heard much since returning to the Vale of Mists, but Ollie¡¯s name resounded from the halls of the ancient fortress, and even Commander Bassinger praised him for his ability to inspire the loyalty of those who decided to follow the human youth.


    "The Vale is welcoming two new witches into its ranks during the festival," Virve continued, looking at the witch she had sworn to protect. "Would you like me to arrange for a dedicated guard for Lady Heila and Sir Ollie as well?"


    "Perhaps," Ashlynn said with a gleam in her emerald eyes. "But before that, Virve, I want you to consider whether we should present two new witches at the festival, or three. I¡¯ve been considering this ever since you agreed to become the leader of my guard," she said, reaching into a pouch at her waist and pulling out an oversized acorn that pulsed with the faintest trace of timeless energy.


    "I told Ollie that the seed of an Ancient tree is not an easy thing for anyone to face," Ashlynn explained as all eyes around the table fell on the acorn resting on her palm. "Heila nearly failed in her trial against the Ancient Willow¡¯s seed, and I¡¯ve made different arrangements for Ollie¡¯s seed."


    "But Virve," she said, looking directly into the bearish woman¡¯s dark brown eyes. "You aren¡¯t like Ollie or Heila, or even me, for that matter. I think you stand a better chance of mastering this seed and it¡¯s power than anyone else I know, or at least, anyone else who might be eligible to join my coven," she added as she recalled the decision that Lennart had made as soon as Nyrielle¡¯s army set foot within the Vale of Mists.


    "Me? A Witch?" Virve said, blinking several times and nearly dropping the delicate sandwich pinched between her claws. "Why?" the aging soldier asked in confusion as she tried to understand how she had suddenly received such an unbelievable offer. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I don¡¯t mean any disrespect," she said quickly. "It¡¯s just that, other than the time we fought together against the Tuscans, I¡¯ve never done anything for you to be worthy of this... this kind of honor. Lady Heila has dedicated her life to your service and Sir Ollie has..."


    "This isn¡¯t a contest that someone can win with great deeds, Virve," Ashlynn said, interrupting the veteran soldier. "But if it was, then the lifetime of dedication you¡¯ve shown Mistress Nyrielle is already enough, even if you hadn¡¯t helped protect Heila and I from the Tuscans or anything else that you did when you accompanied Mistress Nyrielle through the Eldritch nations."


    "But Virve," Ashlynn said, setting the acorn on the table close enough that Virve could reach out and touch it if she wanted to. "The seeds of Ancient trees test a person in more ways than one. If you were a young person without a wealth of experience to draw on, the trial could quickly become overwhelming," she said with an apologetic look at Heila.


    "But you have decades of experience," Ashlynn concluded. "You know who you are and you¡¯ve honed your principles over long years of service. You¡¯re grounded in a way that others aren¡¯t, but you¡¯re also unguarded among the people you take responsibility for protecting."


    "Even Captain Lennart can¡¯t just relax and have a meal with us," Heila pointed out. "But you do, and you always have. Even our first time in High Fen City, you could just relax and join us for a meal. That means more than you know," she said, her grass green eyes glittering with sincerity.


    "A coven is family," the diminutive witch said. "I¡¯m sure Mother Ashlynn would say it, but I¡¯ll say it for her. Even if someone was stronger or had more achievements, the thing that makes you worthy is the way you fit in as part of our little family. So you should accept this," she concluded.


    "Exactly as Heila said," Ashlynn said. "So, what do you think, Virve? Will you make it official and join our little family? I can¡¯t think of a more worthy person to become my Oak Witch, but the choice is up to you."


    "My Lady," Virve said with a voice that lacked all of its usual lightness and casual familiarity. "I still don¡¯t know that I¡¯m worthy of this much of an honor," she said as one hand reached out, trembling slightly as she brushed the tip of a claw against the oversized Ancient acorn. "But I promise, I¡¯ll do my best to prove myself worthy in the years and battles to come."


    "So long as you wish it," Virve said formally. "I¡¯d be honored to be your Oak Witch."

 Chapter 507: A Coven Is Family

    Chapter 507: A Coven Is Family"Little Sister, Virve!" Heila cried, dropping her pastry to fling her arms around the startled veteran soldier. "I knew it had to be you. If it was going to be anyone, it couldn¡¯t be anyone else but you, and I know you¡¯ll be the best Oak Witch ever."


    "She will, she really will," Talauia said as her wings quivered behind her in unconcealed excitement. She hadn¡¯t known the bearish woman for very long, but what she¡¯d seen of her had impressed the Thistle Witch, particularly when Virve offered herself up to Nyrielle to provide the strength the vampire needed to help Ashlynn heal.


    This was a woman who would protect the Mother of Trees and the rest of her coven, no matter the cost to her personally. As far as Talauia was concerned, you couldn¡¯t ask for a better quality to form the heart of the Oak Witch.


    "Congratulations, Virve," Ollie said awkwardly, extending a hand to shake Virve¡¯s in the same way that Thane had taught him to greet a fellow knight, grasping her muscular forearm firmly. "I guess we¡¯ll face our trials together."


    "Not exactly," Ashlynn said, smiling at how readily everyone accepted Virve as a member of their small but growing family. "Virve, I have nurtured that seed for some time now, but I have yet to transform it into a seed of witchcraft for you. I can¡¯t do that until I give Ollie the seed of the Cypress tree that I¡¯ve been nurturing for him."


    "That¡¯s fine," Virve said as she struggled to calm her racing heart. At this point, she thought that she¡¯d long ago lost the ability to become as flustered as a young girl seeing a man stripped to the fur for the first time, but clearly there were still things that could leave her head feeling as light as the clouds while her stomach danced around her spine and her knees lost the strength to stand.


    For a moment, her eyes focused on the courtyards far below, where armored figures in the midnight blue of Nyrielle¡¯s forces mixed with the assortment of armor styles and colors worn by the army Nyrielle had brought across the mountains to face the mounting human threat. Turning that motley collection of warriors into a unified army would take months of dedicated practice and drill, and she didn¡¯t envy Commander Bassinger the task in the slightest.


    "I could use some time to prepare anyway," she said, realizing that she wasn¡¯t much different from the soldiers below in some respects. Becoming the head of Lady Ashlynn¡¯s personal guard had already transformed her life in a number of subtle ways, but joining her coven and becoming the Oak Witch would completely transform her life in ways that she hadn¡¯t even begun to consider.


    "So our young knight will keep the honor of being second," she said, clapping Ollie heavily on the back with a large paw. "And I can become everyone¡¯s ¡¯little sister¡¯ next," the veteran soldier said with a wide, toothy grin on her lips and a twinkle in her dark brown eyes.


    "Everyone, everyone, I have something to say," Talauia said, hovering over her seat and looking at the smiling faces of Ashlynn¡¯s coven. "A coven is a family, a family like no other family anywhere because it¡¯s a family that you choose, bound together with magic that¡¯s stronger than bonds of blood or bone."


    "You don¡¯t know yet, you don¡¯t know because you can¡¯t feel it yet, but what Auntie Ashlynn is giving you, it¡¯s more than just a seed," the Thistle Witch said, turning her multifaceted purple eyes from Virve to Ollie before landing briefly on Heila. "Cousin Heila knows. Once you become a witch, you become a part of the world, and everything, everything you desire can be yours if you bend the world to your will."


    "So, whatever you do, whatever you do, you can¡¯t let your heart become twisted," she said, clutching the back of her chair tightly enough that the sharpened points of her fingernails bit into the soft wood of the chair.


    "But you have a family now, a family who understands what it¡¯s like now, a family that¡¯s strong enough... strong enough to... to..." she trailed off as moisture flooded her eyes and her throat tightened up too much for her to force out the words that she felt were so important to say to this new and forming coven.


    "Tala," Ashlynn said, standing up and quickly crossing the terrace to wrap her arms around the hovering witch. Most of the witches in Amahle¡¯s coven had lost their birth families for one reason or another, and Talauia¡¯s loss hadn¡¯t been limited to her family, but her entire clan.


    Worse, her clan had been slaughtered because the Fangs of Death, Shubnalu, coveted her strengths as an assassin. The scars she bore from those days had faded, but they would never heal, and moments like this, when a family was celebrating joyfully, had a way of poking at those old wounds and bringing old hurts back to the surface. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Talauia is right," Ashhlynn said as she held the Thistle Witch in a tender embrace. "We¡¯re a family bound together by root and branch, and we are stronger as a forest than we are as individuals," she said. "And we owe it to each other to create a space where we can watch over each other and support each other in times of need."


    "A family needs a home," Heila agreed, nodding along with Ashlynn¡¯s words. "Does that mean you¡¯ll be finding a different space for us outside of the fortress? A place like the Briar?" the diminutive witch asked, thinking of how well the Mother of Thorn¡¯s defensive barriers protected the people of her coven.


    At Heila¡¯s question, all eyes turned to Ashlynn. A home like the Briar... For Talauia, it seemed obvious that the Mother of Trees would rule over a domain as vast and as isolated as the vast swamp that bordered Crystal Lake. To be a Mother of the Earth was to be one of the most powerful people in the Eldritch world and if such a person wanted any peace in their life then a domain like the Briar was essential.


    For the people who would actually be joining Ashlynn¡¯s coven, a home like the Briar was something hard to imagine. Virve had come closer than Ollie but neither of them had set foot in the vast swamp to understand the sort of shelter that it provided for people seeking refuge from a hostile world. What they did know, however, is that they had built lives in the Vale of Mists, whether those had been short or long, and the notion of leaving that behind not only didn¡¯t sound right to them, it didn¡¯t sound like the Ashlynn they knew either.


    "So will you? Will you create a forest somewhere hidden away like the Briar to keep your coven safe?" Talauia asked, pulling back from Ashlynn¡¯s embrace enough to ask the question directly. A coven was a family, and a family needed to be kept safe. But how exactly was Ashlynn planning to protect this precious little family of hers?

 Chapter 508: A Family Home

    Chapter 508: A Family Home "I won¡¯t be copying the Briar. Not exactly, at least" Ashlynn said, looking at the flustered witch in her arms and gently moving a lock of hair aside so she could meet her gaze directly. "But just like Big Sister Amahle shaped the Briar into a place to keep her coven safe, I intend to create a place where my coven is protected as well. It¡¯s just that we won¡¯t be relying on natural fortifications and witchcraft to keep us safe, at least not in the beginning." Even though she had yet to explain her plans, the strength in her voice said volumes about her intentions. The tragedies Talauia had suffered had provided a powerful lesson, but it was one that the Thistle Witch feared would become lost once Ashlynn and Heila relaxed into their home in the Vale of mists.


    Thankfully, it seemed like Ashlynn not only hadn¡¯t forgotten, she was already making moves to protect her people. That realization alone was enough to wrap the winged witch¡¯s heart in a layer of warmth that made her momentarily forget about the cool droplets of mist that gathered on her wings when they stopped their movement and gave her the strength she needed to clear the moisture from her multifaceted eyes.


    Only when Ashlynn saw that the other woman¡¯s eyes no longer seemed haunted by the ghosts of her clan and the horrors of her escape did she relax her hug, setting the Thistle Witch back on her seat before pulling her own chair over to sit next to Talauia as she continued to explain what would happen next.


    "I¡¯ve given orders to the Castle Master that this entire tower is to be emptied for our use," Ashlynn explained. "This fortress has five towers, but by the start of the new year, no one who isn¡¯t a part of this coven will be able to enter this one without our express invitation."


    "What about servants?" Ollie asked awkwardly. "Justus has taken a room on the floor below to be available when I need him. I, I tried to find a way to make different arrangements, the way you treated Heila," the young man said. "But, Justus has a very strict sense of propriety. He wants to stay within his station."


    "We all wear many hats," Ashlynn said with a light laugh, tugging at the brim of her own comfortable traveling hat. "As a knight, you should have a valet of your own, and a page or squire, plus your men-at-arms. But all of these people belong to ¡¯Sir Ollie the Knight¡¯, not to ¡¯Ollie the Cypress Witch.¡¯"


    When she explained it that way, it made a certain kind of sense to Ollie, though it felt strange to think of ¡¯Ollie the Knight¡¯ and ¡¯Ollie the Witch¡¯ as different people. In his mind, he would become both a knight and a witch at the same time, in a ceremony that blended a knight¡¯s vigil with a witch¡¯s trial. Somehow, he¡¯d expected that his life would continue in much the same way, walking some vaguely defined path between the two roles.


    It was only when Ashlynn pointed out the different roles of people around him that he realized that ¡¯Ollie the Knight¡¯ had a completely different set of expectations and responsibilities compared to ¡¯Ollie the Witch.¡¯ Sometimes, those things would overlap, but for others, he would need to learn how to be clear on which ¡¯hat¡¯ he was wearing at any given moment.


    "This tower is for family," Ashlynn insisted as she saw understanding beginning to dawn. "I may change my mind years from now," she added. "Justus hasn¡¯t been your man for very long, and he may become part of our extended family in time. But when I say that this is for us, I really mean it. Even Thane and Zedya will need an invitation to enter here," she said, purposefully leaving Ignatious¡¯s name off the list as she gave Heila a meaningful glance.


    "And Lady Nyrielle, too?" Heila teased back, giggling at the image of Ashlynn walling her lover out of one of the towers in her own fortress. "Will you make her ask for permission to enter here?"


    "I wouldn¡¯t dream of it," Ashlynn said, waving her hands frantically to chase off the idea and instantly turning a bright shade of red. "It¡¯s her castle. I can keep everyone else out but... never her."


    "I¡¯m sure that¡¯s fine," Virve said, having regained enough of her composure to rejoin the conversation. "But, it¡¯s just the four of us," she said. "Plus, Madame Talauia, when she¡¯s staying over. Do we really need an entire tower for such a small group of witches?"


    "Yes, you do, yes you do," Talauia said. "You need rooms for concocting with your cauldrons, and gardens for your herbs, and places to keep all of your books, and so many other things too. Mother Amahle, she keeps the entire Briar just for the five of us and occasional guests, and the Briar is bigger than all of High Fen City."


    "Tala¡¯s right," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile as she watched the Thistle Witch latch onto safer topics like living quarters that didn¡¯t brush up against as many painful memories. "In time, I¡¯ll also be clear-cutting a section of the forest outside the walls and replanting it with special trees to better serve our needs. The tower is only a beginning, but for now, it will give us the space we need for everyone to grow into their powers over the winter while we prepare for what¡¯s to come," she said.  S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ashlynn tried to keep her voice light, but at the mention of what was to come, a shadow seemed to fall across the fading sun, casting a moment of gloom over the gathering on Ashlynn¡¯s terrace.


    All of them knew that the Lothians were gathering their forces for war in the near future, and this war would bring in countless soldiers from across the sea who sought glory in the Church¡¯s Holy War. It would be harder than anything the Vale had faced since Cellach Lothian succeeded in burning the fortress city to the ground and driving Lady Nyrielle from her home all those years ago.


    Just thinking about the looming crisis made it difficult to put much weight behind thoughts of what to do years from now, when no one could say for certain that the Vale of Mists would still be standing by this time next year. But Ashlynn had no intention of surrendering the fight before it had even begun, and she had even less intention of letting worries about the coming conflict spoil the moments of joy that were still before them.


    "But enough about that," Ashlynn said, clapping her hands as if to quash the gloom before it could settle over anyone¡¯s heart. "Ollie, Virve, I know you both need something more hearty before the night begins, so go, go visit Georg and see what he has in store for you to prepare for your vigil."


    "And then," Ashlynn added, giving the soon-to-be knight a warm look. "Sir Ollie can show us around his village. Milo should have a space prepared for you by now, shouldn¡¯t he?"


    "I¡¯m sure he has," Ollie said, flushing with embarrassment. According to Thane, a Vigil was usually a solemn, private thing, but when Ashlynn explained the trial he would undergo as part of his vigil, as well as the consequences of failure, he decided he wanted to face his trial in the village he¡¯d worked so hard to build.


    If he succeeded, then the people he¡¯d grown close to over the past several months would all be waiting to celebrate his victory. And if he failed... If he failed, then at least the tree that held what remained of his spirit would be able to watch over his people for generations to come.

 Chapter 509: A New Kind of Village

    Chapter 509: A New Kind of VillageHours later, as the sun began to slip beneath the western mountains, a carriage bearing Ashlynn and her coven clattered along a recently built dirt road toward the newest village in the Vale of Mists.


    "I know it¡¯s a bit rough," Ollie said as the carriage jostled its occupants while bouncing along the road. "Most of the roads connecting villages are designed more for carts than carriages, but with so much material to transport to the village, we needed to be at least able to have wagons coming along the road."


    "Then will you let the forest grow back now that you¡¯re done building the village?" Heila asked, gazing out the carriage window at the clear-cut path that had been blazed through the cedar forest to make way for the dirt road. "It¡¯s a lot of work to maintain a road like this."


    "I think we¡¯ll pave it," Ollie said, surprising both Heila and Virve with his simple declaration. There were plenty of old ruins of paved roads scattered across the Vale. Still, most of them dated to the days before the Vale of Mists fell to the Lothians, and they¡¯d long ago become overgrown relics of an era that had ended.


    "This village is different from the others in the Vale," Ollie explained. "You¡¯ll see when we get there, but the people aren¡¯t as separated from each other as the other villages in the Vale of Mists."


    "You sound very proud of it," Ashlynn said, smiling as she looked at the young man Ollie had grown into while she and Heila were away in the Briar. During the months she and Heila had spent training, she¡¯d occasionally regretted leaving Ollie in the Vale of Mists. If she¡¯d understood about covens before she left, she might have brought him along with her, and then he could have benefited from Amahle¡¯s instruction as well.


    But, seeing him now, Ashlynn was glad she had left him here. She never would have expected Sir Thane to suggest that Ollie take responsibility for building a village, but the things he¡¯d learned and the ways he¡¯d grown as he rose to meet that challenge were things that accompanying her to the Briar could never have given him.


    "I am proud," Ollie said in a tone that was neither boastful or humble. "Look, you can see the dam up ahead," he said, pointing to a large wooden dam that defined the southern slope of the hillside where an old creek had been blocked to create a large pond for the village. "The village is still set back a ways from the pond," the flame-haired youth explained. "Old Nan says that the pond will keep growing through the winter rains and the spring thaws. We won¡¯t have its full size until next summer, but we¡¯re already starting to stock the pond with trout," he grinned.


    "You¡¯re trying to lure her to visit your village with fresh fish, aren¡¯t you?" Heila teased. "You know that won¡¯t work. The river Luath flows right by the castle. We won¡¯t ever run out of fish."


    "But I¡¯ll still visit," Ashlynn said, looking from Ollie to the village that was slowly coming into view through the carriage windows. "As long as we¡¯re welcome, that is," she said, giving Ollie a concerned look.


    The village was indeed different from any other village in the Vale of Mists and that started with the outer palisade wall. Most villages in the Vale of Mistsl, like Orava, made do with a simple wooden wall that served mostly to keep livestock from wandering away and to keep wild animals from wandering into the village. The Vale¡¯s real defenses, its layers of curtain walls, were at the mouth of the Vale along the river Luath to guard against a Lothian siege. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ollie¡¯s village, however, was surrounded by a wide moat, and its wooden palisade wall stood atop a steeply sloped earth berm. Flat-topped wooden platforms were spaced evenly around the wall, offering firing platforms for archers or places for lookouts to watch in all directions. The only gap in the wall seemed to be at the edge of the village that butted up against the growing pond, and even there, preparations seemed to be under way to strengthen the village¡¯s defenses.


    "Everyone here lost their homes, one way or another," Ollie explained. "I wanted to help the people who settled here feel secure about their new homes, so I asked Sir Thane how villages on the frontier were designed when they were worried about fending off attacks from Eldritch nations. This borrows a bit from those designs and a bit from Eldritch traditions as well," he explained.


    "So you aren¡¯t trying to stand apart from the Vale," Virve said, frowning at the heavy fortifications. "But you are preparing for the outer walls to be breached in the war to come."


    "I hope this wall is never needed," Ollie said firmly. "But, if I promise they¡¯ll be safe and I don¡¯t do anything to make them safe," he said, stressing the last three words. "I learned early on that words don¡¯t mean as much to people as actions do. Whether it was cooking meals or retrieving carvings or building this wall," he said. "They were all necessary steps to bring everyone together."


    "It¡¯s a little like Crystal Lake City," Heila marveled as the carriage passed through the village gate, giving them their first look inside the oversized village that hid behind its imposing wall.


    Far from the barren, clear-cut stretch of land that Ashlynn expected to find lurking behind a frontier-style wall, they instead found that many of the oldest cedar trees of the forest had been preserved, and in places that had been cleared to bare earth, neat rows of fruit trees had been planted, seemingly belonging to the village as a whole rather than in any one household¡¯s individual garden.


    The late afternoon sun filtered through the branches of the mighty cedar trees, casting long dappled shadows across the village and giving the newly built structures a warm amber glow. As the carriage wheels rumbled over the hard-packed earth of the main path, the rich, woody scent of the trees mingled with woodsmoke that curled lazily from stone chimneys.


    Somewhere nearby, meat sizzled over an open flame, its savory aroma making Virve¡¯s stomach rumble despite the hearty meal that Georg had treated her and Ollie to after the lighter lunch on Ashlynn¡¯s terrace.


    "It wasn¡¯t that long of a carriage ride," Ollie said, raising an eyebrow at the veteran soldier who would soon become the Oak Witch. "Don¡¯t tell me that you¡¯re hungry again already!"


    "A soldier never misses a chance to eat," Virve said, adopting the dignified posture of an experienced warrior lecturing a junior. "But even I know when to stop," she added. "And as good as it smells, Georg¡¯s roast tonight felt like it could sustain me for days."


    "That¡¯s part of the point," Ashlynn said with a smile as the carriage approached the center of the village. "Even a normal knight¡¯s vigil lasts for a full night and day, from sunset to sunset. A hearty meal beforehand is tradition. But a witch¡¯s trial can last up to nine days, so Ollie will need the strength of that meal if he¡¯s to persevere through his trial."


    "Ah, hem," Ollie said, his face turning red as the attention of everyone in the carriage returned to him. "We¡¯re just about to arrive."

 Chapter 510: Ollie’s People

    Chapter 510: Ollie¡¯s PeopleA large communal hall dominated the center of the village, and a paved village square was ringed with small saplings that would one day grow into mighty shade trees. Beyond that square, streets flowed outward like the spokes of a wheel, gently bending with the curves of the land as they snaked their way between an eclectic mix of building styles.


    Ashlynn had wondered if the different clans represented in this oversized village would segregate themselves into smaller communities, but that didn¡¯t seem to be the case at all. Instead, she found Heartwood Clan burrows built beneath the intertwined branches of the Night Weaver Clan¡¯s familiar tree houses and even a few simple cottages with thatched roofs that wouldn¡¯t have stood out in any human village along the frontier.


    Light, musical laughter echoed between the buildings as a group of children, some with horns, others with wide, flat tails, and even a human child among them, darted between trees playing an elaborate game of chase and catch that involved throwing brightly colored leather balls while ducking and hiding behind anything that might protect them from their friend¡¯s sudden attacks.


    Lanterns were being lit one by one as dusk deepened, each window adding another pool to the soft golden light that warmed the village and pressed back against the creeping chill of the late autumn air. Outside several of the burrows, members of the Heartwood clan sitting on their covered porches paused their carving to watch the carriage rolling through the village toward the center of the village.


    As the carriage rolled to a stop in the village square, the cloaked figure of Milo emerged from the village hall, leading a party of nearly two dozen villagers ranging from young children to stoop-shouldered grandparents. But, as different as they were, one thing tied all of these disparate people together.


    Each and every one of them regarded the carriage¡¯s arrival with a pensive eagerness. Some tails twitched, lightly thumping the ground in anticipation, while others stood up straighter on spider-like limbs, eager to be the first to glimpse the return of their village head and the important guests he brought with him.


    Perhaps the most surprising of all, at least to Ashlynn, was the small cluster of humans standing toward the back of the crowd of Eldritch villagers. Dimly, she recognized a few of them as men she¡¯d taken prisoner after her duel to the death with Sir Broll, but seeing a woman and two young children in the group came as a surprise.


    "Look, Bailey," Daithi said, scooping his young daughter up and placing her atop his shoulders as the doors to the carriage opened to reveal the flame-haired figure of Sir Ollie and, alongside him, the stunning figure of Lady Ashlynn Blackwell. "You see? I told you that Sir Ollie would return with a beautiful noblewoman."


    "Papa," the bright-eyed young woman said as she squirmed in her father¡¯s grasp, leaning forward and stretching out a hand as if she could touch the distant woman with a presence that was so captivating she wanted to slip out of her father¡¯s grasp just so she could run up and hug the pretty lady. "Papa, is she a princess? Is that big green thing on her head a crown?" S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "That," the former human soldier and member of Owain¡¯s guard said with a complex knot forming in his heart. Of course, he¡¯d heard by now that Lady Ashlynn was a powerful witch. To the people of the Vale, it wasn¡¯t any kind of secret, and in fact, it was something they were proud of.


    But to Daithi, who had grown up on stories of the evil queen and the witches that brought calamity to the fledgling Kingdom of Gaal, the hat that Lady Ashlynn wore was every bit as terrifying as the black and red banner that flew at the head of Nyrielle¡¯s army.


    "She¡¯s not a princess, little bunny," Daithi said as he shook himself free of the captivating aura that seemed to surround Lady Ashlynn. "But she is a very special Lady, and you need to be very polite to her if you get to meet her, you understand?"


    "Yes, Papa," the young girl said, squirming once again in her father¡¯s grasp. "Down, papa, down! We have to go see her to say hi!"


    "We can follow the others," Daithi said, setting his daughter on the ground but maintaining a firm grip on her hand lest she dart out away from him. "But mind your manners," he cautioned. After all, Lady Ashlynn had been kind to them when she took them prisoner, but that had been before her husband, Owain, burned a village to the ground, and her brother-in-law, Loman, joined Liam Dunn to ravage the outlying Eldritch villages.


    Now that more blood had been spilled and so many people had been displaced, would Lady Ashlynn still look kindly on the remaining humans in the Vale? Was she still the kind and gracious noblewoman that they¡¯d met six months ago? Or had she become a terrifying witch, a force of destruction who would rend a man¡¯s body limb from limb for the slightest offense against the people she¡¯d allied herself with?


    He didn¡¯t know, but so long as Sir Ollie was at her side, he felt like Lady Ashlynn couldn¡¯t have fallen too far into darkness. After all, didn¡¯t Ollie say he¡¯d been working so hard just to live up to her expectations? So, it should be safe to meet her with his daughter... shouldn¡¯t it?


    Behind Daithi¡¯s family, another pair of humans watched Lady Ashlynn¡¯s arrival with distinctly different gazes.


    In the months since her departure, Eamon¡¯s fervor had only grown hotter, and his eyes burned with the genuine passion of a dedicated zealot. In the beginning, all the scarred hunter could think about was how to snatch Lady Ashlynn away from the demons in order to reap the rewards that would come from returning a saintess to human lands.


    As time went on, however, and he watched young Ollie¡¯s ascension among the Eldritch people, he began to realize that he¡¯d been deeply misguided to think that he should tear her Holiness away from these people.


    The Holy Lord of Light had seen fit to send her among these non-believers for a reason, and though he might not understand why, he didn¡¯t have to know why in order to make himself into a fitting implement for her to direct according to the Holy Lord of Light¡¯s will. All he needed to do was have faith, and Saintess Ashlynn would surely place his feet on a just path, filled with rewards both in this life and in the Heavenly Shores beyond.


    Next to him, Darragh tried not to draw any attention to himself. He¡¯d made it this far by clinging to Eamon¡¯s thigh, but as the months went on, he grew increasingly concerned that the other human captives had lost their way since coming to the Vale of Mists. Daithi, the man who was supposed to be the leader of Lord Owain¡¯s men among the captives, had even accepted the demon¡¯s offer to sneak his wife and children into the Vale, allowing him to settle in this village as though he were a demon himself!


    Now, as he looked from Daithi¡¯s excited child to Eamon¡¯s burning gaze, Darragh finally admitted to himself that he was truly alone, not just in this village, but in the whole of the Vale of Mists. That made his chances of spiriting Lady Ashlynn away from here less than one in a thousand, something so impossible that it didn¡¯t bear thinking on anymore.


    But, that didn¡¯t mean he was ready to give up and join the locals. Everything he learned in the Vale of Mists would be valuable to Owain Lothian and his family when they planned their upcoming Holy War. All he had to do was collect as much useful information as possible before slipping away to inform Lord Owain.


    And whatever this strange ceremony the villages were preparing for was, it seemed like just the sort of thing that Lord Owain, or perhaps the Church, would pay handsomely to learn about.

 Chapter 511: Traditions

    Chapter 511: Traditions"Welcome home, Sir Ollie," an old woman¡¯s voice said as the villagers began to cluster around the wagon. "Your people have missed you," Old Nan chuckled as she walked forward, her intricately carved wooden cane clicking on the stone pavers of the village square as she led the others forward. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I was only gone for a few days, Old Nan," Ollie said bashfully, placing a hand awkwardly behind his neck as he realized that even more villagers had paused their evening activities to watch or wander over to the carriage and its occupants. "Um, this is Lady Ashlynn, the Mother of Trees," he said, quickly turning to provide introductions.


    "And this is Lady Heila, the Willow Witch," he added as the diminutive witch stepped out of the carriage, followed by Virve¡¯s powerful figure. "And Lady Virve," he added. "She, um, she¡¯ll be the Oak Witch in the future, so please, grant her the same honors you would grant to me."


    "With sap in our veins and splinters in our fur, the people with wood in their hearts honor the Mother of Trees," Old Nan intoned formally, bowing as deeply as her aging bones would allow her to. Behind her, Milo and the other members of the Heartwood clan fell to their knees, pressing their tails flat on the ground and holding up the tips of their sharp claws in silent supplication.


    Members of the other Eldritch clans looked briefly puzzled before they too offered simple bows as appropriate for their own traditions, but it was clear to everyone that a visit by the Mother of Trees meant more to some of their neighbors than they had previously understood.


    "You don¡¯t need to lower yourselves so much," Ashlynn said, striding forward and helping Old Nan to stand upright. "Tonight isn¡¯t about me, it¡¯s about Ollie. If you¡¯re going to honor anyone, honor him for what he has done for this village," Ashlynn said, briefly glancing around at the dozens of villagers who had wandered over to the large square.


    Ollie had told her that several whole villages had emptied themselves completely to flee from Owain Lothian and Liam Dunn¡¯s attacks this summer but she¡¯d never imagined just how many of those people had come to settle in Ollie¡¯s village. Many had chosen to build homes in the rapidly growing town outside Nyrielle¡¯s ancient fortress, but it seemed like nearly half of the refugees had come here, to the place that he had helped to build.


    "You honor us, your Dominion," Old Nan said, her eyes widening slightly as she spotted a simple wooden hairpin carved to resemble a pinecone among the decorations in the hatband of Ashlynn¡¯s wide-brimmed hat. "Thank you for accepting Juni¡¯s gift."


    "How could I refuse something made by one of Ollie¡¯s good friends?" Ashlynn said with a twinkle in her eye as she watched Ollie¡¯s awkwardness with the ceremony and the formality of the moment. In time, she was certain that he would get used to navigating these moments with the grace of a man raised to be a knight, but at the moment, she enjoyed seeing this side of him.


    "Milo," Ashlynn asked, turning to the cloaked figure who looked almost as uncomfortable as Ollie in the overly stiff gathering at the village square. "Is everything ready?"


    "It is, your Dominion," the Heartwood archer said, still feeling stiff and formal even after spending several days with Ashlynn and her coven in Orava village. "Ollie, I can take you to wash up when you¡¯re ready."


    "Take this," Virve said, retrieving a neatly tied bundle of fabric and a block of soap that smelled of rich cedar and pine. "Sir Thane¡¯s instructions said that you should change into this after you wash, before he arrives," Virve told Ollie as she passed the bundle to Milo to carry.


    "I¡¯ll talk to everyone here while you clean up," Ashlynn said with a playful wink. "Take your time. The others won¡¯t arrive until the sun has set for at least half an hour."


    "In that case, shouldn¡¯t I stay here until sunset?" Ollie asked hesitantly. "I can take you on a tour and..."


    "Old Nan can take us on a tour of the village," Ashlynn said, giving Ollie a polite shove. "Go. The water isn¡¯t getting any warmer while you stall."


    "Yes, my Lady," Ollie said dejectedly when he realized he¡¯d been caught stalling.


    "Come, Sir Ollie," Milo said, wrapping a strong arm around the taller human. "The water isn¡¯t even that cold, and the pool we¡¯ve made for you to bathe in doesn¡¯t cycle very swiftly, so it¡¯s warmer than plunging into the stream itself. You¡¯ll be fine, even without a layer of fur to keep you warm," he said as he guided Ollie away from the village to a private area that Milo had helped build just for tonight¡¯s ceremony.


    Tradition in the Kingdom of Gaal dictated that a knight begin their vigil scrubbed clean of the filth of the world that clung to them, preparing themselves to receive the grace of the Holy Lord of Light when they ascended to knighthood. Some knights in modern days turned this act into an opulent and luxurious experience, soaking in hot water while attendants scrubbed them with perfumed soaps before anointing their bodies in scented oils blessed by priests of the Church.


    Thane, however, felt that the older traditions should be kept, and the instructions he provided for Ollie¡¯s vigil offered no comforts to the soon-to-be knight. A small dam created a deep pool to one side of a swiftly flowing mountain stream, screened by a simple wall of branches that did more to protect Ollie¡¯s sense of modesty than they did to protect him from the chill evening breeze.


    The rich, earthy scent of damp soil mingled with the sharp scent of cedar and the musky sweetness of decaying leaves that had fallen into the water, creating a complex scent that Ollie had increasingly come to think of as ¡¯home.¡¯


    If they were closer to the village, the trace of woodsmoke and the smell of roasting meats would have made it perfect, but Milo had prepared his bath far enough away from the villagers that only the croaking frogs and the birds watching from the cedar trees disturbed the pure tranquility of the moment.


    "This sounded like a much nicer tradition when Sir Thane described it from the warmth of his office," Ollie muttered as he stared at the rushing waters of the cold stream tumbling down the hillside before they flowed into the pool that Milo had prepared for him. "I don¡¯t suppose I can just dunk myself in the water and call it good, can I?" he asked, raising a brow at his furry companion.


    "If you do, I won¡¯t tell anyone," Milo said, setting down the bundle of fabric along with a rough towel before turning to face his young friend. "But you¡¯ll know, and if you know that you cheated at the start of this journey..."


    "I know, I know," Ollie said as he unbuckled the belt that held both his fighting knives and placed it in Milo¡¯s outstretched paw. "It¡¯s just cold water," he said. "As traditions go, I¡¯m sure there are some that are much, much harder than this," he said, though he didn¡¯t mention that some of those harder traditions were still waiting for him when it came time for Lady Ashlynn to bestow a seed of witchcraft on him.


    For now, he only needed to face the simplest of traditions on his road to becoming a knight. A simple bath. A very, very, very cold bath perhaps, but if he turned back over a little cold water, then he truly didn¡¯t deserve to call himself a knight.


    "You know that humans can get sick if we¡¯re in cold water for too long, right, Milo?" Ollie asked as he stared at the frigid water.


    "I¡¯ve heard that your skin will turn gray and your lips will turn blue if you¡¯re in the cold for too long," Milo said lightly, as though it wasn¡¯t a concern. "If that happens to you, I promise to pull you out and carry you back to the Mother of Trees."


    "Well, when you put it like that," the young man said awkwardly. "I guess there really is no reason to put it off any longer. Traditions exist for a reason, right?" Ollie said, looking at his friend and offering a confident smile. "Let¡¯s show everyone that I can follow in the footsteps of the great knights before me."

 Chapter 512: Coming Clean

    Chapter 512: Coming CleanStripping out of his tunic and breeches, Ollie shivered for a moment while he folded his clothing and set it neatly to the side before plunging into the deep pool. The moment his body slipped into the frigid water, he let out an explosive gasp as the chill penetrated all the way to his bones. The next instant, he slipped beneath the surface of the water, surprised at the depth of the pool and completely forgetting to hold his breath or close his eyes before the water enveloped him completely.


    -GASP-


    It felt like he¡¯d been underwater for minutes even though it had been only seconds as Ollie struggled to the surface, splashing and flailing around for the edge of the pool to steady himself in the water.


    "It¡¯s shallower on the other side," Milo pointed out, concealing a friendly grin as his whiskers twitched in amusement and his tail slapped the ground with the force of the laughter he dared not let slip past his lips. "I was about to warn you but..."


    "Sure you were," Ollie said, swimming across the pool to the shallow end and finding his footing in waist deep water. "You can laugh, I know you want to laugh," he said, holding out a hand and gesturing for Milo to toss him the block of soap.


    "No, no, if I laugh now then I¡¯ll pay for it when you¡¯re a powerful witch," Milo teased, tossing the soap to the shivering young human. "You have to remember my kindness when you become the Cypress Witch," he insisted.


    "Pfft," Ollie snorted, catching the soap and beginning to scrub himself clean. Here again, Thane held to the old traditions. The soap was coarse, packed with fine sand that scoured away not only dirt and grime but what felt like the top layer of Ollie¡¯s flesh as well.


    A knight was supposed to be a symbol of purity and the filth of the world was said to seep into a person¡¯s skin until they were mired in debauchery and sin. To become a knight, one had to strip away any of those worldly obsessions and face their vigil with skin as pure and untainted as when they were newborn babes.


    For Ollie, the process wasn¡¯t just uncomfortable, it took an excruciating amount of time and for the first time in his life he wished he¡¯d been born just a little bit shorter. More than that, however, he realized just how much dirt and grime seemed to have embedded itself into his flesh over the years.


    As he scrubbed, the pure white suds that clung to the soap became darker and darker as he scrubbed away the soot from countless cookfires that seemed to permanently cling to the tips of his fingers around his nails. After spending so many years in the kitchens, the familiar mixture of cooking grease and cookfire soot that covered his skin felt like it had become a defining characteristic of his.


    That slowly changed as the rough, forest-scented soap peeled it away along with the surface layer of his skin, leaving behind a gleaming white figure that appeared like its muscles had been sculpted from marble rather than honed through years of manual labor.


    The dirt and grease took with it years of worry and hunger pangs that no longer defined his day to day life. He still had worries, some might say that the worries on his shoulders were even greater than the ones he¡¯d born in the past, but those shoulders had become broader in the past several months, and they were more than capable of holding up the burdens that Ollie was preparing to take up.


    "You can leave your back to me, Sir Ollie," Milo said, slipping into the chilly water alongside the human when he saw the young man begin to struggle.


    "I know I can," Ollie said, handing over the soap. That was something else that sloughed off the flame-haired youth¡¯s body along with the dirt as Milo began to scrub at his broad, well defined shoulders. In the kitchens of Lothian Manor, Ollie constantly had to be on the lookout for rivals who fought over scraps among the staff, or who might blame mistakes on someone else to escape the punishment of the head cook.


    Here, however, in a place that should have been a thousand times more dangerous than the kitchens deep within Lothian Manor at the heart of the well defended Lothian City, Ollie felt even safer and more secure than he had ¡¯among his own people.¡¯ When he thought about the dangers that lay ahead of them, the oncoming threat of war with the Lothians and the Church, there was only one person who he felt he could trust to stand with him in the face of danger.


    Otis, the army cook who had taken over the Summer Villa¡¯s kitchen when Ollie first met Ashlynn had been willing to set fire to the kitchens to cover their escape. Looking back, if Ollie had one regret it was that they were forced to leave the older cook behind when they fled the villa and they had never been able to return to repay the debt they owed the man.


    But now, when he thought about who he could trust to stand with him against danger, the list held more names than he could quickly count, from Harrod to Georg, Sir Thand and Sir Marcel who had taught him so much, and even Lady Ashlynn and the other members of the coven he was about to join. But one name stood out more than others as he thought about the people he¡¯d grown close to since coming to reside in the Vale of Mists and the village filled with refugees.


    "Milo," Ollie said softly as his friend scoured his broad, pale back in the quiet of the pool. "During my vigil, Heila will stand for me but this take days instead of a single night and day. I don¡¯t have any family in the Vale who can stand at my side but..."


    "I already planned to stand for you," Milo said. "But, Sir Ollie, please, don¡¯t ever say you don¡¯t have any family in the Vale," he added, pausing his scrubbing to turn the young man around and looking directly into his pale eyes. "Mother and I, and so many others, when we were too consumed by our losses to care for each other as family should, you cared for us."


    "So please," he said softly. "When the time comes to free your birth family so they can join your family here, just call upon us and we¡¯ll fight our way into the heart of Lothian Manor if we have to. But, until then, remember that we¡¯re your family too." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you, Milo," Ollie said, reaching out with his palms held upward and his fingers slightly curled. The next moment, Milo returned the gesture, setting his sharp claws gently on Ollie¡¯s wrists while the tips of Ollie¡¯s fingers brushed his. Among the Heartwood Clan, it was a gesture that meant you trusted the other person with your lifeblood beneath their claws and it wasn¡¯t something Ollie did casually.


    But Milo, Old Nan and the others of the village really had become a part of his family here in the Vale, even more so than the women of the coven he was preparing to join. He knew that Heila would defend him fiercely if needed and she would be an important part of his trial as a witch in the days to come as well.


    But when it came to feeling safe and protected, few could give him that feeling more than brave archer who had turned down service in Commander Bassinger¡¯s army in order to remain at Ollie¡¯s side.


    "Now, am I scrubbed enough to get out of the watter?" Ollie said as he fought to keep his teeth from chattering. "The sun has almost set," he pointed out, looking at the darkening sky above as the evening mists rolled in.


    "I think you¡¯re fine," Milo said, slipping out of the pool to fetch the bundle of cloth that Virve had passed over, opening it to reveal a pure white robe with laces across the chest. "Dry off first, and then I¡¯ll walk you back to Lady Ashlynn."


    The walk back didn¡¯t take long, but by the time Ollie had dried himself, dressed and hiked back through the evening gloom, it seemed like Ashlynn had completed her tour of the village, returning to the square to await the arrival of the final participants in tonight¡¯s ceremonies.


    "You look refreshed," Ashlynn said when she saw Ollie¡¯s figure enter the village square. His skin was slightly pinkish from a combination of the chill and the scouring soap, but he also looked like the scrub had done what it was intended to do. The Ollie who approached her now stood up straighter, walking confidently with Milo at his side, as if he had set down some worries or scrubbed away some doubts along with the dirt when he bathed in the frigid waters of his outdoor pool.


    "I feel more refreshed than I thought I would," Ollie said. "I know that Sir Thane said things weren¡¯t done this way anymore, but in a way, I¡¯m starting to feel like that¡¯s sad. I feel... better now," he said, though he couldn¡¯t find a word that entirely expressed the way he felt.


    "As you should," Thane¡¯s rich voice said as the mist cloaking the village seemed to solidify before revealing the figures of two men striding out of the darkness and fog. "Your feet are on the path, Ollie," the vampire-knight said proudly. "Are you ready to take the next step?"


    "I am, I..."


    Whatever Ollie was about to say, however, was lost as several of the villagers shrieked in fear, their eyes glued to the man dressed in crimson and gold standing next to Sir Thane.


    "In-In-Inquisitor!" a panicked voice cried as women snatched their children, darting for their homes while others snatched at weapons, preparing to fight for their lives to prevent humans from burning down yet another village.


    "Sir Thane," Old Nan said, glaring at the powerful vampire with eyes that held a heartbreaking blend of fear and betrayal, laying over a fierce determination to fight for what they¡¯d built in the place that had slowly become their new home. "Why have you brought this man here? Have we wronged you somehow that you would punish us like this?"


    "Please," Ignatious said, raising his hands helplessly and looking to Ashlynn and Heila for help. "I¡¯m just here for young Ollie, it¡¯s..."


    "You can¡¯t have him," Milo said fiercely, stepping in front of the startled youth and drawing a wicked, curved blade. "Ollie is one of ours, and we won¡¯t give him up to the likes of you!"

 Chapter 513: A Man of Faith (Part One)

    Chapter 513: A Man of Faith (Part One)"That¡¯s enough," Ashlynn said, her voice rippling with power and echoing from every tree surrounding the village square. Branches shook as though caught in a mighty wind, and the tender trunks of recently planted saplings bowed in the presence of the Mother of Trees.


    One misunderstanding had already cost the lives of dozens of people in the High Pass and resulted in tragedies that she was still working to help people recover from. In the High Pass, standing on a barren mountainside amidst the ice and snow, she could do very little to keep the situation from spiralling out of control. But here, in the forest of the Vale of Mists, there was no way that she would let another tragedy like the one in the High Pass unfold again when she had the power to suppress anyone who might fight.


    Ashlynn¡¯s exercise of power went beyond a simple demonstration of force. While she wasn¡¯t willing to draw deeply on the strength of the forest to apply a powerful binding, she had more than enough strength to infuse the stiffness of wood and a feeling of being deeply rooted to the ground into everyone present.


    The magic was weak, and if anyone was determined to commit violence, it would only slow them for a moment or two before they broke free of her suppression, but those moments would be all she and people like Thane would need to take additional actions. Right now, she wasn¡¯t trying to trap anyone, she just wanted to hold everyone back from making a hasty move before they had a chance to sort matters out.


    Moving quickly while Ashlynn drew everyone else¡¯s attention, Heila darted to stand between Ignatious and Milo, drawing Snow Fang to match the Heartwood archer¡¯s own wickedly curved blade and giving him a look that said she was willing to use the frosty weapon if someone forced her hand.


    "Your Dominion," Old Nan began as she struggled to pull herself up to her full height under the stiffening pressure of Ashlynn¡¯s witchcraft. Before she could say more than two words, however, she was silenced by Ashlynn¡¯s next words.


    "Sir Ignatious isn¡¯t just someone that Sir Thane brought along for tonight¡¯s rituals," Ashlynn explained, her emerald eyes flashing with power that flowed from every tree within a dozen paces of the place she stood. "He¡¯s one of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s progeny, recently returned from exile."


    "I know you¡¯ve suffered at the hands of the Church," Ashlynn said, walking calmly to Heila¡¯s side and placing a hand on her shoulder before shaking her head slightly at the drawn blade. "But Sir Ignatious had nothing to do with those tragedies."


    "It¡¯s fine if they resent me, my Lady," Ignatious offered, stepping out from behind the women who had moved to shield him and facing the angry and fearful villagers directly. "I have wronged the Eldritch people in the past and I do not blame them for mistrusting me on the basis of my faith. Some of these people may even be the descendants of people I killed during the Brother¡¯s War."


    "Little Brother," Thane said, placing a comforting hand on the younger vampire¡¯s shoulder. "You¡¯ve suffered greatly during your exile and the crimes you comitted then have been atoned for several times over. You don¡¯t need to..."


    "I do, though," Ignatious said, casting Thane a brief glance over his shoulder before he walked forward to face Old Nan at the head of the villagers. "I cannot take responsibility for the things my misguided brethren have done in the name of the Holy Lord of Light," he said, dropping to both knees before the aging woman.


    "But I can accept the hatred and fear these people hold toward me and my order," he said, lowering his head to Old Nan. "Mistress Nyrielle will not permit you to strike me down," he said with slow, deliberate words. "But if you wish to turn your torches against me to burn my flesh, then I will stand on behalf of the ones who hurt you and I will suffer in their stead. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Dislikeable," Old Nan muttered as she looked at the kneeling priest. "You come here dressed like this but we dare not kill one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny. You say we can wound you but what satisfaction is there in wounding someone like you who did nothing to us?" Old Nan said, turning around and thumping her tail on the ground in front of him as if she had just made some form of declaration.


    "It¡¯s dislikeable for such a man to come among us," she said, her whiskers trembling as she fought to suppress the memories of her village in flames while men wearing robes like these called down balls of flame from the skies to reduce her precious memories to little more than ash. "But I refuse to harm him in place of the ones who harmed us!"


    "You cannot suffer in their stead," Old Nan said, turnign around to face the kneeling priest. "But if you wish us to withdraw our hatred for the robes you wear and the god you serve, then bring the men who burned our village to the ground before us. Let us avenge ourselves on the men who robbed us of our kin and the legacies of our families and then you will be welcome among us."


    "Mother," Milo said, lowering his knife and looking anxiously at his mother. Her tail was stiff and straight with determination that extended all the way to the tips of her whiskers but the ghosts of his fallen brother lurked behind the moisture in her eyes and the flames that consumed the carvings left behind by her parents still hadn¡¯t faded from her heart. And yet...


    "Those who have been led astray by the corrupt leaders of the Church have failed to meet their struggle," Ignatious said simply. "If I can capture them, I will bring them before you to atone, and if they will not atone, then I will send them on to their next lives myself," he said, standing to offer the villagers a deep bow.


    "The Holy Lord of Light entreats us to shine the light of truth into places filled with darkness and deceit," the former Inquisitor explained. "He also demands that we cleanse the world of wickedness wherever we find it. For too long, my brethren have believed that the Eldritch are creatures of darkness, filled with cunning wickedness and deserving only of death. But saying this is denying truth, and the only ones steeped in wickedness were the ones who brought violence to your homes," he said.

 Chapter 514: A Man of Faith (Part Two)

    Chapter 514: A Man of Faith (Part Two)Around the village, several eyes widened in shock. Did this Inquisitor truly believe that his people were wrong to attack them? Would he really turn against his own Church to help them obtain their vengeance? The idea of it seemed preposterous, but once they got over the shock of seeing an Inquisitor among them, much less one who professed to be on their side, several people in the crowd began to mutter in grudging approval of the strange priest.


    "No wonder Lady Nyrielle took him as one of her progeny," one woman said, resting back on her spider-like limbs while her crimson eyes cast a deeply evaluating look at the strange vampire. "Maybe she hopes to conquer the human¡¯s church from within with this one."


    "Did he say he fought in the Brother¡¯s War?" an aging man from the Clan of Painted Masks said, cocking his head to the side and quickly counting the years on his fingers, recalling the stories his father told about that terrible war. "Old, he must be very old. Older than Madame Zedya, maybe as old as Sir Thane... tsk, tsk, tsk, and in exile all this time? There has to be some story there..."


    "Thank you, Sir Ignatious," Ashlynn said, withdrawing her emerald energy from the trees around them and nodding slightly at the fallen priest. "And I apologize to you," she added. "I should have warned the people of the village about your attendance. Your return to the Vale will be announced during the festival, but..."


    "It¡¯s fine, my lady," Ignatious said, returning to an anxious-looking Heila¡¯s side and reaching down to take her hand in his. "Tonight, I came to speak to Sir Ollie about faith, and to pray with him at the start of his vigil if he wishes it," he said, smiling at the flame-haired youth who had faded into the background during the conflict.


    It wasn¡¯t that Ollie didn¡¯t want to intercede earlier when Milo first drew his knife. It was just that, by the time he¡¯d realized what was happening and started to make a move, events had already moved beyond him, and so he held his tongue, ready to speak up if need be or to restrain Milo if it looked like things might become violent.


    The fact that all he could do during the tense standoff was consider ways to protect Milo by stopping him from fighting against the powerful vampire was a frustrating reminder of just how weak he currently was compared to people like Thane, Ignatious, Lady Ashlynn, and Lady Heila. If a conflict had broken out between the villagers and the vampires, even if he drew the darksteel cleaver from the belt he¡¯d surrendered to Milo, he had no confidence in fighting back against such overwhelming foes.


    But that would change soon, so long as he was able to pass the trial ahead of him to become the Cypress Witch. That thought, combined with the shameful feeling of helplessness in this conflict, strengthened his resolve even more as he looked from Ignatious to Thane and finally to Lady Ashlynn.


    "It¡¯s tradition that much of a knight¡¯s vigil is spent in prayer," Ashlynn said, more for the benefit of the villagers than Ollie, who had already received an explanation from Sir Thane. "But those of us who have left the Kingdom and the Church behind exist in a space outside the rules and traditions that bound us in the land of our birth." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So the choice is yours, Ollie," Ashlynn said. "I have spent some time conversing with Sir Ignatious, and I believe that he understands matters of faith better than most who have never been forced to reexamine the things we were taught as children. But your heart belongs to you, and no one can force you to cling to a faith that would label you a ¡¯demon¡¯ for joining my coven."


    "I think," Ollie began, looking at Ignatious and finding the vampire to be very different from every priest or Inquisitor he¡¯d ever seen in his years at Lothian Manor. He possessed the same unnatural stillness that Ollie had come to recognize as common among vampires, but there was something even more significant that made him curious about the fallen Inquisitor.


    "I think that Sir Ignatious is very different from the Inquisitors I¡¯ve seen before," Ollie said. "Most of those men were very proud, even arrogant. I can¡¯t imagine them kneeling at the feet of anyone, much less offering to suffer in the place of someone else."


    "Sir Ignatious," Ollie said, extending a hand to the strange vampire. "I¡¯m not planning to take ¡¯Faith¡¯ as one of my virtues, but I do intend to make ¡¯Humility¡¯ part of my oath. Maybe, maybe we can talk about how someone with as much power as you have can be so humble. I think that would be good for me tonight."


    "If you can already be that thoughtful," Ignatious said, taking the soon-to-be knight¡¯s hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. "Then I think I can share a few thoughts with you. And," he said, glancing down at Heila¡¯s diminutive figure next to him. "I think you¡¯re the sort of man who will protect the other members of his coven well."


    "In that case," Ashlynn said smoothly. "We should move to the water¡¯s edge. Everyone, I know many of you have come to show your support to Ollie as he faces his trial, but as the Mother of Trees, I insist that you keep your distance during this ritual. If it is interrupted, or if he is disturbed, the consequences could be dire."


    As the group began to walk toward the water¡¯s edge, a chill, snowy aura enveloped Ignatious, piercing the aura of warmth that surrounded the vampire even now and making the hand that held Heila¡¯s feel as though it had been plunged into a bucket of ice water.


    "What you did was very brave," Heila said through tight lips as she tried to keep from embarrassing Ignatious after the intense encounter. He had been brave, and as they left, she saw many people casting glances toward the fallen priest that were filled with more curiosity than fear and even a trace of grudging respect. And yet...


    "But please remember that you aren¡¯t alone in Hamdi¡¯s Tangled Tower anymore," Heila added, keeping her eyes straight ahead in the gathering gloom rather than looking up to see Ignatious¡¯s face. "There are people who would miss you if something happened to you, and people who would ache to see you suffer."


    "Heila, I," Ignatious started, only for the feeling of frost to grow even sharper as Heila¡¯s free hand clutched the hilt of Snow Fang until her knuckles turned white.


    ,


    "I didn¡¯t heal you to watch other people hurt you," she said with a fierceness to her voice that surprised even her. "The blood, um, the blood I gave you, it¡¯s very precious. So don¡¯t, don¡¯t waste that gift on something like that," she said, her voice faltering and her face heating slightly as she thought of the moment on the slopes of the mountain when she offered Ignatious her wrist to save him from the terrible wounds the Holy Flame Blade inflicted on him.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ignatious said, uncertain how else he should respond to Heila¡¯s feelings. "I, I don¡¯t know what to say," he admitted. After years of suffering at Hamdi¡¯s hands, very little remained of the former Inquisitor¡¯s pride, but if there was one thing he could say, it was that he had an unparalleled ability to endure. In his mind, so long as he didn¡¯t die, enduring a bit of pain in order to help the villagers move on from their hatred and grief was a more than fair trade.


    But it seemed like Heila saw things differently... and perhaps, he should see things differently as well.


    "Just promise me that you¡¯ll be kind to yourself from now on," Heila said softly as they walked. Slowly, she withdrew the icy aura, removing her free hand from the hilt of Snow Fang and placing it alongside her other hand, overlapping it with Ignatious¡¯s hand between hers. "Promise that you¡¯ll remember that there are people who care about you, and don¡¯t let yourself suffer when you don¡¯t have to."


    "All right," Ignatious said softly, reaching out to gently caress the curve of Heila¡¯s horn with his free hand. "I promise."

 Chapter 515: Nurturing Life in Darkness

    Chapter 515: Nurturing Life in DarknessAcross the Vale, in a secluded corner of the ancient fortress, preparations were underway for an entirely different ceremony.


    By Nyrielle¡¯s order, several corridors had been sealed and stood under heavy guard. Commander Bassinger personally supervised the arrangements of dozens of soldiers with each one swearing on pain of death that nothing would pass their defensive line. Behind them, heavy oak doors, bound with iron and barred with heavy timbers stood firmly shut against any intruders. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    News of what would be happening beyond those sealed doors had been shared with only a select few, and of everyone assembled before the doors, only Commander Bassinger knew the truth. That knowledge was both an honor and an incredible weight as he considered who should be standing in his place at the head of the guard.


    On any other night, Thane would have stood as the final protector before the doors, ensuring nothing could interrupt an event that had taken place less than a dozen times since Nyrielle retook the Vale of Mists. Now, however, with both Thane and Ignatious attending to Ollie¡¯s vigil of knighthood, it fell to the merely mortal members of Nyrielle¡¯s most trusted soldiers to fill the gap left by the undying knight.


    Beyond those strong defenses lay one of the carefully preserved natural treasures of the ancient fortress, a cave cut by a mountain spring high above the fortress itself. Centuries of erosion had opened a hole in the ceiling of the cave, allowing a steady stream of silvery water to carve its way through solid rock before splashing over a large boulder at the center of a pool nearly twenty paces across.


    The water from the pool flowed onward from the pool, eventually reaching the ancient fortress¡¯s vast cisterns, and for centuries, that alone was enough to make the water source an invaluable treasure to every Eldritch Lord of the Vale of Mists. Two hundred years ago, however, this cave transformed when Orla, the former Baronness Willowcreek, chose to cultivate a garden filled with plants that could thrive in the limited light that poured into the cave through the opening in the ceiling.


    Orla had struggled to let go of life, even though she accepted High Lord Torbin¡¯s condition that she and her husband both become his progeny in order to be granted refuge against the Church and their crusade against human lords who advocated for cooperation with the Eldritch instead of conquest. In the days after she became a vampire, the cave at the back of the ancient fortress had become her place of refuge where she tried to fill the shadows and darkness with life that still yearned for just a bit of light.


    Not long after her arrival, this cave also witnessed the birth of her daughter, Nyrielle, the first True Vampire born in centuries. The plants that Nyrielle¡¯s mother cultivated in those days had withered and died long ago, but Nyrielle tended the garden still, taking seeds and cuttings and ensuring the space was filled with echoes of the life of growing things her mother had nurtured in darkness.


    Now, however, the space was anything but dark. Dozens of candles burned around the periphery of the cave, filling the space with a warm golden glow as if the setting sun had come to bestow a few minutes of fading, gentle light on the lush vines and gently swaying ferns that filled the cave.


    The gentle mist flowing from the waterfall caught just enough of the flickering light to soften it, giving the entire chamber the feeling that events occurring here were seen through a gossamer veil, as if it were a glimpse of a dream and not something happening in the real, waking world.


    It hadn¡¯t been like this when Nyrielle brought Thane here. There had been no warmth in Nyrielle¡¯s heart when she forced him to stand at the center of the pool, watching as the frigid waterfall robbed his body of the warmth of life. She¡¯d promised him vengeance and he¡¯d offered himself as her tool.


    There had been nothing warm about the start of their relationship and she used this place to strip him of any warmth his body still possessed before she drank every last drop of rich, vigorous blood his body contained, leaving him no warmer than the corpse he resembled before she gave him back the tiniest breath of life.


    Neither had there been warmth in this place when she brought Zedya here, nor Sybyll or Wolstan, and there¡¯d been no light here when it was Marcel¡¯s turn. The candles would only have interfered with his ability to receive the Cloak of Darkness that came with his transformation into something balanced between life and Death.


    But now, Nyrielle had changed, and the the person who would die tonight wouldn¡¯t become her progeny, but Zedya¡¯s instead. Moreover, the bond between Zedya and Lennart wasn¡¯t one forged on the basis of power and vengeance in her endless war against the Lothians and the Church. This was a bond that was only possible because of the gift that flowed through her bond with Ashlynn, making it something far more rare and beautiful.


    For a moment, Nyrielle wished that Ashlynn could be present for this moment. The birth of a new vampire was something few would ever witness and at some point, it was something that she hoped to share with her lover. Perhaps one day, she would even extend an offer to take in the Count and Countess Blackwell, giving Ashlynn¡¯s parents a chance to escape from death and find security in the Vale of Mists the way her grandsire Torbin had taken in her own parents.


    But for now, such decisions, like Ashlynn herself, were far away. Tonight, Ashlynn would begin the process of bringing Ollie into her coven, while Zedya would welcome the birth of her first progeny.


    "Lennart," Nyrielle said, calling out to the loyal captain of her personal guard. Tonight, he had dressed formally, wearing a midnight blue tunic emblazoned with Nyrielle¡¯s personal glyph of a raven¡¯s wing and ax blade directly above his heart. A midnight blue and silver sash of rank crossed his chest, secured in an intricate knot at his waist, highlighting his broad, powerful chest just as much as the well tailored tunic¡¯s sleeves accentuated his powerful arms before giving way to a spill of pure white lace, concealing his wickedly sharp claws behind delicate softness.


    "I know you¡¯ve given your answer to Zedya already, but I¡¯ll hear the words from you myself tonight before I release you from my service," she said, trying to maintain a trace of cold aloofness in this solemn moment, even though her heart was filled with warmth at what was about to happen.


    "Once you accept Zedya¡¯s bite," she said formally, "your days in the sun will end forever. Your life will end and you will be confined to the darkness of night for as long as you can resist the pull of death. The flesh of unthinking, unfeeling beasts will no longer sustain your life and only the blood of other thinking, feeling people will offer you the sustenance to ward off the endless call of the abyss."


    "I understand, my Lady," Lennart said, turning to look at the sole other occupant of the room.


    For tonight¡¯s ceremony, Zedya had dressed herself in black from head to toe, wearing a dress humans might have mistaken for funeral atire if not for the way the dress clung to her body with a corset that emphasized both her slender waist and thrust her humble bust upwarn like an offering of delicate peaches, ripe for the plucking. Long lace gloves covered her hands, extending all the way up her arms before vanishing beneath the flowing satin of her butterfly sleeves.


    "I¡¯ve been uncertain about many things in life, my lady," the bearish soldier continued, peering through the black lace veil that hid Zedya¡¯s face from view, revealing only her faintly glowing amethyst eyes. "But about this, I have no doubts."


    "Zedya," Nyrielle said, turning to her progeny and smiling as she lost her ability to hold back the joy she felt at seeing one of the children she¡¯d nurtured for so many decades finding the same sort of happiness she found in Ashlynn¡¯s loving embrace.


    "I have faith in you," she said gently. "But if he fails in this, you will lose this man tonight. He is still young and you could enjoy many more years together without taking this step. Are you certain that you wish to take this risk?"


    "Nothing is certain in life, Mistress," Zedya said without looking away from Lennart¡¯s soft, kind brown eyes. The scar on his face from his recent battle at the Tangled Tower still pained her and it would serve as an eternal reminder of the wounds he suffered protecting her and Nyrielle over the decades they had known each other. It was also a reminder of just how close to death he had come, and how close she¡¯d been to losing someone who meant more to her than she¡¯d understood until recently.


    "Nothing is certain," she repeated. "But I believe that my Lennart is stronger than I was when you brought me here, Mistress. And if he fails, then at least we have both done everything we can for a chance at lasting happiness together instead of flinching in fear over what we might lose. So long as he will take the risk, I will give him the chance so that we may be together for as long as we can resist the call of the abyss."


    "Very well," Nyrielle said, smiling at them both. "Then, let us begin..."

 Chapter 516: Vows

    Chapter 516: VowsStanding before the waterfall, surrounded by the misty golden glow of dozens of candles, Lennart¡¯s heart thudded in his chest like a drum, beating out the last march of his life. Zedya had insisted he take time to consider his decision well and by now there wasn¡¯t even the slightest doubt in his heart about what he wanted.


    Fear, certainly. Every soldier feared death and it was that fear of death that drove him to fight his hardest any time he was forced to don his fighting gauntlets and wade into the fray of battle. But now, death had come for him and he couldn¡¯t fight it with fists or claws, only with a will of iron and a determination to remain at Zedya¡¯s side that was greater than his deeply ingrained desire to stay alive.


    His palms were damp with perspiration and his ears twitched nervously as Nyrielle took her place beside them, acting as a witness for the first part of tonight¡¯s ritual.


    "Zedya," Lennart said, breaking the silence that formed between the three of them once Nyrielle drew close. "I have known you all my life. You have advised me, protected me, fought beside me... I know that by any measure, I have never been your equal. Should you have desired a man in your life, you could have chosen countless people who are stronger and more worthy than I..."


    "Stronger, perhaps," Zedya said softly, reaching out with a hand wrapped in lace to cup his scarred cheek gently. "But none are more worthy than you."


    "Zedya," he whispered, leaning into her touch and relishing in the feel of her delicate fingers as they caressed the soft fur of his face. "I know that I lag behind you in years and power, but I promise to be worthy of the trust you¡¯ve placed in me and the care you¡¯ve showered on me," he said as he dropped to one knee.


    "Tonight, I will fight for the power to stand at your side for as long as we may both resist the call of the abyss," he said. "But if I fall tonight, I would prefer fall as your husband, having given you my everything," he said, reaching into a small pouch at his waist and producing a lustrous silver ring, shaped like the paws of a bear wrapping around a brilliant amethyst jewel.


    "I¡¯m told that it¡¯s human custom to exchange rings as a sign of your commitment," he said, speaking slowly around the lump that formed in his throat. "I offer this one as a promise, that my claws will always fight for you, to shelter you from harm and my arms will always hold you, to cherish you as the only love in my life. Zedya, will you be my wife?"


    "Lenny," Zedya said softly, tugging at the fingers of the lace glove on her left hand, pulling it off to extend her hand. "My dearest Lennart," she said as he slipped the ring onto her slender ring finger where the amethyst jewel sparkled in the golden light, standing out brighty against her pale alabaster flesh. "I will be your wife, your one true love for the rest of our lives, until the abyss tears us from this world."


    Reaching into a the folds of the dark satin sash at her waist, Zedya pulled out a simple braided leather cord that held a small piece of pure white horn, carved into the shape of a bear¡¯s claw. The simple token had been carved from a remnant of Paulus¡¯s horn and though Erkembalt had been reluctant to part with one of the few remaining scraps of the powerful horn after completing Heila¡¯s Snow Fang, once Zedya explained why she wanted it, he¡¯d been happy to accommodate her request.


    "This trophy comes from one of the most powerful foes I¡¯ve ever slain," she said, reaching out to tie the leather cord around his neck. "I offer it in the ways of your Clan as proof that I will add my strength to yours, fighting at your side to protect all that we hold dear in this world. I can never offer you children, but together, we will build a home and we will fight as one to defend it. As your wife, I swear this to my husband," she said. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For a moment, Zedya¡¯s powerful amethyst eyes failed her as tears burst forth from behind a dam she hadn¡¯t realized was there. The words she used weren¡¯t part of any ceremony her parents would have recognized and she was certain that her sisters would have been horrified at her choice of husband, but at the moment, none of that mattered.


    Zedya had walked in darkness from the her sister fell at the hands of an entitled baron who wouldn¡¯t accept ¡¯no¡¯ from a lowly servant girl. She¡¯d stayed in that darkness as she brought death to his family, one by one, taking away from him the people he¡¯d taken from her until he had no sons, no heir, no wife, and no method of escaping her retribution.


    For decades, she had served Nyrielle in darkness, finding purpose in her new life, and deep satisfaction in her work, even as her heart forgot what it was like to feel joy. She had avenged her fallen family and sent them on to the heavenly shores long ago, but she herself had remained forever in the shadows of her own past.


    Now, however, standing in the warmth of dozens of candles and their soft golden glow, she felt like she had finally walked out of the darkness that clung to her heart. She wasn¡¯t only a part of the family that Nyrielle had built, the collection of avenging ghosts and dangerous misfits who served as her weapons of war. Now, she was finally living for herself, forming a small family, even if it would only be the two of them, and it was a family that she would sacrifice anything to protect.


    "Zedya. Lennart," Nyrielle said, standing over the smiling couple as they exchanged their vows and tokens. "Tonight, I bear witness to your love and your promises. No matter what happens next, from this day forward, the Vale of Mists will know you as husband and wife, your fortunes and fates bound together for as long as you both endure."


    Gently, with paws that trembled more than they had holding any weapon and facing any battle, Lennart reached out to lift the black lace veil, revealing Zedya¡¯s sparkling amethyst eyes and soft, delicate features. By human standards, many would have considered her plain or ordinary, but to Lennart, there was no face in this world that could match hers at this moment.


    From her soft, gently rounded features to her alluring almond shaped eyes, her slender, slightly upturned nose and curved, bow-shaped lips all combined to create a face that came alive with warmth and affection when she looked at the man who had finally found a way into her walled off heart.


    The stone beneath Lennart¡¯s knee was cold and rough, but he barely noticed as he leaned forward, finding himself at the perfect height to caress her soft lips with his as he ran the tips of his claws through her silky brown hair.


    The kiss grew deeper and hotter as Zedya stepped forward, pressing herself up against her husband, yes, her husband¡¯s powerful body, wrapping her arms around him and cling tightly to him before pricking his lip with the point of a fang, filling her mouth with the taste of his rich, powerful blood that carried echoes of unwavering courage and determination to fight until his dying breath... first for his lady, and now, for her.


    The kiss sent shivers through both of them as Zedya¡¯s amethyst eyes began to glow with borrowed strength and vitality. Of all the people she¡¯d ever savored, none could compare to the deep warmth that flowed into her body along with Lennart¡¯s love and the sweetness of his blood that accompanied his unwavering dedication to her.


    It was a taste that awakened a hunger deep inside her, intoxicating her and pushing her to take more in a way no one else ever had, and when she finally pulled back from their kiss, that hunger burned in her eyes like a brilliant amethyst flame.


    "It¡¯s time, my dearest Lennart," she said, gently cupping his face with her hands. "Are you ready?"

 Chapter 517: In His Arms

    Chapter 517: In His ArmsLennart¡¯s body trembled with the aftershock of Zedya¡¯s kiss. His powerful muscles felt weak, and her sweet taste mixed with the faint coppery flavor of his own blood lingered on his tongue, like the aftertaste of their vows carved in the flesh of their lips. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m ready, my Zedya," Lennart said, placing his paws over her hands as she cupped his face before tracing his way along her arms, barely brushing her alabaster skin with the tips of his claws until he could hold her by the shoulders.


    Zedya¡¯s eyes burned with a pale amethyst flame unlike any Lennart had seen from her before, and she radiated a predatory hunger that he¡¯d previously only seen from other vampires, like Savis or Tausau. But mixed with that hunger was a deep desire that left Lennart yearning to throw himself into her arms, answering the heat of her desire with his own.


    "Bare your wrist for her," Nyrielle commanded, hovering in the shadows behind Lennart¡¯s burly figure. "It takes longer to feed from the wrist than from the neck or the thigh, but this is the first time she will need to stop just short of death. The wrist is slower, and the pain will last longer, but the risks are lower," she explained.


    "I understand," Lennart replied, folding the spills of lace back as he rolled up his sleeve. "Zedya, my wife," he said, savoring the sound of the word ¡¯wife¡¯ as it slipped from his tongue. "Will you bite, or should I use a blade to open my veins for you?"


    "You should come with me," Zedya said, taking the hand he offered and pulling him to his feet, tugging him in the direction of the cavern wall. "Sit here on the floor," she said, tapping gently on the cold stone ground. "Then let me sit in your lap," she added, continuing to hold his hand as he lowered himself to the ground.


    For a moment, her hunger subsided as she wished that she could do something to ease this moment for him. To use her Mesmerizing Gaze to pull him into a world of soft blankets, or a field filled with flowers, or anything that would have felt warmer and more welcoming than the cold stone of the secluded cave.


    Using her gaze on him, however, would dull his senses and his ability to keep his wits about him as she pulled him closer to death than he¡¯d ever been. One moment of inattentiveness, one relaxed moment of surrender and acceptance of death, and he would plunge forever into the abyss, dying in her arms before she could offer him everlasting life.


    "Hold me," Zedya commanded softly as she settled herself across Lennart¡¯s thick, meaty thighs and leaned against his broad, muscular chest. Sitting there as he wrapped his powerful arms around her, she momentarily felt like a doll held in the loving arms of a gentle giant. Everyone from the Clan of the Great Claw was larger than most humans, and Lennart was nearly two feet taller than her, but in all the years she¡¯d known him, she never felt as small as she did right now.


    For Lennart, it was a moment that he wanted to last forever as he enveloped Zedya¡¯s slender figure in his furry arms. He almost enveloped her torso completely in the embrace as he pulled her close against his body, deeply inhaling the scent of lavender and midnight dew that clung to his petite wife.


    "Now," Zedya said slowly, taking hold of his wrist and gently stroking his hand as she brought it to her lips. "You will feel pain, then a deep, relaxing pleasure. When that pleasure turns to pain, you must stay still. You must resist the urge to struggle, to fight, to flee. You must remain just as you are until I¡¯ve drunk down to the very last drop of blood within your body."


    "I will stay just as I am," Lennart promised, gently nuzzling the top of Zedya¡¯s head with his nose. "I am ready."


    Standing off to the side, Nyrielle said nothing as the newlyweds savored a moment that might come to be their last. It took careful preparation to make another vampire, and Nyrielle had confidence that the pair would succeed. Lennart had offered himself to her or her progeny many times over his long years of service. He was familiar with what it felt like to become food under the fangs of a powerful vampire.


    And Zedya had lived as a vampire for decades. Accidents in feeding affected almost every young vampire, and for that reason, Nyrielle had carefully guided her progeny in their hunts during their first year as vampires. But accidents were almost unheard of by the time any of her progeny reached Zedya¡¯s age. She should know herself well in this, and she should stop at the appropriate moment.


    And yet, two things made this different from anything Zedya had ever done before. This time, she wasn¡¯t stopping at the moment where pleasure turned to pain, but at the moment where even pain faded away, and life all but flickered out underneath her fangs. More importantly, this time, she was drinking from a man whose deep love for her would fill his blood with the rich flavors of devotion and self-sacrifice. It would create an intoxicating flavor that was hard to resist consuming until the very last drop was gone.


    And so, Nyrielle cloaked herself in darkness and shadows, leaving the couple with the illusion that they were alone in this most intimate moment, yet hovering nearby in case she needed to intervene. Zedya meant too much to her to see her fail at this delicate moment and the scars that would form on her healing heart might never heal again if they lost Lennart tonight.


    And even Lennart himself had come to mean more to her than a simple captain of her guard. He might not have become part of her family in the way that her progeny were, but he was someone who had earned her respect and confidence as well as her deep gratitude for the feelings of love and joy he inspired in her beloved Zedya.


    And so, if Nyrielle detected the slightest chance that the couple might fail tonight, she vowed to intercede, even if it meant taking Lennart as her own progeny to save his life. It would deny him an intimate connection to the woman he loved, but it was far, far superior to the alternative of watching helplessly and doing nothing.


    For several minutes, Zedya drank in the warmth of Lennart¡¯s body along with the rich scent of cedar soap and natural musk that felt so unique to him. After tonight, his body, like hers, would be cold unless he¡¯d recently fed, and the heart that beat so fiercely for her would slow until it appeared that it didn¡¯t beat at all.


    But underneath the scent that was so strongly his, the faintest scent of blood trickling from his lip reignited the hunger that burned deep within her, fueling the need to make him hers, now and forever more. The fangs in her mouth grew longer as her lips parted and she brought his naked wrist, striking with the speed of a snake to spare him as much pain as she could before she could drink her fill of the intoxicating nectar that gave him life.

 Chapter 518: Death And Rebirth

    Chapter 518: Death And RebirthZedya¡¯s fangs bored into Lennart¡¯s wrist like a pair of white hot awls, searing deep into his tender flesh as she pierced his veins and arteries, spilling hot blood into her hungry, eager mouth.


    The white hot pain lasted only for a moment before a soft, comforting pleasure flooded through Lennart¡¯s body. His muscles felt like they were filled with wet sand, quickly losing the strength to do more than maintain his upright posture and the gentle embrace of his arms wrapped around his feeding wife.


    Wife. That thought alone filled his mind with a thousand ripples of joy as his mind drifted in the golden haze of the underground cavern. His eyelids grew heavy, making it difficult for him to keep Zedya¡¯s enchanting beauty in his sight as she drank her fill from his wrist. The last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut was the slight movement of her delicate neck as his blood flowed down her throat. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    But even if he couldn¡¯t keep his eyes open to watch her, his mind lingered on her figure. Clad in a black wedding dress, her enchanting face and mesmerizing eyes hidden behind her dark veil. Her lips moved behind that veil, speaking words that brought tears to his eyes but within the echoes of his mind, the words themselves felt distant and far away, too hard to hear even though she¡¯d spoken them just minutes ago.


    Slowly, the vision of Zedya within his mind seemed to beckon him forward, guiding him toward that dark, cold pool beneath the waterfall at the center of the cave. Before he realized it, Lennart found himself standing nearly waist-deep in the water as a bone-deep chill spread through his limbs.


    The pain began as sharp pins and needles, prickling all over his feet, his hands, legs, and arms, before it enveloped all of his body. His chest felt heavy, and each new breath was harder and harder to take, forcing him to focus all of his effort just on filling his lungs with the biting cold air of the cave.


    Still, the Zedya in his mind smiled at him, saying nothing as she took his hands in hers, pulling him deeper and deeper into the water until he stood up to his chest in water so deep that he felt like his feet could barely brush the bottom.


    "Zedya. My wife," he struggled to say, staring at her glowing amethyst eyes that were the only part of her face he could make out behind her black lace veil. "I. I love. You," he said, struggling to kick with his legs enough to keep his head above water.


    But Zedya said nothing as she held his hands while the water rose higher and higher. The candles in the cave went out one by one, and each time a light faded away, Lennart sank deeper, his head plunging briefly beneath the surface of the water before he bobbed back up just enough to draw a shuddering breath.


    Then, between the moment the last light went out and the moment he plunged beneath the surface of the pool one last time, everything changed. Terror gripped his heart as he could no longer recognize the shadowy figure with the predatory amethyst eyes who held his hands. Her figure twisted and grew until she was three times the bearish man¡¯s size, looming over him with a burning gaze that held only hunger.


    The looming figure¡¯s shadowy hand twisted into a claw that plunged into his chest, gripping his heart in talons of ice and squeezing, as if it wanted to wring every last drop of blood from his body.


    This was wrong, his mind screamed. This wasn¡¯t his Zedya at all! This was a terrifying creature spawned by the abyss, sent by death itself to reap his life! His heart trembled in the creature¡¯s grasp, and pain flooded his body, sharp, shooting pains that pierced every limb and every organ, tearing through his innards like the claws of a wild beast, ripping at his flesh with savagery whose only purpose was to cause greater and greater pain.


    "Zedya," he whispered as the horror from the abyss tore into him. "I. Love. You."


    The words he spoke were his last as the creature ripped his heart from his chest, casting it aside and staring at him with cold, cruelly burning amethyst eyes before both hands struck like snakes, piercing through Lennart¡¯s soft brown eyes and shredding his mind until nothing remained but darkness and two haunting amethyst flames.


    In the cave, Lennart¡¯s body twitched, one leg thrashing about before it suddenly stilled as the valiant soldier fought for control over his body. Each moment was clearly more painful than the last, and his face contorted in agony with hot tears spilling from his tightly shut eyes. And yet, no matter how much torment he endured, the arm holding Zedya to his chest remained calm and still, as if even in the depths of agony, he could not bear to disturb the woman he¡¯d given his heart to.


    Slowly, his limbs went still, and the tremors that rocked his body began to subside. His head hung low, and only the cavern wall that he leaned against prevented him from toppling completely to the ground. Warmth faded from his limbs and his chest, and the heart that had beat with such vigor just minutes ago slowed, trembled, and stopped.


    Atop him, Zedya¡¯s amethyst eyes had grown clouded in a euphoric haze as strength and vitality like none she¡¯d ever felt filled her being. The rich taste of a complete life flowed endlessly across her tongue, seasoned by moments of great joy and deep sorrow, victory and defeat, pride and shame, and wrapping around all of that, soft, silky, decadent love and dedication.


    Her body shivered in uncontrollable ecstasy as she savored everything that had made Lennart the man he was, and in that moment, she felt like she had reached deeper into the abyss within herself than she¡¯d ever dared to look, finding a vision of herself filled with the power of death and the ability to reap any life she chose. This, her body sang, was what it meant to be a vampire, and in this moment, she felt like she understood her power more than ever before.


    "Zedya," Nyrielle said sharply, her voice rippling with the power of the Voice of Command. Precious seconds ticked by, and she could feel Lennart¡¯s presence in this world growing weaker by the instant. Soon, it would be too late, but she refused to believe that Zedya couldn¡¯t see this through to the end. She only needed a little bit of help to set her feet back on the path that would lead to an eternal life with the man she loved.


    "Withdraw your fangs and feed your love," Nyrielle commanded. "Before it is too late."


    Nyrielle¡¯s words tore throught he haze that clouded Zedya¡¯s mind, dragging her back to the present where Lennart¡¯s body had grown cold and still, unmoving even as he held her close in his final embrace.


    "Lenny," Zedya said, pulling back from his wrist and staring at him with shaking eyes. Had she taken too much? Had she become so lost in the intoxication of her feeding that she had... No! Her mind refused to accept that she might have failed him for such a stupidly selfish reason as becoming lost in her own ecstasy!


    "Live, my husband," Zedya said, slicing deeply into her wrist with a sharpened nail and bringing it quickly to Lennart¡¯s lips. One drop fell, dark and crimson against Lennart¡¯s pale, bloodless lips, joined a second later by another drop and then a third. "Drink from me," she said. "And walk forever at my side."


    A fourth drop fell, then a fifth, but still nothing happened. Lennart¡¯s eyes remained closed, looking peaceful, as if he was sleeping, without the slightest twitch of dreams or nightmares to disturb his eternal rest. A sixth drop fell, followed by a seventh, and still nothing happened as the powerful soldier lay unmoving, immune to his wife¡¯s desperate plea.


    "Zedya," Nyirelle said, stepping out of the darkness at her progeny¡¯s side. "I have given you the Mesmerizing Gaze," she said, kneeling beside Lennart and carefully lifting the lids of his eyes with the gentlest touch she could manage. "If he cannot hear your voice now, then look deep within him and see the man who waits for you. Guide him back to you so he will drink."


    "Yes, Mistress," Zedya said, shifting in Lennart¡¯s embrace to cup his soft face with her free hand and blinking away the tears that filled her vision. "Lennart, my love," she whispered. "Share a vision with me. A vision of our home together."


    As she spoke, powerful energy surged within her as she drew on not only all of her own strength, but the strength she¡¯d taken from Lennart as well, fueling her power to draw someone into a world of her making.


    Drifting in darkness, Lennart struggled to remember who he was or how he¡¯d come to be in this strange, endless darkness. In the distance, he felt an irresistible pull tugging at him, urging him to sink deeper and deeper into the darkness, but somehow, even though he didn¡¯t remember why, he knew that surrendering to that pull would be the worst thing he could do.


    Before he could consider what he should do instead, two soft amethyst flames intruded in the darkness, filling it with a soft glow that felt otherworldly and unreal.


    "Lennart, my love," a pure, pleading voice called out to him, giving him back the name he¡¯d forgotten in the endless darkness. "Share a vision with me. A vision of our home together..."

 Chapter 519: The Life We Could Have

    Chapter 519: The Life We Could HaveDrifting in darkness, the two floating amethyst flames took shape, becoming a pair of brilliantly glowing eyes in the darkness before bathing the world of infinite shadow in a soft lavender light.


    The world illuminated by the strange light was still dark, appearing as a mist-shrouded forest in the depths of night. Sturdy cedar trees stood like sentinels made of shadow, their branches blocking out the pale moonlight from above. In one direction, however, the lavender light was brighter, revealing a small clearing and a strange cottage built next to the base of a towering cliff at the forest¡¯s edge.


    The cottage looked like it had been constructed in a human style, with a sharply slanted roof and a large stone chimney on one side, but the proportions of the house were clearly designed for much taller occupants than any humans Lennart had ever met.


    A wide, covered patio wrapped around the cottage, offering space for several visitors to take their ease on simple wooden benches, but in this strange world, only a single person occupied the patio.


    Lennart¡¯s breath caught in his chest as he glimpsed Zedya¡¯s delicate figure, rocking in a simple wooden chair with a set of long knitting needles held in her hand. The blanket she was knitting looked soft and comfortable, sized for an infant or small child, and a faint smile hung on her face as her hands moved methodically from one stitch to the next.


    But it wasn¡¯t the blanket that filled her gleaming amethyst eyes with joy, rather, it was the actions of the clearing¡¯s other occupants that held all of her attention.


    "Come at me together," a strong, confident-looking Lennart said as he tapped his chest with a pair of dulled fighting gauntlets. "Two people to bind and one to deliver a killing blow," he coached the young men before him. There were three young men on their feet, one from the Horned Clan, one from the Clan of the Great Claw, and one human, all dressed in padded training gear and holding blunted weapons while seven other youths sat on the grass nearby, waiting their turn for a lesson.


    "This is the life we¡¯ll have?" Lennart asked, turning to look at the amethyst flames in the shape of eyes, floating beside him as he stood among the trees. "Teaching young men to be soldiers?"


    "I said that I couldn¡¯t give you children," Zedya¡¯s voice said softly. "But if you want to pass down your skills, then we can take in young ones for teaching. As many as you¡¯d like," she said before the vision of the clearing shifted slightly and a second building, built as a small barracks or student¡¯s dormitory, appeared next to the cottage. "You could train the very best and the most talented, or those who have lost their own mothers and fathers to tragedies we couldn¡¯t prevent..."


    "I cannot give you children," she repeated. "But if you wish to raise a family of a different sort, then I will raise them together with you. It would be a good life, wouldn¡¯t it?"


    Zedya poured all of her strength into creating the best vision of this possible future that she could. In her vision, the young men and Lennart fought with intensity punctuated with laughter as her husband used vampiric strength and speed to outpace young warriors in the prime of their lives.


    He fought with careful, deliberate technique, spilling no blood and leaving only the occasional painful bruise to ensure that a lesson was learned. The young men watching did so with eyes filled with respect and admiration, watching every move with the intensity of a student seeing a precious lesson from a master.


    When the lesson ended, however, that reverence fell away, replace by friendly slaps on the back and good natured teasing, while the Zedya in the vision set aside her knitting to fetch cups of chilled water and hearty snacks for the young, would-be warriors.


    "It wouldn¡¯t be a bad life," Lennart admitted. "But you and I decided long ago, before we ever gave our hearts to each other, that children weren¡¯t part of our lives. I¡¯ve accepted that. There are others who can raise and teach the next generation of soldiers, they don¡¯t need me for that," he said.


    When he spoke, the vision of the clearing shattered, breaking into hundreds of shards before fading into the darkness of the void, returning him and the burning eyes to the world of endless emptiness. This time, however, Lennart felt less substantial than he did before, as if a part of himself had faded into the void along with the vision of a simple life caring for a different sort of family.


    "Then, perhaps something more like this," Zedya said, fighting to keep the growing strain from her voice as another scene bathed in lavender light took shape in the darkness. She¡¯d poured so much of her strength into the first vision that the force of its destruction hit her like a physical blow, with shards of the broken vision cutting into her mind like a rain of shattered glass. Still, if she couldn¡¯t give him a vision of the future worth returning for, if she couldn¡¯t entice him to drink the blood she was dripping on his lips even now, then it would be Lennart who faded away into darkness, lost forever from this world.


    This time, Lennart found himself staring at a version of himself dressed richly in a silk tunic and fine lace, his arms wrapped around Zedya¡¯s alluring figure while sitting on a luxurious sofa in an opulent theater. On a stage before them, musicians played a stirring requiem while dancers dressed as ghosts moved gracefully across the stage.


    "Is this High Fen City?" Lennart asked, blinking at the sudden shift from the humble cottage to the rich life of luxury. It wasn¡¯t that he hadn¡¯t seen such places before, in fact, he¡¯d often been present while on duty while Lady Nyrielle attended such events, but it was the first time he¡¯d seen himself as a member of the wealthy audience with no duty other than to enjoy the show before them.


    "It¡¯s High Fen City, or Dark Wood City, or wherever we want to visit," Zedya¡¯s voice said from beside him as the Zedya in the vision selected a tasty morsel of peppered lamb from a tray beside her and fed it to the husband she adored. "We have all the time in the world to seek out any part of life that we wish to enjoy. All you need to do is come with me on the journey, and we can fill our nights with whatever we please."


    "Zedya," Lennart said, looking at the happy couple in the private box as they enjoyed the show. "Is this because you want the kind of life that Lady Nyrielle is giving Lady Ashlynn?" he asked, raising a brow at the glowing eyes. "Is this the life you want?"


    The vision of the future she presented tugged at his memories of the nights they¡¯d spent together in High Fen City, enjoying what may have been their last days of peace before plunging into war against the Lothians and the powerful church behind them. They had been magical evenings filled with unique delights, but the most delightful part hadn¡¯t been the exotic meals or the dazzling shows... it had been the mesmerizing woman who held his arm and snuggled close to him on each and every one of those evenings.


    "It¡¯s a life worth living for isn¡¯t it?" Zedya said, her voice getting caught in her throat before crumbling into a series of soft sobs. "But right now, you¡¯re fading away," she forced herself to say, fearing that Lennart had lost track of what was happening to his body as his spirit grew ever closer to being devoured by the abyss. "You don¡¯t have to come back for theaters and fancy dates, you can come back for a simple life in a quiet place, or..."


    Distantly, the sounds of battle filled the air as the scene shifted once again. This time, it revealed Zedya and Lennart, each wearing darksteel fighting gauntlets, wading into the front ranks of a human army, leading a charge to reach the powerful human inquisitors hurling flames from their hands alongside Templars wielding blinding blades of violet light.


    "If this is the place where we belong," Zedya said in a voice filled with sadness and determination, her figure fully manifesting next to Lennarts as she wrapped her arms around his muscular upper arm and holding him tightly. "Then I will fight by your side in every battle so you¡¯re never alone when we face our enemies, whoever they are."


    At this point, to step so fully into his world that she appeared beside him, she knew that she was risking her own life in an effort to reach him. If he fell here, devoured by the abyss that awaited all of those who fell beneath her fangs, then she would fall with him, perishing together as a husband and wife whose love was fated to end as soon as it began. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "As long as I have you," she whispered, clinging to his arm and pulling, as if she could haul him physically back to the world of the living, even though she knew such a thing was hopeless. "As long as you¡¯ll come back to me..."


    "But Zedya," he said softly, turning to look at her with gentle, chocolate brown eyes. "This isn¡¯t what I want from life with you either..."

 Chapter 520: The Life He Chose

    Chapter 520: The Life He ChoseThis entire time, the apparition of Zedya floating next to him had felt so vague and distant, it was hard to feel drawn to the visions of their future that she presented. He felt like he was watching a play on a stage, but the people he watched were only actors, and toward the end of the vision of the battle she presented, they had become little more than puppets. It wasn¡¯t really him, and it wasn¡¯t her either.


    Now that Zedya had pushed even further, however, fully immersing herself in this space between life and darkness, he finally glimpsed the woman he¡¯d given his heart to. The woman that he would give anything for and that he wanted to offer a lifetime of companionship to. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Zedya, my wife," he said, licking his lips and speaking with a voice that had grown hoarse and strained. His body felt weak and frail, lacking the strength it should to protect and hold his love close, and he had no warmth to offer her even as he wrapped his large, furry arms around her. But even if he lacked warmth, there was still plenty of him left that he wanted to give to her, to share with her, now and forever after.


    "It doesn¡¯t matter where we are," he said, licking his lips again and tasting a strange metallic sweetness when he did. The taste reminded him of the kiss they¡¯d shared after they spoke their vows, but somehow it was... softer. More delicate. It evaporated from his tongue like spun sugar as soon as he licked it, leaving him wanting more. More of her taste, more of her touch, and much, much more of her time.


    "It¡¯s enough if I¡¯m here with you," he said, his voice gaining strength as a pale amethyst flame, resembling a reflection of Zedya¡¯s eyes, began to glitter in the depths of his soft, brown eyes. "It would be enough to have time with you all to myself," he said, reaching up to caress her cheek, wiping away the faintly pink tears that spilled from her eyes.


    Around them, the faintest of illusory walls shimmered into existence, holding back the darkness of the void as they transformed into a simple, familiar room. Cold stone walls, a neatly made bed with crisply folded sheets, a single dresser, and a desk were enough to make it clear that it was the room of a soldier, one who had spent a lifetime in service to his Lady rather than building a life for himself.


    "Just you," Lennart said, reaching out with trembling hands to unlace the corset that trapped Zedya in her dark wedding dress. His hands shook and his fingers fumbled with the laces before he turned a sharp claw on them, cutting his way through the laces as the amethyst flames of desire within his eyes grew brighter.


    "Anywhere, anything, as long as we¡¯re together..." he said in a voice that grew deeper, husky with hunger and desire.


    "Oh Lenny, my dearest Lenny," Zedya said softly, cupping his face with one hand and drawing his lips toward hers. Their lips brushed against each other for less than a breath before she redirected his face, placing her bleeding wrist before his lips and squeezing out several drops of intoxicatingly sweet, deep crimson blood.


    "I will give myself to you," she whispered. "I will give all that I am to you, but it has to start here," she insisted. "Drink deep, my husband. Drink deep and I will be forever yours."


    In the soft glowing light of dozens of candles in the cave where the ceremony had been held, Nyrielle hovered behind Zedya. Her eyes had become inky pools of darkness filled with countless tiny motes of light as though her eyes contained the infinite night sky. On one finger, a small pinprick was slowly healing, leaving behind the faintest trace of blood.


    A matching crimson stain adorned the corner of Zedya¡¯s lips, all that remained of the offering Nyrielle had given her when it became clear that Zedya intended to risk it all to pull Lennart back from the darkness of the abyss.


    Now that things had come so far, there was little that Nyrille could do to protect her progeny and the man Zedya had given her heart to, but if it was this much, giving her the extra strength to reach more deeply into the abyss than should have been possible for anyone other than a True Vampire... After everything Zedya had done for her in a lifetime of service, it felt like far too little, but she hoped it would be enough.


    Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted as a dark wind began to swirl through the room. Plants that lost their leaves in winter wilted early, curling back into a slumber that would last through the months of darkness and protecting themselves from the inescapable death promised by the abyss.


    Moving slowly, as if she was only barely aware of her body in the waking world, Zedya brought her bleeding wrist to Lennart¡¯s lips, squeezing out several fresh drops of blood that fell directly into her dying husband¡¯s open mouth. This time, however, Lennart drew a deep, shuddering breath before licking his lips, savoring the metallic sweetness that contained his wife¡¯s enduring love and her deep anxiety that this night together might be their last.


    The next moment, Lennart¡¯s eyes snapped open, burning with the hot violet flames of hunger and desire. His arms twitched, regaining the strength to fold themselves around Zedya¡¯s slender figure in a gentle embrace while his mouth locked onto her bleeding wrist, drinking deeply of the life and power his wife offered freely.


    The dark wind in the room spun faster and faster, turning into a tempest that shrank in size even as it increased in intensity until the winds wrapped entirely around Zedya and the first of her progeny. Amethyst flames spilled from Zedya¡¯s eyes, swirling in the darkness like a dancer with a torch in the dark of night.


    With each swallow of potent blood that flowed past Lennart¡¯s lips, the whirlwind grew faster, and the pressure of its power grew greater. The hunger burning in his chest grew greater and greater, but with every passing second, that hunger turned further and further away from Zedya¡¯s bloody wrist and toward the dark, intoxicating power swirling around them.


    "Breathe it in, my dear," Zedya whispered, stroking the soft fur of Lennart¡¯s face with her free hand. "This is the power you¡¯ve called from the void. This is the strength you need to resist the pull of the abyss. Breathe it in. Make it yours, and live with me forevermore."


    It took an act of tremendous will to pull free of Zedya¡¯s wrist, but when he did and took a deep breath, the power of darkness poured into his body, filling his lungs, his muscles, his bones, and every fiber of his being with a strength and vitality greater than anything he had ever felt before.


    The surge of power was followed by brief, searing pain in his eyes as the dark, chocolaty pigment in his gentle eyes burned away, leaving behind irises that were pale lavender with flecks of darker amethyst that gave them an enchanting, otherworldly depth and marked him as one of Zedya¡¯s progeny.


    "Raaaaaaaaawwwrrrrrr!"


    Lennart lifted his head up high, his lavender eyes fixed on the darkness of the night sky above. He roared in pain and adulation, and his heart finally beat again. One powerful pulse for every ten it would have beat before, but strong and resonating with an echo of the heartbeat of the woman who gave him this rebirth.


    "Lenny," Zedya whispered, cupping his face and turning his gaze back to her. "My husband," she said, a smile forming on her lips even as pinkish tears spilled from her eyes. "You¡¯ve done it."


    "We¡¯ve done it," Lennart corrected, holding her tightly in his arms as he lowered his lips to hers. "We¡¯ve done it together. Now and forevermore," he whispered before his lips brushed hers, savoring her taste as they fell into a world that belonged to them and them alone.


    "Congratulations," Nyrielle said softly as she faded into the darkness. In the nights to come, there would be much for Lennart to learn as he entered his blossoming period, but those things could wait for another night.


    Now, it was the lucky couple¡¯s wedding night, and Nyrielle had no intention of lingering to disturb them when they no longer needed her. Now, she only hoped that things were proceeding as smoothly for Ollie as they had for Zedya and Lennart... The Vale of Mists had just welcomed its first new vampire in more than two decades.


    If it could also welcome a new witch... It would change the fate of the Vale just as much as Lennart¡¯s transformation, if not more. But more importantly, it would add a pillar of strength and a precious guardian at her darling Ashlynn¡¯s side, and it would help to fill the hole in her lover¡¯s heart that had formed when she was torn away from her family by someone¡¯s callous act of betrayal.


    It shouldn¡¯t have mattered as much as it did, and the Nyrielle of old would certainly have laughed at the anxious woman who flew through the night to reach her lover¡¯s side, but the Nyrielle of tonight was a different woman than she had been before.


    Tonight¡¯s Nyrielle didn¡¯t care whether or not the Vale of Mists gained a powerful witch, as long as Ashlynn didn¡¯t have to suffer the loss of someone she had chosen to welcome into her coven and her family... that would be enough to fill Nyrielle¡¯s heart with warmth for several nights to come.


    But unlike what she was able to do with Zedya, offering a bit of her strength to ensure her success, there was nothing she could do to help Ashlynn tonight. She could only put her faith in the former kitchen boy and hope that Ollie was as capable as Thane said he was.

 Chapter 521: Five Blows From a Knight (Part One)

    Chapter 521: Five Blows From a Knight (Part One)At the water¡¯s edge in the village he had worked so hard to bring to life, Ollie knelt in the soft, sodden soil, facing the least likely priest he¡¯d ever met.


    Across from him, Ignatious knelt in the mud, holding a golden emblem of a sun surrounded by waving flames as he prayed over the soon-to-be knight.


    "Though his vigil begins in darkness,


    And his feet have carried him far from home,


    His heart was forged for greatness,


    And his virtues are bound to his bones."


    Ignatious¡¯s prayer wasn¡¯t propper according to any of the forms of the Church but the fallen Inquisitor didn¡¯t care what the Church considered proper. What mattered was that the words he spoke on Ollie¡¯s behalf were true, and after his conversation with the young man, he firmly believed every word he said.


    "Though Faith is not among your virtues, Ollie," Ignatious said, tucking the emblem away and placing a firm hand on the flame-haired youth¡¯s shoulder. "I believe that you embody the heart of our faith more than many Templars I have known. It is godly to meet your struggle, and it is pious to turn first to yourself before you turn to others for help, but in this world, no one is cursed to struggle alone."


    "This village is proof of your struggle and of your virtue," the fallen priest said, gesturing at the villagers watching in the distance. "Many of them would have succumbed to their struggle without your help, and many of them must have struggled to accept help from someone who looked like the enemy who drove them from their homes."


    "I only did what needed doing," Ollie said, shaking his head at the vampire¡¯s praise. He¡¯d heard several times that he had accomplished something that few people believed was possible, but Ollie struggled to see any great deed in what he had done.


    "Others could have done better. I know that Lady Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t have struggled so much," he said, glancing beyond the priest to the witch who was preparing to take him into her coven.


    "Seeds fall where the wind takes them, but only the ones who land where they can thrive grow into mighty trees, Ollie," Ashlynn said as she stepped forward to help the young man to his feet. "This was your place to thrive. Mine was somewhere else. Be proud of what you have done because you were in the place where you could help at a time when you were needed."


    "Listen to Lady Ashlynn," Thane said with a warm laugh as he inspected the young man before him. Despite the chill night air, Ollie wore only a simple woolen tunic that hung to his shins, belted at his waist with a plain leather cord, with simple leather shoes on his feet. The tunic had been left undyed, kept free of any mark or sigil that would proclaim status or affiliation as the soon-to-be knight took on the appearance of a humble pilgrim.


    "Humility is all well and good," Thane said, his voice growing stern as if he were an elder brother dispensing sage advice. "But a knight must know the limits of any virtue lest they turn into a vice."


    "I understand," Ollie said, shaking his head as he turned to face the vampire knight. "Is it time for a reminder?"


    "Cheeky brat," Thane said, reaching out to ruffle the young man¡¯s hair affectionately. He¡¯d promised Ashlynn and Nyrielle that he would do his best to forge Ollie into a worthy knight during their absence, but he¡¯d never expected that the young man would come so far so quickly, or that he¡¯d come to admire the former kitchen boy in the process. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ollie was unlike any of the spoiled scions of powerful lords who had come before him to learn the ways of a knight in the years before Nyrielle took him under her dark wing. He had none of their arrogance, nor any of their delusions that he was better or more talented than anyone else simply because of an accident of his birth.


    Nor was he like the hardened mercenaries who earned their knighthoods with mountains of trophies taken from the bodies of the Eldritch people they slew. Those men thought that they were already among the strongest, greater than the soft knights who had been offered every opportunity when they had carved their bloody way to the top.


    No, Ollie was a young man who dreamed of a future where he could do more for the people who mattered to him, and he put in twice the work that anyone asked of him. He never objected to a lesson, never argued that he didn¡¯t need to learn, and always followed a lesson with at least three useful questions.


    The young man was so impressive that Thane had begun to consider taking the young man as one of his own progeny in a few years if he could survive the wars to come. Thane had seen first hand how Marcel suffered for becoming a vampire so young and the moments of life that were forever denied to him haunted the Black Merchant to this day, even if he pretended that they didn¡¯t.


    Thane would never wish such a fate on Ollie, but that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t take such a promising knight under his own wing if the opportunity was still present when he was old enough to withdraw from the mortal world. Instead, however, Ashlynn had opened an even more suitable path for the flame-haired youth, and though Thane felt a slight pang of sadness that he wouldn¡¯t be able to take in a young apprentice as his first progeny, he couldn¡¯t begrudge the young man for choosing the path that his liege lady offered.


    "Yes, you scamp," Thane said, cracking his knuckles and looking at Ollie with a dark, teasing smile. "It¡¯s time for a reminder. But because I¡¯m feeling generous," he added, lowering his hands to his side. "You may strike the first blow."


    Standing off to the side, Heila frowned in confusion before she tugged at Ashlynn¡¯s sleeve, standing on the tips of her cloven hooves to whisper a question to her lady.


    "What is this about striking a blow?" Heila asked, genuinely confused by the way the two men were acting as Ollie shook his arms loose and cracked his own knuckles before squaring off as if he were about to punch Sir Thane.


    "The traditions of knights are the traditions of men," Ashlynn said, shaking her head as she watched Ollie throw a heavy punch that struck Thane solidly in the chest, though the blow didn¡¯t seem to bother the powerful vampire in the slightest. "This isn¡¯t one that I can understand, and every time I asked my father, he told me, ¡¯If you were a man, you wouldn¡¯t have to ask.¡¯"


    "That, that makes no sense at all," Heila said, frowning as Ollie shook his hand out, wincing slightly in pain and cradling his injured hand. "Are they just going to stand there hitting each other? Ollie is still just human, for him to fight against Sir Thane..."


    "It¡¯s not a fight," Ashlynn said, shaking her head as she watched Ollie settle into a relaxed, defenseless posture before Sir Thane. "It¡¯s the first lesson taught by a senior knight to a junior one on the night of his vigil," Ashlynn said. "And knights believe that important lessons are best learned through pain."

 Chapter 522: Five Blows From a Knight (Part Two)

    Chapter 522: Five Blows From a Knight (Part Two)Standing before Thane, Ollie¡¯s cheeky smile had left his face as he flexed the fingers that still stung from striking the vampire knight¡¯s chest. If he didn¡¯t know better, he¡¯d have thought that Thane was wearing armor under his tunic, but the truth was that the vampire before him had strengthened his body until even a sword swung by a common soldier had little chance of harming his alabaster flesh, much less a punch from a kitchen boy.


    "Now it¡¯s time for a reminder," Thane said, wasting no time and striking out with the back of his hand, landing a blow on Ollie¡¯s chest that was so heavy that a meaty -THUMP- echoed across the still water of the pond and Ollie stumbled back for several steps before falling to his backside.


    "This blow is a reminder," Thane said formally. "No matter how high you rise, without your horse, without your armor, without your weapons, without your title, without your soldiers, you are just a man like any other. A man who can be beaten until he falls. Remember this blow and remain humble, even when you have donned your armor and your weapons and sit high above the masses atop your steed."


    "I will remember," Ollie said, pushing himself up off the ground and coming to stand before Thane again. His chest stung with what would likely become a spectacular bruise, but compared to the vampire¡¯s full strength, the blow he¡¯d landed on the young man¡¯s chest could barely be considered a light tap.


    No sooner had Ollie arrived before him than Thane struck out again with the opposite hand, landing a second blow on Ollie¡¯s chest with yet another resounding -THUMP- that was so loud, even the villagers in the distance winced at the sound of it.


    This time, Ollie thought he¡¯d prepared himself for the powerful slap, bracing himself against the impact and riding the force of the blow as Thane had once taught him, breathing out to reduce the pain of the strike. But it seemed like the vampire had anticipated all of those things and increased the strength of the blow to overwhelm the young man despite everything he had done.


    "This blow is a reminder," Thane repeated. "It takes courage to stand again when you know you may be hurt for returning to the fray. Sometimes, your courage will win you the day, but whether you win or lose, your courage will bring you pain. Remember this lesson, and never lose the courage to rise again, no matter how badly you fall or how greatly you fear your adversary."


    "I will remember," Ollie said stubbornly as he stood once again, staggering for a moment as he sucked in several deep, shuddering breaths before he returned to stand before the vampire once more.


    "How many times is he going to do this?" Heila asked, fidgeting with the wand at her waist while her mind flipped rapidly through the healing incantations she¡¯d learned that could be used on a person she couldn¡¯t touch. The healing wouldn¡¯t be as effective at a distance, but so long as no bones had been broken...


    "Three more," Ashlynn said, interrupting the diminutive witch¡¯s thoughts. "He needs to bear the pain of these strikes until his vigil ends, to remind him of his virtues throughout the long night and day of his vigil. That¡¯s why they¡¯re called ¡¯reminders.¡¯"


    -THUMP-


    The third powerful blow struck Ollie, but this time, Thane struck Ollie¡¯s belly, knocking the wind from him and robbing him of the strength to stand. Rather than staggering back under the force of the blow, Ollie¡¯s knees buckled, slamming into the soft earth at Thane¡¯s feet as the powerful vampire towered over him.


    "This blow is a reminder," Thane said for a third time. "All strength fades with time and with neglect. The day that you are satisfied that you are strong, when you cease in your discipline and your training, whatever strength you have will slip away and your body will fail you when you need your strength the most."


    "Do not neglect the training of your body," Thane admonished as Ollie staggered to his feet. "Or the maintenance of your armor and the care and feeding of your horse. These things are all a part of your strength, and without your strength, your protection is worthless to the people who depend on you to keep them safe."


    "I. Will. Remember," Ollie said, fighting to draw breath when his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to function and stars swam before his eyes.


    Before the young man could stand up straight, Thane struck again, this time lashing out with a foot that struck behind Ollie¡¯s ankle, knocking him off balance and dropping him directly on his back.


    The blow was so unexpected that Ollie didn¡¯t have time to prepare himself for it, and once again, the force of the impact, even on the soft soil, knocked the wind from his body and covered his vision in darkness until he could roll to his side and draw a ragged, shuddering breath.


    "My lady," Heila cried, turning to look at Ashlynn with wide eyes. "Isn¡¯t this too much? He still has to receive his seed and..." Heila¡¯s voice trailed off as she saw Ashlynn looking on with an unflinching gaze, as though she was forcing herself not only to see every moment, but rooting herself to the ground rather than interceding. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Clearly, the Mother of Trees found no joy or even pride in the way her future witch endured this rite of passage, but equally, she had no intention of interrupting. Ollie had chosen this, and if she interceded now, it would only insult his conviction to become her knight.


    "This blow is a reminder," Thane said, looking down at the shuddering young man on the ground as he fought to rise to his knees. Standing might be beyond Ollie at the moment, but if he couldn¡¯t stand, he would at least kneel.


    "The world is filled with injustice, and your enemies may not fight you fairly," Thane advised once Ollie knelt before him. "No matter how much injustice you encounter in the world, you must never turn away from it, and you must never run from it. To be a knight is to stand for what is just even if everyone around you has fallen to cruelty, trickery, and deceit."


    "I. Will remember," Ollie said, placing one foot on the ground and pressing off his knee with both hands as he straightened his back to stand before Thane once more.


    Seeing the young man rise once again, a faint smile tugged at Thane¡¯s lips despite the solemnness of the mood. Balling up a fist, Thane took a half step forward, rooting himself to the ground and gathering his strength for what promised to be the most powerful blow he would land on the young man this evening.


    Heila¡¯s heart leapt in her throat and she drew a breath to cry out, intending to say that Ollie couldn¡¯t withstand such a powerful blow, to protest that he was still just a human, not yet a witch to endure the power of a vampire¡¯s strength, but Thane¡¯s fist flashed out faster than she could speak, tearing through the air as he struck toward the center of Ollie¡¯s chest.


    -THWAP-


    The sound of Thane¡¯s strike was strangely high-pitched and sharp, and when Heila looked closely, she realized that the vampire knight¡¯s fist had done nothing more than strike the fabric of Ollie¡¯s tunic, leaving him completely unharmed despite the power and speed of his punch.


    "This blow is a reminder," Thane said, tapping Ollie lightly with the back of his fingers before setting a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder. "No matter how overwhelming the odds, no matter how fierce the foe, never give up hope. You may triumph when you were certain of defeat, you may find allies among your enemies, and you may find mercy where you expected only cruelty," Thane said.


    "The world is often different from what it seems," Thane said with a smile that was matched by a wide, toothy grin on Ollie¡¯s face. "Hold on to your hopes and your dreams. Share them with others and fight to bring them to life. Even when it seems impossible, never lose hope."


    "I will remember," Ollie said, his pale eyes shining as he looked at the most unlikely mentor a young knight could ever ask for. Never in his life had he dared to hope for a moment like this, and even though the first step had been wild and outlandish, following Ashlynn into the wilderness to escape the Summer Villa, every step since then had been one he took with his own two feet.


    He had a dream, and tonight, he was about to step firmly onto a path that the kitchen boy he¡¯d been a year ago wouldn¡¯t have dared to hope for. For the past several months, he¡¯d been plagued by doubts. Doubts about whether or not he could keep the seemingly endless tide of refugees fed. Doubts about how he could bring so many different clans together to share one place. Doubts about whether or not he was even worthy of making the attempt.


    But now, as he stood before Sir Thane, those doubts melted away one by one. He had done each and every one of those things to reach this moment. His challenges weren¡¯t over, and he still had doubts about the trial to come...


    But he also had hope, and that was all he needed to keep moving forward toward his dreams.

 Chapter 523: Ollie’s Trial Begins

    Chapter 523: Ollie¡¯s Trial BeginsAshlynn shook her head at the distinctly ¡¯manly¡¯ display between Ollie and Thane. Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t understand why standing in place and allowing a friend to hit you was an important ritual, but the look on Ollie¡¯s face told her that even if she didn¡¯t understand, he did.


    The moment shared between the old knight and the young one forged a bond unlike any other. It transformed Ollie from a simple kitchen boy into the latest link in a chain of proud knights stretching back to before the founding of the Kingdom of Gaal. Thane had once stood where Ollie did, receiving a painful lesson from his father and a reminder of his virtues. His father had once stood in the same place, receiving his lesson from the future Lothian Marquis who had in turn received a lesson from another knight...


    The chain continued unbroken for generations, and even if Ashlynn couldn¡¯t understand the ritual, she could understand the significance of carrying on such an ancient tradition. And so, even though it was uncomfortable to watch, it warmed her heart to see that it meant so much to Ollie.


    "Sir Ignatious," Ashlynn said, turning to look at the fallen Inquisitor. "It¡¯s time for everyone else to leave. Take the villagers away. What happens next belongs to witches alone."


    "Your, your Dominion," Milo said, his tail drooping in anxiety when Ignatious approached him. "I thought that I would be allowed to stand with Ollie during his vigil. Do I, do I really need to go?"


    "You care for him deeply, don¡¯t you?" Ashlynn said, smiling at the cloaked archer. While Heila hadn¡¯t hesitated to voice her concerns during Thane and Ollie¡¯s exchange, the Heartwood archer¡¯s tail had thumped the ground nervously each time the flame-haired youth was struck and his whiskers twitched with worry every time his human friend stood back up.


    "I owe him more than a life can repay for what he¡¯s done for my family," Milo said, lowering his head and casting a glance at Ollie that was filled with deep emotion. "Standing with him during his vigil is a small way of showing my respect, and since he¡¯ll be defenseless while he faces the trial of the Cypress seed..."


    "It¡¯s fine that you stand over him during his trial," Ashlynn said warmly, reaching out and resting a hand gently on Milo¡¯s shoulder. "But the ritual itself is a thing of witches. You can return once his trial has begun."


    "We¡¯ll watch over him together," Heila added, stepping up beside Ashlynn. "I hope Ollie doesn¡¯t need as much time as I did," she said, looking anxiously at the tall young man. "But it will be good if we can take turns resting, and you can tell me all about him while we watch over him."


    "I see," Milo said, bowing deeply to the Mother of Trees. "Then, I¡¯ll help Ign- Sir Ignatious to clear away the villagers," he offered. "It may be better if it comes from me."


    Sitting in one of the remaining cedar trees within the village, Darragh frowned as one of the flat-tailed demons accompanied the strange Inquisitor and the vampire knight in dispersing the villagers. He¡¯d hoped to use his vantage point in the tree to watch whatever was about to happen so he could bring it back as proof that Lady Ashlynn wasn¡¯t the Holy Lady that Eamon seemed to have become convinced she was.


    Months ago, she¡¯d briefly conjured light, demonstrating a sacred power to the frightened captives after Sir Broll¡¯s death and cementing herself in the older hunter¡¯s mind as a sacred figure. Darragh, however, wasn¡¯t so easily awed by the single demonstration, and everything he¡¯d heard since then only did more to convince him that the ¡¯miracle¡¯ she¡¯d shown them wasn¡¯t as impressive as they¡¯d thought it was at the time.


    He never would have believed it then, but after six months spent living among the demons, he¡¯d come to understand far more about their twisted world than he ever wanted to. They called Lady Ashlynn a Witc,h and the flat-tailed demons seemed to have an extra level of reverence for the ¡¯Mother of Trees.¡¯


    Now, she was about to perform some kind of ritual, and he wanted more than anything to be able to describe it in detail to the Owain Lothian and the priests of the Church when he managed to escape this place. That kind of information would be worth several gold sovereigns at least, and it would prove that she was a charlatan who used dark, demonic powers to masquerade as a holy woman.


    Only, there was no way he could escape the sharp senses of the vampire who had come to chase people away, refusing to allow anyone to bear witness to whatever dark magic was about to unfold. So, rather than get himself in trouble trying to conceal himself when he knew it was pointless, Darragh gave up, dropping to the ground and slapping his hands together to brush off the faint layer of cedar bark and sap that clung to his hands after climbing the tree.


    Tonight, he wouldn¡¯t be able to get his proof, he thought as he returned to the small cottage he shared with Eamon. But he¡¯d been a hunter for more than enough years to develop his patience. Here in the Vale of Mists, the demons kept very few secrets from each other, sharing in a sense of unity that came from fighting a common foe.


    After months of hunting for the refugees, they had accepted Darragh as ¡¯one of them¡¯, at least enough that they rarely guarded their tongues around him when they spoke. Now that Lady Ashlynn had returned, he was certain that she would use her dark powers openly in this place that she thought of as ¡¯safe¡¯ from prying eyes. All he had to do was listen to what the demons had to say about her, and sooner or later, he¡¯d find his opportunity.


    And once did, he thought with a dark smile on his lips, he¡¯d finally cast off the zealot Eamon to escape from this place of darkness and demons, returning to Lothian City in triumph and earning his rewards for everything he¡¯d suffered since following Sir Broll on that disastrous hunt.


    Meanwhile, at the water¡¯s edge, Ollie and Virve stood in companionable silence while they watched Ashlynn and Heila making their preparations. Several stones had been gathered for the ritual, and the pair of witches were carefully placing them along the edges of a circle that Ashlynn had scribed in the soft soil.


    "Virve," Ashlynn called out after the last stone was placed. Already, she could feel the power of the world gathering around the circle, flowing from the dark soil, the nearby trees, the water of the pond, the chill autumn air, and even from the cook fires that still burned in many of the homes of the village. Everything came together in this place, pensively waiting to be given shape and form under Ashlynn¡¯s command.


    "You have the offerings from the carriage?" Ashlynn asked, looking at the five smaller circles spaced evenly around the perimeter of the large circle.


    "I do," Virve said, nudging Ollie gently on the shoulder so as not to prod any of his tender wounds and bringing him along with her to retrieve a small wooden box. "A skin of water, a feather, a knot of wood, a candle and a polished stone," the bearish woman said, opening the box to show Ashlynn that the contents were all present.


    "I can tell what you¡¯re thinking," Ashlynn said, reaching out to take Ollie¡¯s hand as he frowned at the contents of the box.


    Ashlynn had told him that she had prepared offerings for this ritual in order to aid his transformation into the Cypriss Witch but hen he looked at the contents of the box, most of them looked like odd trinkets or ordinary items. Only the dark feather and the polished stone seemed to hold any kind of special significance but what it was that made them special, he truly couldn¡¯t tell.


    "These things may look ordinary," Ashlynn said, picking up the small waterskin and holding it carefully in both hands. "But people likely said the same of you. But just like you¡¯re no ordinary kitchen-boy, these things are more than they appear. Help me place them," she said, holding out the water skin for him to take. "And I¡¯ll explain what each of them is for."


    "Tonight, you take your first step on the path of a witch," Ashlynn said with a smile. "Your hands should help to shape the ritual, don¡¯t you think?"


    "I do," Ollie said, taking a shallow breath that still felt painful after the strikes he¡¯d received from Sir Thane and trying to still his racing heart. Everything up to this point had been normal, even if Thane wasn¡¯t your average knight and Ignatious was a strange priest, the things they¡¯d done with him followed the structure of things every knight had done on the evening of their vigil for hundreds of years.


    This, however, was something entirely different that would transform him in more ways than one. After taking this step, he wouldn¡¯t just become a knight, but a witch and a member of Ashlynn¡¯s coven. The pressure felt mounted until he had the illusion that the whole of the world had gathered to hear his next words, weighing his decision to stop now and accept life as an ordinary knight or to continue forward and become something more. But Ollie had made his decision days ago, and even though he felt tremendous pressure, his next words spilled easily from his lips, setting his feet firmly on the path of the Cypress Witch. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Just tell me what to do," Ollie said simply, holding the water skin and looking at the circle with eyes that were firm and determined to succeed, no matter what this trial demanded of him.

 Chapter 524: Unique Offerings (Part One)

    Chapter 524: Unique Offerings (Part One)"A witch¡¯s power is drawn from the elements of the world," Ashlynn explained as Ollie held the waterskin. "I brought the water in that skin from the Briar, the home of the Mother of Thorns and a place where many cypress trees grow," she explained. "That water has nourished cypress trees for hundreds of years, and now it will nourish you during your transformation."


    "I thought that the Briar was far away," Ollie said, suddenly holding the waterskin far more gingerly, as if the waterskin were filled with precious, expensive wine. "You brought water all the way from there, just to use for me now?"


    "It froze in the High Pass," Heila added with a slight smile. "And it broke the jug it was in. But Lady Ashlynn saved it and made sure she didn¡¯t lose a drop."


    "Ah, hem," Ashlynn said, her face heating slightly in embarrassment. She¡¯d treated it the same way that sailors treated fine wines when transporting them across the sea, packing it carefully in a box stuffed with straw, but she hadn¡¯t considered what would happen when they entered the oppressive cold of the High Pass. Thankfully, she noticed before they left the High Pass, and she was able to preserve it, or she would have had to choose something else to use for Ollie¡¯s ritual.


    "You should place the waterskin in the circle closest to the pond," Ashlynn said, trying to move on from discussing her mistakes. She knew that she still had much to learn and stumbling over something so small was a good reminder of that, but this wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on those stumbles. Not when Ollie needed to have confidence going into the ritual.


    "No words are necessary," Ashlynn added. "But please be respectful in your actions as you place it. None of these items is as simple as they seem, and even humble water can become a source of great power when it carries the desires and intentions of one person to nurture another."


    "Can I, can I add a little bit of water from the pond to the waterskin?" Ollie asked. "This pond, it¡¯s only here because the Heartwood Clan built a dam over the stream. It nurtures the whole of the village and it¡¯s a treasure to the people who I protect. If it¡¯s all right, I¡¯d like to add a bit of it to the ritual as well."


    "Sir Ollie," Virve said with a complex look on her face. For Lady Ashlynn to go through so much effort in making arrangements for this ceremony, it didn¡¯t sit well with her to make adjustments at the last minute, especially when Ollie hadn¡¯t learned that much about witchcraft in the days since Lady Ashlynn offered to take him into her coven. "Witchcraft requires careful planning and delicate balance. I don¡¯t know if you should make changes or..."


    "It¡¯s fine, Virve," Ashlynn said with a gentle touch on the bearish woman¡¯s arm. "When it¡¯s your turn, if something is important to you, we¡¯ll make adjustments as well. The elements of the world have no desires, no wants, or needs to command them. We have to supply our desires when we shape the energy of the world, and if Ollie desires it, then including the waters of this pond will only strengthen his bond to the working." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Go ahead, Ollie," she said as she took the next item out of the box and waited for him to add a small cup¡¯s worth of water to the waterskin before he placed it in the stone circle closest to the pond.


    "Thank you," Ollie said, already feeling more anchored to the energy that had begun to gather in the circle. "What¡¯s next?"


    "This is a special kind of candle," Ashlynn said, conjuring a small flame to light the candle before placing it in his hands. "I asked Georg to make it using tallow from the kitchens, but only after the tallow had been used for cooking," she explained. "It isn¡¯t the best way to make a candle, but I wanted to bring flame from the kitchens to stand for your fire. I hope you don¡¯t mind my decision," she said, giving him a questioning look and wondering if he would want to add something else or make a change this time as well.


    "No," Ollie said, taking the candle carefully and inhaling the unique scent of fat used for frying that had begun to emanate from the candle. It was a familiar, comforting scent that had accompanied him from the kitchens of Lothian Manor to the kitchens of the Summer Villa and even the Vale of Mists, and he couldn¡¯t think about anything better.


    "The next one is my gift to you, Little Brother," Heila said, taking up a piece of polished marble from the box and presenting it to him. "The walls of the arena in High Fen City were damaged in one of my battles there. This is a piece of those walls. This bit of stone has seen the bravest champions to ever fight in the arena for hundreds of years," she explained as she pressed the polished stone into his hands.


    "When you explained your virtues, I had the thought that, in addition to standing for the power of Earth, it could also represent your virtue of Courage," she said, holding his hand tightly until the stone began to carry a trace of the warmth of their bodies. "I, I hope it doesn¡¯t disrespect your traditions of knighthood," she added softly, searching his pale eyes for a sign of how he felt about the gift she¡¯d chosen for him.


    "No, it, it¡¯s perfect," Ollie said, clutching the stone tightly as his eyes grew misty. Ashlynn and Heila had told him that a coven was like family, but it wasn¡¯t until right now, as he witnessed the lengths that they had gone through to prepare for him, that he began to truly appreciate how much that meant.


    For weeks and months, they¡¯d prepared these things, thinking carefully about each and every offering they¡¯d prepared, ensuring that they not only served their purpose in the ritual, but that they also reflected the things that were most important to him as well.


    Ollie blinked away the moisture collecting in his eyes as he knelt to place Heila¡¯s stone gently in the center of the circle of stones that the diminutive witch pointed to. When he turned back to Ashlynn, however, he was stunned to realize that the object in her hands wasn¡¯t nearly as simple as he¡¯d thought when he first glimpsed it within the box.


    "Is that," he started, finding it difficult to speak around the lump that formed in his throat as he gazed at the object in Ashlynn¡¯s hands. "Who made that?"

 Chapter 525: Unique Offerings (Part Two)

    Chapter 525: Unique Offerings (Part Two)"If there had been more time," Ashlynn said apologetically as she held up the knotted piece of wood from the box. "I would have asked Juni or Milo to carve this into something more elaborate. This is a cypress knee, part of the barrier the cypress tree builds around itself to keep floods from washing it away," she explained as she turned the gnarled piece of wood over to reveal a carefully carved shield.


    "I know you haven¡¯t chosen a crest yet," Ashlynn said. "But I hope that you¡¯ll stand as a shield at my side, helping me to protect the people who need a guardian the most. When Juni presented me with the hairpin," she said, touching the pinecone-shaped carving on the pin that had found its home in her hatband. "I asked her to carve this for you. Seeing your village, though," she added with a faint smile. "Perhaps she should have carved it into a strong wall that could protect an entire town instead."


    "No," Ollie said, tracing his fingers gently along the carving and feeling the intense devotion that Juni had carved into the knot of wood when she shaped one side of it into a shield. A wall might protect the village, but from the way Milo¡¯s wife had shaped the shield, it was clear that she wanted to present something taht would keep him safe.


    To the displaced members of the Heartwood clan, Ollie had become more than just a protector of their village, he had almost become a member of the clan itself. During the summer campaign against Liam Dunn and Loman Lothian, Juni had worried about Milo¡¯s safety, but she¡¯d also been secretly grateful that Ollie hadn¡¯t been forced to join in the battles.


    She knew that his time would come one day, and when it did, she would worry about both her husband their young savior. So when the Mother of Trees asked her to carve an emblem of protection into a piece of wood for Ollie¡¯s ritual, she¡¯d poured her heart and hopes for his safety into the small piece of cypress, hoping to shield the young man from any harm that would come his way.


    "No," Ollie said thickly as he ran a thumb over the carving one last time before placing it in its circle of stones. "This is perfect."


    "This is the last one," Ashlynn said, holding out a slender, dark feather that seemed to drink in the pale light of the waning moon and the distant, twinkling stars. "I hoped she might be able to be here to explain this herself, but Mistress Nyrielle has other matters to attend to tonight," she said.


    For a moment, a wave of anxiety passed through her as she thought of the very similar ritual that Nyrielle was overseeing this night. If all went well, Lennart would die tonight, rising again as Zedya¡¯s first progeny. Ashlynn hoped that Nyrielle¡¯s continued absence didn¡¯t mean that something had gone wrong, but even if something had, there was nothing she could do to help with it now. All she could do was proceed with Ollie¡¯s ritual and, if something had gone wrong, she would do her best to comfort her lover afterward.


    "This is one of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s feathers," Ashlynn explained, her voice growing more solemn than it had with any of the other gifts. "It¡¯s common to use a feather from a bird to represent wind in this ritual, and Heila and I had collected feathers from birds who roosted in cypress trees for this purpose. Nyrielle¡¯s feather, however, carries something special."


    "She called them the ¡¯Winds of the Void¡¯," Ashlynn said, setting the feather carefully in Ollie¡¯s hands so he could feel the trace of otherworldly energy that clung to the feather. "They blow from a place beyond death and bring with them the power of the grave."


    "Why, why would I want to add something like that to my ritual?" Ollie said. His hand trembled as he held the feather, and he could feel an almost haunting chill wind flowing from the feather as it shook in his hand. "This is..."


    "It¡¯s a reminder," Ashlynn said, stepping forward to steady his hand that held the feather. "A reminder that a man who has chosen to stand for Justice will one day be an executioner. When the time comes that you must slay men who threaten all that you hold dear, she wishes to give you the power to condemn them to the darkness of the void, so that they may never trouble the good people of this world again."


    "She also wants you to know that she considers you to be part of her family," Ashlynn added, placing a hand gently on Ollie¡¯s bruised chest to feel his racing heartbeat. "You have a place within my family as a member of my coven, but with this, she is accepting you in her family, the same as her own progeny. She cannot give you the strength of a vampire the way she¡¯s done for me, but she can give you this."


    For several moments, Ollie stared at the dark feather in his hands. For something that should be lighter than air, it suddenly felt heavier than his darksteel cleaver. Lady Nyrielle was right, and clearly Lady Ashlynn agreed with her.


    So far, Ollie had managed to avoid needing to fight and kill, but once he became a knight and a witch, the day would come when he needed to spill blood and take lives. Even if he did nothing with the rest of his life other than rule over this already large village, there would come a day when he may need to sit in judgment over a criminal and claim a man¡¯s life as punishment for his crimes.


    The feather was a reminder that he was taking on responsibility not only for protecting life, but ending life when it was necessary. The thought was uncomfortable but... Thane had often told him it was better for people who had the strength to take lives to be uncomfortable with it rather than becoming callus and numb to it. So long as it was an uncomfortable burden to carry, it was a sign that he understood that it shouldn¡¯t be done carelessly. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    If Nyrielle¡¯s feather had felt light in his hand, it would have been a sign that he wasn¡¯t worthy to wield such power. As is, while it wasn¡¯t comfortable, he could accept it in the spirit that it was offered.


    "I understand," Ollie said, nodding firmly at Ashlynn before carrying the feather to the final circle of stones that awaited it. The moment he did, the air itself seemed to grow heavy, and each of the offerings began to emit a faint, dark-greenish energy that carried the scent of damp earth, humid air, and tender young cypress needles.


    "Good that you understand," Ashlynn said, gesturing to the larger circle of glowing stones. "Then it¡¯s time to enter the circle...."

 Chapter 526: Within The Circle (Part One)

    Chapter 526: Within The Circle (Part One)Power hummed in the air, ready and waiting to be shaped by the desires of the witches who had called it here. Wood, Earth, Water, Air and Fire, each one of them pulsed and swirled through the circle of stones, feeding and strengthening each other in a cycle that was as old as time itself.


    As Ashlynn prepared to enter the circle, the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat fluttered within her chest, surging with warmth and exultation, and quivering with the release of long-held tension. The feeling was so sharp and clear that it brought a shimmer of moisture to Ashlynn¡¯s eyes and a smile to her lips.


    "Zedya has succeeded," Ashlynn said warmly, provoking answering smiles from Heila, Virve, and Ollie. "It¡¯s a good omen for our own work, but do not lose your focus," she cautioned, taking a deep breath to calm her heart and stepping across the boundary of the circle of stones to begin the formal ritual.


    "In this circle, I name myself Ashlynn, the Mother of Trees," Ashlynn said, speaking in a slow and steady cadence. "My heart is strong, and the seed is grown. I¡¯ve come to birth my heart¡¯s desire, to raise a witch and bring him home. He is my friend, my knight, and the second of my coven. This seed I¡¯ve grown belongs to him alone."


    As Ashlynn spoke, power rippled within the circle, creating the illusion that the stones had become the edges of a pool of deep water that rippled and danced around her ankles as she strode toward the center of the circle.


    From the center of her chest, a pale jade green light began to glow, spilling ghostly seeds of light from the seed she¡¯d carried for many months. Where the seeds fell in the deep pool of magical energy, the gnarled knees of a mighty cypress tree rose, creating a path that led to the center of the circle.


    "In this circle, I name myself Heila, the Willow Witch," the diminutive witch intoned formally as she strode into the rippling pool of magic. "My blade is sharp, my hands are sure. I¡¯ve come to witness a witch¡¯s birth, to lend my strength and power too. But the bond we forge," she added, looking between Ashlynn and Ollie, smiling widely as she recalled the time Amahle had said these words for her in the depths of the Briar. "It belongs to you."


    In her hands, Heila carried Snow Fang, bringing with it a trace of chill, wintery energy that briefly filled the circle with a glittering flurry of silvery-green ghostly snowflakes. As the flakes fell, they seemed to catch and gather on the branches of an unseen tree, rapidly accumulating until they formed the wide trunk and mighty branches of a cypress tree, sheltering everyone within the circle from the harshness of the world outside.


    Now that the way had been prepared, both women turned to face Ollie, each of them extending a hand to welcome him into the circle of power that called out to the flame-haired youth like a siren song. The circle promised far more than just power to the young man.


    Already, he could feel the warmth and familiarity of family flowing from the circle, as if he had returned to the servant¡¯s chambers he shared with his parents after a long day toiling in the kitchens.


    "In this circle, I name myself Ollie. I enter with open hands and open heart," he said in a voice that rang out pure and strong, carrying across the waters of the pond and reaching the trees beyond. "I¡¯ve come to receive a seed, to join the coven of the Mother of Trees, to become her Cypress Witch and her knight as well. My life is hers to command. Tonight, I¡¯ve come to make this stand."


    Striding into the circle, Ollie kept his head high and his back as straight as a sword, moving with the confident demeanor of a knight clad in armor despite the pain of the bruises Thane had left on his body just minutes ago.


    The power rippling around his ankles felt like nothing he¡¯d ever experienced before. Compared to the sorcery he had learned so far, entering the pool of energy felt like he¡¯d stepped from a small bathing tub into a vast mountain lake, rippling with waves stirred by the wind, warmed by the fires of an ancient hotspring, with soft, yielding earth beneath his feet and sheltered by a mighty tree that connected all of those things together.


    When he knelt at Ashlynn¡¯s feet, he felt himself sinking into the soft earth, as though he had taken root on that spot, just beneath the surface of the power that rippled within the circle. Slowly, with hands that felt stiff and heavy, like the branches of a mighty tree, Ollie unlaced his tunic, pulling it aside to reveal a pale, muscular chest marred by two fresh yellowish-purple bruises.


    "This will hurt," Heila said, stepping between Ashlynn and Ollie, placing the tip of Snow Fang¡¯s sharp edge against his flesh. "If you need to, you can cry out," she added softly as she looked into his calm, pale eyes. "There¡¯s no shame in crying out. It doesn¡¯t make you any less of a man or a knight or anything." S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ollie said, smiling softly at his ¡¯big sister.¡¯ Even kneeling, he was still taller than her, but at least he wasn¡¯t so much taller than her that she couldn¡¯t reach his chest with the knife. "I¡¯m ready," he said firmly, trying to hold to the stoic strength of a knight in the face of the chill emanating from Heila¡¯s snow-white blade.


    A bone-deep chill sliced through his skin, spilling blood that felt scalding hot following the cold touch of the blade. The combination of sharp pain, bitter chill, and hot blood left Ollie momentarily dizzy, his vision turning dark, the world growing unsteady. Moments later, however, Heila returned to him, this time standing behind him and bracing his shoulders to keep him from toppling over.


    "Brace yourself," Ashlynn said, kneeling in the soft soil in front of the young man. At some point, Ollie realized, while he¡¯d been overwhelmed by the pain of the wound Heila had placed in the center of his chest, Ashlynn had gained a matching one. Only, in addition to crimson blood flowing from her wound, a brilliant, almost blinding jade-green energy poured from the wound, casting stark shadows across the ground and pulsing with power more intense and concentrated than anything Ollie had ever felt before.

 Chapter 527: Within The Circle (Part Two)

    Chapter 527: Within The Circle (Part Two)Reaching into the wound in her chest delicately, Ashlynn extracted a small, delicate seed that had grown seemingly hundreds of tiny roots. Gingerly, with her eyes closed tightly against the pain that felt as though she were pulling the bones out of her chest one by one, she tugged the seed free of her own heart.


    As she did, her bow-shaped lips moved from one word to the next, her voice speaking in a steady rhythm to guide the energy toward the person who would come to bear the seed she¡¯d nurtured all these months.


    "By wood¡¯s deep strength and sentinel¡¯s stance, S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Where guardian¡¯s shield and power advance,


    This seed of might, forged firm and true,


    Holds gifts of magic, from me to you.


    Beside my heart it learned to stand,


    With balanced powers at your command."


    When Ashlynn chose the Cypress tree for Ollie, she didn¡¯t just choose any cypress seed. There were a number of varieties available in Amahle¡¯s vast library of seeds, and so Ashlynn chose the one that she felt would offer Ollie the greatest flexibility in choosing his path. Already, she felt like she¡¯d taken far too firm a hand with him, tearing him away from the life he had known and the parents who loved him. When it came to his seed, though there were some things that she would decide for him, what she most wanted to give to Ollie was the ability to choose for himself how he would develop his witchcraft.


    Where Heila¡¯s seed of witchcraft was anchored in the Willow¡¯s strengths of wood and water, Ollie¡¯s seed contained great power and strength of wood, but it kept the other elements in near-perfect balance.


    While some cypress trees kept their needles evergreen year-round, Ollie¡¯s seed had come from a tree that turned flame red in the autumn, shedding its needles and growing them back fresh and even stronger the following spring. With needles that would dance and burn in the wind and roots that sank deep into water and soil, he could bridge between many forms of magic and find a path that belonged to him and him alone.


    The seed contained everything Ashlynn wanted to give the young knight. The strength and might of wood to shield himself from harm, the cycle of rebirth and renewal that came each year to restore himself from the wounds he might suffer in the battles to come, and the infinate possibilities to go in any direction he chose, fighting where he believed it was right to make his stand and protecting any who were precious to him.


    When she took that seed, containing all of the power and strength along with the hopes and cares she¡¯d placed within it over the past several months, it seemed almost eager to reach out to Ollie, extending its roots toward the wound in his chest even before she could place the seed in his chest.


    For Ollie, the pain of receiving the seed was greater than anything he¡¯d ever felt in his life. Worse than accidental kitchen burns, and far, far worse than any injury he¡¯d ever suffered when training with Thane and Marcel in the months since coming to the Vale of Mists.


    The roots of the seed burrowed deep into his chest, like white hot awls, piercing into his flesh and twisting, writing ever deeper until they wrapped around his heart, pulling the seed into his flesh. The pain didn¡¯t stop there, however. Instead, each time his heart beat, he felt like the pain radiated outward, following the flow of his blood as it radiated out to every inch of his body.


    The pain was so great that, no matter how stoic and strong he wanted to appear before his liege lady and ¡¯big sister¡¯ Heila, he surrendered to the pain, throwing his head back and howling in agony.


    "AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGG!!!"


    Standing outside the circle, Virve flinched at Ollie¡¯s cry, her claws unconsciously digging into the blankets she held, waiting for the ritual to end so she could help him rest.


    The young man hadn¡¯t made a sound during Thane¡¯s powerful blows, not even when that third strike had knocked the wind from him had resulted in more than a grunt as he struggled to regain his breath. She¡¯d seen seasoned soldiers cry out under less punishment than the heavy slaps handed out by the vampire knight, yet Ollie had stood tall and stoic through it all.


    But this... this was different.


    The veteran soldier¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the seed burrowing into Ollie¡¯s chest, her eyes trembling as she tried to imagine what it must feel like for the young man to roar in such agony. She¡¯d endured arrow wounds, blade cuts, and once, a crushing blow that had cracked the bones of her forearm, leaving her in a brace for almost a year while it healed.


    Pain had been her constant companion through decades of service, leaving a map of scars across her fur-covered body. Yet watching Ollie¡¯s face contort in agony, she wondered if any of her experiences would prepare her for what awaited her when her turn came.


    Would the Oak seed feel different than this Cypress one? Would her years of learning to endure and push through pain during battle serve her any better? Or would she, too, be reduced to primal howls, limited to wailing like a newborn cub before the power of Lady Ashlynn¡¯s witchcraft?


    "It¡¯s okay, Little Brother," Heila whispered, stroking his back gently with one hand while the other supported him, keeping him from toppling over as the seed spread its roots throughout his body. "Let it out," she said softly, releasing a spill of gentle silver-green energy from her hand on his back, numbing his body and easing the pain.


    "Rrrrrggghhh," Ollie groaned through gritted teeth, screwing his eyes shut against the pain and trying to endure even as his heart began to race and strange energy began to flow through his body. At times, the energy was calm, like the still water of a pond in summer, and warm, like the flames of a cookfire. Other times, it was fierce, like the stinging winds of winter, howling from somewhere dark and terrifying, carrying with it the sounds of whispering voices whose words were too faint to understand.


    But no matter how tightly he shut his eyes or covered his ears, there was no escape from the wave of forces tearing through his body, burrowing into his flesh and melding with his very bones as the roots of the seed spread within him.


    "There¡¯s no shame in surrendering now," Heila said gently, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow and pulling his forehead down to touch hers so she could ease the strain that tortured his mind. "The first part is over. Let me carry away the pain while you rest."


    "By willow¡¯s touch where gentle branches sway,


    Sweet rest and comfort wash all pains away."


    Heila¡¯s lips trembled as she spoke, her mind consumed with the effort of easing Ollie¡¯s pain without disrupting the ritual, but slowly, as she held her ¡¯little brother¡¯ close, the tremors wracking his body subsided and he slowly drifted off to sleep in her arms.


    "Virve," Ashlynn said, pressing a hand to the wound on her own chest and releasing a steady stream of emerald magic to slow the flow of blood. "It¡¯s safe for you to enter the circle now," she explained as the ghostly cypress tree and the rippling pool of energy were drawn into Ollie¡¯s slumbering body, fueling the transformation taking place even now within him. "Help Heila, lay him down."


    "Yes, my lady," Virve said, rushing forward with the soft blankets that Ashlynn had prepared for this night. Unintentionally, her claws had punctured the blankets in one or two places, leaving small holes as testaments to how anxious she¡¯d been watching Ollie struggle through the ritual.


    Ashlynn smiled softly while she focused on her own injuries. She watched Virve and Heila gently wrap the blanket around Ollie and ease him into a comfortable position to sleep. It wasn¡¯t the same as the way Heila had faced her own trial, but the differences weren¡¯t because Ashlynn looked down on Ollie¡¯s strength, or because she intended to baby him through this trial.


    For Heila, lying out on a sandy island in the middle of the Briar might have been acceptable in the midst of the summer heat, but Ashlynn had no intention of making Ollie¡¯s trial any harder on him than it needed to be. The cold and damp of the Vale of Mists would quickly sap Ollie¡¯s strength if they didn¡¯t care for him while he faced the trials that Ashlynn had prepared.


    And while knights like Sir Thane might see resisting the elements as a proper, knightly or perhaps a manly method of meeting their struggle during the vigil, when it came to the rituals of joining her coven, Ashlynn had a distinctly more ¡¯motherly¡¯ approach.


    Already, Ollie¡¯s eyes had fallen shut, and his mind had been drawn into the seed of witchcraft within his chest. The trials he would face there would be hard enough. From now until he emerged successfully, it would be Heila¡¯s job to care for him, as a big sister watching over her little brother.


    She would have help, of course. Milo would be allowed to return in the morning, and Ashlynn was certain that others would come to stand with him as well. She herself would visit as often as she could, but unfortunately, they had too little time for her to spend every minute standing watchfully over the young man¡¯s trial.


    She would stay with him until close to sunrise, and then, she would set things in motion for the next member of her coven. After all, it would be best for Virve and Ollie to complete their trails close together so they could grow and learn at the same time. All she had to do was visit the Ancient Oak, and hope that it didn¡¯t harbor any of the lingering dangers that had come along with the Ancient Willow.


    If it did, then Virve¡¯s trial would be at least twice as hard as Ollie¡¯s... and if that were the case, then the veteran soldier¡¯s success was anything but guaranteed.

 Chapter 528: Strip Off Your Armor

    Chapter 528: Strip Off Your ArmorThe moment Heila¡¯s witchcraft washed over him, carrying away the pain that tormented his mind and body, Ollie found himself falling into a deep darkness as the seed within his chest drew his mind into a world filled with power that felt young, vibrant, and full of potential.


    At the same time, the place left him feeling anything but relaxed, as though the energy rippling through the darkness had yet to decide if it should yield and submit to Ollie¡¯s desires or turn on him and use him as soil in which to grow and strengthen itself.


    "Hello, Ollie," a familiar, feminine voice called from the darkness.


    Suddenly, a jade-green light blossomed in the darkness, shimmering from thousands of cypress needles in a strange, flooded forest. Ollie found himself standing barefoot and knee deep in the warm, still water with soft, silty soil squishing between his toes as he turned to face the woman who had spoken.


    There, he found Lady Ashlynn, dressed in a scandalously short skirt and sleeveless tunic, wearing a witch¡¯s hat that seemed to hold half a garden¡¯s worth of twigs, flowers, leaves, and stalks of grass in neatly tied bundles. It looked strangely fitting for the odd place he found himself, and at the very least, it wouldn¡¯t become as heavy and sodden with water as his own heavy breaches and the padded gambeson that he found himself wearing in the oppressive heat of the flooded forest. But still, did she have to sit so... provocatively as she looked down on him from her perch above? Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "So, these are cypress trees?" Ollie asked, turning his gaze away from Lady Ashlynn before his eyes could linger further on her soft, creamy thighs or slender calves and instead focusing on the strange trees and the labyrinth of gnarled wooden structures that grew around them. "They¡¯re... different from what I expected."


    "Many things seem to be different from what you expected," Ashlynn said. "You¡¯ve come here dressed for war, but where is the enemy you need your armor to fight? There are no beasts in the water here," she added, tossing a stone playfully into the water nearby and splashing the startled Ollie in the process. "Strip out of all that, you¡¯ll be more comfortable then."


    "My, my lady," Ollie said with a pained expression on his face as he faced her, struggling to keep his eyes where they should be, particularly as he looked up at her from below. "It, it wouldn¡¯t be proper," he said lamely. "Not when you¡¯re dressed like that."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, summoning a lightweight scarf and draping it across her legs as she regarded him from her seat on the cypress knee. "What is it that you think I¡¯m asking you to do?"


    "You, you¡¯re asking me to strip down, aren¡¯t you?" Ollie said, genuinely puzzled at her question. "I, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s right. What, what would Lady Nyrielle think if she knew I was looking at you when you¡¯re dressed like this? If she knew that I had stripped down when you were barely wearing anything at all? I, I don¡¯t want to make her angry, and I don¡¯t want to disrespect you. So, even if it¡¯s a little uncomfortable for me, I can endure like this..."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn interrupted. "I¡¯m not asking you to strip all that off just so you¡¯re naked here with me," she said, shaking her head in mild disappointment. "I¡¯m asking you to strip all that off because, even though this is your vigil, you need to learn the lessons of a witch, and you can¡¯t do that while you¡¯re clinging to the armor of a knight."


    "I know that the seed is painful," Ashlynn said gently. "And because of that, your defenses are up. That¡¯s why you¡¯re wearing your armor, even in this heat. But you need to put that down and open yourself up so you can learn. I have a tunic that you can change into if you¡¯d like, and some shorts as well," she added, conjuring a neatly folded outfit of light cotton fabric that was favored by many among the ancient clan when working in the humid heat of the summer months.


    "You¡¯re not going to watch, are you?" Ollie asked, shifting uncomfortably as he began to work at the buckles on his heavy, sodden armor. "You know, sometimes, I think you and Lady Heila forget that there¡¯s someone joining the coven who isn¡¯t a woman... Or are you doing this just to tease me?" Ollie asked, his face turning bright red as he forced himself to ask the question that had been weighing on him since Ashlynn and Heila had shown him the scars on their chests from where they carried seeds of witchcraft.


    He understood now, after experiencing the pain of receiving a seed, why they might have some pride in such a scar. He was certain that he¡¯d show his own scar to Sir Thane some day now that he understood what it might feel like to gain a scar in battle, but when it came to Ashlynn and Heila, they seemed to have no sensitivity to where those scars were located, or the effect that revealing them had on the poor young man who was joining their coven.


    "We¡¯re not teasing you, Ollie," Ashlynn said a touch sadly as she felt Ollie¡¯s mind spiralling in several different directions. "But it seems like you¡¯ve misunderstood something. Maybe it¡¯s because you don¡¯t have any siblings of your own? I only have my little sister, but Heila has several brothers and sisters. How guarded do you think we are about our bodies when we¡¯re around our own family? Do you think we hide everything away under layers of peticoats and shawls? In the comfort of our own homes?"


    "But, but that¡¯s different," Ollie stammered. "Those are siblings that you grew up with from when you were young. Now, I, um, that is," he said awkwardly, searching for words that would explain his discomfort at being so close to such a beautiful woman, one that he respected so much, when she was wearing so little.


    "But that¡¯s why I¡¯m asking you to strip off your armor," Ashlynn said. "This isn¡¯t just about stripping off the literal armor you wear when you wade into battle. I¡¯m asking you to strip away the walls you¡¯ve built up that keep a kitchen boy separate from a noble lady. Or the heavy armor that keeps a knight kneeling at his liege lady¡¯s feet."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said gently. "Your trial and your lessons begin when you can set all that down, and look at me like part of your family. Heila and Virve, too. The way you look at Milo and Juni and the others in your village. Not as your Lady. Not as a woman. But as just Ashlynn, part of your family within the circle of our coven."


    "I see," Ollie said, his face burning a deep shade of red as Ashlynn pointed directly at the source of his discomfort.


    Unknowingly, he¡¯d placed her on a sort of pedestal after their escape from the Summer Villa. In the months of her absence, he¡¯d often looked up to her as a sort of ideal. She was brave and courageous, and in his mind, she had become like the great queens of legend, capable of charging into battle alongside her knights and inspiring everyone who glimpsed her beauty, on or off the battlefield.


    But in the months that they¡¯d been apart, while he¡¯d driven himself harder and harder to be worthy of the trust she¡¯d placed in him, he¡¯d built up the image of Ashlynn in his mind more and more, until she became not only the perfect liege lady, but the most amazing and beautiful woman he¡¯d ever known as well.


    At some point, his thoughts of her had strayed somewhere they shouldn¡¯t have gone. Somewhere he knew was inappropriate, especially since she already had a great love in her life, and yet... his body was honest in its reactions, even if he wasn¡¯t honest with himself.


    And when it came to moments like this, when she was trying to draw him closer into the family of her coven... rather than recognizing the way she¡¯d lowered her guard around him, he¡¯d lashed out because of his own discomfort seeing her so relaxed and open around him.


    "I¡¯m sorry," he said, tugging at the last of the buckles on his heavy, padded gambeson and dropping the sodden garment into the warm water around his ankles. "I, I thought that I understood when you said a coven is like family, but... I wasn¡¯t acting like family should."


    "We all make mistakes, Ollie," Ashlynn said warmly, tossing the light cotton clothing to him. "And if my sister were here, joining our coven and watching you change," she added in a lightly teasing tone. "I think she¡¯d be just as tongue-tied as you. I think she really will be taken by the sight of you," Ashlynn added playfully. "She¡¯s always had a soft spot for heroic knights."


    "My Lady!" Ollie protested. "If you¡¯re my family, then she¡¯s my family, right? Please don¡¯t say those things!"


    "This is this, and that is that," Ashlynn said with a light, musical laugh. "And it doesn¡¯t matter right now either way since she isn¡¯t here. But, now that you¡¯ve shed your armor and lowered your defenses," she said, her voice growing more serious as she returned to Ollie¡¯s reaction to the trees.


    "You said that the trees were different than what you expected," she reminded him. "Is that a good thing?" Ashlynn asked. "Or are you disappointed?"


    Hearing her question, Ollie heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The beginning of the trial had already challenged him in a way he¡¯d never expected, and he was afraid that she¡¯d take the topic even further. But now, it seemed, they were headed for more expected ground and talking about cypress trees felt much, much safer than having a discussion about Ashlynn¡¯s little sister and her preferences in male companionship.


    Now, however, as he returned his gaze to the towering trees that rose up out of the warm water around his feet, he tried to find a way to explain what he felt, seeing the trees that would soon become the defining element of his

 Chapter 529: A Trial or a Lesson?

    Chapter 529: A Trial or a Lesson?"They¡¯re different," Ollie said as he studied the thick, wide trunks of the trees. When Ashlynn had mentioned them as trees that grew walls around themselves, his mind had conjured something that was a bit more literal than the lumpy, gnarled knees of the cypress trees, but when he thought about how they must help the tree to anchor itself against even the worst of storms and how thick the trunks of the trees themselves were, he realized that they truly were like giant sentinels, standing guard over the islands that dotted the flooded forest. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Will they grow in the Vale of Mists? Can I plant them in the village?"


    "They will, though they may not grow as large without your help," Ashlynn explained patiently. "Our winters will stunt their growth a bit. But they should thrive at the water¡¯s edge in your village. Or wherever else you¡¯d like them to grow, so long as you¡¯re willing to nurture them. Are you willing to give of yourself or to sacrifice the growth of others to nurture these trees so far from home?"


    "What?" Ollie said, turning back to look at Ashlynn with a face contorted in confusion. "Why would a person sacrifice the growth of others for these trees? Do I need them? As a source of power for my witchcraft?" he asked, trying to puzzle out why he would ever need to make sacrifices just to grow a stand of trees.


    He had seen Ashlynn sacrifice trees to heal herself once before, but when she did, she didn¡¯t sacrifice trees that were still growing. Instead, she sacrificed the ones that were weak and dying, and in the end, she still gave back a portion of the energy she¡¯d harvested to help new saplings take the place of fallen trees. Was that what she meant?


    "What happens to the grassland when a farmer sets his plow to sow his seeds?" Ashlynn asked, refusing to give Ollie a direct answer. "Or when he looses his hounds upon the foxes to protect his chicken coop?"


    "Some things die so that others can thrive," Ollie answered. "Is that all you mean? If I want to grow these trees, I¡¯ll have to sacrifice some of the cedars to make room for them?"


    "It¡¯s more direct when you do it with witchcraft than when a woodsman does it with an ax," Ashlynn said. "But in a sense, yes. Given the power to not only decide who lives and who dies, but who struggles and who thrives, are you ready to make those choices?"


    "I am," Ollie said resolutely and without a moment of hesitation. He¡¯d prepared for this and discussed it many times with Sir Thane and even Sir Marcel as he took charge of the village. He¡¯d slowly grown comfortable mediating the seemingly endless disputes that came from bringing so many different clans together in a single village, and he¡¯d come to take solace in a piece of advice Marcel had given him.


    "The best deals are often ones where no one is happy with the outcome, but everyone walks away with something they need," the Black Merchant had explained while Ollie recovered from the physical exertion of one of the stealthy vampire¡¯s knife-fighting lessons.


    "The happier one side is, and the more aggrieved the other side is, the more lopsided the deal," Marcel said. "If you are strong and your opponent is weak, you may be able to strike such deals, but if you force a man who is only temporarily disadvantaged to accept a losing deal too often, then he will return to bite you when you can least afford it."


    "So it¡¯s better to give up a little bit, to avoid making things too lopsided, even when you don¡¯t have to?" Ollie had asked.


    "It¡¯s best if everyone gets what they need, even if they don¡¯t get everything they want," Marcel answered. "That way, everyone has a chance to keep moving forward. And if you balance it right, the things each side loses are things that hurt less to lose than the pain of not getting what they need. That way, even though there are losses, both businesses are able to thrive."


    In the village, Ollie had been forced to navigate the needs of the Night Weaver Clan who wanted to preserve as many trees as possible to build their treehouse-like nests, next to the Horned Clan who wanted to clear cut space to establish clusters of huts for their sprawling families with seemingly dozens of children, and finding ways for them to assemble reasonable clusters around a smaller number of the largest trees in the village had been just one of the many places he¡¯d navigated asking people to make sacrifices so that everyone had enough room to thrive.


    "I am ready," Ollie repeated, looking at the vision of Ashlynn sitting on the cypress knee above him. "But, if I need help, if the decision is ever hard, then I¡¯m not ashamed to ask for advice," he added. "I don¡¯t have all the answers yet, and if Sir Thane doesn¡¯t even after a hundred years, then I¡¯m sure I never will. But I promise to listen and learn and to do my best," he said solemnly.


    "That¡¯s a good start," Ashlynn said, stepping off of the cypress knee and into a flat-bottomed boat that Ollie could have sworn wasn¡¯t there before Ashlynn stepped into it. "Come with me," she said, holding out a hand to help him out of the knee-deep water and into the boat. "It¡¯s time for a lesson in gardening, the way witches garden."


    "A lesson?" Ollie asked, frowning as Ashlynn began to use a pole to steer the boat through the winding waterways of the strangely flooded forest. "In gardening? But, I thought this was supposed to be a trial."


    "You will be tested, Ollie," Ashlynn said as they approached a small island that resembled one of Amahle¡¯s gardens in the Briar, though this one was filled with vegetables that had wilted in the oppressive summer heat, and many of the garden beds were overgrown with weeds.


    "But before you can pass a test, there are lessons you must learn, starting with this one," she said, gesturing to the garden. "A gardener could help the vegetables to thrive by pulling the weeds, building supports and shade, and all of the ordinary things that any person could do," she explained as she stepped into the garden and knelt beside a sad, shriveled plant bearing dark green and dull red peppers.


    "But you can do something greater," she said, touching the base of a prickly thistle with one hand while gently cupping the pepper plant with another. Jade-green energy began to flow across her arms as the thistle slowly wilted, turning brown and dropping it¡¯s seeds as the stalk became too weak to hold up the leaves and purple flower at the top of the long stalk. The peppers, on the other hand, grew plump and smooth under her hand as jade-green energy spilled down on the plant like a gentle rain.


    "Let me ask you something, Ollie," Ashlynn said as she stood and brushed the thistle seeds from her short skirt. "You¡¯ve worked hard to keep your villagers fed with only what you can grow in quickly planted gardens and first-year crops. I know the vale is plentiful and the other villages have helped, but has it been lean this year?"


    "At times, it was very lean," Ollie admitted, staring at the pepper plant in wonder. Not only did the peppers look shiny and ripe, but several new peppers had formed, growing from buds into the tiny beginnings of what was sure to be an extra harvest for this little pepper plant. And all Ashlynn had sacrificed to create the abundance was a weed that would have been ripped out by a gardener anyway!


    "Can you do this to the entire garden?" Ollie asked. Then, as he thought about the scale of Ashlynn¡¯s magic when she healed herself in the forest outside of Orava village, he swallowed heavily before asking something that seemed even more ridiculous. "Could you do this to an entire farm?"


    "Of course," Ashlynn said with a smile. "Let me teach you how," she said, tapping the ground next to her and gesturing for Ollie to join her.


    Of course, the trial that Ashlynn had prepared for Ollie wouldn¡¯t be as simple as learning how to weed a garden. There would be harder questions to follow as he came to understand the power of witchcraft. But just as she¡¯d started her trial in the healer¡¯s tent, Ollie would begin with the place that he had the strongest convictions, providing food for the people he cared for.


    Eventually, he would have to confront the limits of his new powers, just as she had. The question was, when he reached those limits and he had to choose, could he live with the consequences of those decisions?


    Thus far, Ollie¡¯s life had been difficult, but he had yet to lose anything truly precious as a result of his actions. If Ollie was going to take up the mantle of the Cypress Witch, he had to be capable of transforming himself into a guardian that continued to stand, even the losses he couldn¡¯t prevent piled up around his feet like the water around the roots of a cypress tree.


    "I believe in you, Ollie," the Ashlynn in his vision said as she began to teach him how to feel the energy within the plants of the garden. "And even if this is hard, I believe you¡¯ll grow even stronger once you¡¯ve learned these lessons."


    "Of course," Ollie said, cheerfully focusing on the cucumber plant surrounded by weeds, blissfully oblivious to the things that awaited him at the end of the trial. This wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d expected his trial to be like, but as long as he could learn how to take care of the people who mattered to him, then he intended to learn as much as he could, eagerly anticipating the look on Milo, Juni and Old Nan¡¯s faces when he returned after becoming a witch.

 Chapter 530: Needful Rest

    Chapter 530: Needful RestIn the stone circle outside the village, Ashlynn gently caressed Ollie¡¯s furrowed brow as she withdrew her energy from his body.


    The spirit of the seed of witchcraft that she¡¯d formed to test him would take the place that Cecile had taken in Heila¡¯s trial, shaping events and guiding the future witch through the challenges that would define his transformation from an ordinary person into a witch.


    Though she had shaped the spirit and directed it to confront Ollie with impossible tasks that he was doomed to fail, she had no way of knowing what specifically the young knight would face. The trial would be shaped by his hopes, fears, strengths, and flaws. It would teach him things that he needed to know and test him in ways he wasn¡¯t prepared for, but beyond that, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t say which of his inner demons he would be forced to face.


    The sound of vast wings fluttering through the air above pulled her from her musings, filling her heart with warmth as Nyrielle descended from the sky outside the border of stones. Seconds after she landed, Thane and Ignatious emerged from the village, flowing soundlessly through the darkness to arrive at her side.


    "Zedya succeeded?" Ashlynn asked as she left Ollie¡¯s side and the circle of stones, hoping to hear confirmation from Nyrielle¡¯s lips of what she¡¯d already felt through their bond. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "She came closer to failure than I would have preferred," Nyrielle said, reaching out to take hold of Ashlynn¡¯s hands and relishing the feeling of warmth that radiated from them. For a moment, her midnight eyes flared wide, and her nose twitched as she inhaled Ashlynn¡¯s familiar evergreen scent mixed with the sweet metallic smell of fresh blood infused with the potent magical energy of the ritual.


    The heady fragrance was like a perfect perfume that wrapped itself around Nyrielle in an intoxicating cloud, leaving her momentarily bewitched, staring hungrily at the young woman who had come to mean as much to her as life itself. Now, however, wasn¡¯t the time, no matter how much witnessing Zedya¡¯s feeding and Lennart¡¯s transformation had left her fangs craving a meal of their own.


    "You can take a taste," Ashlynn said, caressing Nyrielle¡¯s cheek and leaning forward, bringing their soft lips together for a brief peck before she leaned in closer, whispering into her lover¡¯s ear. "I can see the hunger in your eyes. I¡¯m not so weak from this that I can¡¯t give you a kiss."


    "The way you push yourself," Nyrielle said, licking her lips as her fangs grew longer. "I don¡¯t know if I can trust your words."


    "Then trust my body," Ashlynn said, pressing herself up against Nyrielle¡¯s lithe figure. "Feel the strength of my heartbeat," she whispered, wrapping her arms around the vampire¡¯s slender waist and clutching at the soft satin of the other woman¡¯s dress. "I won¡¯t rest if I think you¡¯re going hungry."


    "This is a different hunger, my darling," Nyrielle said, pulling back from Ashlynn enough to look into her lover¡¯s limpid emerald eyes. "And tonight, if I sample your taste, I may not be able to hold myself back," she added, biting her lower lip in an effort to restrain herself from indulging in her lover¡¯s sweet taste.


    "Oh, I, I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn said, her face heating with embarrassment as she pulled back from the vampire. "Do you need me to stand with you while you seek an offering from the villages? If helping Zedya and Lennart has left you at the edge..."


    "I¡¯m fine," Nyrielle said, smiling slightly at the flustered concern in Ashlynn¡¯s voice. "I will feed tonight, but not deeply. But first, I came to see young Ollie. Did my feather bring him any danger during your ritual?"


    "None yet," Ashlynn said, leaning up against Nyrielle and luxuriating in her lover¡¯s comforting presence even as she turned back to the slumbering youth in the circle of stones. "I imagine his trail will take a dark turn the further it progresses, but... he needs to confront true darkness. It¡¯s better that it happens here instead of later on."


    "From what Thane tells me," Nyrielle said, gently wrapping a dark, feathered wing around Ashlynn to shelter her from the chill autumn wind. "Your young friend has already walked into the darkness left in Owain Lothian¡¯s wake. He¡¯s been tempered more than you think."


    "I know he has," Ashlynn said, her brows wrinkling and her lips tightening as she looked at the helpless seaming young man. "But walking through darkness and ruin left in someone else¡¯s wake is different than casting others into darkness and taking a life with your own hands. It¡¯s different than failing and watching others suffer for your failures," she added softly as ghosts of lives lost in the High Pass danced through her eyes.


    "You¡¯ve endured much to transform yourself so quickly from a blushing young bride into a powerful witch," Nyrielle said softly. "Do all of your witches have to undergo a tempering like yours?"


    "If I do not temper them, then they break like brittle blades in the battles to come," Ashlynn said, thinking about the visions of unwinnable wars the Ancient Willow had presented her with when she prepared Heila¡¯s seed.


    She had seen the tragedies the future could hold, and even if she had to be harsh with Ollie and Heila, she felt it was far better that she be the one to temper them within the bounds of reason, instead of leaving it to the wars her enemies would start to provide the proving grounds where they had to forge themselves into warriors as well as witches.


    "Make space for rest," Nyrielle said, pulling Ashlynn into a tight embrace and tucking the shorter woman¡¯s head under her chin. "Let me take you home tonight. Thane and Ignatious can help Heila and Virve with any other work that remains. But you, you should come home now and rest, before you take up the transformation of your next witch."


    "I should stay, though," Ashlynn said softly. "At least until near dawn. This is his trial but also his vigil."


    "You have already done what you should," Nyrielle admonished, sliding her slender fingers under Ashlynn¡¯s hat and gently combing them through Ashlynn¡¯s soft, pale blonde hair. "Let Heila do her part, and Ollie¡¯s people in the village as well. Standing here with him on the first night of his transformation will do nothing for him. The only person who will benefit from it is you, and though it may comfort you to be here, it will diminish you in the days to come if you do not take your rest."


    "You won¡¯t let me be willful this time, will you?" Ashlynn asked, looking up at Nyrielle through her lashes and pouting.


    "I will indulge you as often as I can," Nyrielle said lightly. "But I¡¯ve come to realize that if someone doesn¡¯t tell you ¡¯no¡¯ when you take on too much, you will not stop yourself. Since no one but me in the whole of the Vale can tell you ¡¯no¡¯, then it falls to me to care for you, even when you don¡¯t wish to care for yourself, my darling."


    "Then, after you take me home, you¡¯ll go and feed?" Ashlynn said, clinging tightly to her lover and wishing she could at least offer a small bite to satisfy the vampire¡¯s hunger. But she understood that Nyrielle¡¯s refusal wasn¡¯t only rooted in her own doubts about resisting the hunger that would rise from such a feeding. She was also doing it to prevent Ashlynn from weakening herself further.


    "All will be taken care of," Nyrielle said, gently stroking Ashlynn¡¯s hair. "But first, you should rest. You can begin again when you wake. I¡¯ll even tell Georg to make you something special so long as you rest until midday."


    "You¡¯re back to bribing me with treats like I¡¯m a child," Ashlynn teased, giving Nyrielle¡¯s waist a playful pinch. "But, since you insist, I¡¯ll go home with you to rest," she said, surrendering to Nyrielle¡¯s firm insistence. "But, if you have time after you feed, come lie with me until the sun rises?"


    "Of course, my darling," Nyrielle said, scooping Ashlynn up in her arms and preparing to carry her away. "So long as you care for yourself, I will always indulge you, tonight and every night, for as long as I can call you mine."


    "You can call me yours forever," Ashlynn whispered, snuggling up close against her lover¡¯s chest. "For as long as we both live, I will always be yours, and you will always be mine."

 Chapter 531: A Time for Preparations

    Chapter 531: A Time for PreparationsThe following day, Ashlynn dutifully slept until the afternoon sun had turned soft and golden, shining through the vale¡¯s mists in soft edged rays of pale light.


    On her terrace, overlooking the valley beyond the ancient fortress walls, Ashlynn sat with Virve while they enjoyed a sumptuous feast prepared by an enthusiastic Georg. The bearish chef had used every technique at his disposal to assemble the flavors of fall in the Vale and place them all on artfully arranged plates for his most prestigious student and the soon-to-be Oak Witch.


    Sitting across the table from her, Virve dispensed with knife and fork, using her claws directly to disassemble the soft duck breast that had been slow clooked in its own fat along with fresh herbs and sharp pepper corns, resulting in a texture so delicate that it melted on the tongue like butter, with a flavor so rich that Ashlynn had struggled to eat more than a few bites of her before moving on to lighter dishes.


    "Did you sleep well, Virve?" Ashlynn asked, cutting a small piece of orange autumn squash that had been studded with cloves and basted with honey as it roasted. The flavor was just as delicate as the duck, but sweeter with a touch of earthyness that paired well with the goblet of red wine at her elbow. "Seeing a ritual like that, and being so close to the energy of it all, I can understand if it made it difficult to sleep afterwards."


    "I slept fine my Lady, er, I mean, Mother Ashlynn," Virve said awkwardly as she licked the juices of the duck from her claws. "I sleep when I can and wake when I¡¯m needed. I lost track of day and night years ago."


    "I wish I could say that it will be better now that you¡¯re joining the coven but..." Ashlynn said, sighing heavily. "I¡¯m starting to lose track of day and night myself. There never seem to be enough hours and I get so few to spend with Nyri," she said wistfully.


    "The winter should be a good time to slow down," Virve said, picking up bright pink lamb chop by the bone and placing the entire medallion of mutton in her mouth before biting down and tearing the meet free from the bone. The meat wasn¡¯t as tender as spring lamb, but somehow, under Georg¡¯s tender ministrations, he¡¯d still delivered a chop that was rich with an earthy flavor that blended with a crust of crushed walnuts and dried berries to create a flavor that exploded in the veteran soldier¡¯s mouth as soon as she bit down.


    "My clansmen might not hibernate through the winter," she added around a mouthful of mutton as she dropped the bone on her plate. "But we all tend to withdraw to our long houses to escape the dreary days and the snows when they come. No one wants to be trudging through the cold and wet when you could cozy up by the fire with your close ones. You should do the same," she suggested, picking up another walnut crusted chop and pointing it at Ashlynn to emphasize her point.


    "This winter will be for making preparations," Ashlynn said, shaking her head. "You and Ollie have much to learn in order to become true witches. Once the winter snows stop and the world begins to thaw, I intend to strike at the Lothians, before they have a chance to organize their army or receive reinforcements that have gathered in Blackwell County."


    "Our window of opportunity is too small," Ashlynn said, moving from the squash to her own mutton, though unlike Virve, she worked carefully with her knife and fork to cut delicate slices. "When we make our move, we have to secure victory swiftly or risk provoking a war that drags on for years with more deaths and tragedies every day."


    "I thought the humans only fought in the summer, like sensible people," Virve said, frowning at Ashlynn in puzzlement. "Or do you mean that we¡¯ll enter a cycle of wars every summer?"


    "This time it will be different," Ashlynn said firmly, poking the center of a mutton chop with the point of her knife. "This time, Lothian City will fall in our opening move. But capturing the city is the easy part," she said, carefully carving out the center of the mutton chop. "Holding it means we have to pacify the citizens within the walls."


    "If they don¡¯t accept our rule then we will constantly face small riots or uprisings from within the city," Ashlynn explained. "If we can¡¯t feed them through the winter, if we can¡¯t settle their grievances when they bring them to us for justice... If they feel like they have been conquered and enslaved instead of feeling that they have been welcomed into something greater and liberated from the crushing Lothian boot..."


    "The Vale of Mists has never conquered anyone like that," Virve pointed out, dropping a third bone onto her plate and picking up a bowl of creamy soup made from goats milk and smashed carrots, drinking it down as though it were a mug of ale. "Can you really make the humans accept our rule?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Ashlynn said, shaking her head at the way nothing seemed to disturb her next coven-member¡¯s appetite. Virve ate with gusto whenever the opportunity presented itself, but when the time came to fight, she was just as likely as Lennart to lead the charge, standing shoulder to shoulder with her companions when the fighting was at its fiercest.


    Sometimes, Ashlynn wondered if Virve even stopped to taste the food she was devouring, or if it was simply fuel, like logs thrown upon the hearth at night for warmth. The brief flicker of disappointment that passed over the bearish woman¡¯s face when she ran out of soup, and the way she licked at the edges of the bowl before setting it down, however, suggested that she¡¯d at least found a few favorites among the dishes Georg had prepared for them.


    "Do you think that your clansmen can act like an occupying army?" Ashlynn asked pointedly. "The hatred between the Vale and the Lothians goes back generations, and not without good cause," she said, clutching her wine goblet as she considered her own grudge with Owain Lothian and the knights under his command.


    "Can the people of the Vale walk the streets of Lothian City without causing problems?" Ashlynn asked. "Can they act as constables enforcing the peace without becoming tyrants who rule by the force of their arms?"


    sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 532: Virve’s Vengeance

    Chapter 532: Virve¡¯s Vengeance"Why use the men of the Vale for something like that?" Virve asked, picking up a crumbly, buttery pastry stuffed with spiced apples and drizzled with honey and crumbled goat cheese. "Send to High Fen City for mercenaries, or use Frost Walkers who have never fought humans for that. You¡¯re the Eldritch Lady of the High Pass. They¡¯ll listen to your orders, and they have no grudges."


    "But they don¡¯t speak the language," Ashlynn pointed out. "Here in the Vale, everyone has learned the common tongue of humans. Even the people living in the outlying villages can at least speak a few hundred words of it. Enough for simple conversations. But the people in the High Pass and beyond, they won¡¯t be able to understand the people we¡¯d need them to police." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯re making it too complicated, my Lady," Virve said as she munched on her pastry. "Go get some young ones from the Horned Clan. They always have houses that are overfull of young men and women just coming of age. Pair them up with a few Frost Walkers, Tuscans, or what have you and tell them that they¡¯re to act as translators. Humans will be too terrified of the bigger ¡¯demons¡¯ to cause trouble, but they¡¯ll speak to the Horned Clan because they¡¯re even smaller than humans are."


    For a moment, Ashlynn wanted to protest. It couldn¡¯t be that simple, could it? And indeed, the more she thought about it, the more problems she found with the plan. Misunderstandings would likely abound, and young men and women from the Horned Clan might be plentiful and intimidating, but they also wouldn¡¯t have the experience and wisdom to solve things with calm words instead of strong arms when they had powerful soldiers to act on their behalf.


    "Why use the young ones?" Ashlynn finally asked as she turned the idea over in her mind. "Why not call up older, wiser members of our community. If we¡¯re giving them soldiers to do the fighting, then they don¡¯t need to be young enough to fight themselves."


    "Because the young ones only hate based on their parents¡¯ stories," Virve said solemnly. "Everyone in the Vale has reasons to hate the humans. I¡¯m no different," she added, polishing off her pastry and licking her claws before tapping her chest with her thumb. "I can accept Lady Nyrielle and her progeny because they aren¡¯t human anymore, not really. They¡¯re vampires."


    "And me?" Ashlynn asked with a raised brow. "I¡¯m still human. So is Ollie."


    "No, you¡¯re not," Virve said emphatically, shaking her head in denial. "You¡¯re the Mother of Trees. You¡¯re a witch, not a human. And Ollie will be a witch soon, too. You¡¯re one of us, not one of them."


    "But I was one of them," Ashlynn said pointedly. "I was just an ordinary human before I came to the Vale. And my sister, my parents, some of the few people I consider friends... they¡¯re all human too."


    "Maybe they are," Virve said. "And if you call them good people, then I¡¯ll believe that they are. I won¡¯t ever hurt the people who have done nothing to us. But... Anyone who¡¯s old enough to gain some wisdom is also old enough to have lost some people to the humans and their stupid, pointless, greedy wars," she said, her words growing hotter than she meant for them to be the more she spoke.


    "Virve," Ashlynn said, setting her knife and fork down to reach across the table, holding Virve¡¯s large paw between her hands. "I, I didn¡¯t know. I¡¯m sorry," she said softly, looking into the other woman¡¯s misty yellow eyes. "Who? Who did you lose to them?"


    "My father," Virve said, staring off to the south and watching the golden rays of light drift across the Vale of Mists. "And in a way, my mother too," she said, pausing for several minutes as she gathered up the ghosts that had escaped from deep within her heart and pulled them back into the warmest depths of her heart, where she treasured their memories.


    "Father, he, he fought against Bors Lothian on Airgead Mountain," Virve continued once she¡¯d collected herself. "Bors is such a greedy coward that he didn¡¯t dare to fight the Vale directly, so Lady Nyrielle brought our toughest, strongest warriors to fight alongside the Dark Paw Clan on Airgead Mountain. When he died, he wasn¡¯t even defending our home," she added bitterly. "He was protecting the mines from people who killed for wealth."


    Across the table, Ashlynn said nothing, focusing her attention on gentle touch, softly stroking the fur of Virve¡¯s strong paw as she listened to the other woman¡¯s story. She¡¯d heard about the battles Bors fought, of course. Both the Lothian versions of those battles and the version Nyrielle told of the conflict.


    One thing that both sides were clear about was that the War of Inches had been fought over control of Airgead Mountain¡¯s mines. Bors Lothian never managed to capture a mine for very long, and his war resembled a series of raids more than a proper war, but each time he attacked, his armies slaughtered anyone they could get their hands on before carting away any riches that had already been extracted from the earth. Then, like mice who feared the return of a house cat, they scurried back to safety behind their border forts, counting their stolen riches and their bloody trophies before planning their next raid.


    To the proud people of the Vale of Mists who had fought for generations to safeguard the homes they¡¯d rebuilt in the wake of Cellach Lothian¡¯s fiery conquest, the notion of fighting to protect stones and lumps of ore felt like a tragic waste of lives. But to the people of Airgead Mountain, those mines were the source of what little wealth they had left to purchase protection and resources from their few remaining Eldritch neighbors.


    It was a war that made all too much sense to rulers like Ashlynn who could see the larger picture and the things that only came to Airgead Mountain because of the wealth of the mines. At the same time, it was a war that made little or no sense to soldiers on the front line like Virve and her father.


    "What about your mother?" Ashlynn asked gently when she felt Virve retreating into herself. It was an old and painful wound, and if Virve told her she didn¡¯t want to speak about it, Ashlynn had no intention of prodding it again. But, since Virve had mentioned it in the first place, she hoped that her future coven member would be willing to open up a bit more.


    "She died of a broken heart," Virve said. "Seeing Mother waste away like that... seeing the light leave her eyes when we heard how Father died," Virve said, making a fist with her other hand and squeezing it so tightly that she could feel her sharp claws pricking her palm. "That¡¯s why I wanted to serve Lady Nyrielle as a soldier. So I could get my chance to avenge my father," she said as she blinked back the mist that clouded her yellow eyes.


    "I know you have your grudges too, Mother Ashlynn," Virve said, meeting Ashlynn¡¯s gaze directly. "So I know you won¡¯t mind me claiming my own revenge while we¡¯re at it. But, if you ask me to play nice with the Lothians who kill so many of us every year, for nothing but greed over land and gold... That will be hard for me, my lady," she said without flinching, even though she knew it might not be what Ashlynn wanted to hear.


    In fact, the things that Virve had just said might give Ashlynn enough pause to withdraw her offer of making Virve her Oak Witch. But, hearing Ashlynn talk about ruling over the humans, keeping the peace, and not resorting to violence... If she hadn¡¯t spoken up now and hadn¡¯t explained herself to Lady Ashlynn, then how could she just accept a place in her coven when she might bring disagreements that would tear the coven apart from within?


    Better to say it now, even if it might cost her the chance to become a witch, than to accept the position if she couldn¡¯t endure what Ashlynn would ask of her.


    "I won¡¯t deny you your vengeance, Virve," Ashlynn promised in a voice that contained cold steel wrapped in gentle understanding of Virve¡¯s suffering. "All I¡¯ll ask you to do is differentiate between our real enemies, the people who have done us harm and the ones who would perpetuate that harm, and the common people who have little choice but to do as their lords command them to."


    "If there¡¯s one thing I admire about the Eldritch people," Ashlynn said. "It¡¯s that the strong are obligated to protect the weak. We are rulers with heavy obligations to our people. Human rulers aren¡¯t all like that. That¡¯s why, I want to show the common folk that we are better for them than the Lothians, and any lord who doesn¡¯t adapt to our ways and insists on treating people as property or fighting petty wars over wealth," Ashlynn said, her eyes sparkling with a hint of dark malice.


    "I won¡¯t restrict your claws at all," Ashlynn promised. "Can you accept those terms, Virve?"

 Chapter 533: The Oldest Oak

    Chapter 533: The Oldest OakHours after their meal, Ashlynn and Virve walked quietly through the gathering gloom of the autumn afternoon, having left the ancient fortress and the town surrounding it far behind.


    Their meal together had been an opportunity to put down the barriers of guardian and liege lady, along with the need to play their parts before the people around them. It let Ashlynn see a side of Virve that the older woman had kept bottled up and rarely showed.


    Ashlynn had no idea how much courage it had taken Virve to be honest about her struggles to consider integration with the humans of Lothian March, but she wasn¡¯t about to cast aside her veteran guardian just because she bore deep scars from personal losses. Ashlynn herself struggled to imagine a world where she reconciled with the Lothians after what Owain had done to her.


    Still, she had some hope that Owain¡¯s brother, Loman, might be redeemable enough to become an ally rather than an enemy. By all accounts, he had been a good man, focused on the charitable efforts of the Church in Lothian City. If that was true, and if he could be reasoned with, then he could help her prevent a great deal of needless bloodshed.


    If he couldn¡¯t be reasoned with, however, and if he turned himself into a rallying point for resistance, then she would be left with little choice but to deal with him in the Eldritch way and destroy him as a threat to her rule of the march. It was something that the Ashlynn of six months ago would never have considered, but much had changed for her in those six months.


    That was why, when Virve said that it would be hard for her to ¡¯play nice¡¯ with the Lothians, Ashlynn understood at least a little bit of what the older woman meant. They were both wounded, but Ashlynn¡¯s wounds were still raw and fresh, and they were still something that could heal once she¡¯d dealt with the man who nearly killed her.


    Virve¡¯s wounds were old and deep, with layers upon layers of scar tissue built up over them. Healing wouldn¡¯t be easy and true acceptance might be impossible. But, with humans like herself and Ollie in the coven, Ashlynn hoped that she could eventually build a bridge to reconciliation that Virve could cross. And who knew, perhaps the entity they¡¯d hiked out into the wilderness to meet with could help her next coven member with that healing.


    "Have you ever been to the Ancient Oak, Virve?" Ashlynn asked as they walked across the tall, damp grass that covered the hillside. "This one specifically," she added. "I know there are others still within the Vale."


    "Only once, my lady," Virve said as she walked slowly beside the younger woman, taking one step to every two of Ashlynn¡¯s. "I accompanied Lady Nyrielle when she visited the Ancient Oak a few years ago. Every decade or so, Lady Nyrielle makes an offering of blood to each of the Ancient Oaks in order to strengthen them and protect them from any humans who might slip over the wall to do harm to our treasured trees."


    "Was this something that High Lord Torbin did as well?" Ashlynn asked. She still vividly remembered Nyrielle¡¯s ritual the night they¡¯d formed their bond of blood beneath the Ancient Oak, when Nyrielle had offered blood to the mighty tree in exchange for energy that could heal Ashlynn¡¯s wounds, even if it was just enough for her to make it through the ceremony where she became Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal.


    Clearly, Nyrielle was no stranger to offering blood to these trees, but the Ancient Oak seemed like a very different kind of tree than the Bloody Sandbox Tree in the Briar that had produced Jacques¡¯s seed of witchcraft. If the Ancient Oaks were like this because of vampire blood offerings, Ashlynn would have expected them to have a much more violent and much bloodier aura than the Ancient Oak seemed to possess.


    "Not that I¡¯ve heard of, my lady," Virve said. "As far as I know, this tree was here when the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw first arrived in the Vale of Mists, before the High Pass was even passable. This tree is the oldest growing thing in the entire valley. It was old long before the High Lord Torbin brought vampires into the Vale of Mists."


    "The oldest living thing?" Ashlynn asked, raising an eyebrow at Virve. "Not ¡¯one of the oldest¡¯ but ¡¯the oldest?¡¯"


    "The oldest," the older woman confirmed. "Perhaps there were grasses alongside it then, but such things have died and renewed themselves several hundred times over in the time this tree has been here." S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯ve even heard that the other Ancient Oaks were all planted with seeds taken from this one," Virve said, as the large, majestic tree finally came into view. Its branches stretched so wide that in the thick fog of the late afternoon, it wasn¡¯t possible to see the entire tree all at once, and the top of the tree vanished into the fog high overhead.


    The trunk stood mighty and proud, stretching upward as if it were holding up the sky itself, and its gnarled roots that peeked above the ground had become tall enough in some places that members of the horned clan could hide behind them without even crouching down.


    More than its physically imposing stature, however, the tree seemed to gather the fog around it like a cloak, and eddies and swirls of wind could be seen dancing about the branches, as though the tree itself were taking deep, steady breaths through its red and gold leaves.


    "So this tree is the father of all the other Ancient Oaks," Ashlynn said, bowing in deep respect as she approached the base of the tree. "No wonder it asked me to help it spread its seeds when I asked it for a branch."


    "The only question," Ashlynn said as she reached out to touch the bark of the mighty Ancient Oak. "Is whether or not it will allow me to turn one of those seeds into your seed of witchcraft."

 Chapter 534: Lost Kin

    Chapter 534: Lost Kin"Hello, old friend," Ashlynn said, gently brushing her fingers across the bark of the Ancient Oak. Standing this close, the shadow of the tree felt both deep and heavy, and the creak of the branches in the gentle autumn wind sounded like the movement of old bones shuffling in the night.


    To stand beneath the Ancient Oak was to stand beneath the weight of time itself and for a moment, Ashlynn felt the weight of a number of years that were impossible to count settling down on her shoulders, like a faint preview of her future with Nyrielle before the weight fell away and the tree rustled in a gentle greeting.


    "I¡¯ve brought a friend," Ashlynn said, holding a hand out to Virve and gesturing for her to approach the mighty tree. "She¡¯s helped to keep me and my coven safe, and she¡¯s watched over my love for even longer than she¡¯s watched over me."


    Virve reached out to Ashlynn slowly, taking the younger woman¡¯s hand in her large paw and allowing herself to be led toward the towering oak. She had seen the Ancient Oak once before, but she had never come beneath the canopy of the venerable tree. Seeing it from a distance was already impressive, but now that she stepped under the branches of the mighty oak, she found herself needing Ashlynn¡¯s support and guiding hand just to approach the trunk.


    "Her name is Virve," Ashlynn said as the older woman approached the trunk of the tree. "And I¡¯d like your help to bring her into my coven as the next Oak Witch."


    Virve wasn¡¯t a young woman anymore and she¡¯d long come to accept that, unless she stretched or warmed up her body, there was a growing stiffness in her motions and a weight to her movements that hadn¡¯t been there twenty or even ten years ago. Moving under the canopy of the Ancient Oak, however, brought all of the minor aches and pains of her body into sharp focus and the closer she came to the trunk of the tree, the more stooped her posture became as the strength of her muscles faded.


    Only when her large paw touched Ashlynn¡¯s small and delicate hand did the feeling of advancing years retreat, replaced by the warm, comforting feeling she had once felt as a young cub playing at her grandfather¡¯s feet. No longer was the tree ancient and imposing, rather, as someone who was a friend of the Mother of Trees, the tree welcomed her into its shade, filling her with the feeling of returning home after a long day away.


    "Hello, Ancient One," Virve said softly as Ashlynn guided her paw to touch the bark of the tree. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Above their heads, branches shook and trembled as a wind felt only by the great tree swept through the branches. The place where Virve¡¯s hand touched the ancient bark grew warm to the touch, enveloping her claws in a soft golden-green glow that quickly spread along her arm before spreading across her chest.


    "Don¡¯t resist," Ashlynn cautioned as she stepped back from Virve and the trunk of the tree.


    Unlike the Ancient Willow, there was no spirit accompanying the Ancient Oak who could form its thoughts or feelings into words, but Ashlynn no longer needed an interpreter to understand the desires of the venerable guardian tree. At the moment, it was open, welcoming, and deeply curious about the woman who could become the next Oak Witch.


    For Virve, the touch of the tree quickly grew even more familiar, taking on the slightly rough, strong feeling her grandfather¡¯s hand had whenever he ruffled her fur or tossed her into the air to play in her earliest memories.


    That sensation of familiar strength and playfulness that wasn¡¯t always gentle shifted as the golden-green energy enveloped her completely, overwhelming her senses and carrying her mind into a bitter, cold world, reminiscent of the High Pass and the nation of Frost Walkers.


    Endless snow covered the familiar hills and valleys of the Vale of Mists, and the river Luath had transformed into a frozen stream, shining like a brilliant, silver ribbon in the harsh light of day. At her feat, however, a single oak sapling pushed up through the snow, basking in the bright light as though it were a warm, summer day.


    "This," Virve muttered, her eyes going wide in shock. "This is the Age of Ice. The end of the age of ice," she realized as she noticed that the tops of hills bore not only a few fledgling sprouts of their own, but patches of hearty grass that had begun to grow where the frost no longer held sway.


    As soon as she spoke, the vision shifted to a valley where snow only clung to the hillsides in patches of deep shadow. The sapling at her feet now stretched it¡¯s branches more than a dozen feet into the air above her head and acorns littered the ground around her, waiting for small groups of squirrels or passing birds to carry them away to other places.


    "You really are the father and grandfather of all the Ancient Oaks in the Vale of Mists," Virve said, smiling as she watched a flock of birds settling around the young tree before springing back into the air with their treasures clutched tightly in their beaks.


    Her view of the valley shifted again, this time revealing dozens of settlements as the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw arrived in the Vale of Mists. By now, red cedar had begun to fill the valley and many of the Oak trees that filled the valley were like the Ancient Oak she stood beside, weathered and aging guardians who watched over the Vale and all the living creatures within it.


    "You were already old when my people arrived," Virve said, watching time slip by as years passed in seconds and the Vale of Mists grew mightier and more prosperous under generation after generation of Eldritch rule.


    It was one thing to hear stories of the days when the Vale of Mists had been ruled by a High Lord and existed as one of the most prosperous nations east of the mountains. The people who remembered those days grew fewer every year and most of those within the Vale who could remember the ¡¯golden age¡¯ spoke of it with a kind of pained wistfulness that Virve had always suspected exaggerated the glory of yester-year.


    Now, however, seeing the ancient roadway packed with wagons and traders making their way into the High Pass, or the bustling city that surrounded the ancient fortress, she felt that she¡¯d done the older generation a great disservice by dismissing their boasts of the days before humans invaded the Vale. The Vale of Mists of those days had been just as brilliant and prosperous as High Fen City, if not more so, and the Ancient Oak had witnessed every moment of its rise, from a tiny collection of villages into a mighty nation.


    The vision turned dark, however, when the first human army appeared on the horizon. Their banners snapped in the wind bearing the hated burning sun emblem of the human Church along with emblems representing the Lothians, the Dunns, the Hanrahans and dozens more noble houses come to slaughter in the name of expanding their empire.


    Suddenly, Virve¡¯s perspective shifted and she found herself elsewhere in the valley, standing at the base of a different Ancient Oak. This one felt younger even though it was taller and it¡¯s trunk wasn¡¯t nearly as wide, nor it¡¯s roots as thick and overgrown as the ones belonging to the tree she¡¯d started with.


    Humans swarmed around the tree with axes, hot irons and giant saws, hacking and carving away at the base of the mighty tree.


    "Nooo!" Virve roared. Her hands moved without thinking, slipping into the worn and familiar darksteel fighting gauntlets that hung from her waist as she charged toward the human butchers, intent on stopping them from harming the majestic tree.


    When she arrived beside the first ax wielding human, however, her claws passed through their body like smoke and she tumbled helplessly to the ground when her fearsome attack encountered no resistance.


    "Aaaargggg!" Virve roared, shouting in helpless fury as she could only watch the memory unfold before her.


    The humans worked with brutal efficiency, chopping roots, sawing through the trunk and then processing the towering Ancient Oak into a series of slabs that they could load onto heavy wagons waiting to cart the remains of the sacred tree away, as though they were carts filled with ore or precious treasures mined from a mountain¡¯s depths.


    "I understand," Virve said, hot tears burning in her eyes as she watched the humans carve up the remains of the once mighty tree. "You¡¯ve lost your close kin to the human butchers too."


    Above her, she heard the sound of a furious wind whipping through the branches of the Ancient Oak tree as darkness overwhelmed her sight until she found herself standing in a different place entirely...

 Chapter 535: Kindling For Fury (Part One)

    Chapter 535: Kindling For Fury (Part One)Thus far, the Ancient Oak had only shown Virve memories from within the Vale of Mists. Now, however, Virve found herself in a vast lumber yard where scores of craftsmen stood around the rough-hewn remnants of an Ancient Oak.


    The scent of sawdust and rough-hewn timber filled the air, and a cacophony of rasping saws and thudding hammers filled the air, mixing with the clank of chains as workmen hauled impossibly large logs from the wagons into the workshop.


    The vast power of a tree that had endured for more than a thousand years could still be felt in the broken branches gathered to the side and the massive logs, each as thick as Virve was tall, felt like reservoirs of tremendous strength, slowly bleeding out along with the tree¡¯s fragrant sap.


    "What do you think of this one, my Lord?" an aged and withered craftsman said, tapping one of the giant logs with the cane he carried. "Thick as it is, there should be no problem ripping it into tables for your banquet hall. Every guest will marvel at the splendor of your victory each time you hold a feast, and they will endure for generations."


    The craftsman said it like it would be easy, but already his men were learning just how hard it was to cut through the resilient timber of the ancient oak. In one corner, the grinding wheel spun constantly, emitting a high pitched whine and a shower of sparks as a workman sharpened blades that should have lasted for weeks that had worn out in just hours of use on oak that felt almost as tough as iron.


    Already, some of the men had begun to mutter about taking up the tools of metal workers, using files intended to grind away steel and polish sword blades just to make some progress with the demonic tree, but the Lothian Lord cared nothing for their struggles as he considered the best way to use a treasure that had taken an entire summer of fierce fighting and the deaths of more than a hundred soldiers in order to claim. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Banquet tables?" The powerfully built lord walking behind the craftsman said with a derisive snort. "No, the only tables cut from the corpse of this heathen god will belong to Dukes or the King himself. My banquets are filled with rough men of the frontier, battle-hardened soldiers, and gold-seeking profiteers. Such men don¡¯t deserve this finery," he said, running a hand over the severed end of the great tree and rubbing its sap between his fingers.


    "Carve me a throne from this," the lord commanded. "Make it from a single piece of wood, without seam or joint, and turn it into a seat that will remind everyone who sees the man sitting atop it that the Lothians are the greatest conquerors of the frontier," he damanded, gazing into the distance as though he could imagine the shape of the grand throne trapped within the simple log.


    "Make sure it is fit for the duke I will become when we finally crush the Vale of Mists and Airgead Mountain beneath our boots and drive the last of the demons from the lands east of the mountains," he added. "The king will have to acknowledge our family¡¯s gains after this war!"


    "A throne, my lord?" the wizened craftsman said, blinking in surprise at the request. The lord wanted an elaborately carved throne made from a wood that was heavier than stone and tougher than iron? Did he think they were miracle workers? But before the ruler of the Lothian March, he could never object that the task was unreasonable, so he racked his brain for an alternative reason to refuse the request.


    "My lord," the workman said hesitantly. "Much of this wood will be wasted as shavings and scraps if we carve a throne from a single log. Are you sure you wouldn¡¯t prefer to use the material more conservatively?"


    "So what if there are shavings and scraps?" the lord scoffed. "Gather them all up so I can present them to the Church to be burned in the pyres of our fallen heroes. Let it not be said that I haven¡¯t given back to the holy warriors who fought at our side in these battles."


    "I see," the craftsman said, making meticulous notes. "And the other logs, my lord? This tree was hundreds of feet tall, and I¡¯ve never seen an oak this stout and strong. We can still craft many things with the remaining pieces."


    "This wood all but cries out that it holds great power," the lord said, musing as he inspected the other logs. "It belongs in places of power. A desk for my study, and an even greater desk to send as tribute to his majesty the King. Consider something appropriate to fashion into gifts for each of the dukes on the ruling council," he added, almost as though it were an afterthought.


    "That¡¯s wise, my Lord," the craftsman said, bowing obsequiously. "Since my Lord will be joining the ruling council soon, sending a gift to your new peers will open many doors, I¡¯m sure."


    "I don¡¯t care how much you waste when you carve my throne," the lord said, placing a heavy hand on the craftsman¡¯s shoulder. "But the rest, we should use wisely. Have pens made to gift to the barons, wooden buttons to adorn the tunics of my knights," he added, his voice trailing off as a thought struck him.


    "No, better than that," the Lothian lord said. "I¡¯ll send over a smith to discuss hafts for maces, flails, battle axes, or the hilts of swords. We will turn this tree into weapons that will reap the lives of the demons who once worshiped it!"


    "And one more thing," the Lothian lord added with a lecherous gleam in his eyes. "This wood belongs in places where a man weilds his power. Make sure to carve a bed for me from the log nearest the crown of the tree. The feeling of power this gives me," he added with a twisted grin. "I¡¯m very much looking forward to sharing this feeling of power with my lady. Maybe then she will finally bear me the sons that fate has been denying me..."

 Chapter 536: Kindling For Fury (Part Two)

    Chapter 536: Kindling For Fury (Part Two)Standing off to the side, forced to observe like a phantom, completely unable to affect the perverse desecration of the Ancient Oak playing out before her, Virve trembled in rage as she listened to the Lothian Lord¡¯s growing excitement at the growing list of atrocities and sacrilegious uses he he had in mind for the body of the once revered Ancient Oak.


    Moments later, however, Virve dropped to her knees in agony as the vision moved forward, revealing a veritable army of human butcher weilding saws and chisels, drawing knives and rasps and dozens of other tools as they began cutting into the tough wood of the Ancient Oak.


    The sensation of those saws, rasps, and chisels tearing at her flesh overwhelmed Virve¡¯s senses as the Ancient Oak allowed her to feel what the tree had felt as the humans began reducing it to so much furniture and kindling.


    At first, when Virve had witnessed the humans felling the sacred tree, her heart had been filled with fury, followed by deep sorrow as she witnessed the Ancient Oak fall. At that moment, as she watched the pieces of the tree being carted away, she had mourned for its passing as a mighty hero who had safeguarded the Vale of Mists for more than a thousand years.


    It was only now that she realized that ¡¯dying¡¯ was a slow process as the life within the Ancient Oak bled out of its hard, unyielding wood. The tree had been torn apart and carted away from its roots, but it was still very much alive, feeling the agony of human tools biting into its flesh as they shaped and molded it to their twisted desires.


    "Noooo," Virve cried. "How could you? How could you, you monsters! He¡¯s not even dead yet you beasts!" Trembling on the floor of the workshop, the pain faded as the Ancient Oak withdrew the vision, returning Virve to the hilltop where the Ancient Oak resided.


    This time, Virve was alone with the Ancient Oak, sitting under it¡¯s branches as it wrapped her in a warm, golden-green aura of soothing comfort and strength. All around her, several small woodland creatures emerged from the tree, rabbits from around its roots, squirrels from hollows in the trunk and even small birds from high in the branches of the tree.


    All of them gathered around the trembling Virve, each one offering a bit of warmth and soft comfort as she confronted the horror of the fate that befell any ancient tree humans were able to claim for themselves.


    For thousands of years, the Ancient Oak had acted as a guardian for the Vale of Mists. Not only did it shelter the smaller creatures who gathered close to the mighty trunk, it also sheltered the whole of the Vale, protecting it from tempestuous storms or calming the surging floods of the river Luath when it threatened to spill over its banks.


    Now, the tree reached out again to calm a storm, only this time, the storm it calmed was the one that raged within the heart of the woman who had come to it in order to become a witch.


    It was clear to the ancient tree that Virve shared a common enemy with it. The men who had cut down the Ancient Oak¡¯s offspring had given birth to the men who cut down Virve¡¯s father. The Ancient Oak knew this, and now Virve knew it too. All that remained was to see if she had the resolve to right the wrongs that occurred all those years ago... even if the Mother of Trees herself wanted to restrain her claws.


    As the woodland creatures comforted Virve, more images began to form in her mind. They weren¡¯t memories this time, but possibilities that the Ancient Oak shared with her. In one flickering vision, she saw herself standing before a magnificent desk in Bors Lothian¡¯s trophy-filled office, her claws tracing the ancient grain of oak wood that still held the faintest whispers of life.


    In another vision, she saw herself carrying fragments of carved wood through moonlit forests, back to the Vale where a weathered and sunken stump waited in silent vigil.


    In a third vision, she found herself face to face with an aging Lothian lord. His armor was worn and battered and his hair had long turned to steely gray but in his hands he gripped the polished wooden haft of a battle ax that had claimed the lives of countless Eldritch soldiers during the War of Inches.


    Virve might never have met Bors Lothian, but she¡¯d heard him described often enough to immediately identify the man who was ultimately responsible for her father¡¯s death, even if it hadn¡¯t been his ax that dealt the killing blow.


    As she faced him, the golden-green aura pulsed around her, neither commanding nor pleading, but silently offering. Power without constraint. Strength without Ashlynn¡¯s measured restraint. Vengeance without mercy for the human butchers who had shown none.


    With a roar of pure fury, Virve leapt forward, her powerful claws shattering the haft of Bors Lothian¡¯s ax before tearing into the armor that crumpled like paper under the golden-green power of her claws. Hot blood splattered across her fur, soaking her in an intoxicating blend of violence and victory as she beheld a future where she could avenge the injustices heaped on both her family and the Ancient Oak, putting an end to the Lothian¡¯s endless wars of greed and conquest.


    The vision faded away, leaving Virve¡¯s heart pounding and her chest heaving as she panted from the sudden exertion. Around her, the woodland creatures pulled back to perch on the nearby roots and branches, each of them looking at her in silent question.


    Generations of Oak Witches had been powerful guardians, standing at the side of the Mother of Trees and watching over her and her coven as mighty protectors. But the Oak¡¯s strength wasn¡¯t limited to protecting, and the power it offered Virve was far less restrained than the power of most Oak Witches. All Virve needed to do was agree to take it up, and the Ancient Oak was willing to help her become one of the most dangerous Oak Witches to ever walk the earth.


    S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 537: The Ancient Oak’s Judgment (Part One)

    Chapter 537: The Ancient Oak¡¯s Judgment (Part One)Ashlynn stood nervously among the roots of the Ancient Oak as the tree and Virve got to know each other. At first, she¡¯d sensed a bit of what the tree chose to share with the woman she hoped would become the third member of her coven, but beyond a feeling of struggle against cold and snow and an innumerable number of years, she¡¯d sensed very little from the tree.


    Now, as Virve descended deeper into her exchange with the mighty Oak, she sensed almost nothing from the tree itself as it seemed to direct all of its attention toward the veteran soldier who had come to meet it.


    Virve¡¯s face was more informative as her expression shifted through a myriad of emotions. At first, there was tender, gentle curiosity, followed by a soft, smiling look of wonder. All of that shifted, however, when Virve¡¯s entire body tensed and began to shake and tremble. Her hand that touched the Ancient Oak clenched into a fist and her claws scraped along the tough bark of the venerable tree, leaving behind faint scratches that would have been deep gouges on any normal, less resilient tree.


    "Oh Virve," Ashlynn said, stepping close to set a comforting hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. She couldn¡¯t intervene in what the older woman was experiencing, or if she could, she felt it wouldn¡¯t be wise to do so, but she hoped that simple touch could provide at least some comfort to her friend.


    Suddenly, the mask of fury on Virve¡¯s face crumpled and soft wimpers began to spill from her lips as her body curled on itself like a young cub in great pain. Ashlynn had seen Virve charge into battle against twice their number of towering Tuscan hunters, suffering bone crushing injuries as she fought on the surface of a frozen lake and not once had she seen the veteran soldier reduced to childlike wimpers of pain the way she was now.


    "I understand that your long life contains moments of joy and moments of sorrow," Ashlynn said as an emerald green glow gathered in her eyes. "But whatever you are sharing with Virve, do not forget that she is my friend and my dear companion," she warned in a voice that grew as frosty as the High Pass. "You may test her, but do not torment her!"


    Above her, the wind rustling through the branches intensified and the sound of rustling leaves filled the air as the Ancient Oak reacted to Ashlynn¡¯s admonishment.


    "I don¡¯t care if you are older than I," Ashlynn said firmly. "Age gives birth to wisdom that should be shared, but be mindful of passing on unnecessary suffering," she said. A vision of Ollie standing up again and again as Thane gave him painful ¡¯reminders¡¯ of his virtues flickered through her mind.


    Briefly, she wondered how many knights endured that punishing tradition for no other reason than that their predecessors had before she pushed thoughts about Ollie to the back of her mind and focused on the Ancient Oak before her. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "She is my friend," Ashlyn said again, gently caressing the silver-gray fur between Virve¡¯s brows as she debated whether or not she should pull Virve free of the Ancient Oak¡¯s vision. "Be kind to her, or I¡¯ll put an end to this," she warned, turning to look at the tree¡¯s mighty trunk.


    The threat seemed to work, and moments later, Virve¡¯s expression softened as the golden-green energy flowing from the Ancient Oak grew more vibrant, taking on an aura that Ashlynn associated with healing, growth and renewal.


    "Thank you," she told the Ancient Oak as she continued to gently stroke Virve¡¯s soft fur. The tree wasn¡¯t done with her yet, but it had clearly moved on to something less distressing.


    Several minutes later, the golden-green aura surrounding Virve slowly withdrew into the majestic tree¡¯s roots, leaving behind a Virve who looked stronger and more refreshed than she had been when they arrived at the tree.


    "My lady," Virve said softly, blinking several times as she adjusted to the real world after emerging from the tree¡¯s vision. Everything she had seen had felt so real, with sights and smells and countless other sensations that nearly overwhelmed her senses that for a brief moment, the real world felt... somehow less real than the visions she¡¯d just emerged from.


    Her paws trembled as she flexed her claws, half-expecting to find them stained with Bors Lothian¡¯s blood. She could still hear the -CRUNCH- of the Lothian Lord¡¯s ax handle snapping under her claws echoing in her ears and feel the sting of impact in her palms as she tore into the human lord¡¯s heavy armor.


    The phantom scent of sawdust and sap still filled her nostrils, and the echoes of that horrible grinding against wood, against the still living flesh of the fallen Ancient Oak, sent shivers down her spine. In her chest, her heart pounded with a mixture of pain, rage and dark exhilaration that left her gasping for breath in the cool autumn air.


    "The Ancient Oak showed me..." she began, her voice thick with emotion emotions she had yet to sort out as one vision jumbled with the next in her thoughts. "It showed me what the Lothians did to one of its children. Not just cutting it down, but..." Her voice caught as a knot formed in her throat and she struggled to find a way to express what she had seen.


    "You don¡¯t have to force yourself," Ashlynn said softly. Reaching into the pack that Virve had brought for their hike, Ashlynn retrieved a waterskin and a small wooden cup, quickly filling the cup before passing it to her disoriented companion.


    "The visions bestowed by ancient trees can be intense," she said, recalling her own experience with the Ancient Willow. "You don¡¯t have to explain everything all at once. Take your time to sort your thoughts," she said gently as Virve took the cup in her paws and began to sip. "You don¡¯t have to tell me everything it showed you either," she added. "The visions you¡¯ve experienced belong to you alone. Unless I have a good reason to, I won¡¯t demand you share them with me," she promised.


    "Thank you, my lady," Virve said as she drew a deep, comforting breath of the cool, misty air of the Vale of Mists. After spending so long traveling with Lady Nyrielle, just the simple act of breathing in air that wasn¡¯t bone dry and bitter cold, or filled with strange and foreign scents did a great deal to calm her racing heart.


    It took several minutes for her to organize her scattered thoughts, sifting through the memories that were hers and separating them from the visions the Ancient Oak had shared with her as she reminded herself again and again that those visions weren¡¯t her own memories, and that she hadn¡¯t been the one chopped up and carved up by Lothian woodworkers, even if she could still recall the feeling of dull saw blades digging into her flesh.


    Those memories of human cruelty had become tangled in her memories of her own pain. The day she¡¯d learned her father fell in battle blended with the feeling of Lothian axes chopping down the Ancient Oak until she briefly felt like she knew what her father must have felt in the moments before his death.


    But that feeling, she fought to remind herself. That feeling wasn¡¯t real and it didn¡¯t belong to her. And yet, and yet all of it had felt so intense that she struggled to free herself from the lingering feelings those memories evoked.


    For her part, Ashlynn said nothing as she watched the bearish woman struggle to compose herself. When Virve gulped down the last of her water, Ashlynn silently refilled the wooden cup and waited patiently until Virve finally seemed ready to continue her tale...

 Chapter 538: The Ancient Oak’s Judgment (Part Two)

    Chapter 538: The Ancient Oak¡¯s Judgment (Part Two)"In the vision the Ancient Oak showed me," she said, staring into her reflection as it danced on the surface of the water in her cup. "The human savages, they... After they cut it down, it was still alive while they butchered it. It could still feel every saw and chisel when they carved it into furniture and weapons and... Trophies." Her fur bristled along her neck as she fought to control the fury rising within her again.


    Virve looked up at Ashlynn with eyes that were haunted by pain that wasn¡¯t her own. For a moment, she shuddered as a terrifying thought came unbidden to her mind. Was this what Hauke had experienced when he interacted with the horns that carried the spirits of his own long departed ancestors? The notion was enough to stop her cold and leave her wondering if she should accept the tree¡¯s offer. If it was going to use the seed to control her the way the horns controlled Hauke...


    "None of what I saw or heard was real," she said after several moments of thought. "And I don¡¯t think the Ancient Oak is trying to control me. But when I think about the memories the Ancient Oak shared with me, I¡¯m certain the visions of the past it shared were true." She hesitated, uncertain how to express what she¡¯d felt in that moment of imagined vengeance. "It also showed me a glimpse of what my future could be..."


    -CRACK-


    The sound of a branch snapping high above in the crown of the Ancient Oak startled both women, pulling their attention upward as a hawk nesting in the branches above made it¡¯s way down, clutching a small branch in it¡¯s talons as it did the bidding of the ancient tree, delivering a gift along with the Ancient Oak¡¯s judgment.


    The branch the hawk carried was longer and thicker than the one that the Ancient Oak had offered to Ashlynn when she came to ask for a branch to use as a wand, and for a moment, she wondered if the tree intended for Virve to fashion the branch into a club rather than a wand. More importantly, there was a single acorn attached to the branch, along with five leaves in shades that ranged from brilliant autumn orange to deep crimson.


    "Does this mean that the Ancient Oak is willing to let me face its trial to become the Oak Witch?" Virve asked as she received the branch from the hawk¡¯s talons. The bird fluttered away without lingering to see what the soldier did with the branch, but Virve barely noticed as she ran the tips of her claws along the twisted and gnarled branch in her hands.


    She¡¯d expected some kind of approval. She and the Ancient Oak had too much in common, and even though their meeting had been brief, the depths of the memories it had shared with her had left a deep impression on her heart. If she were forbidden from facing its trials after the vision it showed her of the chance to claim her vengeance against Owain Lothian, she wouldn¡¯t have known what to do with the rage such a refusal would have provoked in her. But somehow, the branch in her hands felt far more significant than simply being a carrier for the seed that Ashlynn could use to form her seed of witchcraft.


    "No," Ashlynn said, looking from the branch to the tree and back again with eyes that had grown wide in shock. "Is this truly your intention?" Ashlynn asked the Ancient Oak, uncertain whether or not she had correctly understood its message. After a moment of listening to the wind moving through it¡¯s leaves, however, she accepted the tree¡¯s answer, even if it was very different than what she¡¯d expected when she brought Virve here.


    "Virve," Ashynn said as she looked at the five different leaves on the branch in Virve¡¯s claws. She would have to check the books she¡¯d brought back from Amahle¡¯s library to be sure, but the choice of five leaves on that branch displayed a clear message of the strengths the Ancient Oak intended to bestow on her soon-to-be Oak Witch, but she wasn¡¯t certain that she understood the meaning of the colors the Ancient Oak had used to express it¡¯s message.


    "The Ancient Oak hasn¡¯t just accepted you to take its trial," Ashlynn explained, offering Virve a gentle smile as she met the other woman¡¯s gaze. "It has agreed that you would be a good Oak Witch. I still need to nurture this seed for a few days," Ashlynn said, reaching out to retrieve the acorn from the branch in Virve¡¯s paws and feeling the dense energy within it as she attempted to further discern the mighty tree¡¯s intentions.


    "But I will face no trial in nurturing your seed," Ashlynn said, shaking her head and smiling in wonder at the Ancient Oak¡¯s generosity. Compared to the seed the Ancient Willow had prepared for Heila, this acorn contained incredibly dense energy that would do far more for Virve than simply allowing her to access the energy of the world. If Ashlynn wasn¡¯t wrong, the seed contained not only enough power to transform Virve¡¯s body into one that could channel the power of the elements, but to turn back the clock of time, restoring Virve to the prime of her life and physical prowess.


    "And neither will you face a trial to accept the powers of the Oak Witch. It seems," Ashlynn said, looking closely at the acorn between her fingers. "It seems that, in the Ancient Oak¡¯s judgment, you are the perfect person to become the Oak Witch of my coven," Ashlynn said, smiling broadly at the wide-eyed soldier. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The seed was remarkable and powerful, but when she thought of everything that Virve had done in her decades of selfless service to Nyrielle, she had a hard time feeling like the Ancient Oak¡¯s decisions was excessive. Heila, Ollie, and even Ashlynn herself were all young, untested, and though life had begun to prove the strengths of their characters, there was still a great deal of uncertainty about the kind of people they would grow into.


    Virve, however, had proven herself countless times over. She had walked on the knife¡¯s edge between life and death in conflicts, small and large, and she¡¯d put her body between danger and the people she¡¯d sworn to protect more than once. For the Ancient Oak to reward this service by accepting Virve¡¯s experience instead of subjecting her to an additional trial... perhaps it was something Ashlynn should have expected when she invited someone so many years older than herself to join the coven.


    "So, congratulations, Lady Virve," Ashlynn said, setting aside her concerns to celebrate the good news with the woman who was about to join their small and growing family. "In a few days time, you¡¯ll join Ollie and Heila as a full-fledged witch of my coven!"


    Virve stared at the acorn in Ashlynn¡¯s fingers, then at the branch still clutched in her paws. A witch without a trial? Even Lady Ashlynn had faced trials from the Ancient Willow, but she would be exempted from the perilous ritual? The weight of the honor settled on her shoulders like a heavy cloak, but she couldn¡¯t help but feel slightly uncomfortable at the ease with which this incredible power seemed to have all but literally fallen into her paws.


    "I..." she began, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I don¡¯t understand. Heila nearly died in her trial. Ollie is facing his even now. Why would the Ancient Oak judge me worthy without testing me at all?"


    Ashlynn¡¯s smile gentled as she placed a hand on Virve¡¯s shoulder. "Perhaps your life has been trial enough. Or perhaps," she added, glancing up at the rustling branches above, "it sees something in you that needs no further tempering."


    Virve¡¯s golden eyes gleamed with a sudden moisture as she ran her claws reverently over the branch. All those decades of service to Lady Nyrielle, the battles fought, the people torn from her life long before their time, her father, her mother, and all too many fellow soldiers like Andrus, all of it had led her to this moment. The Ancient Oak had judged her not just adequate but ideal to become the next Oak Witch.


    "I won¡¯t disappoint either of you," she said finally, straightening her back before bowing toward both Ashlynn and the Ancient Oak. "Whatever power you grant me, I¡¯ll use it to protect you, your coven, and everyone in the Vale," she promised.


    She left unspoken the other promise that burned in her heart, the promise of vengeance she¡¯d glimpsed in the Ancient Oak¡¯s vision. That conversation could wait for another day when the time would come for her to join Ashlynn in the coming war against the savages who slaughtered her people and butchered their sacred trees for reasons as shallow as greed and vanity.


    As they turned to leave, Virve cast one last look at the mighty tree that had chosen her. Its leaves rustled in a breeze that seemed to touch nothing else, and for a moment, she could have sworn she felt the faintest brush of understanding against her mind, a silent acknowledgment of both her spoken and unspoken vows along with a trace of eagerness to see her again as the witch she would soon become.

 Chapter 539: A Future I Design

    Chapter 539: A Future I DesignWhile Ashlynn made preparations to welcome Ollie and Virve into her coven, a very different welcome was taking place outside the Vale of Mists.


    At Young Lord Owain¡¯s insistence, Masters Isabell and Tiernan had accompanied the young lord and Lady Jocelynn all the way to the Town of Hanrahan, the seat of Baron Hanrahan¡¯s power and the center of Hanrahan Barony.


    The journey took three days by carriage and they¡¯d spent the previous evening in a tiny village at the eastern edge of the barony where the sheep outnumbered people by at least five to one. To hear Owain tell it, the lands they¡¯d passed on their way to the very edge of the frontier were filled with untapped potential, but all the Masters saw when they gazed at the rolling hills studded by ancient rock formations was an endless array of challenges that would make taming the land difficult even for the most ambitious frontiersman.


    The Town of Hanrahan was significantly better off, situated in a hollow where several streams drained into a deep lake, the farms and orchards outside the town¡¯s impressive stone walls were clearly a jewel to be treasured by any lord and generations of Hanrahans had clearly worked hard to see to the prosperity of the town they oversaw.


    In the guest rooms of Hanrahan manor, Master Isabell studied her reflection in the room¡¯s polished bronze mirror, ensuring that nothing was out of place. Silver rimmed spectacles perched on her slender nose and she¡¯d pulled her steel gray hair into a tight braid that hung half way down her back, standing out in sharp contrast to the severe black dress she wore for the evening¡¯s banquet.


    Some would say that she looked more like a tutor or school mistress than a future knight, but to her, this was no different than a suit of armor. On her chest, the crest of Blackwell City¡¯s Illustrious Comapny of Engineers, a lighthouse shining on a mason¡¯s level, had been embroidered in glittering silver thread. The emblem served as both a badge of her office and the only ornamentation she chose to wear on occasions as formal as this one.


    Earning the right to wear that emblem, and to wear it in silver no less, had taken a lifetime of effort and study, including ten long years spent traveling the universities and libraries of the old countries before she returned to her native Blackwell City to take over the Illustrious Comapny of Engineers.


    In those years, she¡¯d received offers from countless lords to join their houses and even a king had offered her a place in his court along with the chance to replace her silver emblem with gold and the title of Royal Engineer. It was an offer that few people in her profession could resist, but despite the wonders of the old countries and their institutions of learning, she never felt like she belonged to that world.


    Or, perhaps it wasn¡¯t that she had never belonged in the old world as much as she hadn¡¯t been comfortable with the woman she was starting to become the longer she spent there. The recognition of lords and kings hadn¡¯t come to her because of the bridges she designed or even the acquaducts that opened up new farmland. Rather, it had been her ability to tear things down that won her the most praise and recognition in countries where men still warred on one another over lines on a map and control of wealth and resources.


    Now that she had reached the frontier, even though her age was growing closer to fifty than it was to forty, she felt like she had finally found the place where she belonged. Somewhere that needed to be built up and pulled into the modern age in a way that would benefit everyone living here.


    The previous Barons Hanrahan had done well to construct a fortified town in one of the only places in the western hills that could easily sustain a growing population, but they¡¯d clearly exhausted their ability to reap easy rewards within the first two generations since the barony was established.


    Now, everywhere Master Isabell looked, she saw challenges that were difficult to solve and a barony that was ill equipped to solve them. A pair of ancient roads, built centuries ago by demons served as the town¡¯s primary connections to Lothian City in the east or Dunn Barony to the north, but the roads that connected to these ancient relics of the land¡¯s previous inhabitants were poorly constructed with deep ruts and pot holes that made navigating them treacherous even in broad daylight.


    The glimpses she¡¯d seen of the town itself revealed it to be in much the same shape. From the outside, it looked like a prosperous, glistening jewel, but one walk through the quarter of town where the weavers, dyers, tanners and other tradesmen gathered revealed a town struggling for self sufficiency. They were rugged and determined frontiersmen to be sure, but compared to their counterparts in Blackwell City, their facilities were sadly lacking and their skills lagged decades behind the latest innovations making their way across the sea from the old countries.


    Lothian City wasn¡¯t in as poor of shape, comparatively. As the seat of power for the Marquis, he couldn¡¯t afford to lag too far behind the dukes to the east. And even if Marquis Bors and his family hadn¡¯t constantly reinvested in elevating the standards of their home city, the most powerful temple of the Church in the entire frontier would doubtless have made contributions of their own in order to ensure that their crown jewel of the frontier didn¡¯t loose it¡¯s luster because of its poor surroundings.


    "Blackwell City hardly needs me anymore," Isabell said with a heavy sigh as she looked out the window of her room at the setting sun far to the west. "But these people... They make me feel like I wasted my years on the guild in Blackwell when I could have been out here making a real difference."


    The statement wasn¡¯t entirely true. The knowledge she¡¯d gained as the Master of one of Blackwell City¡¯s most influential guilds had shaped her into a woman who understood that even the most brilliant of designs was worthless without the ability to gather the support from powerful lords, suppliers of goods and all of the other parties involved in bringing grand ambitions to fruition.


    And, if she was truly honest with herself, while the thrill of the frontier¡¯s challenges called out to her, she would never have chosen a place like this to raise her children. The walls of Lothian City or even Hanrahan Town might never have been breached by demon attacks in her lifetime, but neither town could have given her darlings the opportunities that they¡¯d found in Blackwell City. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Now that they were old enough to begin their own apprenticeships, however, Isabell found her hands itching for the drafting board in a way they hadn¡¯t for several years, and the town outside the window seemed filled with opportunities to satisfy that itch.


    As tempting as it was, however, she firmly reminded herself that there were larger problems demanding her attention, and Marcel¡¯s warnings about Owain¡¯s attempt to murder Lady Ashlynn still echoed in her ears, even days after their meeting in Lothian City.


    Tonight, she would meet with Baron Ian Hanrahan and his heir Bastian, but she couldn¡¯t allow herself to be drawn into the tempting array of problems awaiting someone with an analytical mind like hers to solve.


    Tonight, the dress she wore to display her profession was her suit of armor, and her battle was one that required her to deny the opportunities in front of her in order to secure an even more important objective.


    Somewhere out there, Lady Ashlynn was preparing her counterattack against the man who had nearly destroyed her, and if Isabell wanted to win a place at her lady¡¯s side in the battles to come, she had to secure an arrangement that would place her at the edge of the Vale of Mists rather than here in the comparatively safe jewel of Hanrahan barony.


    "It will be better this way anyway," Isabell said as she prepared to leave her room to join the banquet that was being prepared to welcome her and Master Tiernan to the barony. "Fixing the problems here would be a worthy challenge... but given the chance, I¡¯d rather start from nothing."


    Marcel had described the area along the river Luath at the edge of the Vale of Mists. Compared to the empty hills filled with nothing but sheep that she had seen in Hanrahan barony, it sounded like a place just waiting for someone with a keen mind to tame the land¡¯s rich potential.


    "A future that I design for myself," she said with a faint smile on her thin lips. "And one that can become a source of strength for Lady Ashlynn at the edge of civilization. Mister Marcel certainly knows the sort of carrot he needs to dangle in front of me to secure my cooperation."


    Now, all she had to do was thread her way through the schemes of Owain Lothian and the againg Baron Hanrahan to seize the opportunity. It should have been easy, given how amateurish the Lothian heir had been in their negotiations so far, but strangely, she seemed to have gained an additional adversary on this journey.


    "Lady Jocelynn," she said quietly as she prepared to enter the banquet hall. "Just what has happened to place you on the same side as the man who tried to kill your sister?"

 Chapter 540: Trading Barbs

    Chapter 540: Trading Barbs The Great Hall of Baron Hanrahan could most charitably be called ¡¯rustic.¡¯ To Isabell¡¯s professional eyes, it felt like a relic of an era that Blackwell County had left behind more than a century ago. The windows of the Great Hall were narrow, and had clearly been designed to double as positions for archers to stand in defense of the manor rathather than being designed to allow in as much light as possible. While they had been fitted with glass panes at some point in the past century, the glass itself was warped and cloudy and copious amounts of lead had been used to fit them in place over the widened arrow slits. The ceiling was high and framed with timbers that supported dozens of chandaliers and the floor was strewn with fresh cut rushes, but no amount of surface treatments could make the aging fortress feel like anything other than a dark relic of an age where the thickness of your walls was the defining measurement of your ability to survive the assault of your enemies.


    For Isabell and Tiernan, it felt like they were visiting the keep of one of Blackwell County¡¯s fallen knights who refused to let go of the glory won by his ancestors, and Baron Hanrahan gave off much the same impression as those overly proud men back home.


    "Master Isabell," the pot bellied baron called as he stood from his seat at the center of the high table. "Or should I be saying Dame Isabell now? No matter, you have come to join us and that¡¯s all that matters," he said, gesturing to a seat across from his own position at the high table. "Please, come join Master Tiernan and the rest of us."


    The welcoming banquet was smaller than Isabell had expected with only two tables of guests aside from the high table itself. For a gathering attended by Owain Lothian and Lady Jocelynn, it felt small enough to be insulting, without any of the local knights in attendance outside of Baron Hanrahan¡¯s own immediate family.


    Sitting beside the chubby baron, however, Owain seemed unbothered by the insult, as though the slight wasn¡¯t directed at him, which could only mean that the lack of fanfare for her attendance here today was a slight aimed at her and Master tiernan.


    "My younger brother has heaped great praise on you," a stylishly dressed man whose tunic was trimmed in dark fur said from his seat to the baron¡¯s left. "What was it you said Hugo?" Bastian Hanrahan said, turning to look at Owain¡¯s browbeaten Steward further down the table. "For a woman, she has both a clever mind and a surprising amount of common sense?"


    "Bastian!" Hugo cried, startled out of his wits at the way his half-brother had misquoted him. "When did I ever say anything about Master Isabell being clever ¡¯for a woman¡¯? I¡¯m sure I always told you how skilled a negotiator she was, with a great mind for details," he said, shooting an embarassed look at the master engineer as she took her seat.


    "Well, well, that¡¯s just to be expected, isn¡¯t it?" Baron Hanrahan said with a cordial grin. "After all, women always do mind all the little things, it¡¯s what they¡¯re best at. Nitpicking this and that until they¡¯ve lost track of the big picture and the things that are truly important. Though I suppose for a builder, that might be a useful trait."


    "Baron Hanrahan," Owain interjected from the seat to the baron¡¯s right side. "Please mind your words. Master Isabell has come all this way at my father¡¯s request. She is a respected engineer, not just a simple builder," he said, smiling at Isabell as though he were a galant knight coming to her rescue.


    Behind his carefully practiced, charming smile smile, he noted with satisfaction how easily the baron had played his part in their carefully orchestrated performance. Between Baron Hanrahan¡¯s rudeness and his own willingness to come to her rescue, he was certain that the proud engineer would soon be eager for an opportunity to prove herself on their terms.


    "It¡¯s quite all right, Lord Owain," Isabell said with a smile that held no warmth as she reached out to serve herself a slice of the roasted venison in the center of the table. "I¡¯m sure Lord Hanrahan speaks from experience when he praises a woman¡¯s ability to pay attention to small things. Lady Hanrahan must have spent a great deal of time minding very small things in order to bear him an heir, musn¡¯t she?"  S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Pfft!"


    Several people at the table struggled not to spit out their wine and a ripple of laughter rose from a number of guests at the high table, including Lord Owain¡¯s personal guard, Sir Rian. The heartiest laugh, however, came from the stocky man sitting next to Isabell as Master Tiernan went so far as to pound the table while he laughed.


    "Isabell, you can¡¯t say that sort of thing at a lord¡¯s table," Tiernan chastised her as he tried to suppress the grin on his face to adopt a stern tone. "Insulting a lord at his own table can be grounds for fighting a duel, and I hear they still fight those to the death out in the frontier."


    "I apologize," Isabell said, giving a pointed look at the baron whose face had started to turn an alarming shade of red. "Just treat it as a small, tiny, inconsequential comment made by a woman about something equally small, tiny and inconsequential. Certainly something too small for a man of your size, that is, your stature, to be concerned over."


    "Master Isabell," Jocelynn said from her seat beside Owain, quickly trying to find a way to get teh conversation back on track. She wanted Baron Hanrahan to antagonize Master Isabell into accepting the compromise that she and Owain would propose but she never expected the Guild Master to go on the offensive so directly against a member of the aristocracy when she had yet to receive her title and lands as a knight!


    Under the table, Jocelynn¡¯s fingers briefly pressed against Owain¡¯s knee in silent satisfaction. The engineer¡¯s pride was even more easily provoked than she had anticipated. She kept her seafoam eyes carefully neutral as she composed her features into a mask of diplomatic concern more suitable for the role she needed to play in order to bring her plans to fruition.


    "Perhaps we should skip the small talk," Jocelynn suggested, her voice taking on a conciliatory tone that contrasted with the calculating gleam she couldn¡¯t entirely suppress. "After all, we came here to give you a look at Hanrahan Barony and the vast lands available here for you to build a manor and establish a village of your own. Perhaps you could tell us what you think of what you¡¯ve seen so far?"


    "Normally, I¡¯d be happy to share my thoughts with you, Lady Jocelynn," Isabell said politely. "I¡¯m just afraid that Baron Hanrahan would find them to be ¡¯nitpicky¡¯ and ¡¯unaware of the bigger picture,¡¯" she said, giving the flustered looking baron a brief look. "Isn¡¯t that right, my Lord?"


    "Even if your observations are ¡¯nitpicky¡¯," the portly baron growled. "I¡¯m sure we¡¯d all be delighted to hear what you have to say. At the very least," he added, giving Sir Rian and Master Tiernan a sharp look. "I¡¯m sure there are a few people who find your words to be highly amusing. Perhaps your thoughts on our humbly barony would be equally amusing."


    "Very well, my Lord," Isabell said, putting down her knife and fork to take a sip of watered down wine before she spoke again. "But remember, you asked to hear my thoughts..."

 Chapter 541: Not Worth Fixing

    Chapter 541: Not Worth FixingThe tension in Baron Hanrahan¡¯s Great Hall was so thick and oppressive that the people seated at the lower tables barely dared to make noise as they ate their meals. Some of them were business owners, important people by local standards, while others held positions of status among the servants in Ian Hanrahan¡¯s household.


    But when Guild Master Isabell responded to the portly baron¡¯s mocking comments with biting retorts of her own, everyone in the hall who wasn¡¯t sitting at the High Table ducked their heads low and did their best to stifle any untoward laughter that threatened to spill past their lips. Wealthy they might be, or important to the functioning of the baron¡¯s estate, but no one at the lower tables thought themselves powerful enough to speak as candidly as this visiting engineer had!


    "Since you want to hear my impressions, then let me make several things clear to you," Isabell began as she gestured for one of the servants to refill her wine goblet. "I¡¯ll drink whatever his lordship is drinking," she said when she saw the servant reaching for a pitcher of watered-down wine. "Perhaps the women of the frontier have weak constitutions with no stomach for alcohol, but I haven¡¯t drunk watered wine since I was a girl half of Lady Jocelynn¡¯s age."


    "Are women in Blackwell County truly so bold?" Baron Hanrahan said with a snort. "Women of the frontier know to defend their virtue from the excesses of strong drink," he said as he glowered at the arrogant engineer. "Or perhaps women where you come from have looser morals and looser legs that can accommodate strong drink."


    "Watch your words, my Lord Baron," Owain said, clutching the hilt of the knife in his hand and pointing sharply at the fat oaf who had just insulted his Jocelynn along with Isabell. "Unless you think that your words are appropriate for Lady Jocelynn?"


    "What? No!" the baron stammered, sweat breaking out on his brow. "I would never include your lady wife or your sister-in-law in such a statement. The virtue of the Blackwell sisters is so well known that it¡¯s spoken of in the highest of places," he said, quickly blotting the sweat from his brow as he looked to other guests at the table for support.


    "If this is how you treat your women, it¡¯s no wonder your town is shabby with its infrastructure in shambles," Isabell said, pointing at her goblet and giving the servant a stern look until the man changed out the watered wine for something more suitable. "Tiernan, I¡¯m not going to be able to enjoy my meal if I have to give a lecture on their foundations. Could you explain to them what would happen if you tried to exploit the wealth of Airgead Mountain with the Town of Hanrahan in the shape that it¡¯s in?"


    "Try the turkey," Master Tiernan said, using exquisite table manners that seemed at odds with his powerful frame and calloused hands as he set down his utensils and gently blotted away the gravy that clung to the corners of his lips. "It¡¯s under spiced, but this far from a port, you can¡¯t expect them to have much from across the sea. Still, it¡¯s tender and it was prepared with considerably better care than the roads of this town," he said with a despairing shake of his shaved head.


    Inwardly, the powerful Master of the Iron Mongers¡¯ Guild was already to flip over the heavy oak table and storm out of the baron¡¯s great hall for the way the haughty lord was treating Isabell. Clearly, the man had some kind of ax to grind with the woman who led the coalition of guild masters negotiating with Owan and his father, Bors, to fund the upcoming war against the demons, but he had no idea what had happened to draw the fat baron¡¯s ire.


    He and Isabell had only just arrived in Hanrahan Barony, and this was their first time meeting Baron Ian Hanrahan and his son Bastian. It should have been a pleasant meeting or at least a neutral one, but instead it felt like they had sat across the dinner table from their most bitter rivals. But, since the other party clearly had no intention of respecting the Guild Masters, Tiernan had no intention of holding back in his words as he described the problems he saw.


    "I don¡¯t know how the demon tribe who lived here before chose to live their lives," Tiernan started. "But it¡¯s clear that they situated their settlement atop the hill instead of down in the valley. The old road built by demons is a thousand times better than the ones you¡¯ve built since coming here, but it doesn¡¯t actually connect directly to the fortified town here. So, anything that needs to be shipped by the good road you inherited from the demons needs to first suffer for the nightmares you call roads in this town."


    "Roads are simple things to repair," Bastian said from beside his father. "Once we claim victory over the demons of Airgead Mountain, a single summer of men laying stones and filling potholes will have them in fine shape to transport the wealth of the mountain to Lothian City or wherever it can fetch the best price."


    "Ha," Tiernan snorted, shaking his head at the young lord¡¯s ignorance. "Fool. The wealth of Airgead Mountain is trapped in stone. It weighs tons and even if we smelt it on the mountain¡¯s slopes, we¡¯ll still have ton after ton of iron, copper, gold, and precious stones to ship to places where the raw materials will be refined into useful things to trade. Put that many tons of material in wagons and cart it over a shoddy, quickly-patched road and watch your repairs crumble away in a single season."


    "But isn¡¯t this why we¡¯ve invited you and your fellow masters to settle out here in the first place?" Owain offered helpfully as his hand caressed Jocelynn¡¯s soft thigh under the table. Just as his beautiful darling had suggested, these masters were proud, arrogant, and could easily be led by the nose when their professional reputations were placed on the line. All he had to do was give them a little push... S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Baron Hanrahan¡¯s men might only be able to handle the basics of smelting and refining on Airgead Mountain," Owain added. "But with a Master Iron Monger here, and with your fellow masters to turn that raw iron into weapons and armor of high-quality steel, the Hanrahan Barony won¡¯t need to transport bulk materials. Instead, they¡¯ll ship the finest of finished goods across the frontier."


    "Why bother," Isabell said in between bites of the succulent turkey. Tiernan was right that it was under-spiced, but as long as she slathered enough of the rich gravy on it, it was actually fairly enjoyable. "This is a town that¡¯s not worth fixing," she said, shaking her head.


    "It would almost be better to tear down everything except the walls and the fortress and start over. Then you could lay in proper drains to handle the sewage in the streets, rebuild homes atop solid foundations and purge the town of molding thatch that all but begs for sickness and death each rainy season," she said, rattling off a list of problems that were immediately apparent to someone who had traveled as much of the world as she had.


    "But you have too many people who have made their lives here to do such a heartless thing," the steel-haired engineer said, with a heavy sigh, as though she were a physician telling the family of a patient that they couldn¡¯t be saved.


    "So all you can do is pour everything you have into fixing the problems for the next ten to twenty years," Isabell said flatly. "By the time young Bastian here is ready to pass on the Barony to his heir, it might actually be something to have some pride in... but before that, the only thing that gives the Town of Hanrahan any value is the position of the land it sits on."

 Chapter 542: Men of Arms and Action

    Chapter 542: Men of Arms and ActionAround the table, several people bristled at Isabell¡¯s cold pronouncement that their town had no value. Even the people at the lower tables, who had been cowed into silence by the barbed exchange between the engineer and their liege lord, began to mutter darkly about this arrogant woman who felt that their homes and businesses should be torn down.


    So long as it was a matter of trading insults between an outsider and their lord, the common people would hold their tongues. Even if some of them happened to share Isabell¡¯s dim opinion of Baron Hanrahan, none of them would dare to speak in support of her or laugh at their lord¡¯s expense. After all, no one wanted to risk incurring their lord¡¯s wrath over something so petty.


    But when she expanded her insults to encompass their homes, all but calling it dirty and squalid in her scathing critique, that was a different matter entirely, and many at the lower tables turned eagerly to their lord, waiting to see him put the arrogant engineer in her place.


    "What, just because the roads are in rough shape and the buildings are a bit old?" Baron Hanrahan said with a snort. "Typical of a woman. You give up at the first sign of trouble and look for something better to try instead. Maybe we should replace our thatch with slate? Or tiles? Should we paint our new roofs red this year and blue the next?" Baron Hanrahan snorted. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ll never be happy with it, no matter what hard-working men give you," the baron sneered. "You just whine and complain and demand something newer, shinier, and more expensive that your husband will have to mortgage his soul for, just so you can grow bored of it in a few years before you move on again."


    "After all," he said, pointing at her with a thick, sausage-like finger. "Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re trying so hard to buy your way into the aristocracy out here in the frontier? It was too hard for you to make something of yourself back home, so you¡¯ve come running out here where you think it will be easier."


    "My Lord Baron," Jocelynn said, placing a hand on Owain¡¯s thigh to give him a reassuring squeeze under the table as she leaned forward to interject in the conversation. Her seafoam eyes widened with practiced innocence as she attempted to place herself in a position to play a somewhat naive voice of reason. "Perhaps you¡¯re being unfair to Master Isabell and Master Tiernan. They¡¯ve come all this way at brother-in-law¡¯s request, after all, and we all want to strengthen the march for Lord Bors."


    Turning toward the guild masters with a thoughtful expression, she paused for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully to find a way to act as a bridge between her aristocratic peers and the powerful commoners from her hometown.


    "I know it must be something of an adjustment for you both compared to Blackwell County," she said diplomatically. "I¡¯ve only been here for a few months and I¡¯m still adjusting myself. Out here, on the frontier, men of arms and action, knights and lords like Baron Hanrahan hold absolute sway. The merchant associations out here don¡¯t approach the power and prestige held by the guilds back home."


    "Your point, Lady Jocelynn?" Isabell asked cautiously, and doing her best to blunt the sharp tongue she¡¯d allowed to have free rein on the frontier noblemen who looked down their noses at her. It was obvious that Lady Ashlynn¡¯s young sister was attempting to cool the temperature of the discussions, but something about her approach felt... off in a way that Isabell couldn¡¯t quite put a finger on.


    "The frontier offers different challenges," Jocelynn explained, her voice taking on a wistful tone as if she were musing aloud rather than following a carefully rehearsed script. "But also different opportunities. In Blackwell, everything of value has been claimed for generations. Here..." she said, allowing her words to trail off, letting the people gathered at the high table fill in the blank themselves.


    "The problem is that, in order to win over men of arms and action in the frontier, men like Lord Owain and Baron Hanrahan," the golden-haired young lady said. "It requires achievements made on the field of battle. I think that¡¯s the real source of friction here," she said, turning her innocent-looking seafoam eyes to regard the portly baron.


    Jocelynn knew that Baron Hanrahan¡¯s days as a fighting man were long behind him. The War of Inches had been fought before Jocelynn was even born, but by all accounts, even when the war had been fought just outside his barony, Ian Hanrahan had functioned more as an administrator of a staging ground than a soldier on the front lines. What glory had been won in that war had been earned by the knights who were his vasals and other men who followed Bors Lothian¡¯s banner as he raided Airgead Mountain for its wealth.


    But to hear Jocelynn speak of him now, Ian Hanrahan had been every bit as brave and bold in his glory days as Owain Lothian was now. It was pure fiction, of course, but propping him up as a warrior and hero in the brutal lands of the frontier gave the baron an edge that she was certain he could exploit now that she had given him the opportunity.


    "Exactly, exactly so!" Baron Hanrahan said, thumping the heavy banquet table with a fleshy palm. "The knights under my command are all battle-tested men. Men who have spilled blood and risked their lives to defend their homes and purge the lands around us of wicked demons. They are worthy to be called knights!"


    "But you," the portly baron said, shaking a thick, sausage-like finger at the sharp-tongued engineer. "You have never once stood on the field of battle. You know nothing of war and a man¡¯s courage. So how can I respect you as a knight when all you intend to do is buy your title?"


    Sitting beside Owain, Jocelynn did her best to keep her features calm and neutral, even as she wanted to stand to applaud the baron for playing his role so well. Of course, there would be opportunities to fight in the coming war and gain martial glory, but Master Isabell could only do that if she accepted lands and a position that would place her in the midst of the conflict that was sure to come to Airgead Mountain the following year.


    The bait was right there, and the trap was nearly perfectly set, all she had to do was suggest...


    "I know nothing of war?" Isabell said, leaning back in her chair and laughing so loudly that it startled Jocelynn out of her thoughts. "You might be able to say that about my good friend here," she said, placing a hand briefly on Tiernan¡¯s shoulder before her eyes grew cold and she directed a piercing stare at Ian Hanrahan that made him feel as though the woman in silver spectacles had transformed into a great owl eyeing her next meal.


    "But if you think I know nothing of war," Isabell said coldly. "Then I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t know me at all."

 Chapter 543: Mockery and Doubt

    Chapter 543: Mockery and Doubt"But if you think I know nothing of war, then I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t know me at all."


    Isabell¡¯s words were delivered as a cold provocation, aimed directly at the notion that she had less right to respect and status in the frontier because she wasn¡¯t a knight or even a common soldier who had fought against the demons. Anyone who heard her frigid tone should have given pause before pushing further, but neither Baron Hanrahan nor his son Bastian had any intention of paying her the slightest bit of respect.


    "I¡¯m sure that your husband has told many stories to you and your children," Bastian said, laughing heartily and shaking his head. "About his valiant battles against... what is it that they still have in Blackwell County? Stunted Rat Demons? I¡¯m told that they grow as large as cats and create great chaos when they gnaw on ropes," he said, nodding sagely with a furrowed brow as if these ¡¯stunted rat demons¡¯ were truly a grave threat before his mock concern crumbled in another wave of laughter.


    Immediately, the hall broke into laughter as the people at the low tables finally let loose. While their future lord wasn¡¯t known for his acts of bravery fighting against the devious and stealthy cat demons, he still wore a tunic trimmed with the fur of a demon he¡¯d slain with his own sword and that was more than any soft, sheltered merchant from the safe lands to the east could say!


    Not everyone at the high table, however, felt comfortable joining in the laughter and after a few moments of intense embarrassment, Hugo Hanrahan felt compelled to speak up, before things could become worse than they already are.


    "Brother," Owain¡¯s hawk-nosed Steward said. "I think you misunderstand, Master Isabell. If you had visited Blackwell County with Lord Owain and I, you would have learned that..."


    "Oh, shut up, bastard," Bastian sneered. "You don¡¯t have to run and hide behind every woman¡¯s skirts like they¡¯re your mother. At some point, brother, you have to become a man worthy of being called a knight and speak the truth, even when it¡¯s something a soft-hearted woman doesn¡¯t want to hear!"


    Sitting across the table, Isabell and Tiernan shared a brief look with eyes that flicked from Bastion to the worn-down figure of Hugo at the end of the table. It seemed as though Owain and Sir Rian were only the latest in a long line of people to shove down the scholarly knight and his foundations in Hanrahan Barony were even weaker than they¡¯d initially expected.


    In negotiations, Hugo Hanrahan had never impressed either guild master with his insightfulness or ability to generate useful solutions to points of contention, but he had impressed both of them with his keen mind for organizing facts and figures.


    More importantly, as Lord Owain¡¯s Steward, he had access to an incredible amount of useful information, he just needed someone to support him enough to put his talents to use. And, since the lords all seemed determined to dismiss him because of his lack of fighting prowess, Isabell and Tiernan saw an opportunity to step into the gap his current superiors had created by offering him a bit of much-needed support.


    "But, Brother," Hugo protested, refusing to back down. "You should know that..."


    "Sir Hugo," Isabell interrupted, holding up a hand in a clear sign that she didn¡¯t want his support. "I can speak for myself. You don¡¯t need to defend me here, though I appreciate your kind intentions," she added, offering him the same kind of gentle smile she¡¯d given her children countless times over the years when they chose to do the right thing, even if it wasn¡¯t the best thing for them.


    "Relax, lad," Master Tiernan told the flustered knight, folding his powerful arms across his broad chest and leaning back in his chair with an anticipatory smile on his face. "All this time, people keep coming up with nonsense about why she speaks for the guild masters in the frontier. You think we don¡¯t know that you lot value a person based on their achievements in battle?" he said with a snort.


    "Master Sebastian of the Wayfinders is an old dog of the salty seas, and his cutlass has spilled enough pirate blood to dye the sails of his ship red before he retired," Tiernan said with a light laugh. "But the guilds didn¡¯t send him here to speak for us. They sent her," he said, pointing a thick finger at the calmly composed engineer. "If you think that was an accident, then you¡¯re greater fools than we took you for in the beginning."


    "You¡¯re not telling me that this slip of a woman has actually stood on the battlefield," Baron Hanrahan said incredulously as he looked at the slender woman in her plain black dress who looked like little more than a tutor he might have hired for a young child. "If her husband is some mighty warrior who brought her along to tend his needs in the tents at night, that hardly counts as ¡¯knowing something of war.¡¯"


    "My husband is a gentle man," Isabell said, removing her silver-rimmed spectacles and tucking them into the collar of her high-necked dress. "I met him in the court of the Emerald King in the old countries," she said as a wistful look flickered across her steely eyes before they hardened again. "But he always said that a single visit to the battlefield was enough to fill a poet¡¯s heart with endless sorrow for the tragedy of war, and never-ending admiration for those with the courage to march to it."


    "Lord Hanrahan," Jocelynn interrupted politely. "You may not be aware, but Master Isabell¡¯s husband, Casquas, is a well-known poet who is very popular among the noble families of Blackwell County. He even wrote a piece that he read for my coming of age celebration last year," she said, puffing her chest up in pride as a faint smile formed on her lips, as if she was recalling the poem that Casquas had written just for her. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Coming from her soft, pink lips, the words sounded like praise but Jocelynn knew full well what these rough men of the frontier would think of a man who earned his keep writing flower sonnets that could make crowds of young noblewomen swoon.


    As expected, the audience burst into laughter, and none laughed louder than Baron Ian Hanrahan and his son Bastian. Owain, his personal guard Sir Rian, and Hugo Hanrahan, however, all held their tongues, with Lord Owain giving Master Isabell a carefully appraising look.


    He¡¯d heard time and time again during his visit that Master Isabell understood war better than any of the other Guild Masters, though they were tight-lipped about what they meant. The most he could get from any of the infuriating merchants was that she¡¯d spent a number of years touring the old countries, attending academies and universities where she studied her trade, bringing back many useful innovations when she finally returned to Blackwell County alongside her husband.


    But from the way the master engineer was speaking today, there was something more at play than simple book learning, and when he looked in her steely eyes, the look he saw there matched one he¡¯d seen all too many times from some of his father¡¯s most seasoned knights. It should be impossible for a woman to possess eyes like that and yet...


    Under the table, Owain¡¯s fingers curled into a tight fist, and his brows furrowed as he focused on the woman who looked less and less like a quiet, unassuming school teacher by the second. Who was this woman really? And what secrets had she been hiding?

 Chapter 544: Engineer of Destruction

    Chapter 544: Engineer of Destruction"My lord Hanrahan," Isabell said calmly as she seized control of the conversation, ignoring the laughter around her to direct a sharp, hardened gaze at the portly baron. "Do you know what the greatest difference between wars fought in the old countries and wars fought against the demons is?" she asked calmly. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Men can be reasoned with and forced to surrender," the portly baron said instantly, waving a hand as if he could shoo away her question like a distracting fly. Clearly the woman intended to claim some sort of knowledge about wars that were irrelevant to the struggle against powerful demons and he had no intention of allowing her to build momentum around that notion.


    "When men squabble, all you have to do is scare your opponents into surrender and victory is yours. Men will back down if you press them hard. They¡¯ll yield territory, hand over treasures, even surrender their daughters to secure a peace instead of fighting an expensive war that ravages their domain for little gain. Demons though," he said, waggling a thick, sausage-like finger at her as though he were explaining things to a small child. "Demons fight to the death."


    "Humans will fight to the death whenever they believe in their lord and their cause," Isabell corrected. "Though perhaps my lord baron has never encountered men who would show their lord the kind of fanatical loyalty that would send them charging toward the pikes and spears of their enemy," she said, casting a disdainful look over her shoulder at the collection of sycophants who seemed to have come to this banquet for no other reason than to prop up and praise their pathetic excuse for a liege lord.


    "No, my lord," Isabell continued. "What I was referring to is the holy edict that prevents the Church from taking sides in a conflict between lords and kingdoms of the old world. Unless some lord or king has transgressed against the Church greatly enough to be declared a heritic and an enemy of the Church, wars in the old countries never benefit from the overwhelming power or the healing grace of the Church¡¯s miracle workers."


    "It sounds like those wars must be very... tame," Baron Hanrahan said dismissively as he tried to imagine what it would be like to fight an enemy who couldn¡¯t wield flesh rending sorcery or to charge that enemy without Inquisitors in their ranks, calling down holy fire to pin down the enemy while the knights charged. When he stripped away the greatest dangers on the battlefields of the frontier, the wars he imagined taking place felt... tame. "Perhaps in the old countries, wars are more like tournaments, fought for sport. Especially if they¡¯ve allowed your poet husband to bring his wife along to spectate."


    "Who said I was spectating?" Isabell said as she swirled wine in her goblet and leaned back in her chair. "Here, if you want to destroy a demon fortress, tear down its walls and trample its people, you turn to the Church and they pray to the Holy Lord of Light to smite your enemies for you. There, they turn to engineers to crush their enemies."


    "You¡¯re saying that you can take the place of an Inquisitor?" Sir Rian asked incredulously from his position near the end of the table. He¡¯d fought side by side with Inquisitor Diarmuid in Lord Owain¡¯s battle against the flat tailed demon¡¯s village and he¡¯d seen first hand the might of the Inquisition.


    By the time they reached the village, even though the devious demons had left barricades and traps in their wake when they fled, nothing could resist the might of the Church¡¯s Holy Flame. In the end, nothing had been left of the village but a smoldering ruin.


    "I¡¯m saying that against a town like this one," Isabell said, draining her goblet in a single swallow and gesturing for a servant to refill it. "I would only need twenty men and five days to reduce it to a pile of smoldering rubble."


    "Preposterous!" Baron Hanrahan roared. "The walls of this town have stood for close to one hundred years! No demon assault has ever breached them, and no demon has ever managed to scale them. You¡¯re telling me that you and twenty men could do what an entire demon horde failed to do in my grandfather¡¯s era?"


    Spittle flew from the furious baron¡¯s lips as he spoke, and his face had taken on a reddish hue of rage. He¡¯d agreed to provoke the overly proud merchants so that Lord Owain could draw them into a position from which they¡¯d be forced to accept a chance to ¡¯prove¡¯ their capabilities, but he¡¯d never imagined that these money grubbing guild masters would be so shameless as to claim to be more powerful than the demons his family had guarded against for generations!


    Now, all thoughts of Lord Owain¡¯s careful instructions fled from his mind as he slammed a fleshy palm on the table while berating the woman who seemed to think of herself as the chosen one of the Holy Lord of Light, or at least the most powerful woman in the history of the Kingdom of Gaal!


    "This isn¡¯t Blackwell County," Barnon Hanrahan snarled. "Out here, a person has to be responsible for their words. Idle boasting costs lives," he said, gesturing at the people sitting at the lower tables. "I wouldn¡¯t trust a braggart to protect my people, much less bestow them with the honorable title of ¡¯knight.¡¯"


    "Speaking nonsense like this," he said, turning to face Owain. "My Lord, please take this as a protest from your loyal vassal. This woman is unworthy of the title she¡¯s attempting to buy, and this man with her is likely unworthy as well. Please reconsider before they usher in a tragedy that will claim the lives of many innocent people and soldiers."


    "Why don¡¯t you let Master Isabell speak?" Tiernan said, glowering at the blustering baron. "Can it be that my lord is afraid to hear what she has to say?"


    "I want to hear," Owain said, leaning forward and gesturing for Baron Hanrahan to hold his tongue. "Master Isabell, you speak of destroying a town like this as though it¡¯s a common thing in the old countries, but I find that hard to believe. Please help fill the gaps in my knowledge," he said with a charming, well-practiced smile.


    "How would you destroy the Town of Hanrahan?" Owain asked pointedly. "And can you tell us of a time when you¡¯ve done such a thing?"


    "I already told you that this town should be torn down and rebuilt to remove the thatched roofs," Isabell began. "It should be done for the good of the people living here, to keep the damp out, and to prevent sicknesses that come from rot that sets in when the thatch isn¡¯t maintained. Lothian March is so rainy, foggy, and damp that I doubt their roofs ever dry properly except during the summer."


    "But to a person like me, all those piles of thatch with buildings clustered so haphazardly together and streets that meander every which way," she said, shaking her head as she recalled the way the city had been laid out. "I wouldn¡¯t even need to breach your walls to burn the town to the ground. In fact, those walls that you¡¯re so proud of would become my best tool to see to it that you and all of your brave soldiers die the worst deaths imaginable."


    All around her, the Great Hall had gone completely silent. Forks and knives stilled in people¡¯s hands as everyone stared at the steel-haired woman sitting opposite Baron Hanrahan with a sense of growing dread.


    "The Town of Hanrahan isn¡¯t that different from Umwelt City in the Emerald Kingdom," she began. As she spoke, her gray eyes grew distant, and her gaze drifted away from the people sitting around the table as she thought back to a different time and what felt like a life that barely belonged to her. She¡¯d been a different person then, one who had been willing to do whatever it took to end the civil war that gripped the kingdom where she¡¯d met the man who stole her heart...


    "You have to understand," she explained as her mind became lost in her memories. "Civil wars are terrible things that turn father against son, husband against wife, and in the Emerald Kingdom, it turned the young king against his uncle..."

 Chapter 545: Isabell’s War (Part One)

    Chapter 545: Isabell¡¯s War (Part One)Twenty years ago, the Isabel who stood atop a ridgeline overlooking Umwelt City was even more severe than the one who sat across the table from Baron Hanrahan. Her long, raven black hair whipped about her in the wind and the fitted black dress she wore had been cut to resemble the tunics of the Emerald King¡¯s soldiers. Only the slender emerald green and silver sash across her modest bust and the ceremonial sword at her waist gave any color to the Engineer of Destruction as she surveyed the city below her.


    Umwelt City had a great deal in common with the Town of Hanrahan. A few thousand people living simple lives, packed into a walled town that resembled a rectangle someone had shorted on one side. Neither settlement felt well planned and both of them had opted for a location in the lowlands where water was easier to obtain rather than a more defensible position on one of the many ridges or hilltops in the region.


    The biggest difference was that Umwelt City had been there for far longer, existing in a quiet and forgotten corner of the Emerald Kingdom in the shadow of vast mountains. For the people of Umwelt City, the fact that they were part of the Emerald Kingdom only mattered twice a year, once when the tax collector arrived from the royal capital, and a second time when the entire kingdom celebrated the ruling monarch¡¯s Reign Day.


    All that changed when the old king passed and his younger brother Pasqual attempted to claim the throne instead of allowing it to pass to his fifteen year old son, Marius. Pasqual¡¯s coup might have succeeded if he¡¯d managed to hold on to the Royal Capital. Seizing the Royal Palace and the city while young Marius was away at the Emerald Academy should have been a stroke of genius that carried him to an easy victory once his forces captured the crown prince.


    Unfortunately for Pasqual, Marius was a charismatic young man who had built a loyal following among the future lords and even the commoner scholars who studied at the Emerald Academy... Commoner scholars who included a foreigner from across the sea who had come to the Emerald Kingdom to study the system of tunnels that kept the city¡¯s cisterns full and carried sewage away from the ever-growing Royal Capital.


    If not for her help in guiding Marius¡¯s band of loyalists through tunnels under the palace that few were aware of and even fewer fully understood, the crown prince¡¯s counterattack wouldn¡¯t have been nearly as effective, but when Pasqual fled the royal capital to build a coalition among the outlying lords in the countryside, it brought years of bitter war to every forgotten corner of the kingdom, including the City of Umwelt.


    "Do you think they¡¯ll surrender?" Isabell asked the knight standing next to her overlooking the city. Sir Rafael Soteras and his ¡¯Winged Lances¡¯, a company of nearly two dozen light cavalry men, had been tasked with Isabell¡¯s security for much of the war and the two had long become comfortable with each other despite the gap in official station.


    "Baron Balleste is a stubborn man," Rafael said, shaking his head. "All he cares about is that Duke Grandee Pasqual has promised positions on the ruling council to every lord who supports him, regardless of rank, and a ten year exemption on the taxes on wheat and wool." In the end, it had been promises of wealth and power that had brought dissatisfied country lords under Pasqual¡¯s banner in droves, even though the kingdom would come close to bankrupting itself to keep all of his promises.


    "That, and I don¡¯t think he believes that you can do what we claim," the armored knight added, giving the slender woman an appraising look. Year after year, he¡¯d watched the light fade from her gray eyes as she cracked fortresses like eggs.


    He hadn¡¯t been present the first time she walked through the devastated ruins of one of Pasqual¡¯s strongholds, but men who had been present said that she fell to her knees and wept at the sight of twisted and mangled bodies burried beneath the rubble, many belonging to ordinary servants and common people. Years later, he knew that she wept still, the only difference was that the tears would come in the night, long after the battle ended when she was alone in her tent.


    "How many soldiers does Baron Balleste have under his command?" Isabell inquired as she gazed at the small, bustling city. They might be surrounded by five thousand men raised by Count Faura and marching under his majesty¡¯s banner, but the people of Umwelt still went about their daily business, trading vegetables from their small gardens or drinking at alehouses to pass the time until the siege ended and they could return to their farms. Only, if things went badly, it was unlikely any of them would ever return to those farms.


    "Two hundred of his own men," Rafael said. "Not enough to be a threat. But Sir Alba and Sir Enric managed to bring over close to five hundred survivors from the battle of Abasqe, including more than a hundred horses. There¡¯s no way we can leave such a powerful force to nibble at our flanks while we march on to Hosque."


    "I know," Isabell said bitterly, closing her eyes as she imagined how many common folk would die because a few foolish nobles refused to surrender and instead used the common folk as shields.


    "When this is over, his majesty should require that every lord and knight attend the Emerald Academy before they are allowed to inherit their titles and soldiers," Isabell said, trying to distract herself from the horror that was about to unfold. "It would prevent these ignorant country lords from leaving their people to languish in squalor and poverty like this. And maybe they would learn that some things aren¡¯t worth dying for." Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "These are simple country folk, Isabell," Rafael reminded her. "Even the nobles and their knights out here aren¡¯t that far removed from the farmers and shepherds they rule over. They are content with their ways," he said with a hint of longing in his voice, as though he yearned for a life like the one lived by these country lords. "Some people prefer a simple life, free from the worries found in your books and libraries."


    "They can only live in ignorance until the world comes knocking at their door," Isabell said with a heavy sigh as she spotted a messenger racing up the hill toward her position. Grandee Count Faura had given Baron Balleste until the sun reached the height of its journey across the sky to surrender. The time had come and gone by more than an hour and for a time, Isabell had allowed herself to hope that the Baron would see sense. Unfortunately, it seemed her hopes were doomed to disappointment... again.


    "Miss Isabell," the messenger said as he reigned in his horse. "His Grace, Grandee Count Faura asks you to begin your bombardment as soon as the towers begin to roll and he asks how long you will need to find the range."


    "Tell him to light the towers as soon as they¡¯ve all reached the gates," Isabell said as she turned to face the long row of siege weapons her company of craftsman had spent the past five days constructing on the ridge line. "I¡¯ll use the smoke from the fires to judge the wind. Once I can see the wind in the valley and the wind on the ridge, it shouldn¡¯t take more than ten minutes to find the range and begin the bombardment."


    Five minutes for the messenger to return to the camp below, Isabell thought. Another five minutes to relay orders and send three towers rolling along the country roads that led to each of three gates in the wall surrounding Umwelt City. Ten minutes for the towers to roll into position and another five minutes for the men hiding within the towers to set the fires that would make it impossible for anyone to flee the city when her siege weapons began to rain down death from above.


    Half an hour. The people below had half an hour to savor the last moments of their lives before Isabell began to erase the city of Umwelt from the map.

 Chapter 546: Isabell’s War (Part Two)

    Chapter 546: Isabell¡¯s War (Part Two)On the valley floor, three quickly built towers began to roll slowly and inexorably toward the gates of Uwelt City. Constructing them was one of the first steps in breaking a walled town, and Isabell had refined their design again and again over the course of the civil war.


    Convention held that siege towers should be heavy, ponderous weapons that were sturdy enough to allow men to climb safely within the tower before emerging from a ramp at the top, allowing them to storm the walls and clear them of defending soldiers. The towers had to be sturdy enough not to collapse under their own weight while they rolled ponderously forward, and the sides of the towers had to be thick enough to offer protection from the siege weapons of the opposing side.


    Isabell¡¯s towers, however, were nothing like the towers used to break most fortresses. She never intended for men to climb her towers to engage in bloody battle on the narrow walkway atop the city walls. Neither did she intend for her towers to endure the withering fire of powerful siege weapons. The country lords under Grandee Duke Pasqual¡¯s command had no engineers capable of constructing powerful and accurate siege weapons, and even if they possessed such weapons, they would struggle to bring them to bear against her fast-moving towers.


    Isabell¡¯s towers were built on wooden frames with walls made of oil-soaked canvas before they were stuffed with straw. The result was a tower that, while still slow and ponderous compared to a soldier on foot or a man on horseback, moved with twice the speed of a conventional siege tower.


    The men who pushed the towers into position would light the straw ablaze as soon as they¡¯d anchored the tower to the enemy¡¯s gates, spilling buckets of oil in the process and creating a conflagration that would prevent anyone from escaping the city once her bombardment from the ridge began.


    Of course, as things within the walls grew worse, she was certain that some brave souls would attempt to break through the inferno... There were always a few who did, but the number who succeeded was always very low.


    Seeing the towers beginning to roll in the valley below, Isabell turned away from Sir Rafael, taking her position next to a machine that resembled a giant crossbow. Like the siege towers, it had only been constructed when the army reached the City of Umwelt, though unlike the siege towers, some of the metal parts of each of the ten ballistae were carefully removed from their wooden frames each time Isabell brought her company of craftsmen to a new city.


    The heavy ash timbers that formed the frames and limbs of the weapons were far too cumbersome to transport, but in order to perform the role Isabell had given to these mighty weapons, certain parts couldn¡¯t be crafted from wood.


    Kneeling beside each of the powerful siege weapons, well-trained soldiers knelt in prayer, many of them pleading that the Holy Lord of Light forgive them for the indiscriminate destruction they were about to rain down on a city full of innocent people. Isabell left them to their prayers but she had stopped praying to the Holy Lord of Light long ago. After too many days like the one she was about to begin, she struggled to see anything holy or purifying about fire, no matter what the priests said about the mercy offered in the next life to the people who were consumed by flames in this one.


    "Begin heating the shot," Isabell commanded as she retrieved her sextant and inspected the flags drifting lazily on the faint breeze. "Wind on the ridge is slow from the east," she called out, noting that the flag was only barely unfurled in the breeze. "Ranging shots will begin in fifteen minutes. Crank balastae by five full turns to start and be ready to quarter crank once we find the range," she rattled off.


    In brick furnaces behind her, a team of men began to work at huge bellows while another team of men loaded canisters filled with round balls of iron into the furnaces, heating them until they glowed a dark, cherry red. By the time they were ready to be used, they would glow and even brighter yellow but Isabell wouldn¡¯t waste heated shot until she had properly found the range.


    Conventional wisdom said that weapons like the ballistae along the ridge and the more powerful trebuchet behind them could only fling projectiles for a thousand paces at most, but Isabell had learned long ago that smaller, lighter projectiles could fly much further if they didn¡¯t have to impact with lethal force when they arrived at their target.


    The experiment had started with the notion of raining down triangular-shaped iron spikes that would rain across cavalry¡¯s line of advance, injuring horses when they rode across the quickly deployed trap and breaking their charge.


    The idea turned out to be impractical. It was impossible to deploy enough of the spikes quickly enough to break a charge. Without enough density, too few of the sharp traps wasted themselves, and even if a horse did step on one, if the ground was too soft, then the trap was shoved down into the soil instead of causing any damage to the horse or its rider.


    It did, however, teach Isabell about the power of working with canisters filled with smaller pieces of iron. It had taken months of experiments to refine that idea into a weapon suitable to use against a town under siege, but in the end, Isebell had produced a terror like no other.


    Finally, the lumbering towers reached their position by the city gates and began to smoke and smolder, revealing that the wind in the valley was even calmer than it was on the ridge. That revelation set Isabell¡¯s mind in motion as she made her final calculations before passing orders to the men working on the ballista next to her.


    "Load cold shot for range finding and fire," she commanded coldly. Moments later, a mighty -THUMP- sounded beside her as the crew struck the release with a wooden mallet, releasing the tension held in the arms of the ballista and hurling a canister¡¯s worth of iron shot toward the unsuspecting town. The ¡¯cold¡¯ iron shot, solid balls of cast iron roughly the size of a hen¡¯s egg, had been painted bright red to make them easier to track as they soared through the air before raining down uselessly on the bare earth outside the city walls.


    "Increase the elevation by three turns of the screw," Isabell comanded without taking her eyes off the city in the valley. "Crank the arms to five plus one-half turns. Load the cold and fire again."


    Her commands were just as cold as the painted iron she flung, and her mind was filled with even colder math as she calculated the range. Power, angle, wind, each of these variables and others were precisely calculated and adjusted as she ¡¯walked¡¯ her bombardment closer and closer to her targets until, at last, a rain of iron shot fell onto the thatched roofs beyond the city walls.


    "All crews," she said, closing her eyes as she passed her orders, preparing herself to unleash what may have been the most unholy fire ever created by man. "Increase elevation by six turns of the screw, crank the arms six times plus one quarter turn. Bring the hot shot and fire as soon as you¡¯re loaded."


    Standing next to her, Sir Rafael clutched his hand into a tight fist over his heart, as if he was trying to shield it from what was about to happen.


    "May the Holy Lord of Light have mercy on their souls," he said solemnly. "And may these flames light their way to the Heavenly Shores in the west." sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    What happened next was something that no one who witnessed it would ever forget. Moving with the precision of soldiers on the march, the ballistae under Isabell¡¯s command began to fire glowing yellow shot, raining it down on Umwelt City like a rain of the sun¡¯s burning tears. Beside her, the steady -THUMP- -THUMP- -THUMP- of ballistae releasing their deadly munitions filled the air like a drummer beating the time of a funeral march.


    It took more than ten minutes of sustained bombardment for the first buildings to catch fire, but Isabell¡¯s men were prepared to sustain this bombardment for hours. Of course, the ballistae weren¡¯t the only weapons she¡¯d brought to bear. Now that the buildings had begun to smoke and smolder, it was time to pour oil on the fire, and for that, she would need to aim her trebuchet...

 Chapter 547: Isabell’s Lesson

    Chapter 547: Isabell¡¯s Lesson"There are things that you learn about war between humans that I hope you never learn Baron Hanrahan," Isabell told the slack-jawed baron as she finished telling her tale. "I hope you never learn to take joy in windy days because the wind drowns out the sounds of people screaming as they burn to death," she said coldly. "I hope you never count it a double blessing because the flames burn hotter and spread faster when the winds are high and the work will be done sooner."


    "More than anything, I hope you never fight demons who learn to fight the way humans do in the old countries," she added as she stared at the trembling baron with gray eyes that felt so haunted they must have belonged to a ghost. "Because the day they learn that is the day you learn what it¡¯s like to survive the destruction of your entire city, and what it feels like to preside over funerals that last for days."


    "Survive?" Owain said, blinking rapidly as he tried to process everything he¡¯d heard from this terrifying engineer. "The baron you attacked, Baron Balleste, he survived what you did to his city?"


    "Most keeps survive the destruction of the town that surrounds them," Isabell said, glancing over her shoulder to see the people sitting at the lower tables staring at her as though she¡¯d prouted horns and claws. "So long as your fortress wall is far enough from the walls of the keep itself, then there¡¯s usually enough of a gap to keep he flames from jumping across. Your odds of surviving are even better if you have a moat between your keep and your people, like the one you have here."


    Beside her, Master Tiernan reached out to rest a comforting hand on her shoulders. Of all the gathered Guild Masters of Blackwell City, perhaps only Master Sebastian of the Wayfinders Guild truly understood the ghosts that haunted Master Isabell. On more than one occasion, Tiernan had spotted the two masters sharing a bottle of strong wine and pouring extra cups for people who had departed for the Heavenly Shores many years ago. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It wasn¡¯t until today that he realized why neither master ever spoke much of their youth and the things that had shaped them into the strong masters they¡¯d become. For Master Sebastian, it was impossible to escape the tales of his heroism that were told by his crew and companions. His legends, for better or worse, resounded across Blackwell Harbor. Isabell, on the other hand, seemed to have left her life of war entirely behind in the old countries, taking up an ordinary life among her fellow engineers with few understanding her past.


    "But wait," Bastian said, frowning as he looked at the steel-haired Isabell. "If you did all that, if you commanded soldiers in battle, even engineers, and if you defeated whole armies, then how is it that you¡¯re still a commoner? You should have been knighted for that at the very least. If you had done something so amazing here, I¡¯m sure that Marquis Lothian would grant you the title of Baron to rule over the lands you conquered. So, if everything you just said is true, how is it that you have to buy your way into the peerage now?"


    "Some things are worth more than a title and land, Young Lord Bastian," Isabell said simply. "My husband was bound in service to the royal court. I traded the title and lands that his majesty offered me for a chest of gold and my husband¡¯s freedom. We left the old countries behind and never looked back."


    "To turn down a title and lands of your own," Jocelynn said, her carefully composed demeanor momentarily falling away. "That¡¯s the kind of love you only find in fairy tales and storybooks."


    For a heartbeat, the coldly calculating young woman Jocelynn had been fighting hard to become disappeared, replaced by the girl who had spent countless evenings in the Blackwell library with her tutors of her own, devouring tales of knights who fought against demons for their ladies and bold captains who won the hearts of maidens by braving dangerous seas and fearsome pirates to rescue them. Now, as she listened to Isabell telling her story, her seafoam eyes shone with a genuine wonder that had been absent ever since her sister¡¯s death.


    "To have someone love you so much that they would fight in a horrible war just to win your freedom and the right to marry you," she said, turning her shining eyes unconsciously to Owain before looking back to Isabell. Her voice had lost its practiced polish, instead sounding wistful and almost longing. "Having that kind of love in your life would make any woman jealous."


    When she spoke, Jocelynn¡¯s eyes were filled with stars as she tried to imagine what a young Casquas and Isabell might have looked like. Casquas had always struck her as suave and courtly, with silver hair worn long in a neat ponytail while Isabell looked more like one of Ashlynn¡¯s tutors, but twenty years ago... With flames of war burning around them and an almost impossible love between them, the image of the young couple was more than enough to make Jocelynn¡¯s heart flutter with the same innocent delight she¡¯d felt when her sister first read her stories of heroic love as a child.


    Belatedly aware of how transparent her emotions had become, Jocelynn straightened in her seat, struggling to reclaim her composed exterior. But she couldn¡¯t quite dampen the spark that Isabell¡¯s story had ignited. Beneath all of the struggles and the politics that drove her family¡¯s entanglement with the Lothians, a part of her still yearned for the pure, unconditional love she¡¯d dreamed of before politics and position had tainted her dreams for the future.


    Even as her mind struggled to resume its calculations, carefully considering how Isabell¡¯s revelations might affect their plans, Jocelynn found herself wondering if Owain might someday love her the way Casquas had loved Isabell.


    Certainly, Owain hadn¡¯t fought a war for her yet, but when she thought of everything that stood between them and how hard she had to work now to appease Marquis Bors so he would give his blessing to Owain instead of passing his throne to Loman... it was hard not to see a little bit of herself in the aging engineer, and to hope that perhaps her own story might end with the same fierce devotion from Owain that Casquas enjoyed from Isabell.


    "I didn¡¯t fight the war for Casquas," Isabell pointed out. "I fought the war because I was young enough and foolish enough to get myself involved with the struggles of a young prince who fought for a throne because he thought it had been stolen from him."


    Isabell¡¯s words were chosen very carefully. She didn¡¯t say she fought for a prince whose throne had been stolen from him, she said that the prince ¡¯thought¡¯ it had been stolen from him. The difference was subtle, but in this audience, with so many clever lords and knights gathered around the table, her words landed like a canister of hot shot fired from one of her ballistae.

 Chapter 548: Worth Fighting For

    Chapter 548: Worth Fighting For"Wasn¡¯t it?" Owain asked sharply as he frowned at the engineer. After months of trading barbed words with her, he was enjoying watching her use her viperish tongue against someone else for a change, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel that this latest barb was aimed more toward him than it was toward Baron Hanrahan. But for that to be true, she would have to know about Loman¡¯s intention to contend for the throne...


    The thought that she might be aware of Owain¡¯s struggle to inherit the throne that should be his by birthright shook him to the core. His eyes narrowed and his brows lowered as he scowled at Isabell, who seemed completely immune to any form of intimidation. Was this really an idle comment in response to Jocelynn¡¯s childish infatuation with stories of true love? Or had the entire story she told about the civil war in the Emerald Kingdom been intended to allow her to make this point?


    Owain had no way to know for sure, but knowing what he did about the sharpness of Isabell¡¯s mind and the keenness of her wit, he wouldn¡¯t put it past her.


    "As the eldest son and heir," Owain said carefully. "The throne was his by birthright. Or do you mean to tell me that the Emerald Kingdom practices some heretical version of the faith that denies men the position they were born into after meeting their struggle in their past life?"


    Owain¡¯s question instantly drew the attention of most people at the high table, though a few of them seemed to bristle at the implications of his statement. It seemed odd for Owain to couch his question in the doctrine of the Church, though those closest to him understood that it was likely a reaction to the threat he felt from his own brother. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Owain was looking for reasons to shore up the legitimacy of his claim to the throne wherever he could find them and the Church¡¯s teaching that people born into positions of privilege had earned them through struggles in their previous lives was just one of the many straws he was grasping at as he searched for an escape from the possibility that his father would pass the title of Marquis to his brother Loman.


    Bastian, on the other hand, gave his half-brother Hugo an intense, dark look, as if to remind his younger brother that there was no doubt between them about who would become the next Baron Hanrahan. Small though the barony might be, and struggling as it was, in Bastian¡¯s mind, it still belonged to him, and any problems the barony faced would quickly be swept away when he rode Owain¡¯s coattails to greater heights in the coming Holy War against the demons.


    "Maybe the throne belonged to him," Isabell said, disrupting the pair of heirs from their inwardly spiralling thoughts. Her voice was light and airy, as if owning a throne was no different than owning a fine horse. Perhaps to her, there really was no difference, given how easily she talked about walking away from the title and lands the Emerald King offered.


    "But I struggle to say that it was best for him to have it," Isabell continued. "In three years of wars, tens of thousands of people died, my lords, and for what? Whole cities were burned to the ground. Baronies and even Counties that had stood for a dozen generations fell and had to be rebuilt from next to nothing. And for what benefit? For a different man to sit on a gilded chair and call himself king?"


    "Fine of you to condemn him after you helped him pile up so many victims," Baron Hanrahan said with a snort. As he spoke, his eyes darted nervously to the people sitting at the lower tables, as if he were afraid they would come to the conclusion that it didn¡¯t matter which lord ruled over them. It was a notion that he desperately wanted to avoid, lest any of them think of toppling his beloved son Bastian in favor of the bastard Hugo, or worse, one of the knights who was more popular with his villagers than Baron Hanrahan was among his subjects in the barony.


    "Aren¡¯t you just as guilty as he is for all the people you killed?" the portly baron asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from questions about the legitimacy of a person¡¯s rule and whether or not the Emerald King¡¯s uncle could have some justified reason to seize the throne from the rightful heir.


    "Perhaps I am, my Lord Baron," Isabell said directly, refusing to shy away from his accusation. She¡¯d made what peace she could with her actions long ago, and she wasn¡¯t about to be disturbed by his childish prodding at her old wounds now. "That¡¯s part of why I¡¯ve come to the frontier, after all. It¡¯s time to build up something new, don¡¯t you think?"


    "Build?" Baron Hanrahan said with a snort. "I doubt you could build anything that lasts. By your own admission, you are an engineer who rains down death and destruction. But out here, squaring off against the demons of Airgead Mountain, you could put those skills of yours to use. And you know what the Church has said about those who slay demons while fighting under the banner of a Holy War."


    "It would be a way to wash away any of your failings for what you did before and maybe even earn the right to enter the nobility properly in your next life," the baron said, giving Isabell a piercing look as he attempted to do as Owain had asked and goad her into a position that she couldn¡¯t back down from. "Assuming you have the courage to fight again, that is."


    "It¡¯s not a lack of courage that took me away from the battlefield, my Lord Baron," Isabell said pointedly. "It¡¯s a lack of stomach for meaningless deaths in the service of a king who knew little more of providing for his people than what he¡¯d read in a book at the Emerald Academy."


    "But there are things worth fighting for in this world," she said as a dangerous, ambitious gleam appeared in her eyes. "And there are things that I would rain down destruction from the sky in order to protect. But Hanrahan Barony and the small town here... I¡¯m afraid that neither of them rises to that level for me."

 Chapter 549: The Guild Masters’ Plan (Part One)

    Chapter 549: The Guild Masters¡¯ Plan (Part One)Baron Hanrahan looked ready to explode when Isabell said that the Town of Hanrahan and even his entire Barony weren¡¯t worth fighting for. He might not be someone who had marched on the front lines during the War of Inches, but by the Holy Lord of Light, he¡¯d done his part! He¡¯d fought to protect this town!


    No demon raid on the supply lines through Hanrahan Barony had ever succeeded during the entire war, and he¡¯d turned his very own manor into a safe haven where the priests could gather and the wounded could be treated within the security of his fortress walls. He had done his part to secure the future of his family and his people!


    Unfortunately, one glance at Owain¡¯s calm, calculating expression was all it took to know that further outbursts would only be counterproductive. His job had been to rage, rebuke, provoke, and do whatever it took to draw Master Isabell and Master Tiernan into making a commitment for the upcoming war.


    It was Owain¡¯s job to gently guide them into making that commitment in Hanrahan Baron,y and it appeared that the young lord was finally ready to make his move. Now that they¡¯d reached this point, Baron Hanrahan would have to swallow his pride no matter how much he wanted to speak up in front of the people at the lower tables, to make a show of defending what they had built here and that they wouldn¡¯t accept insults about the fruits of their hard labor.


    But the time to do that would have to come later. For now, it was Lord Owain¡¯s turn to guide the conversation. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m curious, Master Isabell," Owain said, swirling his wine casually in his goblet as he stared at the proud engineer. "If this town isn¡¯t worth fighting for, then what is? Or would you prefer to be tasked with rebuilding the town of Hanrahan into something worth protecting... maybe something that could withstand even your fearsome assaults," he said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Isabell.


    "I¡¯ve discussed matters at length with Master Tiernan," Isabell said, leaning back in her chair and sipping her wine. Finally, it seemed like they were going to get to the point. She only wished she could have gotten here without being so forceful and without having to dredge up so many old memories.


    Now that she had, she needed a few minutes to calm herself before she went any further. Thankfully, she and her fellow Guild Master had discussed things well in advance, and he was more than capable of supporting her in her time of need.


    "Master Isabell doesn¡¯t mean any disrespect to your lordship¡¯s estate, Lord Hanrahan," Tiernan said, diplomatically stepping into the gap that Isabell had created for him. "It¡¯s just that, when we discussed matters and considered the interests of the other Masters whom we represent, we find that Hanrahan Barony is a bit too... out of the way for our needs."


    "So you¡¯ve said on a number of occasions," Owain said, already dreading a return to topics they¡¯d gone over so many times that he felt the conversations had ruts worn in them. "As I¡¯ve explained, many of the lands surrounding Lothian City have been settled by knights who won their titles in earlier wars. No knight has been granted lands within a day¡¯s ride of Lothian City since the end of the Brother¡¯s War."


    "That¡¯s not entirely true," Master Tiernan said, cracking his knuckles and sharing a brief, knowing look with Isabell. "After all, lands were granted to Sir Brevik Shaw and then again to Sir Halaster Mourn," he pointed out, dropping a pair of names that Marcel had provided. "It¡¯s just that they were never able to hold those lands."


    "Sir Brevik Shaw?" Owain said, blinking in confusion and looking to Baron Hanrahan, who seemed equally lost. "Sir Halaster Mourn? I¡¯m sorry, I haven¡¯t heard of either of these ¡¯brave¡¯ men who failed to protect the lands my family bestowed on them."


    Around the room, a quiet murmur arose as people poked their neighbors, each one inquiring if the other had ever heard of these esteemed knights and the deeds that had won them some of the most treasured lands in Lothian March.


    The fiefs established outside of Lothian City were so large and so valuable that many expected generations of Lothian Marquis of placing their most loyal retainers there in the hopes of elevating them to barons when the March became a Duchy. The names of the knights who held those lands were known across the march, yet no one had ever heard of Sir Mourn or Sir Shaw.


    "My Lord," Hugo said hesitantly from the far end of the table. "I, I may be able to help with that, assuming that I¡¯m recognizing the names correctly. Master Tiernan," he said, looking at the physically imposing ironmonger. "Could it be that you¡¯re talking about the parcels directly adjacent to the, the demon highway, before it enters the Vale of Mists?"


    "Yes, that¡¯s it, exactly so young lad!" Tiernan said with a wide grin. "It¡¯s clear that Hanrahan Barony was chosen for its proximity to Airgead Mountain, but it¡¯s also a bit too distant from Lothian City, and while there are good streams and a few large ponds out here, nothing we¡¯ve seen here compares to the River Luath."


    "You, you want to build your fief at the mouth of the Vale of Mists?" Owain said, momentarily too stunned to give any sort of composed response to the outlandish request. That region was beyond cursed, and in his lifetime, it had likely become even more cursed when he ordered Sir Broll and Sir Tommin to bury Ashlynn Blackwell there after he beat her to death.


    The fact that one of those men was already dead and the other had betrayed him to seek shelter in the arms of the Church was only more proof in Owain¡¯s mind that anyone who had anything to do with the mouth of the Vale of Mists would not meet a good end. Without the full might of the Church behind him, he wouldn¡¯t dare to set foot there and once it was conquered, he still didn¡¯t know if it would be safe to make use of those lands until decades later.


    "Are you

 Chapter 550: The Guild Masters’ Plan (Part Two)

    Chapter 550: The Guild Masters¡¯ Plan (Part Two)"Ha! What foolish nonsense," Baron Hanrahan roared, stepping quickly back into his role as a goad when he realized the merchants were taking the conversation well and truly off the beaten path. "A little experience fighting wars for kings in the old world, and you think yourself invulnerable to attacks from demons!"


    "Do you lot really think that you¡¯re so mighty that you can fight off the Demon Lady of the Vale?" the baron asked, slamming a fleshy palm into the table for emphasis. "She¡¯ll squash you like bugs!"


    "Master Tiernan," Jocelynn quickly said, stepping in before things became too heated. Under the table, she gave Owain¡¯s thigh a reassuring squeeze while she took the focus off of him so he could formulate a more reasoned response and decide if the Masters¡¯ suggestion would still suit their plan.


    "I¡¯ll admit that I haven¡¯t been in Lothian March for very long, but even I have heard nightmare-inducing tales about the Demon Lady of the Vale," Jocelynn said. "They say that no walls can truly bar her unless the Church has recently blessed them and the Church charges an exorbitant amount of money for their services just to maintain the protective blessings on Lothian Manor and at the city gates."


    "I know that Master Isabell¡¯s skills are very impressive," Jocelynn added, looking at the older woman with genuine admiration. "But if two seasoned knights of the frontier have already failed to hold those lands, what makes you think that you can prevail where they fell?"


    "It¡¯s simple, really," Isabell said, leaning forward and smiling at the perplexed-looking Lord Owain. "In the end, it comes down to faith. Not in the Holy Lord of Light," she added quickly. "But faith in young lord Owain and the army we will prepare for the Holy War to come." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m sure that the Demon Lady of the Vale is a terrifying threat to all of humanity," Isabell said in a very severe tone. "And from what I¡¯ve been told since we came to Lothian March, her demon spawn are just as dangerous, if not more so. But we¡¯ve made this selection for two very important reasons," she said.


    "First, as you¡¯ve said, everyone else who has tried has failed," Isabell pointed out. "But everyone who tried so far has been a knight, and if you¡¯ll forgive me for saying it, most knights aren¡¯t known for their ability to create something out of nothing. But our collection of masters can do what others cannot. We can turn the River Luath into an engine that powers mills, a fishery that feeds thousands, and that¡¯s just the beginning of what we can do with an opportunity like the lands at the entrance to the Vale of Mists."


    "The second reason," Master Tiernan said, stepping smoothly back into the conversation. "Is that unlike the people granted these lands in the past, we¡¯ll be taking them at the start of a Holy War. We¡¯re putting our faith in you, Lord Owain, to drive the Demon Lady of the Vale from these lands after you crush the demons of Airgead Mountain, freeing Lothian March, no, excuse me, Lothian Duchy, of the scourge of her presence forevermore."


    The way he said it, with a voice brimming with confidence and praise for Lord Owain, made it very difficult for Owain to back down from the Masters¡¯ proposal. Of course, Master Tiernan couldn¡¯t tell him the truth, that the mysterious Marcel had assured them he and Lady Ashlynn could arrange protection against the forces of the Vale of Mists, but it didn¡¯t matter. The tale they¡¯d spun contained enough kernels of truth that their proposal became one that Lord Owain would have to suffer losses to reject.


    It was something that Owain realized painfully well. On the one hand, he could tell them that it was presumptious to expect anyone to drive the Demon Lady of the Vale from her nest, but to do that, he¡¯d have to admit to his own uncertainties about achieving something that his greatest ancestor, Cellach Lothian, had only managed to do temporarily.


    On the other hand, if he accepted their proposal, then he would have to risk losing some of his most useful pawns very early in the war to come. When this whole thing started, he¡¯d wanted to stir them up and provoke their pride so they would offer to take up the ¡¯challenge¡¯ of improving Hanrahan Barony. Now, however, it seemed like he and Jocelynn had underestimated just how proud and confident these Guild Masters were.


    "I think this is too large a matter to decide over dinner tonight," Owain said carefully. "We still have time to tour the other villages of the barony while we¡¯re here. Why don¡¯t you take a better look around, and perhaps we can arrange to pass by the entrance to the Vale of Mists on our way back to Lothian City in a few days..."


    "That sounds wise," Isabell said, raising her goblet in a small toast to Owain¡¯s concession. "Thus far, Master Tiernan and I have only seen renditions of the Vale of Mists in paintings and tapestries. We¡¯re very much looking forward to the chance to explore it first hand, especially with some of the bravest, most capable knights of the frontier to act as our escorts," she said with a smile that held much more warmth than her heart felt at the thought of spending even more time in Lord Owain¡¯s company.


    But, she owed it to Lady Ashlynn to keep an eye on her sister Jocelynn... and so long as the mysterious Black Merchant Marcel kept his word, doing this would allow her to reunite with her missing liege lady for the first time since Ashlynn left to marry Lord Owain.


    It might be uncomfortable to endure, but if it got her where she needed to be, then she was more than willing to play the game for a little while longer. After all, if Marcel was right, the time to play games with Owain Lothian would be coming to an end soon.

 Chapter 551: A Quiet Evening On The Terrace

    Chapter 551: A Quiet Evening On The TerraceIn the Vale of Mists, the waning moon overhead cast a dim, silvery light through the blanket of fog that covered the valley. In the distance, the faint sounds of night birds hunting and larger animals rustling through the undergrowth added texture to the otherwise still night for those with ears sharp enough to hear them.


    On her terrace, overlooking the valley, Ashlynn luxuriated in Nyrielle¡¯s touch, snuggling close to her lover and basking in the contentment that followed one of Georg¡¯s sumptuous meals.


    "I missed these moments," Ashlynn said softly as she closed her eyes to relax into Nyrielle¡¯s comforting embrace. This close, the scent of lavender soap and the subtle touch of honeysuckle perfume that the ancient vampire wore mingled with the misty air and the distant scent of cedar to create an aroma that comforted Ashlynn just as much as the smell of salty ocean air, seagrass and her father¡¯s more rugged, almost leathery scent had comforted her as a child.


    It was a scent that blended thoughts of home with safety, security, the freedom to be herself with the knowledge that she was loved, sheltered and protected. After so many months away, she had returned to the Vale and now life was returning to something she recognized as normal.


    There were still several burdens weighing on her but having the space and time to enjoy dinner alone with Nyrielle was something more precious than she¡¯d realized all those months ago when she insisted on having meals somewhere less formal than Nyrielle¡¯s underground dining room.


    "I missed them too," Nyrielle said as she gently ran her long, slender fingers through Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde hair. While much of Ashlynn¡¯s body had become firmer and more toned as she transformed herself from a sheltered noblewoman into a powerful witch who could fight for her place in the world, her hair had become much softer since she left the salty air of Blackwell County behind.


    The resulting softness was so luxurious that Ashlynn¡¯s hair was quickly becoming her second favorite part of Ashlynn¡¯s body to touch.


    "Was Ollie well when you visited him today?" Nyrielle asked gently. It had been four days since the young man had begun his vigil and according to Ashlynn it wouldn¡¯t be worrisome unless his trial extended beyond seven days, but that didn¡¯t mean her lover had no reason to be concerned.


    "His aura is strong and the world is nurturing him," Ashlynn said without opening her eyes. Heila and the archer Milo had been taking turn standing guard over Ollie¡¯s vigil and Ashlynn visited at least once every day but unfortunately there was no way to know how he was fairing in the depths of his trial. What he was experiencing now was something only he could know and Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t know anything about it until he succeeded... or failed.


    "If I compare him to Heila at this time, then he¡¯s doing much better," Ashlynn said. "Or at least he seems to be under less strain. The seed I prepared for him is a normal one and he doesn¡¯t have to endure the pressure of an Ancient Seed possessed by a remnant spirit of a previous witch the way Heila did. I think he¡¯ll emerge in the next day or two but there¡¯s no way to really know," she said.


    Ashlynn tried to keep her voice light, but an echo of her heartbeat echoed within Nyrielle¡¯s chest. Given that, even if the vampire didn¡¯t have senses that were far beyond human limits to feel every tremble of her lover¡¯s body and see every jump of her pulse in her neck, it would still be impossible for Ashlynn to maintain a confident face when her heart trembled with worry.


    "What about Virve?" Nyrielle asked gently. "She isn¡¯t undergoing a trial, but she is... transforming, you said. Like a butterfly?"


    "I carried Virve¡¯s seed for three days," Ashlynn said. "It should take about the same amount of time for the seed to transform Virve into a witch. Even if there is no trial, her body still needs to adjust and atune itself with the energy of the world. It¡¯s just... Virve¡¯s seed feels strangely," she paused for a moment as she tried to find the right word. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Aggressive," she finally said when she thought about the swirl of autumn colors that enveloped the seed. Everyone else in her coven possessed energy in some shade of green and Ashlynn had expected Virve to inherit the Ancient Oak¡¯s golden-green hue, but when she pulled the seed from her chest, she saw hues that ranged from gold through burnt orange to deep crimson all swirling around like leaves caught in a whirlwind, but no trace of green.


    "Virve¡¯s seed is potent, but there¡¯s a fury to it that makes me nervous," Ashlynn said, shifting in Nyrielle¡¯s embrace so she could gaze into her lover¡¯s midnight eyes. "I may need you to help me watch over her if anything goes wrong."


    "If it would help, I can suggest that she spends some time with Lennart," Nyrielle said. "Zedya¡¯s husband is adjusting well to his existence as a vampire but he and Virve are old friends. It might be best for both of them if they can support each other through their changes."


    "I¡¯d like that," Ashlynn agreed quickly. "Our families are growing," she said with a warm smile. "Now that Zedya has taken her first progeny, will your other children take on progeny of their own?"


    "Ha ha," Nyrielle chuckled. "Did Thane tell you that he¡¯d considered taking Ollie in a few years? I think you took him by surprise when you made him a member of your coven so quickly."


    "That¡¯s only because Thane is so old and he¡¯s used to thinking in terms of years and decades," Ashlynn said. "He should know by now how close we are to war with the Lothians. I don¡¯t have years to wait. Even if some people aren¡¯t quite ready, I have to move now before I lose the chance to take people in."


    "Thane is ¡¯so¡¯ old?" Nyrielle asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Then what does that make me? You know I¡¯m more than twice his age..."


    "You, my love," Ashlynn said, stretching languidly in Nyrielle¡¯s embrace until her lips were close enough to her lovers to feel the other woman¡¯s cool breath on her face. "Are like a fine wine, aged to perfection until you¡¯ve become the woman who fills my heart with joy and my dreams with... with naughtier things," she whispered, her face growing hot with embarrassment as she recalled her most recent dreams of her lover and the things they¡¯d done.


    Taking Ashlynn¡¯s closeness as permission, Nyrielle leaned ever so slightly forward, brushing her lips across Ashlynn¡¯s lush, bow-shaped lips, sliding her tongue tantalizingly across the seam between her lips, gently prying them open to fully savor her lover¡¯s taste.


    The moment their tongues caressed each other, gently dancing back and forth in the shared space between them, Ashlynn¡¯s heart began to race and the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest raced right along with it. The cool night air suddenly felt ice cold against her skin as a fire burned within her body that ached for more than a simple kiss.


    "Take me," Ashlynn whispered, pulling back from the kiss long enough to whisper in her lover¡¯s ear. "Take every inch of me and make me yours."

 Chapter 552: Power Play

    Chapter 552: Power PlayThe night air in the Vale of Mists carried a crisp autumn chill, whispering through the shutters with promises of frost by morning. But within Ashlynn¡¯s chambers, the roaring fire crackled and popped, sending dancing shadows across the stone walls as the occasional -POP- from the fire sent a flurry of sparks dancing on the air, glowing like tiny stars before they faded into the shadows.


    The heated gazes exchanged between the two women as they moved from the terrace to the bedchamber and the soft, wet sounds of quick, stolen kisses created a warmth that radiated between them, feeling hotter than the depths of summer in the Briar. Faint cedar smoke from the burning logs mingled with Nyrielle¡¯s subtle perfume of lavender and honeysuckle, creating an intoxicating blend that made Ashlynn¡¯s head swim.


    Nyrielle moved with slow, deliberate tenderness as she pressed Ashlynn up against one of the ornately carved corner posts of her bed. The rough wood caught at the delicate lace trim of Ashlynn¡¯s dress, gently tugging at her in a way that made her feel ever so lightly restrained, sending shivers down her body as she felt ¡¯trapped¡¯ by her own dress.


    Gazing at her lover with midnight blue eyes that burned with passion, Nyrielle savored the feeling of her lover¡¯s supple body, yielding yet firm against her own. The silk of Ashlynn¡¯s delicate dress slid whisper-soft against the heavier brocade of Nyrielle¡¯s gown as she pressed herself close enough to bring her lips from Ashlynn¡¯s delicate mouth, along her gently curving jawline and down to her sweet neck.


    The vampire¡¯s tongue traced a delicate path along Ashlynn¡¯s neck, tasting salt and sweetness mingled with the faintest trace of the rosewater Ashlynn had dabbed there earlier. The pulse beneath that tender skin jumped wildly against Nyrielle¡¯s lips, like a drumbeat of desire that echoed in both their chests. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No," Ashlynn said softly as she drew a ragged, shuddering breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing with anticipation that she could feel echoed within Nyrielle¡¯s heart, but she forced herself to cool things down before she fully roused Nyrielle¡¯s hunger.


    "No biting," Ashlynn whispered, placing a finger under Nyrielle¡¯s chin and drawing her lover¡¯s lips away from her neck, enveloping the other woman¡¯s lips with her own and drawing her into a deep kiss.


    Ashlynn¡¯s fingers laced their way through Nyrielle¡¯s raven-dark hair, feeling each silken strand slide between her fingers like cool water. She tightened her grip, firmly anchoring her lover in place, relishing the slight catch of breath she pulled from the powerful vampire¡¯s lips.


    As she extended one leg, the rustling of her skirts against her thighs whispered like an anticipatory lover, urging Ashlynn to press even further. Her stockinged calf wrapped around Nyrielle¡¯s long, slender legs, the friction of silk against silk adding to the ever building aura of desire between them as she pulled their bodies even closer together.


    The heat building between them intensified where their hips met, and Ashlynn¡¯s fingertips tingled with the magical energy that always rose within her when they touched like this, filling the air with an intense, evergreen scent that briefly called to mind the first time Nyrielle had pinned her against something as firm and unyielding as the bedpost behind her.


    It had been a cedar tree in the forest then, on the first night that she offered herself to feed Nyrielle¡¯s hunger. Back then, Nyrielle had held herself back, afraid she might harm Ashlynn or frighten her with the reality of a vampire¡¯s dark hunger, but now there was no restraint in her lover¡¯s midnight eyes as the powerful vampire trapped her against the unyielding firmness of the bedpost.


    The fire in the hearth cast soft, flickering shadows over both women, painting them in gold and amber one moment, deep crimson the next. The dancing light caught the contours of Nyrielle¡¯s pale alabaster skin, giving it an almost translucent quality that reminded Ashlynn of moonlight filtering through the mists of the vale at night.


    Where their bodies pressed together, the light created deep valleys of shadow, rippling with each breath and movement as if they were melting into darkness and into each other. A drop of perspiration traced its way down Ashlynn¡¯s neck, catching the firelight like a diamond as it slid toward the deep valley of her cleavage before Nyrielle wiped it away, resting her delicate hand on Ashlynn¡¯s full bust and delighting in the rhythmic beat of her lover¡¯s heart beneath her hand.


    The kiss and the feeling of being tightly held, almost controlled by Ashlynn, sent shivers along Nyrielle¡¯s spine, teasing at the warring hungers within her. Ashlynn¡¯s pulse sang in her ears like a primitive drumbeat summoning her to hunt, and it took every ounce of willpower that she had to keep her fangs from growing long and sharp, ready to feed on Ashlynn¡¯s sweet blood.


    An entirely different hunger drove her hands as they slid along Ashlynn¡¯s rounded hips, cupping the firm cheeks of her perfectly sculpted buttocks before sliding higher where her slender fingers began to work at the knots of Ashlynn¡¯s corset laces.


    "No ripping clothing tonight either," Ashlynn said, pulling back from the kiss long enough to gaze lovingly at Nyrielle¡¯s delicate features, admiring the flush of warmth and passion that spread across her lover¡¯s cheeks.


    "You¡¯re being awfully strict tonight, my darling," Nyrielle whispered, wrapping her arms around Ashlynn and lifting her ever so slightly off the ground as she pressed her against the bedpost. "No biting, no tearing, what¡¯s next? I thought you wanted me to take every inch of you tonight," she breathed, pressing her forehead against Ashlynn and gazing into the other woman¡¯s emerald eyes from mere inches away.


    "How am I to do that if you put so many rules in place?"


    "You belong to me," Ashlynn said, gently tugging on Nyrielle¡¯s dark hair, pulling her head back and exposing the vampire¡¯s long, slender neck. "And I belong to you," she whispered, brushing her lips over the same spot on Nyrielle¡¯s neck where the vampire had sunk her fangs into Ashlynn¡¯s. "But that doesn¡¯t mean I want to go easily every time."


    "Oh?" Nyrielle asked, quivering as she felt the strength of Ashlynn¡¯s grip tugging gently on her hair. The blend of power that she¡¯d gained as both Seneschal and Mother of Trees made her nearly as physically powerful as Nyrielle herself, and the gap between them was shrinking every day. Already, she found that she couldn¡¯t overpower Ashlynn¡¯s hold on her without using enough force that she worried she might hurt the other woman.


    "I want you," Nyrielle whispered as she made her move. Spinning quickly, she pulled Ashlynn away from the bedpost, using the moment of startled surprise to pull Ashlynn down onto the soft feather mattress. The bed¡¯s wooden frame creaked in faint protest of the sudden movement as she rolled over on the bed, trading places with Ashlynn and pinning the witch beneath her.


    "But I don¡¯t want to be too forceful with you, my darling," Nyrielle said as the hunger within her surged, warring with her restraint and genuine concern. Ashlynn¡¯s pale blonde hair lay across the dark blankets of her bed like a pale golden waterfall, drawing Nyrielle¡¯s eyes to her lover¡¯s flush face and the gentle sway of her heaving bosom, trapped beneath her like the world¡¯s most enchanting meal, waiting to be devoured...

 Chapter 553: Getting Rough

    Chapter 553: Getting RoughSoft firelight filled the room with flickering shadows, highlighting every curve of Ashlynn¡¯s body as Nyrielle pinned her to the soft satin bedspread. Midnight blue energy swirled within the vampire¡¯s eyes and her pupils quivered with hunger, fixed on the jumping pulse in Ashlynn¡¯s soft, delicate neck while the sound of her lover¡¯s racing heart thundered in her ears like a herd of wild horses, ready to carry her restraint and leaving behind nothing but the primal desire to feed.


    "The night we met," Nyrielle said, closing her eyes and turning her head away from Ashlynn as she fought to control herself, restraining her hunger and the darkness that lurked behind it through sheer force of will. "The night we met, I made a promise to myself that I would never hurt you the way he had," she said as visions of Ashlynn¡¯s battered body flickered through her mind.


    She¡¯d fought back her hunger that night as well, even though the bruises and scratches that covered the young witch¡¯s body had blended to create an enchanting tapestry of the perfect prey, weak and vulnerable, ready to fall under her spell and under her fangs. Nothing in the world was as tempting or as intoxicating as the blood of a witch, but Nyrielle refused to reduce the woman she¡¯d selected as her partner for the rest of their lives to little more than a convenient delicacy.


    "You¡¯re worried that you¡¯ll hurt me," Ashlynn said, reaching up to capture Nyrielle¡¯s face between her hands, turning her lover¡¯s gaze back toward her. "But Nyri, my love," she said softly as she ran her fingers gently through the other woman¡¯s soft, silky hair. "I¡¯m not as weak as I was then. I, I don¡¯t mind if you¡¯re a little rough," she said, biting her lower lip and squirming in embarrassment as she put her feelings into words.


    "I want you to take me," she whispered. "I want to struggle, to feel my own power and to feel your strength meeting it. I want... I want you to want me," she said, pulling Nyrielle down on top of her and using both legs to wrap around the other woman while her arms wrapped around her lover¡¯s slender shoulders, pulling her in tightly so she could whisper in her ear. "But I don¡¯t want to feel like a crystal ornament that you can only touch delicately..."


    "You want me to be rough with you," Nyrielle said, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to brush a lock of hair away from Ashlynn¡¯s face. "But you deny me the chance to feed," she said, parting her lips to reveal a hint of fang. "Ashlynn, my darling, if you tell me ¡¯no¡¯, I will always listen, but this... If I am to be ¡¯rough¡¯ with you, but I must constantly restrain myself..."


    "Oh," Ashlynn said, her face heating in embarrassment as she realized her mistake. She¡¯d told Nyrielle ¡¯no biting¡¯ but that hadn¡¯t been entirely what she meant. Only, to Nyrielle, the moment Ashlynn withdrew permission for her lover to take so much as a nibble from her, it was as good as fitting her with shackles. Nyrielle had promised Ashlynn that she wouldn¡¯t feed from her without her permission unless she had a great need to do so, and no matter how intense their actions in the bedroom were, they wouldn¡¯t rise to a ¡¯great need.¡¯


    "Then, I take back when I said ¡¯no biting,¡¯" Ashlynn said. "I mean, no biting yet," she said, reaching up to cup Nyrielle¡¯s delicate face. "I want you to be forceful with me. I want you to overwhelm me until I beg for your bite. I want you to take me and make me ache for you, but I don¡¯t want it to be easy. Is that... too much?" she asked hesitantly.


    "No," Nyrielle said, smiling wickedly and flexing the fingers of one hand to reveal nails that had grown longer and sharper. "But are you taking back what you said about no ripping of clothing as well?" sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No, absolutely not," Ashlynn said, crossing her arms in front of her bodice. "I like this dress, I, I wore it just for you tonight," she said, puffing out her chest and highlighting the way the soft satin fabric clung to her full bosom. "You like it, don¡¯t you? So don¡¯t, don¡¯t tear it like you did the last one..."


    "Haha," Nyrielle laughed musically and smiled widely as she watched all of Ashlynn¡¯s aura of might and majesty as the Mother of Trees fall away in a young woman¡¯s concern for her favorite dress. "In that case, the best thing to do with that dress would be to get you out of it!"


    Moving with the speed of a striking snake, Nyrielle flipped Ashlynn over, pressing her lover firmly down into the mattress while her nimble hands caught the laces of the other woman¡¯s corset. For a moment, rather than untying the laces, she pulled them tighter until Ashlynn gasped in surprise beneath her.


    "You asked for rough," Nyrielle reminded her, whispering into her ear from inches away as she held the corset laces tightly in her hand. "So I¡¯ll be nice to the dress, but you, my darling..." Nyrielle allowed her voice to trail off, leaving the last words unsaid as her dextrous fingers untied the knots in the laces.


    The sound of silk laces sliding through metal eyelets filled the air with a brief, high-pitched whistle as Nyrielle pulled the laces away, freeing her lover from the tight binding of the corset and allowing her to draw a deep, shuddering breath.


    "My turn," Ashlynn said, spinning beneath her lover to capture the other woman¡¯s slender waist, working at the knots of Nyrielle¡¯s corset lacing with clumsy, hurried movements as she tried to replicate the vampire¡¯s feat of stripping her laces away in a single smooth movement.


    "No you don¡¯t," Nyrielle said, capturing Ashlynn¡¯s hands and sliding out of her grasp before winding Ashlynn¡¯s own laces around her wrists, tying them in a tight knot that the young witch wouldn¡¯t easily be able to struggle free of. "You¡¯re mine tonight, darling," she said forcefully as she slid a hand up Ashlynn¡¯s stockinged leg, tracing her way up soft, creamy thighs as she sought the top of her lover¡¯s underskirt.


    "I won¡¯t go that easily," Ashlynn countered, pressing her hands together as though she were praying before brilliant emerald light spilled from her palms. Moments later, the sounds of tearing laces filled the air as Ashlynn used strength that no ordinary human would possess to free herself from the improvised binding, scooting away from Nyrielle and casting a taunting look at her lover.


    "If you want to eat me up tonight, you¡¯ll have to do better than that," she teased, knowing full well that she was provoking Nyrielle and her hunger. "Come and get me," she said playfully, savoring the look of cold hunger blending with burning desire in her lover¡¯s eyes.


    "If that¡¯s what my darling desires," Nyrielle said mischievously as she clutched the satin bedspread in her hands, giving it a sharp tug to bring Ashlynn back toward her. "Then how can I refuse?"

 Chapter 554: While I’m Breaking Things…

    Chapter 554: While I¡¯m Breaking Things...The following day, Ashlynn¡¯s face burned a brilliant shade of crimson that Nyrielle would have found adorable if she had been present to witness it. Her dress, the green satin and brocade one with the daring, plunging neckline that she wore to tempt Nyrielle into ravishing her, hung haphazardly across a high-backed chair halfway across the room where Nyrielle had thrown it to ¡¯get the delicate treasure out of the way.¡¯


    Remarkably, the dress had survived with only a minor snag of a bit of lace that would need a bit of mending when it was laundered. Her bed, however, couldn¡¯t make nearly the same claim.


    One of the bed¡¯s four intricately carved bedposts had snapped clean in half when Nyrielle used twisted sheets to bind Ashlynn¡¯s hands above her head. Ashlynn had expected that her struggle against the binding might tear the sheets, but she¡¯d never in her wildest dreams imagined that she¡¯d become strong enough to snap a bedpost that was thicker than her wrist, or that the bedpost would snap before the silk sheets tore.


    The bedpost wasn¡¯t the only casualty of their ¡¯rough¡¯ evening either. The bedpost in the opposite corner had cracked and now stood at a slight angle after Nyrielle aggressively pinned Ashlynn against the post while plundering the young witch¡¯s lips. Gingerly, as Ashlynn traced her fingers across the space between her shoulder blades, she found tender bruises that likely matched up to the carvings on the bedpost.


    If they had only cracked or shattered two of the bed posts in their excess the night before, she might not have been as embarrassed as she was presently, but when she slid out from beneath the sheets, she found that one side of the bedframe had collapsed, leaving the feather mattress to sag almost all the way to the floor.


    Even more embarrassing was the fact that she couldn¡¯t recall which of them was responsible for the damage, though she had vague memories of losing control of her body when she finally begged for Nyrielle to sink her fangs into her and Nyrielle responded by drinking deeply from the artery that ran along the inside of her upper thigh.


    Of all the places that Nyrielle had fed from her, while a bite on one her full, ripe breasts felt the most adoring and affectionate, just above her heart that pulsed with love, a bite to the thigh filled her body with the most intense, mind shattering pleasure that left her too overwhelmed and disoriented to move until she finally fell asleep in her lover¡¯s arms.


    "I wish Heila were here," Ashlynn muttered, covering her still crimson face with her hands as she thought about how she would explain the damage to the staff who were tending to her needs while the first member of her coven watched over Ollie during his extended vigil. "At least I could tease her about what Ignatious has in store for her if she said anything about this..."


    Not that the servants in the castle would say anything they shouldn¡¯t when Ashlynn asked them for help, but she was certain that rumors would fly within hours of her request, especially with a formal engagement dinner rapidly approaching on the night of the new moon.


    It was one thing for the staff to know that she and Nyrielle were intimate, that wasn¡¯t a secret they kept from anyone, and their open affection should have made things clear long ago. But for people to see the... aftermath of last night¡¯s intense activities was something else entirely.


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn told herself as she padded across her bedchambers to the washroom to clean herself up and prepare to face the things she still needed to do today. Her steps were unstable as she walked, and more than once, she had to pause to steady herself as she found that her movements put unexpected strain on one of the many bruises scattered across her body.


    The shape of Nyrielle¡¯s hand could clearly be seen in a brilliant purplish-yellow bruise on her left breast with five dark red lines at the tips of each finger where her nails had bit into Ashlynn¡¯s tender flesh. Another handprint marked the hip opposite of her witch¡¯s mark and both of her wrists bore rope burns from Nyrielle¡¯s efforts to restrain her as the evening escalated.


    Of course, Ashlynn had left her own set of marks on her lover¡¯s alabaster skin, including a perfectly shaped handprint on Nyrielle¡¯s slender, toned buttocks following what Ashlynn claimed was a perfectly deserved spanking for how naughty Nyrielle¡¯s hands had been. Nor had Ashlynn stopped there, choosing to leave several ¡¯bite marks¡¯ of her own on her lover¡¯s pale, alabaster skin as if she was extracting some kind of revenge for every small bite Nyrielle had ever left on Ashlynn¡¯s tender flesh.


    None of the markes on her body were serious injuries, and by this time the following day, the rapid healing she received along with her other gifts from Nyrielle would erase all but the deepest of marks from her skin but that didn¡¯t mean that they didn¡¯t sting at the moment as she gently washed her body with a soft cloth and rose scented soap.


    A short half hour later, she had dressed in a high-necked dress with long, flowing sleeves in a shade of dark maroon that always made Ashlynn feel more like a vampire¡¯s seneschal than a witch. The spills of dark lace that fell from her wrists, throat, and hips only added to the feeling of a gothic beauty who had fallen into a world of darkness and blood.


    "I wonder what Jocey would think if she saw how my wardrobe has changed," Ashlynn mused as she finished the outfit with a simple black traveling hat that complemented the darker hues in her wardrobe. "I suppose I¡¯ll find out soon enough," she said, setting the hat in place and giving herself a final inspection in the mirror.


    "Once I deal with Owain, I¡¯ll bring her back to the Vale. And who knows," she added. "Maybe I¡¯ll get a chance to take her shopping in High Fen City for a few new outfits of her own before the real battles begin. Hopefully, if I can show her enough of the bright side of the Eldritch world, it will be easier for her to adjust to the changes that are coming for our family." S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For now, however, Jocelynn¡¯s rescue would need to wait, and Ashlynn firmly pushed down the butterflies that tried to form in her stomach when she thought about what her sister must be enduring in Owain¡¯s company as she was forced to take her sister¡¯s place in the marriage her father had arranged.


    One way or another, she would never allow Owain to actually wed Jocelynn. Thankfully, based on the information she¡¯d been able to gather from Samira during her visit to the Summer Villa in the spring, she still had several months before Owain would declare her dead to the public. Then there would be a period of mourning before her former husband could announce that he was taking a new wife who had ¡¯consoled him through his grief.¡¯


    There weren¡¯t many months left before she would need to make her move, but Ashlynn intended to use each and every one that she had to train her coven and prepare for the conflicts ahead. Originally, she had intended to leave with Nyrielle to visit her family in Blackwell County, but it would take weeks of travel in each direction, and she no longer felt like she could indulge in such a selfish desire when so much was at stake.


    For now, while Ollie and Virve underwent their trials, there was still one more person she needed to speak with about adding his magic to their own strength. But to do that, she would have to break the curse that kept young lord Hauke trapped as a prisoner of his own mind...

 Chapter 555: Substitute Physicians

    Chapter 555: Substitute PhysiciansOn the far side of the castle, in an area that had become much busier since the arrival of Nyrielle¡¯s army, Ashlynn made her way through the crowds of people toward the guest chambers where Artificer Erkembalt and the sorcerer Aspakos had taken Hauke as they continued to study the curse that bound him.


    Two days ago, they had sent word that they¡¯d made significant progress, but they needed the help of a witch¡¯s Severing Knife if they were going to make any more progress. Any other time, Ashlynn would have rushed immediately to Hauke¡¯s side, but at the moment, she had to prioritize Virve¡¯s transformation and the transfer of her seed of witchcraft.


    Even now, Ashlynn felt guilty for asking Talauia to watch over her newest witch as she underwent her transformation beneath the branches of the Ancient Oak. She wanted to be there for Ollie, she wanted to be there for Virve, but there were only so many places she could be at once, and right now... right now it was Hauke¡¯s turn.


    Inside a large guest chamber that had clearly been sized for members of the Clan of the Great Claw or other large-sized Eldritch visitors, Ashlynn found herself stepping into what resembled a chaotic blend of magical laboratory and scholarly study rather than any kind of sickroom.


    Slate boards leaned haphazardly against every available wall surface, each covered with intricate diagrams, some depicting patterns of chains labeled with the names of horrifying curses, while others illustrated the internal structuresof Frost Walker horns.


    All of the diagrams were accompanied by dense mathematical formulas written in at least three different scripts, some in Erkembalt¡¯s precise, angular notation, others in Aspakos¡¯s flowing, feathery script, and a third that looked like it had been faithfully transcribed from directly from ancient texts, as if the person doing the copying was afraid that re-writing it in a more modern script would result in misinterpreting the original meaning.


    The room¡¯s central table, large enough for a party of four to dine at, had been repurposed as a research station, its polished surface barely visible beneath stacks of leather-bound tomes borrowed from Nyrielle¡¯s personal library of texts pertaining to sorcery. Many of the books were still open to pages marked with scraps of parchment covered in hasty annotations. Loose pages of calculations and observations littered the floor around it, some half crumpled and left to lay wherever they fell when the ideas expressed on them proved fruitless.


    Near the window, where the light was strongest, a collection of small braziers burned with flames in unnatural colors. One emitted a pale blue glow that reminded Ashlynn of Hauke¡¯s horn when he used ice magic to create intricate shapes, while another produced a green smoke that curled into the shape of glyphs associated with healing before fading away.


    In the far corner of the room, behind a folding screen with panels of intricately carved cedar, lay Hauke himself, feeling less a patient being tended to and more a puzzle these two scholars were determined to solve. Other than a small potted plant that had clearly been placed there by one of the maids in order to bring some life into the room, his bed was surrounded by measuring instruments, crystals that seemed to pulse and glow in different colors that correspond to the colors of Hauke¡¯s iridescent horn, and even more slate boards covered with observations about his responses to the two men¡¯s attempts to unravel his curse.


    On the opposite side of the guest room, sitting as close to the hearth as possible, as if to avoid the faintly frosty aura that clung to Hauke even here, Artificer Erkembalt sat hunched over a game board, staring at a fiendishly clever arrangement of stones that Aspakos had set in his way.


    Faint magical energy could be felt radiating from the game board, and glowing crystals embedded in the edges of the board itself flickered and pulsed as Erkembalt delicately reached into the arrangement to move a single piece.


    Sitting opposite him, the darkly feathered sorcerer Aspakos seemed to have little interest in the game, turning away from it as soon as Ashlynn entered the room, rising smoothly from his seat and offering her a graceful bow.


    "Your Dominion," the sorcerer said smoothly. "Thank you for making time to help us resolve this impasse. I know how busy you are with important matters."


    "Hauke is a friend," Ashlynn said, looking toward the far side of the room where the young frost walker lord lay in bed. "This is an important matter," she added as she moved to his side. "And one I should have attended to sooner."


    "I¡¯m sure your young friend is grateful to have you here," Erkembalt said, his tail twitching in agitation as he realized he would need to give up on solving the puzzle Aspakos had set for him. It wasn¡¯t the interruption that irritated him so much as the realization that he didn¡¯t even know where to begin with solving it.


    "You know that this old bag of feathers has been giving lectures to keep your friend entertained while we wait?" Erkembalt said, giving Aspakos a withering look. "I¡¯ve had to endure his ¡¯fundamentals of energy systems¡¯ and ¡¯unique sorceries of the Eldritch Clans¡¯ lectures for the past several days as he prattles on endlessly."


    "I¡¯m sure he appreciates your efforts," Ashlynn said as she stood beside Hauke, looking at the calm features on his face and the unblinking stare he¡¯d worn since she severed the bind between him and the ancestral horns.


    The young lord¡¯s powerful physique had begun to loose some of its bulk as the days slipped by and the aura of frost that clung to him had faded to a shadow of its former self, though whether that was an affect of the curse or his absence from the frigid environment of the High Pass, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t say for certain.


    "I¡¯m sorry for making you wait," Ashlynn said softly, gently stroking the soft locks of Hauke¡¯s snow-white mane. "I promise, we¡¯ll free you soon."


    As she spoke, Hauke¡¯s iridescent horn did something it hadn¡¯t done the last time she saw him. The horn pulsed with a faint, bluish hue that carried a hint of icy resilience and determination, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to focus on Ashlynn before they clouded over once again.


    "He heard that," Aspakos said with a warm smile forming beneath his cracked beak. "I think he¡¯s eager to rejoin the world of the waking."


    "Do you mean that you¡¯ve been able to communicate with him?" Ashlynn said, her eyes opening wide in surprise. "In the High Pass, when he spoke to us, it seemed to take considerable effort just to say a few words, and he risked damaging his horn in the process."


    "I don¡¯t know that I¡¯d call it communication," Erkembalt said, walking across the room to examine the condition of Hauke¡¯s horn with a small monocle. "We¡¯ve worked as delicately as we can to widen the gaps between the curse that binds him and his horn, and we¡¯ve worked out a rough system of sharing thoughts using the hues of his energy. Simple things like yes and no, pain, danger, discomfort, fear..."


    "It hasn¡¯t been enough to have a real conversation," Aspakos said, interjecting before Ashlynn got the wrong impression about the system they¡¯d developed to communicate with their cursed patient. "The most important thing was to understand if our techniques were making things better or worse, or if we were placing undue strain on him." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "He¡¯s a stubborn kit," Erkembalt snorted. "Far too willing to suffer for the slightest hope of progress. We had to threaten to stop treating him before he would admit when we were causing him pain."


    "Don¡¯t lie to her Dominion," Aspakos countered. "You threatened to cut off his horn to free him from the curse, since nothing seemed to cause him pain. That seemed to terrify him so much that he stayed up for two whole days answering Erkembalt¡¯s questions, just to be sure my friend here didn¡¯t reach for his bone saws again."


    "I can imagine!" Ashlynn said, giving the artificer a dark look. She appreciated everything he was doing for Hauke on top of her immense gratitude for the pair of weapons he¡¯d forged from the horns of the Frost Walkers who had conspired against them, but his methods... Perhaps the best she could say was that he lacked a good bedside manner.


    "Then, let me do my part so you can move on to other things," Ashlynn said, feeling like the artificer would be happier in a workshop with his tools than he was tending to a single cursed Frost Walker. "Your note said that you needed my Severing Knife, so how can I help?"

 Chapter 556: A Complicated Plan

    Chapter 556: A Complicated Plan"We have a plan that I think will make the best use of each of our skills," Aspakos said, gesturing to one of the slate boards sitting nearest to Hauke that depicted an intricate series of chains wrapped around the young Frost Walker¡¯s horn.


    "We have two plans, if the Mother of Trees is willing to hear me out," Erkembalt said. "But it depends entirely on her ability to regrow a severed horn. I¡¯ve been told that witches possess a unique magic that can regrow..."


    "No," Ashlynn said, immediately putting a stop to the artificer¡¯s train of thought without letting him finish his sentence. "I do know the magic that you speak of, but the costs to use it are far beyond what anyone should be asked to pay. Unless you¡¯re willing to sever your tail and blind your eyes to pay the cost, you should forget any notion of solving this problem by severing his horn," she said firmly, giving the artificer a very pointed look until he nodded in understanding. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "As I was saying," Aspakos said, placing a reassuring taloned hand on Hauke¡¯s shoulder when he noticed the bright white sheen on the young Frost Walker¡¯s horn. "We have a plan that will make the best use of each of our skills."


    "The curse that binds Hauke is like a knot tied with seven strands," the feathered sorcerer explained, tapping on the diagram. "Each strand binds one of the core magics that comprise Frost Walker sorcery, and they have been pulled together into a braided knot with strands passing over and under each other in an intricate pattern that¡¯s held under constant tension."


    "The tension is the hard part, and it¡¯s why I keep suggesting, er, that is," Erkembalt stammered when he felt the dark look from both Ashlynn and Aspakos. "The tension has to be released gradually, or the backlash of severing one of the chains binding him may burn out his ability to use that form of magic. If enough of them rebound, then even if he keeps his horn, it will become half dead, and he¡¯ll be no different than a goat when it comes to using his horn for sorcery."


    "You could be kinder, Friend Erkembalt," Aspakos said, giving Hauke another reassuring squeeze. "But that is the gist of it. In order to untie this knot, we have to sever each strand multiple times, working from the tip of his horn toward the base, severing them in sequence to release the tension until we can cut away the last of it."


    "I¡¯ll pull at the web of chains," Erkembalt said, waving his sharply pointed claws, revealing that each of them had been sheathed in an intricately carved silver blade, turning simple claws into precise surgical instruments with enough sharpness to tear through even the most stubborn curses. "All I can do is create a little space between the horn and the binding curse, the rest is up to you."


    "I¡¯ll guide the working," Aspakos said. "My eyes are keen, and these days, I can see the non-physical world better than I can perceive the physical world. I¡¯ll tell you where to cut and when, guiding you through every step of the process."


    "Then all I need to do is cut where you tell me to, and we can release Hauke from his bindings," Ashlynn said, smiling at the simplicity of her role. Amahle had once compared the use of a Severing Knife to the use of a seamripper, pulling out stitches and allowing a seamstress to work backwards to correct a mistake. Now, it felt like she would be doing exactly as her big sister had described, carefully cutting through the magic that held Hauke captive.


    "Will this be painful for Hauke?" Ashlynn asked as she examined the notes on the slate board. Some of the notations were things she recognized after studying with Amahle in the Briar, but much of it was far too complex, referencing laws and theories that she had never heard of, much less studied enough to make sense of.


    "I could apply soothing magic to ease him to sleep," she offered, unable to discern whether it would be beneficial or not from her study of the notes. "Or I could apply gentle healing magic if you feel like this will place undue strain on his body."


    "I had assumed that he¡¯d want to be awake," Erkembalt said, frowning at Ashlynn¡¯s offer as he tried to decide whether or not Ashlynn¡¯s witchcraft would interfere with the process. "If Hauke can signal to us how he feels during the process," he mused. "Then I would have better notes about how to use this process in the future. It¡¯s a rare opportunity to..."


    "Please, your Dominion," Aspakos said quickly. "If you can ease Hauke to sleep, I¡¯m sure he would experience much less distress," he said, giving his old friend a withering look. "And I¡¯m sure that with you here, he¡¯ll rest well knowing that you¡¯ll safeguard his horn and ensure that no harm comes to it during this process."


    "I agree," Ashlynn said, resolving to never again involve Erkembalt with a living patient if she had any other choices. Clearly, the man had spent far too long fussing over lifeless objects to have much consideration for the feelings of the people who struggled with curses that only he could break. Or perhaps, if the artificer spent more time with Aspakos, he could be trusted around people again in a few years time.


    "Rest well, my friend," Ashlynn said, raising a hand that gleamed with a brilliant emerald aura. "When you wake, we¡¯ll have a proper conversation. I¡¯m sure you have many things on your mind, but for right now, the only thing you should concern yourself with is recovering from this curse. So sleep now and we¡¯ll talk soon..."


    Though Hauke¡¯s eyes remained glassy and unfocused, within a few minutes his breathing became slow and steady, his chest moving up and down with the regular motions of deep, dreamless sleep.


    "Now," Ashlynn said, drawing the Severing Knife from its sheath at her waist. "Tell me where I should begin."

 Chapter 557: Free At Last

    Chapter 557: Free At LastHauke had completely lost track of time in the days since the spirits of the ancestors used his body like a puppet and trapped him in a frozen prison within his own mind.


    At first, every hour had been precious as he fought against the curse that bound him, struggling to escape from its icy grip before Artificer Erkembalt, the madman with a bone saw, could hack off his horn in an attempt to ¡¯cure¡¯ him. That desperate struggle alone had kept him tethered and fighting until the night that he spoke during the trial, which ultimately sealed the fate of the ancient ancestors and dramatically changed the destiny of the High Pass.


    Since then, the world outside his eyes turned into an ever-changing series of small plays, each one unfolding on the stage of the world without action or reaction from the cursed Frost Walker. Hauke was left with no choice but to listen and observe as his mother clung to his body and wept bitter tears when she told him that she had been commanded to remain in the High Pass while Hauke and his father were taken to the Vale of Mists to receive healing from the witches.


    He was as motionless as a frozen sculpture when they loaded him into a carriage next to his wounded father, unable to offer the slightest comfort to the man who had given him everything he could have asked for in this life and more. Now, when he would have given almost anything to give his father a few words of reassurance and a youthful promise that things would get better soon, his lips wouldn¡¯t move, and his jaw remained firmly shut, trapping any words he would have said within his chest.


    Worst of all, however, had been the news that the artificer and his sorcerer companion would be placed in charge of determining a method of freeing him from the curse. The man with the broken beak from the Dark Feather Clan wasn¡¯t the worst part. He at least tried to offer reassurance, from time to time making statements like "The world isn¡¯t done with you yet, young hero," and "the darkness of a world without you in it is too great for my shoulders to bear."


    The feathered sorcerer always spoke as if Hauke had some great purpose but he never once mentioned what that purpose might be, and the more often he repeated the same cryptic reassurances, the more Hauke began to wonder if the man might be going mad.


    Compared to Artificer Erkembalt, however, the sorcerer was a model of sanity and rational thought. No matter what Aspakos said or did, he seemed to have Hauke¡¯s best interest at heart, and restoring him was the sorcerer¡¯s highest priority.


    Erkembalt seemed more interested in using Hauke and the curse that bound him as a research subject, and some of his experiments turned out to be entirely irrelevant to the task of removing Hauke¡¯s curse! He just wanted to better understand Frost Walkers and the unique magic of their horns.


    Finally, after an unknown number of days had passed by under the agonizing questioning, poking and prodding by his ¡¯physicians¡¯, Ashlynn wandered into his dark and muddled world like a ray of sunshine peeking through endless clouds of blowing snow, instantly rekindling his hopes that he would soon be free of the magic that kept him prisoner.


    "Rest well, my friend," she¡¯d said as she wrapped him in an aura that felt like a soft, snowy blanket lying atop the branches of evergreen trees. "When you wake, we¡¯ll have a proper conversation, so sleep now and we¡¯ll talk soon..."


    For the first time since this nightmare began, Hauke allowed himself to truly rest. What little sleep he¡¯d had was fitful and shallow, plagued by nightmares about the aftermath of what the ancestors had done, but under the effects of Ashlynn¡¯s magic, no dreams lurked in the shadows of his mind to torment him. Only calm, restful sleep.


    Several hours later, Hauke¡¯s eyes slowly fluttered open as he found himself in a familiar room that was lit only by a small oil lamp sitting on the table and the dim glow of a hearth that had been allowed to burn down, leaving the room cooler than it had been since Hauke arrived and far more comfortable.


    The room was quiet without the bickering of Artificer Erkembalt and his companion Aspakos, and the slate boards, books, pages of notes and strange equipment had all been cleared away, leaving the room feeling oddly empty after so many days of their active bustling while they studied his curse.


    One person, however, remained in the room, sitting at the central table with stacks of paper to one side while the pen in her hand moved in slow, steady strokes over whatever the page currently in front of her. A thin blanket around her shoulders hung slightly askew, and it was impossible for Hauke to say how long she¡¯d been there, but the pile of dishes sitting beside her suggested that it had been at least long enough to take one meal.


    "Ashlynn?" Hauke asked. His voice sounded weak and hoarse even to his ears, but it was his voice, and when he lifted his head to get a better look at her, his head and body moved as he willed! It felt like a very small accomplishment, saying one word and moving his head and shoulders to sit up in bed, but to Hauke, it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.


    "Hauke!" Ashlynn said, immediately setting down her pen and rushing across the room to help the young Frost Walker lord sit up. She¡¯d never really thought about how heavy a man who stood nearly nine feet tall must be until she slipped an arm behind his shoulders and helped lift him into a sitting posture, but the moment she did, she was immensely grateful to Nyrielle for the gift of strength that allowed her to help her friend.


    "How, how is my h-horn?" Hauke asked anxiously. He wanted to check for himself but when he tried to raise an arm it felt so weak that he was barely able to lift it off the bed, much less reaching his own horn.


    "Your horn is fine," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile. "I¡¯m sure you heard everything we said before I helped you rest, but the curse-breaking went more or less as expected. I¡¯ve just been sitting here waiting for you to wake."


    She made it sound easy, but what had sounded like a simple task of cutting the thread of magic that Aspakos pointed to was much, much more difficult than Ashlynn had expected. At times, she needed to make cuts that were so precise that a needle would have been a better tool than her Severing Knife, and moving more than the thickness of a fingernail to either side would have resulted in cutting the wrong thread.


    Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders ached from the tension of wielding the Severing Knife for several hours, and her eyes had only recently begun to focus on small details without difficulty again after the strain of staring so intensely at such subtle distinctions in magic between the seven chains that bound Hauke. But despite the difficulties, she would have done it several times over if that¡¯s what it took to free her friend from the prison that trapped him within his own mind.


    "I have food and drink for you," Ashlynn said, wiping joyful tears from her eyes as she stood to retrieve a tray that Georg had delivered to Hauke¡¯s room hours ago. "I¡¯m certain you¡¯re hungry, but I want to keep your meal small while your body finishes waking up," she said, sitting next to him and fetching a bowl from the tray that had been resting in a larger bowl filled with ice.


    "What, what is it?" Hauke asked, his nose twitching as he inhaled the strangely complex aroma that accompanied the chilled dish in Ashlynn¡¯s hands.


    "It¡¯s the same thing we¡¯ve been feeding your father," Ashlynn said, taking a spoonful of the bright red dish and offering it to Hauke. "The fish in the river aren¡¯t suitable to enjoy raw, but this is a raw dish made with the meat of cows," she explained. "It¡¯s called ¡¯tartare¡¯ and there are spices, herbs, a raw hen¡¯s egg, and a few pickles mixed in there to enhance the flavor of the raw beef," she said. "It¡¯s considered a luxury in High Fen City, but for Frost Walkers, Georg thinks it can function like soups and porridge for helping the body recover its strength after a long period of inactivity..."


    Ashlynn¡¯s voice trailed off when she realized that Hauke wasn¡¯t paying attention to her description of the dish. His eyes shook, and tears flowed down the soft fur covering his cheeks as he fought to summon the strength to ask the most important question that consumed his mind in the days since the battle in the High Pass. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Father," he whispered hoarsely. "How... how is he?" The last Hauke had seen his father, his body had been covered by terrible wounds inflicted by the Thistle Witch, and whether or not he could ever be healed was something no one knew. Even Ashlynn had only promised that they would ¡¯try.¡¯


    "And, can I, can I see him? Before he, he..." Hauke¡¯s voice trailed off, as if the words at the end of the sentence were too painful to speak into existence, but his shining, watery eyes made it clear how worried he was. If his father was going to die from his wounds, then he wanted, no, needed to see him at least one more time before... before there was nothing left of his father but a horn in an ancestral cave.


    Assuming that the Frost Walker elders even allowed the former Lord of the High Pass to have his horn placed in an ancestral cave. After presiding over the fall of the High Pass, his father might find himself unwelcome among his people, even in death...

 Chapter 558: A Place for Hauke

    Chapter 558: A Place for Hauke"Of course you can see him before we finish healing him," Ashlynn said, deliberately misinterpreting Hauke¡¯s tear-filled question. "But you have to be strong enough to do so. That means eating while I explain things to you, you understand? You don¡¯t want him to worry that you¡¯ve wasted away when he gets to see you, do you?"


    "No, I," Hauke began before shaking his head slightly. "Thank you. I, I feel bad, making you feed me like you¡¯re my mother," he said, his horn glittering a pale lavender shade of embarrassment. "I¡¯ll eat. Just, just tell me what¡¯s happened..."


    "I could be your mother, you know," Ashlynn said with a light laugh when she saw the puzzled look on the young Frost Walker¡¯s face. "Ritchel is as comfortable as we can make him right now," Ashlynn said, moving on from the comment before Hauke could ask about it and firmly placing the spoonful of tatare in front of Hauke¡¯s mouth until he took a bite of the rich, meaty dish.


    "Talauia and or I have visited him every day to help with his healing," Ashlynn explained. "And Mistress Nyrielle has formed a fresh Blood Vitality Crystal for him to further sustain him while we work to heal him completely."


    Hearing Ashlynn¡¯s words, the tension in his body instantly melted away like ice before the summer sun. Her next words, however, startled him so much that he momentarily forgot to swallow the tartare in his mouth.


    "I expected that with three witches working to heal him, we could have him restored to health by the end of winter," Ashlynn said, hoping that good news would help Hauke focus on his own recovery. "But with two more witches joining my coven, we may be able to move even faster than that. A circle of five has special significance according to Big Sister Amahle and with Talauia¡¯s help, we¡¯ll be able to place five witches around your father to heal his wounds."


    "Two? Two more witches joined your coven?" Hauke said, swallowing the tartare along with a lump in his throat. He¡¯d dreamed of joining Ashlynn¡¯s coven until his father made it clear that Frost Walkers likely had no place in the coven of the Mother of Trees.


    Hearing that two more people had joined her coven came as a shock, along with a complex wave of emotions... Faint hope warred with bitter jealousy and a forlorn sense of helplessness. Even if there had been a place for him in her coven before, what kind of place could he hope to find in it now that he¡¯d brought about the disaster in the High Pass when the ancestors took possession of his body to attack Ashlynn and Heila?


    "You remember Virve from our fishing trip," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile as she held out more of the tartare. "She¡¯ll be my Oak Witch once she completes the transformation she¡¯s undergoing under the branches of the Ancient Oak."


    "I see," Hauke said, offering a weak smile. "Virve was very brave fighting the Tuscans. She, she deserves a place in your coven."


    "You¡¯ll have to wait to meet Ollie," Ashlynn added, gently prodding Hauke with another spoonful of tartare. From the look in Hauke¡¯s eyes, wistful and yearning, she had the feeling that her coven meant more to him than just a group of witches who could heal his father, but she refused to make assumptions about his feelings until she¡¯d heard from him directly.


    "Ollie is on the fourth, no, I suppose it¡¯s the fifth day of his vigil now. He¡¯s human, like me," she added. "He¡¯s been training with Sir Thane and Sir Marcel to become a knight. He¡¯s also the person who will receive Ice Fang, the companion blade to the one that Erkembalt made for Heila, so I hope that, when the time comes, you¡¯ll be willing to help him master its powers."


    "Sure," Hauke said with a trace of sulliness creeping into his voice before he shook it off. "I mean, of course I can help Ollie," he corrected himself. "It¡¯s the least I can do after... after all the harm I caused to you and Lady Heila."


    "Hey, none of that," Ashlynn said, lightly bopping Hauke on the nose. "What¡¯s done is done. Your ¡¯punishment¡¯, is to spend the next five years learning what you can here in the Vale before you return to the High Pass as its next local lord," she explained. "Until then, I¡¯m just keeping your throne warm, or, cold, I guess," she said, chuckling at the bemused look on the young man¡¯s face.


    "Hauke," Ashlynn said, setting down the half-finished bowl of tartare and assuming a more serious demeanor that carried a trace of the majesty and aura of the Mother of Trees. "Before things went so badly in the High Pass, I was intending to invite you to join my coven." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You were?" Hauke asked, lurching upright in bed and staring at Ashlynn in wide-eyed amazement. "But, but I thought that there weren¡¯t any trees suited for Frost Walkers, except, except maybe a Fir tree," he said, his voice growing quiet and uncertain.


    The only person who had heard of a Fir witch outside of the coven of the Mother of Storms was Eugen, the Greenwind Healer, one of the Frost Walker ancestors who had betrayed his trust to attack Heila in the High Pass. As much as Hauke wanted to believe it was true, that there was a possibility, he had been forced to question everything the ancestors had told him in light of the way they¡¯d abused his trust at the end.


    "I suppose that some fir trees might suit you," Ashlynn mused. "But I had something else in mind, a tree I found writings about in Amahle¡¯s records, though I don¡¯t know that there has ever been a witch who mastered this tree. I think you would be the first."


    "The first?" Hauke said, blinking intensely as his horn glowed soft shades of green and pale icy blue that mirrored his rising excitement. "What kind of tree has never been claimed by a witch?"


    "Let me show you," Ashlynn said, returning to the table to collect copies she¡¯d made of the sketches in Amahle¡¯s books. The tree that she showed Hauke was short, with a squat trunk that quickly branched into several gnarled limbs and a bark that peeled away in layers like paper wrapped around the branches of the tree. It¡¯s leaves were slender and rounded with softly sawtoothed edges that reminded Hauke of ice crystals and snowflakes.


    "Why is it so... short?" Hauke asked as he frowned at the strange tree, little more than a large bush, in the sketches that Ashlynn shared with him. It hardly seemed like the mighty sort of tree that could belong to a witch from the Frost Walker Clan who towered over at least three quarters of the other Eldritch clans.


    "This tree is called Polylepis, and it grows high up in the Great Shield Mountains in the west. It may be short, but it stands higher up the slopes of mountains than any other tree in the known world," Ashlynn explained. "So, even if it¡¯s short, it still looks down at every other tree in the world. In the West, they call it the tree that connects the sky to the earth with tenacious roots that can break through stone to grip the mountain and tough limbs that can capture clouds. It¡¯s a tree that thrives in a place that would otherwise be barren, and when I read about it, I thought that you would be the best person to discover the depths of its powers."


    "I don¡¯t have a seed from this tree," Ashlynn admitted. "But there¡¯s a witch in Big Sister Amahle¡¯s coven who travels the world, collecting exotic seeds to bring back to the Mother of Thorns for study. Months ago, I asked if she could bring me one of these seeds so I could offer you a place in my coven. That offer is still open," she said, reaching out to gently stroke the soft white fur of his forearm. "You just have to tell me you want it, and I¡¯ll prepare your seed as soon as it arrives."


    "Months ago?" Hauke said, his voice trembling as he looked at Ashlynn with wide, hopeful eyes. "You, you made plans for me months ago? But, but that must have been right after you arrived in the Briar! How could you have known all the way back then that you wanted me to join your coven?"


    "Because, when I saw how things were going for you in the High Pass, I thought that you and I, we¡¯re not that different from each other," Ashlynn said, giving the young Frost Walker a smile that contained a hint of sorrow. "This made you different from everyone around you," she said, pointing at his iridescent horn. "It also gave you great power. Just like my mark of the witch came with great power, but it kept me isolated and away from everyone around me."


    "I learned from Amahle that covens are like families," Ashlynn said, taking Hauke¡¯s large, furry paw in both hands and looking directly into his pale, watery eyes. "And I thought, maybe you were someone like me, who needed to find family that would lift you up for the things that made you different instead of trying to tear you down the way I saw people like Torsten doing."


    "It¡¯s a big decision," Ashlynn cautioned before Hauke could respond. "And it isn¡¯t one you have to make until the seed arrives. It may take until spring for your seed to get here, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t move in with the rest of the coven while we wait. That is, if you want to join us," she said.


    "You still have a throne waiting for you in the High Pass," she pointed out. "So if you would prefer not to have more to do with this and to walk away instead, then I wouldn¡¯t blame you or resent you, and I would still call you my friend as long as you think of me as one."


    "How?" Hauke asked with a voice that trembled with excitement and eyes that glistened like ice beneath a cloudless sky. "How could I turn away from this when it¡¯s everything I wanted ever since I learned you were forming a coven? Yes," he said, squeezing Ashlynn¡¯s hands tightly with his large, furry paws. "Yes, of course, yes. Nothing would make me happier than being part of your coven."

 Chapter 559: Purgatory of Two Suns

    Chapter 559: Purgatory of Two Suns"AAAAAARRRRGGGG!!"


    While Hauke celebrated his escape from the prison of his mind, Ollie roared in anguish and frustration as he experienced the pain of burning to death in the searing flames of the Inquisition¡¯s sorcery... again.


    The world of the vision shifted around him, returning him to the very beginning as he lay in a curled-up, fetal position on a grassy hillside outside of a quiet village that overlooked rocky hills and a dense forest of cypress trees. The village in his vision wasn¡¯t exactly identical to the one he had helped to construct in the Vale of Mists, but it was similar enough to feel hauntingly familiar, especially when he realized that it was populated by many of the same people.


    "Well, Ollie," Ashlynn¡¯s voice called while the aspiring knight and witch shook and trembled on the ground. "Do you accept your results as the best outcome you could achieve?"


    "No!" Ollie spat as he struggled to rise from the ground. Each time he failed, the trial reset, but the memory of the pain and suffering lingered with him for several minutes until his mind caught up with the changes.


    "No," he repeated as he regained his footing and slowly pulled himself upright before the vision of Ashlynn who had become his personal tormentor for... for more days than his pain-addled mind could recall.


    Ashlynn had told him that the trial would end within nine days, one way or another, but it had become very clear that in this vision, time moved much, much faster than it did in the real world and he had already spent dozens of days struggling against the devilish scenario that the Ashlynn in his vision had devised for him.


    "If I cannot save my people," he said between ragged breaths. "With all the gifts and knowledge you¡¯ve given me. And all the powers at my fingertips. Then I don¡¯t, I don¡¯t deserve to be the Cypress Witch."


    "Have you ever considered that this might be a test that you cannot pass?" Ashlynn asked, perching on a nearby stump and giving Ollie a careful, evaluating look. "That this might be about learning the limits of a witch¡¯s power?"


    "That, that can¡¯t be right," Ollie said as he thought back over the loop that he¡¯d been stuck in for what felt like months on end.


    In the beginning, the vision of Ashlynn had guided him in unlocking the power of a witch, using the energy of the world to help plants to grow. He¡¯d learned to draw the life out of weeds and provide it to vegetables that could help sustain the ever-growing village. The magic had been so immediately relevant to his struggles over the summer that he applied himself with vigor, practicing until he could easily maintain whole fields of crops, though Ashlynn was careful about teaching him that at a certain scale, there wouldn¡¯t be enough ¡¯weeds¡¯ to sacrifice and he would have to make choices about taking some away from the grove of Cypress trees to sustain the crops.


    She had even let him find out firsthand that some levels of abundance could only be achieved once before the sacrifice he required of the trees was too great for the mighty guardians to recover from.


    She had told him in the beginning that he might one day need to choose and that he would have the power to make decisions that impacted an ever-increasing number of lives... and she hadn¡¯t been wrong. The first time Ollie watched one of the mighty cypress trees crumble under its own weight as the heartwood rotted from within, it became obvious that, while he could create great boons, the power to do so had to come from somewhere.


    In the end, when he had completed the lesson, Ashlynn had asked if he was ready to face his trial. And then, with an abundance of confidence, he had agreed to undergo her devilish test.


    The instruction she¡¯d given him was simple. "Take care of your people." Nothing could be more fundamental to Ollie¡¯s existence after the months he¡¯d spent working to help the refugees from the outlying villages build a new life. But nothing was as simple as it seemed.


    His first night in the strange village, a second sun had blossomed in the sky, turning night into day and bringing with it the scorching heat of summer at midday. The new sun, according to Ashlynn, was a powerful act of sorcery by the Inquisition, one that would suppress the vampires who watched over the nation, keeping them confined underground during all hours of the day and night.


    It was a nightmare of unending day. Within a matter of days, crops began to wilt and die, the irrigation channels emptied, and even the pond that the village relied on began to recede. There was no rain and no respite from the endless, scorching heat that blanketed the valley as far as the eye could see. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ollie tried to fight back, to use what he had learned to salvage the crops and sustain the village, but as five days turned into ten and ten turned into fifteen, he began to run out of sacrifices to make. Worse, the villagers themselves couldn¡¯t work in the heat, and many in the village, especially the weak and infirm like Old Nan, had faltered, succumbing to the heat when their frail bodies could no longer endure the strain.


    "Do you accept your results as the best outcome you could achieve?" Ashlynn had asked when Ollie knelt beside the dry, dusty grave in which they¡¯d buried Old Nan. "Did you do everything you could do to take care of your people?"


    "Of course I did everything I could!" Ollie raged. "But no, I can¡¯t accept this," he cried, slamming his fists into the bare, baked earth. "How can I accept that this is the best I could do?"


    "If you had it to do over again, what would you do differently?" Ashlynn asked in a voice that was carefully neutral.


    "I sacrificed too much too early," Ollie said. "I, I wasn¡¯t willing to be hard on the villagers because I thought we only needed to hang on long enough to be rescued. But... rescue didn¡¯t come in time. If I were more careful, if I was less wasteful, I know that we could hang on longer..."


    "Then try again," Ashlynn said, gesturing to a village that had returned to the way it was on the very first day of the trial. "Use what you¡¯ve learned and do better this time."


    As painful as it had been to see the results of his failures firsthand, Ollie was grateful for the lesson. At least this way, he could learn without risking the people he cared about. Ashlynn had called this both a trial and a lesson, and he was beginning to truly understand what she meant. It was a trial that he had to pass, but failure had already taught him many things.


    Next time, he promised himself, next time the village would hang on long enough for rescue to arrive. In hindsight, he¡¯d had no idea how wrong he¡¯d been, or how much worse things would become...

 Chapter 560: The Bigger Picture

    Chapter 560: The Bigger PictureThe second time he faced the trial, he understood from the beginning that this would test his endurance and the endurance of the people in the village. He started immediately by looking for ways to preserve the crops without using witchcraft.


    The people of the Heartwood clan were skilled at woodworking, so the first thing he asked them to build was screens made of wooden slats that would shade the crops in their fields and gardens. They were something that he¡¯d come up with half way through the first trial, when he was looking for ways to make use of the wood they¡¯d salvaged from the fallen cypress trees, but it had been too late by the time they¡¯d gotten them into place to make much of a difference in the end.


    The shades wouldn¡¯t completely block the light, but they would reduce the intensity of the twin suns¡¯ fury, and the water in the irrigation channels wouldn¡¯t dry up as quickly either. The gains might be small to start, but over the weeks of the trial, he was certain that they would add greatly to their survival.


    The shades were just one of the changes Ollie made. Some crops, he gave up on entirely, harvesting them early rather than trying to sustain everything through the long drought. Others, he defended fiercely, knowing that they would need them when other sources of food became scarce.


    He also sent every hunter in the village out as soon as the second sun appeared, giving them orders to catch and kill every deer, rabbit, grouse, pheasant, or other game animal they could find. The unending day would quickly become unsettling to beasts who would flee the area, making game scarce in the days to come, but with the knowledge of what was coming, he decisively overhunted the area, preserving anything they didn¡¯t eat for the leaner days to come.


    His choices worked, at least for a time. The village lasted for more than a month, hanging on for several days longer than it had the first time, but still, rescue never arrived. Food still began to run out, bellies shrank, and both the old and the young succumbed to the heat. In the end, though they lasted much longer, the result was no different.


    "Why?" Ollie asked when the vision of Ashlynn appeared before him again. "Why hasn¡¯t anyone come to rescue us? Even if Lady Nyrielle is suppressed by the suns, you would never abandon the people like this, would you?"


    "Who told you that help was coming, Ollie?" Ashlynn said, raising a brow at him. "Doesn¡¯t this village already have the greatest help imaginable in you?"


    "What? But, but I¡¯m only a beginner. I¡¯ve barely learned any witchcraft at all! Compared to you, I¡¯m far too inadequate for this," he said. "I know I could have done better, I could have lasted longer if I¡¯d done a few things differently. If I knew how long we needed to hold on for, I could make more adjustments. Just tell me when you¡¯ll be coming, or when you¡¯ll send someone to help and I promise I¡¯ll make sure we hang on long enough..."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, kneeling down beside the pleading young man. Even though it was only a vision, he¡¯d watched the villagers suffer and die more than once, and the tears that spilled from his eyes carried a mixture of grief, loss, and deep frustration as he castigated himself for his repeated failures.


    "Ollie, there are more than twenty villages in the Vale of Mists, plus the fortress town," Ashlynn pointed out. "How many of those villages enjoy the luxury of a witch who is only trying to help one village survive? The Inquisition¡¯s attack isn¡¯t limited to this village alone, so while you are here, how many other places need help?"


    "Do you understand now why no help is coming for you?" Ashlynn asked.


    "I, I understand," Ollie said as he scrubbed the tears from his eyes. He¡¯d been wrong from the beginning. He thought that, because Ashlynn had told him to "take care of your people", all he needed to worry about was this one little village. But he hadn¡¯t for even a minute considered what else might be happening beyond it, of the bigger picture that people like Ashlynn would concern themselves with. He¡¯d expected help to arrive, but help had already arrived, and he was it.


    "Let me try again," he insisted. "If the other villages need help too, then I can at least alleviate the burden somewhat by taking care of them. Or, maybe we can find ways to help each other. I¡¯m not satisfied with this kind of ending," he said firmly. "Let me show you that I can do better."


    "As you wish," the vision of Ashlynn said, waving a hand and resetting the trial back to the first day the horrifying second sun appeared in the sky.


    This time, Ollie pushed himself further, sending messengers to the neighboring villages with instructions to aid them before making the rounds to visit each of them himself. Immediately, the strain he was under increased fivefold as he struggled to bestow as many gifts on each village as he could before moving on to the next one.


    When he only had a single village to care for, the greatest constraint he faced was a fundamental lack of resources and the accumulated drain caused by the endless days. Now that he had expanded his efforts to cover the surrounding villages, he found himself struggling against exhaustion, dragging himself out of bed after only a few hours of rest and rushing to the next impossible task.


    On the twenty-first, or perhaps it was the twenty-second day of this trail, Ollie staggered into the village where he¡¯d begun, looking for signs of whether they were doing better or worse than they had in his last attempt. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Milo," Ollie asked, calling out to the archer who had become his strongest supporter among the villagers. "How is Old Nan? The heat must be getting to her," he said, reaching into his pack for a treasure he¡¯d brought from the neighboring village. "I have some fresh melon for her. The flesh should be soft and easy to chew, and it¡¯s easier to manage in this heat than the dried meat that..."


    "Ollie," Milo said, his tail hanging so low that it drug on the ground as he approached the young man. "Ollie, she, she¡¯s left behind her final carving. Two nights ago now..."


    "Two, two nights ago?" Ollie said, dropping to his knees in confusion. How had she succumbed so early? This was the earliest yet, before he even had a chance to... to... He didn¡¯t even know what he would have done to save her this time when he¡¯d failed twice before. But he hoped that by helping the other villages, he could reduce the strain enough that they might get help... But still, nothing changed, and help never came.


    "Why? Why didn¡¯t you send someone to let me know?" Ollie asked, tears running down his face as he struggled to think of what he¡¯d done wrong this time. "If she was struggling, I could have come back early, I could have, could have done... done something..." he said faintly, his voice trailing off as the melon fell from his hands, shattering on the parched ground below.


    "Why is it worse?" he asked helplessly. "I did so much more this time. I helped so many people, but this time, why? Why is it worse?"

 Chapter 561: The Will To Fight

    Chapter 561: The Will To Fight"You did help more people," Ashlynn said as the vision of Milo standing before him faded away and the two were left alone in the desolate village. "If you keep going, if you don¡¯t give up when Old Nan dies, then maybe you¡¯ll see how much more you did. After all, things might be a bit worse here, but they¡¯re much, much better in the other villages," she pointed out.


    "But I still failed," Ollie said, shaking his head as he knelt in the dust. "I still failed my people."


    "That happens sometimes," Ashlynn pointed out gently. "We do our best, we do everything we know how to do, and it still isn¡¯t enough. We make mistakes, we jump to conclusions... we fight battles we shouldn¡¯t have, and people die because of it," she said, speaking from painful experience as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulders.


    "It¡¯s okay to fail," Ashlynn said. "But now that you¡¯ve tried helping the other villages and you¡¯ve learned how hard it is to work on a bigger scale, to help even more people, are you content with what you¡¯ve achieved? Is this a result you can accept?"


    "No," Ollie said, shaking his head and blinking away the moisture that clouded his vision. Why was it that no matter how parched he was, no matter how chapped his lips or dry his throat became, his body always held enough moisture for tears? He¡¯d sooner be done with them and save the water for more useful things.


    "No, I can¡¯t accept this," he said. "If you were standing here instead of me, the real you, then you¡¯d have thought of dozens of things I haven¡¯t thought of yet. You wouldn¡¯t accept this defeat, I know you wouldn¡¯t," he insisted. "So I need to try again. How many times can I try again?"


    "You can try as often as you want," Ashlynn said. "But if you persist too long, your body will fail you, and the cypress seed within your chest will consume you. Sooner or later, you must accept that you have done your best and move on from what you have achieved with it. Already, you¡¯re suffering from repeating this trial just three times. Are you sure that you¡¯re up to a fourth?" Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m not giving up," Ollie said, pushing himself up from the dirt and standing firmly in front of the vision of Ashlynn. The sun overhead pounded down on them, and he briefly wondered if the heat had baked his brains to mush to be this stubborn,n but he refused to accept that this was the best he could do. "Let me try again."


    "And what will you do differently if you try again?" Ashlynn asked. "How will this attempt be different than the last?"


    "Help isn¡¯t coming for any of the villages," Ollie said. "And nothing seems to be stopping the Inquisition from punishing innocent people with their ¡¯second sun.¡¯ So, if I can¡¯t save the villagers by outlasting the Inquisition, the only thing I can do is take the fight to the Inquisition and purge the sun from the night sky."


    "Does that mean you no longer wish to face this trial as a witch?" Ashlynn asked, summoning a familiar-looking suit of armor in the dark midnight blue and black of the Vale of Mists. "Do you want to prove that you can beat this trial as a knight?"


    For a moment, Ollie considered the question seriously. Growing vegetables wasn¡¯t going to save everyone as long as the Inquisition lorded over them with irresistible magic. He¡¯d tried everything he¡¯d learned as a witch, but none of it would help him to turn the tide against the Inquisition. Why not face them as a knight instead?


    The thought didn¡¯t last long before he discarded it as folly. Ollie had learned enough about sorcery and witchcraft to understand that conjuring the oppressive second sun every night must have taken the combined efforts of several of the Church¡¯s ¡¯miracle workers.¡¯


    He had no idea how many of them there were but even if they were helpless in direct combat, he was certain that they were protected by a large number of Templars or other soldiers from the Church. As a pure knight, he¡¯d never be able to accomplish what he needed to do before he was overwhelmed by superior numbers... and likely superior warriors as well.


    "I¡¯ll take my armor," Ollie finally said after several minutes of thought. "But not yet. You gave me a lesson on using witchcraft to nurture plants and to heal people, but that isn¡¯t what I need if I¡¯m going to fight the Church."


    "You also said that the Cypress Tree was a tree for powerful guardians, but all I¡¯ve been using it for is to find a source of strength to sustain people and crops," he admitted. "I, I should have asked this sooner, after I failed the first time,e but... will you teach me how to fight like a witch? Without the power of witchcraft, I know that I don¡¯t have a chance of stopping the Inquisition, but with it... Maybe there¡¯s a way I can still save my people."


    "Look at me, Ollie," Ashlynn said, stepping up close enough to the young man that the fabric of her loose dress brushed up against his tunic. Slowly, reaching out with both hands as if she were picking up something that was incredibly delicate, she took Ollie¡¯s head in her hands and stared deeply into his pale eyes.


    "Remember this look," Ashlynn said after a moment of inspecting the young man¡¯s gaze. "The things you¡¯ve seen that make you so determined that you¡¯re willing to go to war instead of seeing them happen again, never forget those things. Keep them with you long after this trial ends."


    "But the things that happened here, they aren¡¯t real," Ollie said, blinking in confusion. Already, he was afraid that he would have nightmares of this trial for months to come, but Ashlynn wanted him to hang on to those memories? Wouldn¡¯t it be better if this trial just faded away like a bad dream when it was all over?


    "They are and they aren¡¯t," Ashlynn countered without letting go of his face. "They are yours to remember, and if the memory of these tragedies gives you the strength to fight to prevent them from ever happening, then they¡¯re real enough. You understand?"


    "I, I think that I do," Ollie said. As much as he hated the things he saw every time he failed, he had to admit that the vision had motivated him to see a larger picture, and it provided a well of strength to resist, to try again so he could prevent things from happening. If he could carry that same strength out of the trial...


    "Good that you understand," the vision of Ashlynn said, waving a hand to banish the vision of the village and returning him to the flooded cypress forest that he¡¯d begun the trial in before facing the haunting ordeal of two suns.


    "Now, let me teach you about the weapons and the defenses of the Cypress Tree," Ashlynn said, spreading her hands wide and pulling thousands of cypress needles from the trees around them, holding them aloft like deadly arrows suspended mid-flight. "Starting with a storm of needles..."

 Chapter 562: Witch Vs. Army

    Chapter 562: Witch Vs. ArmyOllie crouched behind the roots of a mighty cypress tree, looking out across the open plains below where a powerful army had built their camp. Banners flapped idly in a faint summer breeze that seemed to bring no relief from the endless heat of the two suns. The symbols of the Lothians, the Dunns, the Hanrahans, the Rians, and dozens more major and minor families could be clearly seen, mixed with a nearly equal number of banners displaying the gleaming sword of the Order of Holy Light, the burning blade of the Order of Holy Flame, and the burning sun of the Inquisition.


    "How many of them do you think there are, Milo?" Ollie asked in a hushed voice. Between Milo and Harrod, he¡¯d managed to rally over four dozen soldiers and twice as many villagers who were skilled with weapons, though most of them were hunters skilled in bows and snares rather than the use of axes or maces, the way Harrod¡¯s men were.


    "At least a thousand, Sir Ollie," the Heartwood archer said, crouching behind a screen of tall grasses as he observed the army arrayed against them. "Enough to burn our village to the ground even if they didn¡¯t soften us up with the second sun at night. What they¡¯re doing," he said bitterly. "It¡¯s just cruelty."


    "No," Harrod disagreed. "It¡¯s pragmatic. Commander Bassinger always said that to attack a fortified town or village, you need to outnumber defenders by at least five to one. But that only results in a bitter fight with many casualties."


    "So they¡¯re trying to weaken us to reduce their own casualties?" Ollie said, frowning at the army on the field below. "And they¡¯re willing to camp here for weeks, torturing us to do that?"


    "Maybe they think they can bait us into attacking them," the horned soldier said. "We don¡¯t have the advantage of our walls here, and they¡¯ve had time to dig trenches and fortify their position. If we attack them head-on, we¡¯re only offering our heads up to their blades."


    "Then we don¡¯t attack them head-on," Ollie said with a predatory gleam in his eyes. For months, he¡¯d suffered under the eternal sun this army had created, and he¡¯d watched his people suffer at the hands of the Church¡¯s cruel and cowardly plan. Finally, they were within the reach of his blades and the witchcraft he¡¯d learned from Ashlynn.


    Ollie thought that he understood Lady Ashlynn¡¯s desire for revenge when he learned what Lord Owain had done to her on their wedding night. Anyone would want revenge after enduring suffering like that, and so he thought it was only logical for Lady Ashlynn to seek vengeance.


    Now, however, he understood the fires that must burn in her heart and the rage she must feel at the thought of her tormentor living well for even one more day. He¡¯d never before desired someone¡¯s death, but now there was almost nothing he wanted as badly as he wanted to kill the Inquisitors responsible for the curse of the second sun. All he had to do was prod them into abandoning their fortified camp in order to ¡¯slay some demons and a witch¡¯ and he could finally put an end to this trial.


    "The trees are both our spears and our shields," Ollie said as he began to sketch a rough plan in the dirt. "Milo, take your hunters into the cypress forest. Tell me where you need walls raised, and I¡¯ll extend the knees of the cypress trees to give you places to take cover while you hunt their soldiers."


    "We won¡¯t need much," Milo said, his tail quivering with anticipation of the battle to come. "But every bit of help the Cypress Witch can give us will be worth a dozen hunters."


    "Harrod," Ollie said, turning to the horned soldier who had accompanied him ever since they fled from the Summer Villa. "We need to bait them into a trap. They won¡¯t believe that a force as small as yours would attack their army, but they have to expect that their second sun will eat away at our food supply. I want you to circle around to the side of their camp where the supply wagons and the cook tents are..."


    It was a simple plan, but Ollie was counting on several things to see it succeed. He knew how badly the Church and the Lothians hated ¡¯demons¡¯, and he believed they wouldn¡¯t easily tolerate their enemies raiding their supplies. Owai,n particularly, was certain to rage at his men for any ¡¯failure¡¯ and send them chasing after the fleeing Eldritch soldiers.


    Of course, he didn¡¯t expect to draw the entire army into their trap. But just drawing off one or two hundred of the enemy¡¯s soldiers would weaken their lines enough to create a gap that Ollie could exploit to attack their Inquisitors, assuming that they didn¡¯t send one or two of the ¡¯holy men¡¯ to chase after Harrod¡¯s raiding party.


    The loss of a single Inquisitor would significantly weaken their ability to use sorcery as demanding as the curse of the second sun. The loss of two might mean they wouldn¡¯t be able to summon it at all. Defeating Lord Owain¡¯s army was likely impossible, but stripping them of their ability to devastate his village and make his people suffer without ever exposing themselves to danger... that he could put an end to.


    It only took an hour for Milo¡¯s hunters to find their positions and another hour for Harrod¡¯s men to circle around to the far side of Owain¡¯s army. Still, they held their attack until the true sun began to sink toward the western hills, timing their attack for the moment the Inquisition was focused on preparing to launch their second sun into the skies once more.


    "Demons! Demon attack!"


    "They¡¯ve come for the food! Stop them!"


    "Stand and fight, you demon cowards! How dare you flee!"


    The shouts that rose from the army¡¯s camp were furious, indignant, and filled with a sense of righteousness as they demanded that Harrod¡¯s men stand to fight instead of fleeing with the meager supplies they¡¯d managed to steal.


    Of course, Harrod and his men weren¡¯t really interested in the food they¡¯d stolen and they quickly dropped sacks of flour and barrels of pork as they sprinted for the safety of the cypress grove.


    Following close behind them, running in disorganized ranks clustered together based on which lord or knight they served, the human army roared with fury, showing no sign of hesitation or caution as they charged into Ollie¡¯s first trap.


    "Through air they fly at my command,


    Like arrows loosed by nature¡¯s hand.


    Strike deep and true, my wooden rain,


    Leave none who face me free from pain!"


    A dark grin formed on Ollie¡¯s lips as he recited the very first spell Ashlynn had taught him to fight against the Lothians. All around him, dozens of cypress trees shook and trembled, shedding thousands of needles in an instant and filling the air with a rain of deadly, glistening darts.


    The storm of needles weren¡¯t precise weapons, and many of them wasted themselves against shields, helms, and the trunks of trees that the human soldiers quickly hid behind. But when there were thousands upon thousands of needles, even if nine out of ten of them missed their targets, hundreds still slipped through gaps in armor or the visors of helms to pierce the flesh of their targets.


    "Aaaarghhh!"


    "Demons!"


    "Witch! It¡¯s a witch among the demons!"


    "Now, Milo!" Ollie shouted, grinning as he watched the charge break as the leading wave of soldiers crumpled to the ground in pain. Not only were the cypress needles propelled by his witchcraft wickedly sharp, but each one of them carried a tiny drop of poision that caused pain so excruciating that it would be difficult to continue fighting if even one needle pricked a man¡¯¡¯s skin, to say nothing of the pain they would feel when pierced by dozens of the wicked needles.


    Milo¡¯s men wasted no time in exploiting the opportunity Ollie had given them. The storm of cypress needles was followed by a deadly accurate storm of arrows, exploiting the helplessness of the men writhing in pain to deliver killing blows that forever silenced their anguished cries.


    "Trap! It¡¯s a demon trap!" Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Retreat! Retreat!"


    The combination of deadly witchcraft and an ambush of archers turned the tide rapidly, turning the men who had been boldly chasing ¡¯demons¡¯ just moments ago into a panicked stampede of men rushing to be the first to escape the deadly cypress grove, even if it meant trampling their own people in the process.


    For a moment, Ollie¡¯s heart thudded in his chest, filled with the intoxicating rush of victory in the first battle he¡¯d led against the Lothian threat. That exultation, however, lasted for only a moment before the sounds of several voices raised in chorus cut through the chaotic din of the fleeing men.


    "Feel the Holy Lord¡¯s wrath and sacred light,


    Let cleansing flames purge the land of demon¡¯s blight!"


    Suddenly, a blinding light flooded the cypress grove, followed half a heartbeat later by flames so intense they seared the flesh from his bones, consuming Ollie, Milo, Harrod, and everyone who had come with them in a raging inferno of Holy Flame...

 Chapter 563: Courage Or Stubbornness? (Part One)

    Chapter 563: Courage Or Stubbornness? (Part One)"I should ask if you are satisfied with what you¡¯ve accomplished," Ashlynn said as Ollie lay twitching on the grassy hillside overlooking the village he had been charged with caring for. "But I think we both know that you aren¡¯t. What happened to you, Ollie?" the vision of Ashlynn asked gently as she knelt by his side.


    The memories of being burned alive by Holy Fire continued to torment him, trapping him in the feeling of his flesh blistering and tearing itself apart before his bones cracked under the intense heat... Watching as the flames consumed his friends and companions before pain engulfed his vision as the fluid within his eyes boiled, robbing him of his sight as his eyes ruptured...


    Ashlynn¡¯s voice failed to penetrate the hazy fog of agony that clouded his mind for several minutes as he lay shaking on the ground, curled into a tight ball with his eyes screwed shut as if to deny the reality of the horror he¡¯d witnessed. The horror he¡¯d led his men into. The horror that was entirely his fault.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, reaching out with a hand wrapped in soothing emerald mist. "It¡¯s all right. You can stop now if you wish. Just tell me what went wrong, and this can all be over."


    Ashlynn¡¯s magic did nothing to heal Ollie¡¯s wounds. Those wounds had vanished the moment the vision brought him back to the beginning of the trial. The pain Ollie was suffering was entirely within his mind as it refused to let go of the agony of his final moments. Part of that was to be expected as it was difficult for the mind to accept sudden changes in what it felt, but part of that came from Ollie¡¯s determination to hang onto the pain, as if he felt that he deserved to suffer some kind of punishment for what had happened to his companions.


    When the vision of Ashlynn wrapped him in soft, soothing mist, it did little more than provide a calming, soothing sensation to slowly wear away at the pain and agony his body had felt, but it still took several minutes before his mind was willing to let go of the bone deep feeling that he deserved that suffering.


    "What went wrong?" Ollie spat as he slowly opened his pale eyes to find the vision of Ashlynn kneeling over him. His eyes were red and swollen, and his voice was tinged with deep bitterness and self-loathing as he spoke.


    "I got everyone killed is what when wrong," he said. "I, I had no idea the Inquisition had such terrifying sorcery! I thought sorcery was weaker than witchcraft, but that... that was more powerful than anything I could do, even with the support of dozens of trees. I never should have brought everyone so close to something that, that... powerful."


    "How can they be like that?" Ollie asked, his eyes misting with tears of frustration and a deep, heart-twisting pain he couldn¡¯t begin to describe. "How could they be so strong?" S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The Church is very familiar with the limits of sorcery," Ashlynn said as she gently cupped Ollie¡¯s face and wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. "They weave their sorcery into their battle hymns and prayers, reciting them so many times that whole groups of them can combine their might."


    It sounded simple and logical when she said it, but in truth, the practice of several sorcerers working together was rare among the Eldritch Clans. The Eldritch people celebrated individual strength and the power of champions far more than collective effort in battle. Eldritch wars could be decided in duels between feuding Eldritch Lords or small-scale battles between elite forces, leaving the common people safe from harm so long as they submitted to the rule of the victor.


    It was humans who brought the concept of grand armies to the continent, along with the notion of pursuing a defeated enemy to utter destruction. That fundamental difference and failing to understand it had led to the fall of countless Eldritch nations during the First Crusade and now, it had led to the complete destruction of the small, elite force Ollie had brought to attack Owain¡¯s army aswell.


    "How do you defeat that?" Ollie asked as he searched Ashlynn¡¯s face for answers. There must have been some magic he simply hadn¡¯t learned yet, some stronger form of witchcraft that would allow him to stand against a force like that, he thought. Or perhaps it wasn¡¯t more powerful witchcraft that he needed to learn, but a different strategy for using it instead. Whatever it was, at the moment, he desperately wanted Ashlynn to teach him!


    "How can any one person defeat something like that?" he asked.


    "Let me ask you a different question," the vision of Ashlynn said as she studied the storm of emotions swirling within his heart. At the moment, he¡¯d already shifted his focus to what he could do better, much like he had in the first several rounds of the trial. On one hand, it was an admirable trait and part of what made Ollie such a remarkable young man.


    He refused to give up when he felt that if he worked harder or learned more, he could achieve a better outcome. It was that selfless drive to do better for the refugees that had earned the loyalty of so many different Eldritch people despite the fact that Ollie himself was human.


    On the other hand, it was the young man¡¯s unwavering belief that he was the one who was too weak, too inexperienced, and that others could have done much better than he could have that prevented him from learning other, potentially more important lessons from the trial he faced.


    "When you unleashed your storm of cypress needles," the vision of Ashlynn asked gently as she redirected the young man¡¯s thoughts. "And you inflicted agony and suffering on hundreds of Owain¡¯s men, how did you feel?"


    "How did I.. feel?" Ollie said, pausing in surprise as he tried to remember the moment his spell had completed and he¡¯d watched the front ranks of Owain¡¯s army crumble under his withering assault. He¡¯d been so focused on his crushing defeat and the agonizing death that he¡¯d consigned his companions to that he hadn¡¯t even stopped to consider anything else.


    At that moment, when he unleashed a storm of wicked cypress needles that carried an agonizing toxin... how had he felt?

 Chapter 564: Courage or Stubbornness (Part Two)

    Chapter 564: Courage or Stubbornness (Part Two)"Powerful," he said after thinking for a few moments. The sensation of dozens of trees offering up their strength, whispering their support and echoing his desire for the invaders to suffer and die was more intoxicating than the strongest wine he¡¯d ever tasted. "I felt strong and mighty... like I¡¯d finally become strong enough to protect the people relying on me."


    "And?" Ashlynn asked pointedly. "Is that all you felt?"


    "No," the young man said, shaking his head as he recalled his feelings at the time. "I was... happy, I think. I was glad that it hurt so much, that they didn¡¯t die without knowing the kind of suffering my friends had endured because of them. I, I wanted it to last longer," he said awkwardly, looking away from Ashlynn as shame burned in his heart. "I didn¡¯t want them to die so quickly when Milo¡¯s archers opened fire but..."


    "But you remembered your mission," Ashlynn said. "Even as you were consumed by vengeance, you remembered your duty."


    "They deserved to suffer for what they did," Ollie said. "But if we didn¡¯t kill them, we¡¯d never be able to reach the Inquisitors behind them, and the pain wouldn¡¯t have lasted forever. Once we started, we couldn¡¯t stop."


    "Did they really deserve it Ollie?" Ashlynn asked. "The Inquisition were the ones forming the second sun in the sky. Those soldiers were only there to act as guards. They followed the orders of their lords and knights, but they¡¯d never drawn a blade against your men until you attacked them."


    "That doesn¡¯t mean they were innocent," Ollie said, staring at the vision of Ashlynn and wondering if the real Ashlynn would ask such a question. "You heard how they shouted at us. They wanted to kill ¡¯demons¡¯ just as much as the Inquisition does."


    "You¡¯re the one who took justice as one of your virtues, Ollie," Ashlynn pointed out. "When you punish the guilty, justice and vengeance can go hand in hand. But when you punish the innocent simply because they fight alongside the guilty, are you serving justice? Or are you prioritizing your vengeance?"


    For a moment, Ollie wanted to argue that vengeance had nothing to do with it. His trap had been the best plan he could think of and if not for the unexpected strength of the Inquisition, it might have worked. Whether or not he satisfied his vengeance in the process didn¡¯t matter as long as the ends were just and righteous. He was protecting his village and the people who died were soldiers in a war... Just because they hadn¡¯t swung a sword at his people yet didn¡¯t make them innocent, did it?


    But the words died on his lips before he could speak them when he thought back to the day that he and Ashlynn had escaped the Summer Villa after she killed Sir Kaefin. They were hunted by Sir Broll, a man she¡¯d sworn to take revenge on for his part in burying her after Owain nearly killed her. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When Sir Broll and his soldiers finally caught them, Ashlynn hadn¡¯t harmed a single one of the soldiers. Even when she¡¯d lured them into Captain Lennart¡¯s camp where the forces of the Vale of Mists outnumbered Sir Broll¡¯s men by more than two to one, she still hadn¡¯t commanded the slaughter of the soldiers who were following Sir Broll¡¯s orders to capture her.


    Instead, she¡¯d taken them captive and given them a chance to build new lives in the Vale of Mists. A few of those men had even gone on to settle in Ollie¡¯s village, allowing Marcel to bring their families into the Vale to start their new lives together.


    But what had he done as soon as he saw the soldiers under Owain¡¯s command charging at them? He¡¯d given them the cruelest death he could imagine... and he¡¯d taken pleasure in doing it. Moments later, the Inquisition had paid him back in kind, delivering an agonizing death wreathed in Holy Fire.


    "But what am I supposed to do about Owain¡¯s army?" Ollie asked. "I can¡¯t challenge Owain to a duel the way you challenged Sir Broll to one. He would never accept it. And I can¡¯t take on the Inquisition alone either. Innocent or not, they¡¯re soldiers in a war, aren¡¯t they? Do I really have to find a way to solve this without killing them to pass the trial?"


    "Did I say that you couldn¡¯t kill when you deemed it necessary?" Ashlynn asked, raising an eyebrow at the flame-haired youth. "If your cause is just and the war is necessary, some deaths are inevitable. On both sides," she added softly. "But if you examine your actions, ask yourself if you truly prioritized winning your war and protecting your people, or if you let the pursuit of vengeance get in the way of achieving your just objectives."


    "I, I understand," Ollie said as he reconsidered everything he¡¯d done. He¡¯d become drunk on the power of the witchcraft Ashlynn had taught him and he charged into battle at the first opportunity, eager to pay back all of the pain and suffering he¡¯d endured in the previous iterations of the trial. Ashlynn was right... He¡¯d lost track of what was truly important and both he and his companions had died for his mistakes.


    "Good that you do," Ashlynn said with a gentle smile. "Now that you understand, are you ready to accept that you have done your best in this trial? Can you live with what you have accomplished and what you have learned?"


    "No," Ollie said, shaking his head stubbornly. "No. The only way I can succeed is if I take the fight to the enemy but this time, I need to keep a clear head. I can¡¯t rush into things and I need to prepare a better trap. I understand what I¡¯m up against now and I swear, I can do better next time."


    "Are you sure, Ollie?" Ashlynn asked. "If you charge into battle and fail again, the pain you¡¯ll suffer will be just as great, if not greater. And, no matter what you do, some of your companions are bound to die. In battles, victories where one side doesn¡¯t suffer a single casualty are exceedingly rare. Are you willing go through all of that again?"


    "I already failed to live up to my virtue of justice," Ollie said, standing up and dusting the grass off his armored gambeson. "If I run now, aren¡¯t I failing to live up to the virtue of courage? Let me try again," he asked. "I promise, I¡¯ll do better this time."


    "As you wish," Ashlynn said, waving a hand and returning him once again to the beginning of the trial when the second sun appeared in the night sky. "But I wonder, Ollie," she said softly. "Is this courage? Or has it become stubbornness?"

 Chapter 565: Making Preparations (Part One)

    Chapter 565: Making Preparations (Part One)When the trial began again, Ollie wasted no time in putting a new plan into motion. The cypress tree was a powerful guardian and Ashlynn had showed Ollie several ways to harness it¡¯s power but when he compared the offensive might of the witchcraft he¡¯d learned to the power demonstrated by the massed group of Inquisitors, he found it sadly lacking.


    "It isn¡¯t that I¡¯m weak," Ollie realized. "It¡¯s that my strengths are more suited for defense and counterattacks than offensive actions. More than that, I need time to prepare. Trees don¡¯t grow overnight, and I can¡¯t prepare my army overnight either. I need time..."


    He also needed to set aside his desire for revenge. In his haste to strike back against the Inquisitors who had tormented him in his previous attempts to pass the trial, he¡¯d skipped over many of the things he should have done in a bid to cut the head off the serpent, ending things once and for all.


    It had been foolish, and he had abandoned his just cause in favor of a violent, aggressive attack that lured men into a deadly trap but failed to do anything to the people responsible for harming the village. Worse, it had done nothing to stop the Inquisition from continuing their assault and eventually reaping the lives of everyone he was supposed to be protecting.


    This time, It would be different. This time, Ollie took out everything he had learned from every previous iteration of the trial. He sent men to each of the neighboring villages, asking that they send as many fighting men as they could, while sending craftsmen to create shades for their crops and instructions to begin harvests of crops that couldn¡¯t endure the heat, even if the yield would be lower.


    "Old Nan," Ollie said, presenting himself at the home of one of the people he most admired in the village. Old Nan had lost everything, including one of her two sons, when Owain burned her village to the ground. Despite that terrible loss and bone-crushing grief, she¡¯d taken the few possessions they were able to salvage and pulled herself back up out of the depths of despair to become one of the pillars of the rapidly growing village of refugees.


    "Sir Ollie," the old woman said, her whiskers twitching in surprise. "You have so much that you are doing in this crisis. What brings you to this old woman¡¯s door now?"


    "I, I need you to teach me how to carve wood," Ollie admitted awkwardly. "I don¡¯t have strong claws or teeth, but I know how to use a knife delicately," he said, thinking of the precise knifework that had been required for some of the dishes served at the high table during feasts at Lothian Manor or the Summer Villa. "It¡¯s just, I¡¯ve never learned to carve wood before."


    "Of course I can teach you, Sir Ollie," Old Nan said, frowning at the youth as she struggled to understand his request. "But why now? Do you need to carve something to resolve this crisis?"


    "I do," Ollie said. "Our enemy is very strong, and they have powerful sorcerers from the Inquisition. If our soldiers are going to survive a clash with them, then they need greater protection than armor can provide," he explained.


    "Generations of Cypress Witches have carved the wood of cypress knees into powerful totems and charms that can protect the bearer from harm," Ollie added as he saw comprehension dawning on Old Nan¡¯s face. "I need to make as many of these totems as possible in the next ten days before we attack Lord Owain¡¯s army to break this curse," he said, pointing at the sun burning in the night sky.


    "I see," Old Nan said, tugging on her whiskers as he tail swished in thought. "Do you need to do the carving yourself, or can you empower the carving that someone else makes? There isn¡¯t much that an old woman like me can do in the fields in this heat but if you can use these old claws to help keep Milo and his hunters safe..." she said, her voice trailing off as she confronted the very real possibility that she would lose both her sons to the humans in a single year. But if she could help him fight...


    "I don¡¯t know," Ollie admitted as he sank into thought. "I don¡¯t know, but we can try," he said moments later. "If it works, then we can ask Juni and some of the others to help. If I have to do it alone, I¡¯ll never finish enough in time. But, together... together we might just have a chance."


    For the next several days, Ollie labored in Old Nan¡¯s cottage with a series of knives, gouges, and rasps as he labored to create protective amulets that could guard against the flames of the Inquisition. Through trial and error, they discovered that Ollie needed to complete at least half of the work on the amulet himself, and it was best that he did the finishing work.


    "When you hold the work piece in your left hand," Old Nan instructed patiently as Ollie worked on yet another amulet. "It can be tempting to keep your left hand as still as possible, to make a stable platform while your right hand carves, but you should never do this." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Why not?" Ollie asked. When chopping vegetables, the job of the left hand was often to stabalize food and guide the knife but moving your off hand carelessly was a good way to lose fingers when wielding a sharp knife. "Isn¡¯t it important to keep the work piece stable?"


    "Not stable," Old Nan corrected. "Within your control. Remember, your right hand, the one that holds the tool," she said, reminding herself that Ollie was limited by his lack of sharp claws. "Your right hand is connected to your mind," she continued, tapping her temple with the point of a claw."


    "Your right hand carries your thoughts, your plans and intentions, all of the things you have chosen to do, your right hand will do them," she explained. "But your left hand," she said, stepping behind Ollie to cup his left hand with hers. "Your left hand is connected to your heart. It carries your joys and your fears, your dreams and your hopes for the thing that you are bringing into being with your hands," she said as she adjusted the angle of his left hand slightly.


    "But, won¡¯t I ruin the piece if my left hand moves too much?" Ollie said, still puzzled at the instruction.


    "When you pull a stubborn cork from a bottle, you twist it with both hands, don¡¯t you?" Old Nan asked. "The movements of both hands should be small and close to your body. The left hand pulls the work piece into the sharp edge of your claw, or your blade," she explained. "It is the combination of push and pull that lets you make a longer, smoother stroke as you remove material.


    "More importantly," Old Nan said, moving her hand to tap Ollie first on the head and then above his heart. "If both hands move together, the work will carry both your intentions and your hopes. The heart and mind come together in the work. Only then can your presence be felt by those who touch your work."


    "I understand," Ollie said, tracing a finger along the rough gouge he had made in the work. Perhaps it was because he was doing it wrong when he carved the piece or perhaps it was because he lacked the sensitive claws of the Heartwood clan but the only thing he could feel in the wood was the rough surface and the heat of his hand that had gripped the piece of cypress wood tightly for several minutes, but he didn¡¯t dismiss what Old Nan had to say.


    "Maybe this was another of the lessons I was always supposed to find in this trial," Ollie realized as he continued to process what Old Nan had told him. "Just how many different lessons did she prepare for me... and how many of them have I been blindly rushing past?"

 Chapter 566: Making Preparations (Part Two)

    Chapter 566: Making Preparations (Part Two)When Ollie stopped to think about it, Ashlynn had taught him that witchcraft was about blending his desires with the energy of the world to make things happen. Old Nan¡¯s explanation might be slightly different than the witchcraft he¡¯d learned from Ashlynn but that didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t a valid path for him to follow in order to put his desires to keep his people safe into the wood as he carved.


    If anything, it was a tradition that meshed so well with witchcraft that he wondered if it had been something the Heartwood clan learned from a previous Mother of Trees. Given the way the entire clan revered the Mother of Trees and the witches in her coven, it wouldn¡¯t be surprising if traditions like this one had originated in witchcraft.


    Feeling an even greater sense of confidence in the direction his plan had taken, Ollie redoubled his efforts to learn everything he could from Old Nan about the Heartwood Clan¡¯s way of carving and dedicated himself almost completely to producing the protective amulets that would help to shield his men from the Holy Flames of the Inquisition in the battle to come.


    Working together, day by day, with Old Nan to break logs down into appropriate sized blanks, roughing out the shape of the design to be inscribed and giving Ollie guidance as he turned each small piece of wood into a protective amulet, they made rapid progress even though Ollie had to be the one to finish carving every single piece.


    At the very end, he held the finished amulet close to his heart and spoke the words that would transform a simple wooden charm into a powerful protective amulet.


    "Through wood that stands where waters flow,


    Where fire fails and cannot grow, S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    I carve this shield ¡¯gainst zealot¡¯s flame,


    Let water¡¯s touch end fire¡¯s reign."


    Each amulet was shaped like the shield of a knight and bore a symbol in the center reminiscent of ripples spreading across a pond. The first ones were simple and crude, but by the end, they were not only much more refined, but simply putting one on would bring a sense of calm safety and even relief against the oppressive heat of the double suns.


    "I wish I¡¯d realized this could protect people from the heat sooner," Ollie said, cursing himself for failing to think of something like this when he¡¯d poured all of his energy into protecting his people. There was still time, however, to protect one important person who wouldn¡¯t be taking to the field of battle with him against the Lothians and their partners in the Church.


    "Please wear this, Old Nan," Ollie said, slipping a simple leather cord through a hole in the best protective amulet he¡¯d made. "It isn¡¯t much, but I know that the strain of the heat is taking its toll on you. Please, promise me you won¡¯t give this away and that you¡¯ll use it to protect yourself from the heat," he said, staring into her dark eyes with an intensity that surprised the old woman.


    "You really should give something like this to the men working in the fields if you have extras," Old Nan said, as she took the amulet from the young man¡¯s hand. He¡¯d worked with tools instead of claws, of his own but as the tips of her claws traced the ripples on the surface of the amulet she felt a trace of a deep yearning and... an deep well of pain that momentarily took her breath away.


    "It¡¯s fine if you wear it," Ollie said, taking the amulet and tying it in place around the old woman¡¯s neck. "If for no other reason than that Milo and I will be able to focus on the battle ahead knowing that you are protected."


    "Well, if you say so," Old Nan said, searching Ollie¡¯s face as if she was trying to find the source of the pain she¡¯d felt carved into the protective amulets. But whatever it was, she saw no sign of it before he turned to leave, marching out under the scorching heat of the true sun to speak with his soldiers.


    "Harrod," Ollie asked when he reached the horned soldier who had taken command of Ollie¡¯s hastily assembled army while he worked on his witchcraft with Old Nan. "How are our men?"


    "Tired, and overheated," Harrod said honestly, refusing to mince his words with the young witch who they all looked to for leadership during this nightmare. "But we¡¯ve gathered two hundred men from the surrounding villages and added them to our own men. Some of the volunteers from the other villages are woodsmen who brought their own axes. They¡¯ve never fought in battle before, but they¡¯re strong and willing to stand up for their villages," he said proudly.


    "Will they be useful?" Ollie asked. "If they¡¯ll only get in the way then we should leave them here to defend the village."


    "They¡¯ll do their best," Harrod said in a carefully neutral tone, as though he couldn¡¯t bear to hold the men back from the chance to fight against the human invaders... but didn¡¯t want to offer his opinion on how helpful they would actually be. "We¡¯ve all been practicing calls and signals so we can coordinate small groups," he said, changing the topic.


    "With so many men who have never trained as soldiers, it¡¯s going to be hard to coordinate this many small groups," Harrod said honestly. "Sometimes, when skill is lacking, it¡¯s better to form ranks and fight as one organized mob instead of several small bands that can be defeated in detail. Are you sure you want to fight this way, Sir Ollie?"


    "I¡¯m sure," Ollie said as he tossed a bag filled with protective amulets to the horned soldier. "Pass these out to the men. Make sure everyone gets one, but this one," he said, pulling out two of his best, most recent attempts. "Is yours, and the other one is for Milo. They should help with the heat as well, but everyone needs to get a full night¡¯s rest before we move on the enemy."


    "I¡¯ll see to it, Sir Ollie," Harrod said, pressing a fist to his chest in salute. Looking in the bag, he was stunned to find hundreds of intricately carved wooden amulets, each of which bore a trace of the same energy he felt from the amulets Ollie had given him.


    There was a clear difference, however, in that the amulets in the bag felt more like the cool shelter of a cypress tree at the edge of a gentle pond while the ones Ollie had handed him carried an additional feeling of deep strength and the ability to weather endless storms. Clearly, the two that the young witch had set aside for his closest companions bore an even greater investment of his strength... and a stronger feeling of the care and concern he felt for the people he¡¯d prepared them for.


    "Sir Ollie," Harrod asked before departing to pass out the protective amulets. "Do you think we can win?"


    "Honestly?" Ollie said, looking in the direction of Owain¡¯s army in the distance. "I don¡¯t know. But we¡¯re running out of time, and we have better odds now than ever before. Whether we can win or not, we¡¯ll find out soon enough..."

 Chapter 567: Fighting in the Fog

    Chapter 567: Fighting in the FogOnce again, Ollie crouched behind the trunk of a cypress tree overlooking the army that Owain Lothan and the Church had assembled against the Eldritch people. This time, however, several things were different.


    The first time Ollie poked the hornets¡¯ nest, drawing the combined forces of several knights and lords into the cypress grove, the men had been fresh and alert. They had only recently built their camp, and the assault of the never-ending day had just begun. Now, however, the combined human forces were looking distinctly wilted, and the enthusiasm many of them held for earning glory by going to war against ¡¯demons¡¯ had faded under the tedium of what amounted to guard duty protecting the sorcerers of the Inquisition.


    "This time, you won¡¯t have such an easy time of it," Ollie said under his breath before giving Harrod the signal to begin his raid.


    Much like the first time, Harrod¡¯s men struck at the vulnerable supply wagons, but this time, rather than drawing the pursuing soldiers in a single direction, they scattered six different directions with each small cluster of men leading the human pursuers into a different ambush.


    Milo and his hunters had more than a week to prepare traps in the cypress grove and they made good use of that time, digging pits filled with sharpened stakes, hanging nets and preparing blinds from which they could rain down arrows on the human soldiers.


    Ollie himself, however, held back from the fray, even though part of him wanted to unleash a storm of cypress needles that would cripple the human soldiers before their spears and axes could inflict as much as a scratch on any of Ollie¡¯s men.


    It was a temptation born of equal parts hatred of what these men had come to do and a fierce desire to protect his own men, but he firmly pushed down the desire and focused on his own mission. His only purpose in this battle was to counter the sorcery of the Inquisitors and to reap their lives, bringing an end to the oppression of the second sun. Everything else, he would have to entrust to Harrod and Milo and their men.


    Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long for the army under Owain¡¯s command to martial its knights, sending armored men leading small groups of soldiers into the cypress grove. Most importantly, each knight escorted a pair of Inquisitors who clearly intended to unleash their holy flames on the small bands of ¡¯demons¡¯ lurking in the forest.


    Ollie, however, had no intention of making it easy for them to hunt down his men and as soon as the knights and Inquisitors entered the cypress grove, he let loose with a different incantation than he¡¯d used the first time.


    "Cypress sentries, breathe your veil,


    Let mist rise thick and senses fail."


    Water was scarce after weeks of the curse of two suns but the Cypress trees had deep roots and stored vast amounts of moisture within their trunks. Now, branches shook as the trees seemed to exhale a cloud of thick fog that quickly blanketed the grove, muffling sounds and making it difficult to see more than a few dozen feet ahead.


    The fog was the last boon he could bestow on his men before he eliminated the Inquisitors who had come with the intention to burn ¡¯demons¡¯ to death. While it wouldn¡¯t do much, the thick fog would suppress the Inquisitor¡¯s Holy Flames, combining with the protective amulets his men wore to give them a chance of surviving if they ran afoul of the Inquisitor¡¯s sorcery. It wasn¡¯t much of an advantage, but at the moment, it was the best he could do for them.


    "Now, the real hunt begins," Ollie said as he slipped into the fog, drawing his fighting knife in one hand and a wicked darksteel cleaver in the other. Of course, Ollie wasn¡¯t the only person entering the battle late. Across the open field, a powerful figure in polished, gleaming armor made his own preparations, drawing a sword that had been polished to a mirror finish and grinning in anticipation as he strode toward the cypress grove.


    Instantly, the battle entered a new phase as Milo¡¯s archers became largely ineffective. In their place, Harrod led his combined force of professional soldiers and volunteer woodsmen into a direct clash at close range.


    In any other environment, the woodsmen would have been at a clear disadvantage, but Ollie¡¯s mist gave them a vital advantage as the towering members of the Clan of the Great Claw emerged from the mist like giants, wielding axes that could easily fell mighty trees in just a few blows, to say nothing of something as small as a human soldier.


    "For Sir Ollie and the Vale!" Harrod cried, raising his mace up high as he led the charge against a group of human soldiers. He kept the shield on his left arm angled upward, deflecting the clumsy spear thrusts of soldiers who clearly had no practice fighting men who were several feet shorter than they were. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    That inexperience proved fatal as Harrod swung mercilessly at vulnerable knees, producing a sickening -CRUNCH- of breaking bones as he knocked the human soldiers to the ground. The horned soldier wasted no time finishing off his victims, however. Once someone fell to Harrod¡¯s mace, they were easy targets for the woodsmen following behind him and their axes fell mercilessly on soldiers whose agonized howls made them easy to find even in the densest of fog.


    Meanwhile, Ollie opened himself up to the grove of cypress trees, allowing them to guide him toward the clusters of men attempting to use their holy flames to burn away the fog.


    "Through air they fly at my command,


    Like arrows loosed by nature¡¯s hand.


    Strike deep and true, my wooden rain,


    Leave none who face me free from pain!"


    Once again, Ollie summoned a storm of poisoned cypress needles, raining them down on a startled knight, his soldiers, and most importantly, the pair of Inquisitors they were protecting.


    "Witchcraft!" one of the Inquisitors shouted, his eyes going wide in panic even as his body collapsed under the painful assault of hundreds of cypress needles. Moments later, his eyes grew cloudy and dull as a powerful blow from a sharp blade cleaved through the back of his neck, severing his spine and spraying hot blood across the former kitchen boy who had emerged from the fog behind him.


    Ollie tore the cleaver free of the first man¡¯s neck, spinning to face the second Inquisitor while his hand still stung with the force of his knife¡¯s impact on the incapacitated priest. For a moment, his stomach twisted and lurched, trying to expel what little food he¡¯d eaten as a wave of revulsion swept over him along with the hot blood splattered across his face but he firmly pushed the revulsion down and swung his cleaver again.


    Images of Eldritch children, their bellies grown thin with hunger, and Old Nan collapsing under the unceasing heat danced before his eyes as the heavy cleaver bit into the forearm of the second Inquisitor, cleaving as cleanly through the man¡¯s bones as it would through the bones of a chicken on the carving block. Clutched in the man¡¯s severed hand, a golden emblem of a burning sun glowed feebily as the faith that powered the artifact flickered and failed in the face of sudden death.


    Again and again the cleaver fell, hacking into the dying priest¡¯s raised arms twice more before Ollie buried the weapon all the way to it¡¯s spine in the Inquisitor¡¯s terrified face.


    "What, what kind of demon is that!" a pain stricken soldier on the ground cried, scrambling backwards on all fours to put as much distance as he could between himself and the flame haired monster who had emerged from the fog, butchering inquisitors with a terrifying knife that seemed to drink in the fresh blood spilled on its broad blade.


    "Not a demon," the knight said through gritted teeth as he forced himself to stand despite the pain surging in his body from every gap in his armor where a cypress needle had reached his flesh.


    Compared to the pain the soldiers and the Inquisitors faced, the knight had suffered far les with barely any cypress needles reaching his skin, but those few that had pricked him produced such an intense feeling of ripping and tearing agony in his muscles that he¡¯d been helpless while the Inquisitors were slaughtered like helpless sheep.


    "He¡¯s a heretic! A witch who serves the demons," the heavily armored knight spat. "Name yourself, heretic, and prepare to die on the blade of Bastian Hanrahan!"


    "Sir Bastian, is it?" Ollie said, looking at the struggling knight with eyes filled with pity. "You¡¯re lucky, Sir Bastian," he said, returning his knives to the sheaths at his waist. "I¡¯m not here for you today, and I don¡¯t have time to waste prying you out of that armor. If you know what¡¯s good for you, take your men and leave this place," he said, reminding himself firmly of the way Lady Ashlynn had given a chance to the men who followed Sir Broll.


    "If I see you again, you won¡¯t get another chance," he said as he vanished into the thick fog. Two Inquisitors had already fallen, but according to the trees of the cypress grove, there were still eight more who were calling down Holy Fire within the forest, along with a knight who seemed even more threatening than the Inquisitors themselves, piling up the bodies of Eldritch warriors like they were kindling.


    If Ollie didn¡¯t speed up his hunt, even if he was able to slay all of the Inquisitors, there would be no one else left alive to celebrate the victory. And if he encountered that dreadful knight, there might not be any victory at all.

 Chapter 568: Deadly Adversary (Part One)

    Chapter 568: Deadly Adversary (Part One)The sounds of battle echoed through the cypress grove, muffled by the thick fog and seeming to come from every direction at once as Ollie crept through the forest in search of his next target. His midnight blue armored gambeson bore several dark crimson stains and drying blood clung to the blades he carried as he moved from tree to tree in search of the remaining Inquisitors.


    Seven of the ten had already fallen to his darksteel cleaver, though one had escaped after losing his arm beneath the elbow. Whether the man would survive the injury depended entirely on the strength of the Church¡¯s healing magic but either way, Ollie was certain the man wouldn¡¯t be returning to the battlefield any time soon. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "For the Vale and Sir..."


    A fierce battle cry split the air, chilling Ollie¡¯s heart when it cut off abruptly with a wet, choking sound that had become all too familiar over the course of the past hour. Even more chilling was how familiar the voice sounded, even through the distortion of the heavy fog.


    "Harrod!" Ollie shouted, momentarily forgetting to conceal his presence as he charged through the fog in the direction of the strangled cry.


    Bodies littered the cypress grove as he ran, many of them wearing the distinctive and colorful tabbards belonging to human noble families. Some had fallen to deviously placed traps while others resembled pincushions, filled with arrows fired by Eldritch hunters. Still others were missing limbs or bore the marks of being hacked to death by the powerful blows of woodsmen from the Clan of the Great Claw.


    But too many of the bodies Ollie leaped over as he ran wore the familiar midnight blue gambesons of the Vale of Mists, their horned figures looking almost child-like as they lay on the blood soaked ground next to the larger, more imposing figures of the homan soldiers. Still others wore the dark green or brown cloaks favored by the Heartwood Clan¡¯s archers and a few towering figures with powerful claws lay next to their great axes, resembling mighty trees that had fallen to the ground.


    Ollie refused to look at the faces of the fallen, too afraid he would recognize someone he¡¯d once helped to build a home or plant a garden to spare even the briefest of glances as he rushed toward the sound of Harrod¡¯s strangled cry. If he saw more friends among the fallen, he was afraid that something deep inside him would crack and he couldn¡¯t allow himself even a moment of vulnerability if he wanted to rescue the first friend he¡¯d ever made among the Eldritch.


    Moments later, Ollie emerged from the fog into a clearing that had been pulled from his worst nightmares. Around the clearing lay more than a dozen bodies, each one bearing more gruesome wounds than the last until they were barely recognizeable. A few features, however, were impossible to miss, like the protective amulet hanging from the broken neck of a Heartwood archer that Ollie had spent hours toiling over in the hopes that it would provide Milo with a bit of extra protection.


    The empty quiver at his friend¡¯s side and his blood stained claws made it clear that he had given everything he had and more to the fight... but Milo¡¯s everything hadn¡¯t been enough to preserve his life.


    Another familiar figure lay at the center of the clearing, his dark eyes growing cloudy as they struggled to focus on the human boy who had once followed Lady Ashlynn like a lost puppy fleeing Lothian hunting dogs.


    Harrod¡¯s shield hung in broken fragments, held together only by the straps of leather that bound it to his arm. His mace likewise dangled useless, secured to his wrist by a thin loop of cord intended to prevent him from dropping the weapon. Blood flowed from a vicious wound to his head and one of his horns had cracked and broken, loosing more than half its length to a blow that would otherwise have split the horned soldier¡¯s head in two.


    "Ollie," Harrod whispered as pink, frothy blood spilled from his lips. "Run..."


    Standing over the fallen soldier, an armored knight stood tall and proud, his chest heaving in exertion as he rested a polished longsword across his shoulders. Though his face was obscured by his helm, it was impossible for Ollie to fail to recognize the man in blood stained armor crafted with such exquisite care and so precisely fitted that he moved without any of the stiffness that was common in such heavily armored men.


    As a young boy, when Ollie thought of the power and grandeur of a knight, he had envisioned the man before him, wearing this very suit of armor and riding astride a towering warhorse. He had seen him riding at the head of countless parades, watched him cut a dashing figure at numerous banquets and festivals, he¡¯d even toiled in the kitchens to prepare dishes to be served at the man¡¯s feasts.


    But not once in all those years had he imagined that the day would come when he stood before the man with eyes clouded by the red haze of bloodlust and a bone deep desire to destroy the person he once thought represented everything it meant to be a knight.


    "Lord Owain Lothian," Ollie spat as he surveyed the carnage of the battlefield. Behind Owain, a nameless knight lay fallen, his visor pierced with arrows that bore Milo¡¯s distinctive fletching. Along with the knight, one member of the Inquisition knelt over another, his crimson and gold robes wet with the other man¡¯s blood as he desperately tried to heal the deep wounds caused by simple woodsman¡¯s axes.


    "You know me?" Owain said, raising the visor of his helm to inspect the strange human wearing the same armor as the horned demon soldier he¡¯d just killed. In this battle he¡¯d encountered more varieties of demon than he¡¯d ever seen in one place before, but this was the first time he¡¯d ever encountered a human, dressed like a demon and staring at him with eyes that burned with malice.


    "Name yourself, heretic," he demanded, pointing his sword at the flame-haired youth wearing demon armor and wielding what appeared to be demonic kitchen knives. "Tell me whose family I should destroy for your treachery," he sneered.

 Chapter 569: Deadly Adversary (Part Two)

    Chapter 569: Deadly Adversary (Part Two)"Of course I know you, Lord Owain," Ollie said as the sound of his own thundering heartbeat filled his ears. Milo had fallen, Harrod had fallen, and even though they¡¯d clearly tried to bring down the powerful Inquisitors, slaying a knight in the process, they had been chopped down like saplings by Owain¡¯s ruthless blade.


    "I grew up in your manor," Ollie said, silently calling on the strength of the cypress grove to aid him as he stalled for time. "I spent years in your kitchens. I even cooked your meals in the Summer Villa. But do you know who I am, Lord Owain?"


    "You¡¯re the kitchen boy! The boy who fled with the murderous witch who killed Kaefin!" Owain shouted, recognizing Ollie from the descriptions of the young man who likely set the kitchens on fire to help the witch escape the Summer Villa after Sir Kaefin¡¯s murder. "So you really were conspiring with demons this whole time! Who are you really?" Owain shouted. "Tell me, boy!"


    "Sir Ollie, the Cypress Witch, at your service," Ollie said, raising his blades and giving a mocking salute before assuming a fighting posture. As he did, a faint jade-green aura formed around him, adding a layer of protection like the knees of the cypress trees while the strength of their mighty trunks flowed through his every muscle and sinew, giving him the power to stand toe-to-toe with vampires like Savis and Tausau.


    At the moment, he felt strong enough to cleave through Owain¡¯s gleaming armor with his darksteel knife while the aura around him felt like his skin had grown a thick layer of bark that could resist even the ax blades of Eldritch woodsman. It was a power fueled by his singular, focused desire to put an end to Owain Lothian and avenge his fallen friends.


    Behind Owain, the Inquisitors shared a startled look when they heard the young man call himself the Cypress Witch. Though his title was unfamiliar, when they combined the young man¡¯s declaration that he was a witch with the faint demonic aura that began to glow a clear jade-green around him, it was obvious that he wasn¡¯t lying about his identity.


    Silently, the two men exchanged a look built on years of understanding before the older of the two gave up on healing his injured companion. If they were in the presence of a witch, then there was no time to waste on healing... Unless the Holy Lord of Light himself descended, they were certain that they had entered the final moments of this life. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ollie the Heretic Witch," Owain said as he slid effortlessly into a fighting stance with his sword in a two handed grip before him, "I¡¯ll have it carved on the statue of your headless corpse under my boot when this is over," he taunted.


    "I shouldn¡¯t fight you," Ollie said as he narrowed his eyes, searching for an opening in the armored lord¡¯s guard. "Lady Ashlynn wants that right. But you killed my friends," he said. "So I¡¯ll have to apologize when I present her your head!"


    Dirt and fallen cypress needles exploded from the ground with the force of Ollie¡¯s charge as he surrendered to the red tide that clouded his vision. All thoughts of his mission fell away as he rushed the man responsible for countless acts of cruelty.


    It had been Owain who nearly killed Lady Ashlynn on what should have been the happiest night of her life. It had been Owain who burned Old Nan¡¯s village to the ground and murdered her youngest son, and now it was Owain again who had taken Milo and Harrod away from Ollie, Old Nan, and everyone in the Vale who loved them.


    Again and again and again, it was this man who brought endless pain and suffering. Now that he was here, within reach of Ollie¡¯s blades and surrounded by a grove of cypress trees, Ollie would stop at nothing to see the man dead.


    Sparks flew as Ollie¡¯s fighting knife collided with Owain¡¯s polished blade, but the veteran knight seemed to float across the forest floor despite the weight of his armor, turning effortlessly to deflect the strength of Ollie¡¯s charge and striking out with a powerful thrust of his own.


    Were it not for the flickering jade-green energy that covered Ollie¡¯s body like a second suit of armor, that thrust would have pierced his shoulder before Ollie could pivot, awkwardly knocking Owain¡¯s blade away with the spine of his darksteel cleaver.


    The first clash was followed half a heartbeat later by a second one, then a third as Ollie drew deeply on the strength of the cypress trees to batter at Owain¡¯s strong defense. Yet no matter how powerful Ollie¡¯s blows were or how many times he tried to rush in after battering Owain¡¯s blade aside, the veteran warrior always managed to deflect Ollie¡¯s blows at the perfect angle to minimize the impact.


    Even more frustrating, whenever Ollie did manage to close the distance, Owain slipped just out of reach, making it look effortless as he prevented Ollie¡¯s blades from cutting so much as the edge of his cloak.


    "You call yourself a knight, but you fight like a kitchen boy," Owain sneered even as he flexed his fingers to shake off the sting of their repeated collisions. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he¡¯d tried receiving any of those blows directly instead of deflecting them. The young man clearly possessed physical strength that was far beyond human limits, but he was just as clearly inexperienced in using that strength in a real fight against a skilled opponent.


    "Give up and the Inquisition may grant you a merciful death," Owain suggested, briefly glancing behind him at the pair of Inquisitors who were clutching tightly at each other and speaking softly as though saying their final prayers.


    "You can join your companions here," he added, gesturing at the fallen bodies of Milo, Harrod, and the other soldiers, hunters, and woodsmen who had staked their lives to break the curse of the second sun.


    A red haze of rage already clouded Ollie¡¯s vision, but he refused to surrender to the urge to charge the skilled knight a second time without doing something to break down the other man¡¯s advantages.


    Thane said that enough strength could cleave through any amount of skill, but clearly there were limits, and Ollie had too little experience fighting with strength beyond human limits to use the gifts bestowed by the cypress grove to his greatest advantage. Since that was the case...


    "Cypress roots beneath the ground,


    Rise, capture and hold him bound!"


    Ollie¡¯s spell was brief, focused, and instantly called forth thick, writhing roots of the cypress trees, commanding them to envelop Owain¡¯s legs and bind him to the ground. One of Owain¡¯s clear strengths was in his ability to maneuver, dancing out of the way of Ollie¡¯s powerful blows, and so the young witch didn¡¯t hesitate to strip that advantage away from him.


    As soon as the incantation was complete, Ollie rushed forward again, circling just wide enough to come at Owain from his offside. Nothing could have prepared him, however, for the young lord¡¯s counterattack.


    Rather than struggling against the roots that bound him, Owain used them, dropping his sword and crouching low at the last moment before springing upward, taking the charging witch by surprise as his armored shoulder collided with the young witch¡¯s stomach.


    "Raaaa!" Owain shouted as he used Ollie¡¯s momentum against him, heaving him up and over his shoulder and throwing the young man like he was a sack of grain. In any other circumstance, the move would likely have resulted in toppling both men, but with his feet bound by the cypress roots, Owain was able to toss Ollie several paces away without tumbling with him.


    "Burn the witch!" Owan shouted as he crouched down to tear at the roots binding his feet.


    "In your great name," the two inquisitors shouted, having held their prayer for a moment when it wouldn¡¯t consume Lord Owain in flames along with the witch, the Inquisitors finally unleashed the magic they¡¯d prepared in order to defeat the terrifying young witch. "Burn both our lives to fuel our Holy Flames!"


    Brilliant white light enveloped their figures as both men, previously looking as though they were in the prime of their lives, began to rapidly age. Their hair turned from lustrous brown to brittle shining white as their skin grew taunt and wrinkled, sagging over bones that had become brittle as their muscles melted away.


    The transformation took only a pair of heartbeats before the Inquisitors released the fury of the Holy Lord of Light, calling down a pillar of Holy Fire brighter than the sun on the place where Ollie crashed into the ground.


    Pain exploded in Ollie¡¯s mind, first as his body slammed into the ground and then, a burning, searing heat that was thousands of times more agonizing. The amulet on his neck glowed brilliantly for two full heartbeats, resisting the power of the flames before it cracked and burned to ash, overwhelmed by the combined power of two Inquisitors who were willing to burn up their lives if it meant they could slay a witch.


    Still, the protection it afforded was just enough that Ollie didn¡¯t die. Though his armor and flesh had been burned until little was left but a mass burned and blackened ash and pale flecks of bone could be seen as he drew a ragged breath, some part of him still clung tenaciously to life, unwilling to succumb without killing the man who had caused so much suffering.


    "Sir Ollie," Owain sneered, retrieving his sword and walking slowly across the scorched earth, grinding out flickering flames as he approached the fallen witch. "Nothing more than a kitchen boy," he said as he thrust his sword out, piercing Ollie¡¯s heart and with it, the last flickering embers of the young man¡¯s life...

 Chapter 570: An Ending You Can Accept

    Chapter 570: An Ending You Can AcceptFor several minutes, Ollie hung suspended in darkness, tormented by the lingering pain of his horrific wounds and the sight of Lord Owain standing over him with a mocking smile on his lips as his blade pierced Ollie¡¯s chest.


    Slowly, at a pace that felt much, much slower than any of his previous recoveries, the blackness faded away, leaving Ollie¡¯s body restored, though his clothing had been replaced by the simple tunic and breeches that he¡¯d worn in the real world when he first began his vigil.


    "Well, Ollie," Ashlynn¡¯s voice called out while the aspiring knight and witch shook and trembled on the ground of the blood-soaked battlefield. "Do you accept your results as the best outcome you could achieve?"


    "This? This is the best I could do?" Ollie said bitterly through clenched teeth. "Dying on Owain¡¯s blade, along with Milo and Harrod, is the best that I can hope for?" Ollie said, turning bloodshot and tear-filled eyes on the vision of Ashlynn kneeling next to him. "And Owain walks away from this without a scratch on his body?"


    "How can I accept this?" Ollie asked, gesturing at the bodies strewn across the battlefield. The sight of Harrod alone was enough to pierce his heart, but when he glanced at the slumped figure of Milo, who had all but adopted Ollie as a member of his own family, he felt like a claw made of ice was squeezing his chest. "How could anyone accept this?"


    "Many brave knights would accept this," the vision of Ashlynn said, holding out a hand and waiting for Ollie to take it. "Ollie, come with me and take a look at what you¡¯ve achieved with your death."


    Slowly, Ollie clambered to his feet without the help of Ashlynn¡¯s hand. Part of him wanted to snap at her, to let him try again, to get on with things so he could figure out where he had gone wrong in his latest attempt to pass the trial, but he forced himself to hold his tongue.


    Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths as he reminded himself again and again that this was both a lesson and a trial. If Lady Ashlynn wanted to talk to him about this moment, and if the trial had failed to bring him back to the beginning again, then there had to be a lesson in all of this mess somewhere that he was meant to learn. Thus far, many of the lessons he¡¯d learned had been the most heart-wrenching, painful moments he¡¯d ever experienced, but he couldn¡¯t deny that he had grown from each and every one of them.


    "All right," he said, opening his eyes and looking at the vision of Ashlynn before him. "Let¡¯s take a look."


    "This will hurt," Ashlynn said, taking one of his hands in both of hers and holding it firmly. "But the first step is counting." With a wave of her hand, the thick mist vanished, revealing the entirety of the gruesome battlefield all at once. "You can either count your friends or your enemies, and I will count the others. Which do you choose?"


    "Friends," Ollie said around a lump in his throat. Now that he could see the entire battlefield at once, he realized that there were many, many more bodies than he¡¯d thought. So many that for a moment, his head swam, his face turned pale, and he felt as though the world had tipped sideways.


    "Take your time," Ashlynn said as she steadied the flame-haired young man before he could fall over. "This won¡¯t be easy, but I believe you can do it."


    "I¡¯m fine," Ollie insisted, shaking off the support that the vision of Ashlynn offered and walking over to Harrod¡¯s body. Kneeling next to his fallen friend, he reached out to gently close his eyes, rolling the horned soldier onto his back in a position that almost looked like he was sleeping.


    Despite the fact that he knew it was a vision and that the real Harrod was still alive, likely watching over him along with Milo in the village, he couldn¡¯t bear to see his friend lying in a heap where he had fallen after Owain pierced his chest with a sword.


    "One," Ollie said numbly as he stood, moving to Milo¡¯s crumpled, lifeless figure to do the same for him that he had done for Harrod, closing his eyes and easing him into a comfortable position for his final rest. "Two," he whispered.


    Again and again, Ollie repeated the ritual, walking to each member of his hastily assembled army in turn. Sometimes, he searched around the area until he could find a severed limb or treasured weapon, returning them to rest along with the warrior who had fallen in the battle that he¡¯d so confidently planned.


    How long it took, Ollie couldn¡¯t say, but after what felt like an eternity, the vision of Ashlynn caught his hand before he could leave in search of more of their fallen.


    "That¡¯s it, Ollie," Ashlynn said softly. "That¡¯s all of them."


    "That¡¯s it?" Ollie said, blinking in confusion. "But we, we had nearly three hundred and fifty men. I, I only counted one hundred and nineteen of them."


    "Exactly," Ashlynn said. "Some people would condemn you for losing a third of your men, but you know full well that a hasty assault would have resulted in everyone¡¯s death in the inferno of the Inquisition¡¯s Holy Flames. This new plan of yours saved two-thirds of your men¡¯s lives."


    "But a hundred and twenty people still died," Ollie said stubbornly. "One hundred and nineteen good friends and villagers... and me. And for what?"


    "For what?" Ashlynn asked, blinking in surprise. "Ollie, even though you personally fell, you also caused the death of nine out of ten of the Inquisitors, and the remaining one may still perish from his wounds. The curse of the eternal sun is broken, and the price the Inquisition paid is so high that they are unlikely to make an attempt like this ever again."


    Suddenly, the view shifted around them, and Ollie found himself standing once again in the center of the village, only now, there was no burning sun hanging in the soft, velvety night sky. Only a tiny sliver of the moon was casting its pale, silvery light as a cool evening breeze caressed the grasses and gardens of the village.


    "You died, but all of these people will survive, and many more besides," Ashlynn said. "Isn¡¯t that worthy enough?" sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But Milo died," Ollie said, walking to stand beside the entrance to Old Nan¡¯s burrow where he¡¯d recently spent several days learning how to carve protective amulets. "I, I didn¡¯t keep Old Nan¡¯s son safe, and now she¡¯s lost them both to Owain," he protested. "And Juni has lost her husband. My witchcraft wasn¡¯t strong enough to keep him safe."


    "But it was strong enough for him to kill several Lothian soldiers, and a knight," Ashlynn pointed out. "In fact, because of your protection, the Lothians and their vassals paid a steep blood price in this battle. Nearly four hundred of them died, more than three times the number that you lost."


    "It may not be the ending you wanted," Ashlynn said, stepping up beside the grieving young man and turning him around to face her. In the pale moonlight, her pale blonde hair drifted lazily on the wind, and her simple skirt and tunic looked perfect and pristine, far too clean for the blood-soaked world that Ollie had just come from, as though she somehow stood apart from the world of lesser, mortal beings.


    "It¡¯s an ending that saved the people you swore you¡¯d protect," she said. "An ending that killed the people who inflicted pain and suffering on your villagers. An ending that preserved the lives of enough of your soldiers to pick up your burden after you¡¯ve fallen and cost the lives of enough of Owain¡¯s soldiers to stop him from pressing his assault."


    "So, even though you died," she asked softly. "Isn¡¯t this an ending you can accept?"

 Chapter 571: Ashlynn’s Intervention

    Chapter 571: Ashlynn¡¯s InterventionA sliver of the moon hung high in the sky as Ashlynn sat in the clearing at the edge of Ollie¡¯s village. Brilliant emerald energy flowed from her hand, gently raining on the flame-haired youth as tears spilled from his eyes and his face contorted in expressions of heartwrenching pain, grief, and occasional moments of rage.


    Tonight marked the end of the seventh day of his vigil and the beginning of the eighth. Already, his pale skin had begun to darken, taking on the rough texture of cypress bark while his hands clawed at the dirt, as if he wanted to put down roots in the soft, damp soil near the village pond.


    "Is this, is this what it was like for me?" Heila asked, hovering nearby as she watched Ashlynn tending to Ollie. They had been confident that the young man wouldn¡¯t need more than five or six days to pass his trial, but Ashlynn had left clear instructions just in case. If he failed to awaken on the seventh day, she was to be told immediately so she could offer whatever support she could in guiding him through the completion of his trial.


    "He¡¯s bold and brave," Ashlynn said softly. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were wet with tears as she connected to the vision she¡¯d created within the seed to guide Ollie through his trial. She¡¯d thought, when she established the terms of his trial, that she¡¯d created a safe path that it would be nearly impossible for the young man to fail, but she¡¯d clearly underestimated his strength and determination.


    The Ollie she remembered from their time at the Summer Villa was mischievous and bold enough to sneak into parts of the Villa he shouldn¡¯t have during banquets, just to peek at the knights in their fancy outfits and the beautiful ladies who might be dining with them.


    At the same time, there was a timidness to him that had been beaten into what seemed like every fiber of his being, leaving him with stooped shoulders and a back that had bent from constantly bowing and scraping before Lord Owain and noblemen like him.


    By the time Ashlynn left the Vale of Mists, Ollie had shown several signs of shaking off that timid, beaten down exterior, particularly when he joined with her and Thane to learn fighting arts, but what she¡¯d seen had only been a glimmer of the man he would grow into under Thane and Marcel¡¯s steady tutelage.


    "He can stop whenever he wishes," Ashlynn explained. "But he isn¡¯t satisfied, even though he¡¯s come further than I ever imagined when I designed his trial. He wants to do better, to live up to my expectations and the expectations of the rest of the coven."


    "But he knows, doesn¡¯t he?" Heila said, her brows creased with worry as she knelt beside the young man. "He knows that we only want him to come back to us. He knows we¡¯ll miss him if he doesn¡¯t make it back, doesn¡¯t he?"


    "This is a man¡¯s pride, big sister Heila," Virve¡¯s voice rumbled from where she stood guard nearby. Villagers had begun to gather at the edge of the village overlooking Ollie¡¯s trial since the dawn of the seventh day. In the beginning, many of them had thought that they would witness Ollie¡¯s awakening today, but as day gave way to night and the Mother of Trees arrived to personally tend to Ollie, a dark cloud of worry had begun to form over the crowd of onlookers.


    "Ollie is different from you and me in too many ways," Virve continued as she flexed her claws, still adjusting to the power of the Ancient Oak that sang within her veins and the many other changes that spread through her body after she received the seed of the Ancient Oak. "You and I are Eldritch, but he is the only human after Lady Ashlynn. You and I received our seeds from Ancient Trees, but he¡¯s received a seed from a normal tree. He¡¯s also the only man in our coven. The pressure that places on him is tremendous."


    "But none of those things matter," Heila said. "Mother Ashlynn nurtured his seed for months. It¡¯s just as strong as an Ancient Tree¡¯s seed, and he didn¡¯t have to face any of the... any of the complications that I did," she said quietly.


    She¡¯d meant to say ¡¯Any of the challenges we did¡¯, but when she¡¯d learned that the Ancient Oak had accepted Virve without giving her a trial, it left Heila uncertain about her own trial. Perhaps, if the previous Willow Witch hadn¡¯t meddled with her, trying to force her to become a witch that could only passively heal, her trial would have been as easy as Virve¡¯s had been.


    "They do matter, though," Ashlynn said softly. "They matter to him. He¡¯s doubted himself for so long and been beaten down so much," she said as a fresh tear spilled down her cheek. "He¡¯s struggling to accept when he¡¯s done ¡¯enough¡¯ and when he¡¯s become ¡¯good enough.¡¯ I¡¯m afraid," Ashlynn said, pausing as her voice caught in her throat. "I¡¯m afraid that he may get caught in the trap of thinking he¡¯s never good enough to move forward from where he is."


    "This is a man¡¯s pride," Virve said. "Sir Lennart was the same way when he and I were still recruits serving under Captain Bassinger. I hear that human families place even more burdens on the shoulders of their men. The oldest man must inherit his father¡¯s position, even if he is the youngest of all his father¡¯s children. Humans expect young men like Ollie to be ready for far too much, far too soon."


    "Is there anything we can do?" Heila asked as she gently stroked Ollie¡¯s flame-red hair, only to snatch her hand back when she noticed the tiniest beginnings of flowers forming among his soft, flame-red locks. "I¡¯m sure if Virve spoke to him, she could straighten him out."


    "Ollie¡¯s trial is different than yours, Heila," Ashlynn said as she sank into the world within the seed of witchcraft. "Because there is no will from an Ancient Tree, the will within his seed is my own, so I can do more for him than I could in your trial. I¡¯ll try to speak to him. Maybe, if I can talk things through with him, I can help him understand how far he¡¯s already come..."


    A solemn, pensive mood hung over the witches as they watched Ashlynn sinking deep into the magic of the world that bound her together with Ollie and the seed within his chest.


    Sitting nearby, Milo clutched nervously at the figure of an armored knight he¡¯d carefully carved from a piece of a red cedar¡¯s heartwood as he watched and waited for Ollie to emerge from his trial.


    Lady Heila had already told him that they intended to cultivate cypress trees in the Vale of Mists for Ollie after he completed his trial, and once one had grown enough to harvest, Milo intended to carve something more fitting for the friend he¡¯d chosen to follow.


    For now, however, as he¡¯d watched Ollie¡¯s face exhibit signs of tremendous strain and loss, he¡¯d carved the simple knight out of the wood that was at hand in hopes that the figure could watch over his young friend and protect him from whatever was causing such heart-wrenching suffering. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 572: Humility And Hubris (Part One)

    Chapter 572: Humility And Hubris (Part One)"So, even though you died," the vision of Ashlynn asked as she gazed at Ollie. "Isn¡¯t this an ending you can accept?"


    For several minutes, Ollie said nothing as he tried to process everything Ashlynn had told him. He, Harrod and Milo, along with more than a hundred other soldiers, had died to save the villagers and perhaps even the Vale itself from the Inquisition¡¯s terrifying curse of the second sun. Owain, the leader of the invading army, had escaped with most of his men, but the losses he¡¯d suffered had been ruinous and the losses suffered by the Church had been even greater.


    "Am I supposed to accept that the best I could hope for in this situation was to die a heroe¡¯s death?" Ollie asked, looking at the vision of Ashlynn with a complicated gaze as he tried to sift through the simmering stew of emotions boiling within his chest.


    Perhaps it would have been easier to accept if he¡¯d arrived in time to prevent Milo and Harrod from dying... if he¡¯d saved his close friends along with the villagers then, even if he failed to kill Owain, he could at least say that he had done right for his friends and for Old Nan.


    But when he thought about it, in the instances where he¡¯d focused completely on solving the crisis within the village, he¡¯d lost Old Nan, and when he fought against the Lothians, he lost Milo and Harrod. It was like the trial was telling him that he would have to accept someone¡¯s death, one way or another.


    "Was there really no way to save everyone who mattered?" Ollie asked. "Even if it cost my life, if I could have protected the people who mattered the most..."


    "Of course there was a way," Ashlynn said, startling Ollie with how easily the words fell from her lips. "What would have happened if you had ordered them to remain here, perhaps with a dozen or so men, to keep the village safe if Owain attempted to send men to attack it while the battle was occurring."


    "Lord Owain wouldn¡¯t do that," Ollie said. "There would have been no point to ordering them to protect the village other than to," he said before his voice trailed off as realization struck him. "There would have been no point other than keeping them away from danger. But, they wouldn¡¯t have wanted that. They would have resented me for keeping them safe that way," he said as he hung his head.


    "It would have been worse for your men as well," Ashlynn pointed out. "They needed an experienced commander and while Harrod doesn¡¯t have much experience, he knows more about soldiering than most of the men did. And Milo was the deadliest archer on the battlefield. No one else could have fired an arrow through a target as small as the visor of a knight¡¯s helmet and he did it more than once."


    "You might still have had victory," Ashlynn said. "But it might have cost you another twenty, thirty, or forty men to save those two. Would that have been easier to accept?"


    "No!" Ollie said fiercely. "Of course that wouldn¡¯t have been better. But what if I had been better?" Ollie asked. "What if my protective amulets had been better, or if our ambush had been better, or if I¡¯d sought Owain out in the very beginning, or..."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn interrupted, stepping up close to the young man and placing a finger on his lips. "Think very carefully about the virtues you have chosen, and ask yourself if you¡¯ve lived up to them in this trial. In this last battle, even though you were consumed by rage in your battle against Owain, did you keep your head about you through the rest of the battle, never straying from your just cause and hunting down the people responsible for tormenting your village?"


    "Yes," Ollie said. Though he hadn¡¯t enjoyed holding back when he could have unleashed several more storms of cypress needles across the battlefield, he knew that the most important thing for him to do was to hunt down the Inquisitors, eliminating the threat they posed to both his army and the villages beyond. "As much as I wanted revenge, especially on Owain, I put justice first and fulfilled my mission."


    "And did it take courage for you to repeat this trial over and over again, even though doing so meant facing terrible pain and grief, every time you tried again?" Ashlynn asked.


    "It did," Ollie admitted. "Part of me wanted to give up after my second failure and the pain of my third failure was so bad that at first, I didn¡¯t even want to open my eyes, much less try again. It was hard to keep going, but I couldn¡¯t give up, not when you and everyone in the village is counting on me to succeed in this trial."


    "Justice and Courage," Ashlynn said, ticking off two fingers on her hand as she spoke. "I don¡¯t think we need to mention your Strength, you¡¯ve pushed yourself constantly to grow stronger and to shoulder greater burdens over the course of this trial."


    "But did you notice," Ashlynn said as she looked deep into Ollie¡¯s pale eyes. "Did you see how often you gave the people around you Hope? Every time you came with a new idea, each time you stood next to them in the fields or when you distributed protective amulets to them, did you realize that you were also giving hope to the people who depended on you? Did you notice how much brighter their eyes were when you were around, or how much straighter their backs were after you visited them?"


    "I, I didn¡¯t think of it that way," Ollie said as he struggled to recall the way the villagers had looked at him during the trial. It was hard to remember anything specific, but when he thought of his most recent experience and the shining look on Old Nan¡¯s face when she held the amulet he¡¯d prepared just for her... he couldn¡¯t deny that there had been more hope in her eyes than there had been in any of his previous attempts at the trial.


    "I guess you¡¯re right," he said after a few minutes of thought. "I was too busy thinking of the next thing I needed to do to notice but... I guess I helped to keep their spirits up, even if it was just a little bit." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Then, if you¡¯ve done so well with your other virtues," Ashlynn asked. "Why is it that you¡¯re struggling so much with Humility here at the end? Where has this hubris come from, to think that you and you alone can produce the perfect happy ending where only the guilty people perish and none of the people you treasure suffer?"

 Chapter 573: Humility or Hubris (Part Two)

    Chapter 573: Humility or Hubris (Part Two)"Huh?" Ollie said, struggling to understand the sudden leap that the conversation had taken. This whole time, he¡¯d never said no to work that would help, no matter how simple or menial the task, he never once thought himself to be someone who was too important to roll up his sleeves and help the villagers with whatever they needed... so how had his behavior all the sudden become a demonstration of hubris?


    "Ollie," the vision of Ashlynn said with a pained expression on her face. "I¡¯ve wondered if you were courageous or stubborn for pressing on even in the face of an impossible task, but I like to think that you truly have a heart filled with the ability to confront your fears and overcome them each in time."


    "But now, when you have achieved an outcome that saves the people you were charged to protect and the only people who fell in battle were men who agreed to shoulder the burden and the risk alongside you," she said.


    "If you still can¡¯t accept the outcome of the battle because you believe that somehow, if you just work harder or learn more or try just one more time, you could do better... is that the humility of the Ollie I scrubbed pots with? Or is it the hubris of a witch growing drunk on their own power?" she asked, giving Ollie a piercing look that shook him to the depths of his being.


    "I know this isn¡¯t the ending that you want," Ashlynn said, reaching out to hold his hands as gently and tenderly as she could. "Anyone would prefer to survive to fight another day instead of dying a heroic death alongside their closest friends. It isn¡¯t wrong to hope for better and to take what you¡¯ve learned in this trial to fight for a better outcome in the real world."


    "But what you¡¯ve achieved this time," Ashlynn said, looking directly into his eyes. "Can you accept it as the very best outcome you can achieve with the skills you have developed so far? With everything you know and all that you¡¯ve learned, can you accept this as the best outcome, not forever, but for right now?"


    "What happens if I say that I can¡¯t?" Ollie asked. "What happens if I want to try again? Every time I¡¯ve tried, I¡¯ve learned so much that I do better the next time. So, if I take everything that I¡¯ve learned from this time and I try again... If I can achieve a better outcome, isn¡¯t that even better?"


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said softly as she stretched up to cup his cheek. "I would love for you to have that, but there is only so much time left for you to face this trial. Already, it¡¯s a precious gift from the world for you to experience months of time in mere days, learning and growing more in this period of transition and transformation than many people will ever learn over the course of years," she pointed out.


    "If you want to try again, you can," she said, stepping back away from him. "I can reset the trial and allow you to face it again as many times as you wish. But Ollie," she added with a pained expression on her face. "From now on, I can¡¯t promise you that you will make it back from your trial, no matter the outcome. It might be better, and you could come out of the trial even stronger than you would now. It might be worse, and it would diminish your results, but you would still have a narrow window of escape..."


    "Or I might become stuck here," Ollie realized. "What... what happens to me if I can¡¯t escape the trial?"


    "Heila told you about Sister Holly, didn¡¯t she?" Ashlynn said, reminding the young witch of the member of Amahle¡¯s coven who had failed her trial, transforming into a giant holly bush that only contained a trace of the spirit of the woman she¡¯d once been. "If you can¡¯t escape your trial, then your mind would dwell within the trial endlessly, attempting it again and again and again until you could finally accept the outcome. Only, but the time that happens..."


    "There would be nothing left of me but a giant cypress tree," Ollie whispered, shuddering in horror at the thought of losing himself within the trial.


    "As I said," Ashlynn prompted him when he seemed to fall into his own thoughts. "The choice is yours. You¡¯re right that you¡¯ve done better every time, and you¡¯ve learned more and grown stronger every time. If you face the trial again, you may come out even stronger than you would if you stopped now."


    "Or I can accept this outcome," Ollie said. "Accept that the person I am right now could never protect everyone, but at the very least, I could protect the people who couldn¡¯t fight back... And if I had to die, at least my death would accomplish something in the end."


    "Exactly," Ashlynn said. "The choice is yours."


    "Can you answer a question for me?" Ollie asked. The decision should have been obvious, especially after the vision of Ashlynn had spelled things out so clearly for him, and yet... "The way you¡¯ve been speaking. I could have stopped at any time. If I¡¯d stopped after the first time, or the second time, even though I felt like I failed, would I still have passed the trial to become the Cypress Witch? Was all of this struggle pointless in the end?"


    "Yes, and at the same time, no," Ashlynn said, refusing to give him a simple answer. "I told you that it¡¯s a lesson and it¡¯s a trial. You aren¡¯t only earning my approval during this time, you¡¯re also forming a bond with the seed of witchcraft within your chest,t and through it, you¡¯re forging a bond with the energy of the world."


    "If you¡¯d stopped at the first opportunity, your seed wouldn¡¯t have grown as strong, and your connection to the power of the world would have been weaker," she explained. "You would have emerged as the Cypress Witch, but compared to Heila or Virve, you would have lagged far behind."


    "And what about now?" Ollie asked. "Can I at least meet the standard of the rest of the coven? Or am I still lagging behind?"


    "I can¡¯t tell you," the vision of Ashlynn said. "Virve¡¯s transformation has only just completed, but because she will bear an Ancient Seed, her strength would be greater than yours if you had stopped at the very beginning. Now, it¡¯s impossible to say where you will stand with regards to your siblings."


    "You may have moved beyond both of them, or you may be somewhere behind, or roughly the same with differing aptitudes in different areas. It¡¯s unlikely you will be a better healer than Heila, but just as unlikely that she¡¯ll form a better shield than you will. Each of you will have places where one may be stronger than the other," she explained.


    "Right now, the only person who can decide whether you have gained enough strength from this trial is you," she said. "The only person who can decide whether the risks of going further are worth it or not... is you." S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you for telling me," Ollie said, reaching out for the first time since the end of the horrific battle to take Ashlynn¡¯s hand instead of her reaching out to him. "Thank you for letting me make the decision, even if you¡¯d prefer to shield me from the risks," he said, taking a deep breath as he made his decision.


    "I need to be stronger in order to be your Cypress Knight as well as your Cypress Witch," Ollie said firmly. "The vision of Owain taught me just how far behind your enemies I am, and he¡¯s only a well-trained human, without any of the terrifying powers of the Templars, the Inquisitors, or the other miracle workers of the Church. Compared to the people who threaten you, I¡¯m far too lacking."


    "If that¡¯s your decision," Ashlynn said softly, raising a hand as she prepared to reset the trial for what might be the final time. As much as she wanted to forcefully pull him back to the real world, this was a decision that he had the right to make for himself and both she and Ollie would need to live with the consequences of his decision. "Then..."


    "I need to become stronger," Ollie said, capturing her hand in his before she could make a move. "But I¡¯ll need to grow stronger out there, in the real world, with my real friends and my siblings in the coven... even if I¡¯m the weakest of them. If that¡¯s the case, I¡¯ll just have to grow stronger step by step alongside them. Because too many people are counting on me," he said softly. "And I can¡¯t let my pride get in the way of my duty to return to them. So, please," he said, holding tightly to Ashlynn¡¯s hands.


    "Let this trial end, and take me home," he said. "I¡¯m sure everyone¡¯s waiting for me to come back, and I shouldn¡¯t let them worry anymore."

 Chapter 574: The Cypress Witch Awakens (Part One)

    Chapter 574: The Cypress Witch Awakens (Part One)Standing among the crowd of villagers, Ignatious wore a troubled expression as he looked from the young man to the ¡¯older brother¡¯ beside him. The pair of vampires had arrived in the village along with Lady Ashlynn, but even though the Mother of Trees had invited them down to stand at Ollie¡¯s side, Thane held back, saying that this was a moment for witches, even if it was also Ollie¡¯s vigil of knighthood.


    "Why is it that you¡¯re the only one here who doesn¡¯t look worried?" Ignatious asked as he studied the calm, confident expression on Thane¡¯s deceptively youthful face. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because I know young Ollie better than anyone else here," Thane said, his amber eyes twinkling in the flickering light of the lanterns carried by the villagers. "I know him even better than Lady Ashlynn does, though that may change once he completes this trial of witchcraft."


    "Don¡¯t look down on Ollie for growing up in the kitchens," Thane said confidently. "He grew up believing that knights embodied the greatest ideals a man could ever aspire to and that they were unstoppable champions, capable of achieving anything. He won¡¯t fall short of that ideal now that he¡¯s on the verge of becoming a knight himself."


    "I was a woodcutter¡¯s son, you know," Ignatious reminded the vampire knight. "I know what it means to come from humble beginnings and to look up at lofty figures as though they were paragons of virtue. I used to think the same way about the priests who took in orphans and preached to the masses. That they were good and godly men, dedicated to the ideals of the Holy Lord of Light and willing to dedicate their lives to helping all of us meet our struggles."


    Now, he knew better. The Church¡¯s charity never bled the treasury dry and never lifted the masses out of their daily struggles. It provided just enough support to sustain the faith in the masses, creating the illusion that the Church cared but that its power was limited and unable to overturn the life of struggle led by the common man.


    In reality, Ignatious had seen the halls that had been covered in gold and the coffers filled with jewels in the vaults of the Holy City. He¡¯d watched the commoners endure famine while the kitchens serving the Inquisition never lacked for meat or bread. Always, there was a reason for the excess and the unfairness, and Ignatious had believed in those excuses until Lady Nyrielle tore him away from the life he knew and forced him to see the world through different eyes.


    "You and Ollie are different, though. You lost your ideals," Thane pointed out before placing a comforting hand on the younger vampire¡¯s shoulder. "And you experienced a greater struggle than a hundred men combined in order to find your way back to the ideals of your faith. You¡¯ve come full circle in your journey."


    "Ollie¡¯s feet are still planted firmly at the beginning of his journey," Thane said. "He still believes that knights are great champions of virtues, and he¡¯s willing to work as hard as it takes to become one of them. He never accepts that something is too hard or gives up because something is impossible because he believes that a knight could accomplish any of the tasks he¡¯s been set to, so if he wants to be a knight, then doing the impossible is the lowest bar he has to leap over."


    "You¡¯re saying that he¡¯ll succeed, no matter how hard this trial is," Ignatious said. "Just because he believes that a knight could succeed at the trial? And because he is going to be a knight, he must be capable of doing it?"


    "No," Thane said, shaking his head. "You¡¯re close, but what you¡¯re describing is the sort of self-delusion that affects the sons of countless noblemen and knights. They believe that they can do things because they are already knights," he said, adding extra emphasis to the word ¡¯already.¡¯


    "Ollie isn¡¯t a knight yet, so he¡¯ll expend endless effort to achieve the impossible, because he thinks that a knight could succeed. Therefore, since he wants to be a knight, he has to work as hard and as long as it takes, because a real knight would never fail."


    "That¡¯s... Naive," Ignatious said, returning his gaze to the struggling young man surrounded by the witches of his coven. "But also very pure. I pray that he¡¯ll be able to keep that purity in the days to come."


    "If I know Ollie," Thane said with a smile. "He¡¯ll replace the capabilities of a knight with whatever he imagines a witch is capable of doing, and then he¡¯ll strive to be even greater, believing that he isn¡¯t good enough and that another witch would be capable of easily accomplishing the things that he struggles to achieve. It will be years before he realizes that he¡¯s walked further on his road than many witches will in their entire lives."


    "This is a big part of what makes Ollie so extraordinary," Thane said. "While Mistress Nyrielle was away, Ollie dedicated every waking moment he had, and several that he didn¡¯t, to the challenges I put in front of him. Caring for the refugees and building this village would have been enough of a challenge for men twice his age, but he never stopped trying to do better for these people than he¡¯d done before."


    "During the summer, I only had a few hours of darkness each night to tend to the Vale, but every night, Ollie napped between dinner and sunset so that he could come visit me. For at least an hour every night, he came with his problems and his thoughts on how to solve them. He asked for advice and guidance, but he rarely asked me to tell him what to do."


    "I can see why Lady Ashlynn believes he¡¯ll be a good witch," Ignatious said. He¡¯d only spoken to the young man briefly before the start of his trial, but his impression of the young man was very good. Talking to his ¡¯older brother¡¯, however, it sounded like Thane¡¯s estimation of the man was even higher. "He¡¯s done well as a village leader, but that¡¯s different from being a knight, especially with the battles to come. Will he be ready for war?"


    "Were you ready for war the first time you stepped on the battlefield?" Thane asked, raising an eyebrow at the fallen Inquisitor. "Was I? I don¡¯t think any of us are ever ready, but Ollie has been putting in the work. Marcel can only return to the Vale occasionally during the summer, but every time he did, Ollie sought him out to train with knives, honing his fighting skills. On nights that he didn¡¯t have questions for me, he asked me to be his opponent so he could learn to counter a swordsman."


    "Ollie doesn¡¯t give up," Thane said in a tone filled with praise. "It¡¯s one of his greatest assets. That, and his ability to accept anyone into his heart, caring for such a wide range of people that..."


    -CRACK-


    A sudden, startlingly loud sound interrupted the vampire¡¯s musings, drawing all eyes to the flame-haired youth and the witches surrounding him.

 Chapter 575: The Cypress Witch Awakens (Part Two)

    Chapter 575: The Cypress Witch Awakens (Part Two)The emerald green aura surrounding Ashlynn faded away while a brilliant, jade-green light began to spill from cracks forming in Ollie¡¯s bark-like skin. At first, the cracks were small, but they quickly spread across his entire body until he glowed with the light of a dozen lamps, shining brilliantly in the night.


    "Lady Ashlynn," he said as his eyes fluttered open to find his head resting on her thighs while she looked down at him with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "I¡¯ve made you worry," he said weakly. "I¡¯m sorry I was so... stubborn."


    "It¡¯s fine," Ashlynn said as she lifted him up into her arms, giving him a fierce hug that was quickly joined by Heila from the other side. "You¡¯re back now and everyone¡¯s here to welcome you home."


    "Welcome home, Ollie," Heila said as she waved for Virve to join them in giving the young man a crushing hug from his coven-family.


    "Ow, ow, that¡¯s enough, too much, too much," Ollie yelped as Virve gathered the entire coven into her powerful, furry arms, delivering a bear hug that lifted everyone momentarily off the ground."


    -CRACK!-


    For a moment, the entire coven froze, fearing that Virve had cracked Ollie¡¯s ribs in a moment of exuberance. A heartbeat later, more bark-like skin sloughed away and the jade-green glow that had emanated from Ollie¡¯s skin began to condense toward his left side.


    "Ollie?" Virve asked, setting everyone down gently and looking at the pale skinned human with genuine concern. "I didn¡¯t hurt you, did I? I, I¡¯m still adjusting to my new strength and..."


    "No, no, not hurt," Ollie said quickly as he pulled the plain, undyed tunic over his head, removing it for the first time since his vigil began.


    Several gasps rippled through the crowd of onlookers as they watched the jade-green energy gather just above Ollie¡¯s left hip, sinking into his skin before flowing upward over his ribs. The energy darkened as it grew and spread, taking on the shape of a mighty cypress tree, spreading its branches across his chest and around his back to cover one shoulder blade.


    The energy also swept low across his waist, giving rise to two distinct cypress knees across his toned, sculpted waist, while two more emerged on his lower back. The energy didn¡¯t seem like it was done, however, as the ¡¯branches¡¯ of the growing mark trembled, dropping needles that vanished when they reached his waist, leaving a series of watery ripples around the trunk and each of the cypress knees.


    "Is this... is this my mark?" Ollie asked as his fingers lightly traced across the mark left on his skin. In some light, the pale greenish hue of the mark might be mistaken for a bruise, but given its size and shape, it was difficult to imagine that it was anything other than a mark bestowed by powerful magic.


    "It is," Ashlynn said, lightly tracing her fingers across the firm, sculpted muscles that Ollie had earned through countless hours of labor and hard training under Thane and Marcel¡¯s guidance. Beneath his physical strength, she felt a deep, resonant power that reminded her of Jacques, Ignatious, and the powerful cult leader of the Flaming Cauldron.


    "This isn¡¯t just your mark of the witch, Ollie," Ashlynn said, looking up into his eyes with a wide grin on her lips. "It¡¯s the mark of a very powerful witch. With this, as long as you work hard, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be among the greatest Cypress Witches to ever live."


    "Raise your arm up high, ¡¯Big Brother Ollie," Virve said, taking his left hand in her large paw and lifting it high over his head to reveal his mark to the crowd watching from the edge of the village. "You¡¯ve won a great victory today," she said. "So let your people come celebrate the newest Cypress Witch!"


    "Milo!" Ollie shouted, spotting the cloaked archer hovering outside the circle where the coven gathered. Waving with his free hand, he beckoned to his hesitant friend, wanting nothing more than to reassure himself that the people he¡¯d watched die in the last round of the nightmarish trial were still alive, safe, and unharmed. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Get over here," Ollie said. "I haven¡¯t said it, but you¡¯re just as much a part of my family as Lady Ashlynn and the rest of the coven are," he said, wrapping an arm around the older man and pulling him into an awkward, sideways hug. "You and Old Nan both. And where¡¯s Harrod? He should be here too."


    "Once you woke," Milo said, his whiskers twitching with joy while his tail thumped the soft ground excitedly. "I saw Harrod taking people to stoke the cook fires. We, we didn¡¯t know if you would wake today or not, but Lady Ashlynn said that we should believe in you. So if you don¡¯t mind, let us cook for you for once."


    "We¡¯ll help," Ashlynn said, rolling up the loose, billowing sleeves of her dress. "Witches have a tradition of cooking for each other," she said, surprising the Heartwood archer, who didn¡¯t know what to say to the idea of the sacred Mother of Trees helping to cook a meal in their village. "And I still remember a thing or two from when Ollie and I slaved away in the Lothian kitchens together," she added with a wink at the flame-haired youth.


    "I don¡¯t cook," Virve said, folding her muscular arms over her chest. "I¡¯ll learn," she quickly promised when she saw a dark look from the diminutive Willow Witch. "But for now, how about I help by carrying Ollie up the hill and fetching him a drink?"


    "I can walk," Ollie protested, looking indignant at the notion of being carried like an invalid in front of so many of the villagers who admired him.


    "No, you can¡¯t," Virve said firmly. "You¡¯ve been leaning on me ever since I stood you upright," she added quietly. "Don¡¯t worry, no one will notice," she added with a wink before scooping him up and placing him on her shoulder, holding him as if he were a hero coming home to his people.


    "Everyone," Virve shouted. "Sir Ollie hasn¡¯t had a meal in days, but more importantly, he hasn¡¯t had a drink! Who has strong wine for my big brother Ollie? Who wants to toast to the Cypress Witch!"


    Instantly, a cheer resounded from among the villagers as the last of the tension finally broke. The crowd rushed forward, eagerly swarming around Virve as she carried Ollie up the hill and into the village. Several young children reached out, hoping to touch the newly awakened witch, even if all they could reach was one of his feet as he rode on Virve¡¯s shoulder.


    Looking out over the crowd, Ollie couldn¡¯t help but grin as the shadow hanging over his heart from his last round of the trial began to fade. There were still ghosts that lurked deep within him, and he didn¡¯t think he would ever forget the things he¡¯d witnessed in the trial. But instead of nightmares that haunted him, those images blended with the living, vibrant crowd around him to become a vision of something far more important.


    He knew now what he was fighting for. No longer was he chasing a nebulous desire to become Lady Ashlynn¡¯s knight and protector. Now, he had a whole host of people who mattered to him even more than his own life. He¡¯d heard stories of knights making noble sacrifices, and he¡¯d always admired them, but now, surrounded by people who cheered just because he¡¯d achieved a personal victory, he finally understood what it meant to be that kind of knight...

 Chapter 576: Threads In The Wind

    Chapter 576: Threads In The WindWhile Ollie joined the villagers in a celebration of his transformation into the youngest member of Ashlynn¡¯s coven, the youngest among Nyrielle¡¯s progeny was spending the evening in significantly more solitary pursuits.


    The passing of the harvest festival ushered in the beginning of what should have been a quiet, restful winter for Lothian City. Across the frontier, villages checked their palisade walls, patched up their defenses, and prepared to weather not only the heavy snows of winter but also the attacks by demons who raided winter stores and poached from herds of livestock.


    In a normal year, business at the Gilded Horns might turn busy as demon hunters filled their purses with gold by hunting down members of Eldritch Clans left so isolated that they had little choice but to become raiders and scavengers to survive a harsh winter. This year, however, the actions of the ¡¯demons¡¯ had been strange as they abandoned their villages one after another, retreating behind the walls of the Vale of Mists and leaving the Gilded Horns far emptier than it might have otherwise been.


    Sitting behind a plain wooden desk in an office beneath the cellars of the Gilded Horns, Marcel cared little for the way this year¡¯s events would impact the profits or losses he made on the luxurious restaurant that catered to the most wealthy among Lothian City¡¯s residents. At his age, he¡¯d seen enough lean years and rich years that a single bad year for one of his many investments was of little concern.


    The greater concern, in his mind, was the way information dried up when he lost half his patrons and the ability to ply the upper class of Lothian City with enough wine to loosen their tongues. It meant he needed to spend more time lurking on rooftops, skulking about the city¡¯s shadows and listening at chimneys and windows to gain a fraction of the information he could gather from one night spent observing the patrons of his restaurant.


    The news he had been able to gather, collected painstakingly like catching loose threads on the wind, left him deeply uncomfortable. On his desk, dozens of slips of paper, each covered with his precise flowing handwriting, had been arranged in a way that made patterns easier to identify.


    "Bors is getting ready to make a move," the dark-haired vampire muttered. "At least three of the eastern barons have made arrangements to visit Lothian City for Midwinter¡¯s Night vigils, and another is sending his heir to study with the Templars until the spring..."


    The last bit had been the most concerning piece of news to reach Marcel¡¯s ears over the past several days. Midwinter¡¯s Night had long been an important holy day to the Templars and to the knights of the frontier with many of them standing ceremonial guard at the gates of temples or cities across the frontier. While Eldritch raids on Midwinter¡¯s Night were exceedingly rare, the ceremony still had special significance to the most pious of knights.


    Seeing young knights or the heirs of barons visiting the temple in Lothian City to make a show of standing a Midwinter¡¯s Night Vigil wasn¡¯t news. Seeing three barons move personally with a fourth sending his heir for an entire season was something entirely different.


    "Bors is making his support of Loman known," Marcel mused. "No wonder Owain is so nervous," he said, turning his gaze to three vials of Night Weaver venom sitting on the corner of his desk.


    Those vials were the price he paid to gain access to Master Isabell and Master Tiernan before they left on their tour of the march. Three vials of venom that would slowly eat away at a person¡¯s body and mind for months until only a drooling invalid remained, lingering on like a ghost that was neither living nor dead.


    Of course, few people could care for someone in such a state, and death followed for most within weeks or months of the sickness reaching its final stage, but for the people Owain Lothian intended to use the venom on... who knew how long the young lord might choose to keep them alive.


    A soft knock at the door interrupted the vampire¡¯s musings as the person he¡¯d been waiting for finally arrived. The man who entered Marcel¡¯s small, private office only waited for a breath or two before opening the door, quickly entering the room and closing the door behind him as if he was afraid someone might see him entering.


    Dark grey, midnight blue, and black clothing combined to make the man feel like a piece of the night come to life, and even though his movements were hurried, he didn¡¯t make a sound as he crossed the room to take a seat in the only other chair available.


    "You sent for me, Great Uncle Marcel?" the man said, pulling back the cowl of his cloak to reveal a face remarkably similar to Marcel¡¯s, though the man lacked the vampire¡¯s perfect, alabaster complexion and he appeared to be at least a decade older than the young looking vampire behind the desk.


    "I did, Hector," Marcel said with a warm smile. He¡¯d never had sons of his own, but he¡¯d dedicated much of his life to protecting his brother¡¯s children after a group of entitled young knights had struck his brother down for ¡¯acting above his station.¡¯ Now, the boys who had been his nephews had long since become old men with children of their own, some of whom were all too happy to help Marcel as he brought ruin to the families responsible for his brother¡¯s death. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The first is a piece of news that I¡¯ve already shared with your cousin Jean," he began with a smile that was so wide it flashed a hint of sharpened fangs. "It seems like Mistress Nyrielle is willing to allow her progeny to make progeny of their own now. Zedya has taken a husband, a soldier named Lennart who has long been one of Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s protectors."


    "When the time comes, maybe as soon as next year, I¡¯ll be able to bring you over," the vampire said, raising an inquisitive brow at his brother¡¯s descendant. "Assuming that¡¯s still something you desire?"


    "I made up my mind about this a long time ago," Hector said smoothly, even though his heart was anything but calm at hearing the news. "You trained Jean and I to go where most men can¡¯t, to disappear into the crowd and to strike at enemies few men can reach. You warned us years ago that this wasn¡¯t a life that would allow us to build families of our own but..."


    "I know," Marcel said with a sad smile on his pert lips. "You were barely old enough to be called men when I asked, but who else can I trust among humans if not my own kin? It¡¯s never been a fair deal for you or your cousin, but now I can finally pay you back for all the years you¡¯ve given me."


    "Even if you couldn¡¯t," Hector said, shaking his head at his youthful-looking ¡¯Great Uncle.¡¯ "Jean and I have never regretted being your sharpest blades in the daylight and the night. Now that we can become one of your... progeny? We¡¯ll only be more useful to you and the family."


    "I suppose that¡¯s true," Marcel said, turning his attention back to the vials on his desk. "But first, you have to survive the worst mission I¡¯ve ever given you. Fail at this and I promise that at least one of your targets won¡¯t let you die a clean death."


    "I still carry the Heart¡¯s Blight poison you gave me if I need to take my own life, Uncle," Hector said, tapping a spot on his tunic where he kept a concealed vial filled with deadly, fast-acting poison that hadn¡¯t left his person, even when he slept, for so many years that it felt like it had become part of his body. "I know the price of failure."


    "Say that when you see who your targets are," Marcel said, pushing a folded sheet of paper across the desk. "This time, I¡¯m afraid that there may be no coming back from the last name on that list... even if you succeed in poisoning him."


    "Is it really that dangerous?" Hector asked, leaning forward to retrieve the folded paper. When he saw the list of names, however, his eyes went wide and he stared at Marcel in disbelief...

 Chapter 577: Three Targets

    Chapter 577: Three TargetsHector stared at the names on the slip of paper in shock for several minutes as he tried to understand why his Great Uncle would violate so many of their long-held rules by putting together this list of targets. What was even more puzzling was the cruel poison that he was being asked to use. It was one thing to target women and children, but to use such a horrific method...


    "Great Uncle," Hector said slowly as he looked from the paper to Marcel¡¯s perfectly calm face. "Is this personal? Or professional?"


    Over the decades since Marcel had taken over the family business, the vampire slowly carved sharp lines between different parts of his small commercial empire. Half of the business belonged entirely to his nephews and their descendants, and the only service they provided to Marcel and his Mistress was to act as a listening point, passively collecting information and functioning as places of safe haven when Marcel himself needed to travel.


    Nestled alongside those businesses was a network of people whom Marcel employed to conduct ¡¯personal business,¡¯ either for himself or for Mistress Nyrielle. He cared little for the profits and losses of those enterprises, so long as they provided opportunities to influence the human world and undermine their enemies, they served their purpose as tools of the Black Merchant.


    However, there was a third branch of Marcel¡¯s business empire, one which provided not only a substantial source of funding for his operations but also served as a training ground for people who worked on ¡¯personal business.¡¯ The ¡¯professional services¡¯ that Marcel offered to a very exclusive list of clients included everything from smuggling to the sale of ¡¯demon artifacts¡¯ and even assassination.


    Hector and his cousin Jean both belonged to this arm of the family business, though they were unique in that they knew their employer¡¯s true identity. To anyone outside the family, Marcel was simply the Black Merchant, and even those who had met him in person believed that Marcel was only a mouthpiece for an older, wiser master who refused to be seen in public. But Hector knew full well who his employer was, and he knew Marcel¡¯s unspoken rules about the professional jobs they would and wouldn¡¯t take, and the three names on this list violated several of those rules.


    "This is professional," Marcell said, leaning back in his chair and spinning a steel-tipped pen between his fingers. "And it¡¯s personal. The client is Owain Lothian, and he¡¯s the one who picked the poison and the targets. The chest of gold and jewels he sent along with his request must have set his personal accounts back by a number of years, and the favors he was willing to trade for your services are even more priceless."


    "Lord Owain?" Hector said, blinking in surprise. "He wants us to use Spider Demon venom on a member of his own family? Why?"


    "It doesn¡¯t matter why," Marcel said, shaking his head at the young man¡¯s question. Hector had grown into a very capable tool who was excellent at what he did, but in terms of his ability to analyze the situation beyond what was immediately in front of him, he was still far too lacking.


    "What matters is that doing this weakens Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s enemies and Lady Ashlynn¡¯s enemies," the vampire explained. "It gives us a chance to fracture the Lothian family at a time when they¡¯re still consolidating their power to launch a Holy War. Besides, even if you succeed in your mission, the man may still survive. The Church is too invested in this Holy War to allow one of their partners to die easily. They may send one of their great healers to save such an important person."


    "But you always told me that the Lothian family couldn¡¯t be touched," Hector said, frowning in confusion. "And if we use Spider Demon venom, it¡¯s certain to provoke them into lashing out at the Vale of Mists or kicking off one of their ¡¯Great Hunts¡¯ to slaughter helpless villages. Why take the risk now?" Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because it no longer matters whether we provoke them or not," Marcel said with a heavy sigh. "The Church does all of its thinking in the Holy City near the Royal Capital... or it takes its instructions from across the sea. The Church wants this Holy War to happen, so whether or not the Lothians are stirred up, the Church will push them forward."


    "To us, the Lothians are like local kings," Marcell said, gesturing at a faded map pinned on the wall. "None of the dukes have sent men to fight alongside the Lothians for two generations. Other than a few fortune seekers, bastards, and mercenaries, all we¡¯ve had to worry about is this one Marquis and his vassals."


    "But the Church is different," Hector said as he began to see where his great-uncle was going. "We think of the Lothians as mighty rulers, but the Church sits above dozens of men like Marquis Bors. If a family like the Lothians falls because the Church pushed them into a war while the family was in turmoil, they¡¯ll just look for a new puppet to put in the Lothians¡¯ place."


    "Exactly!" Marcel said, smiling brightly at the young man and flashing a hint of fangs. "Normally, the Lothians are untouchable because we don¡¯t want to provoke a sleeping bear, but in this case, the Church has provoked them for us. That means we can move more directly without as much fear of the consequences."


    "But if I get caught..."


    "If you get caught," Marcel said, his voice suddenly much closer than it had been a heartbeat before. Hector hadn¡¯t seen him move, he hadn¡¯t even registered a blur of motion, yet suddenly his great-uncle stood behind him, his cool hands resting on his shoulders with a firmness that shouldn¡¯t belong to such slender, delicate fingers.


    For a moment, the vampire¡¯s presence enveloped him like a physical thing, summoning a set of warring desires in his heart as he felt Marcel¡¯s cool breath against the back of his neck. At the back of his mind, something primal urged him to flee, to run as far and as fast as he could before this deadly creature of the night could sink his fangs into him.


    Another part of him, however, responded in exactly the opposite way, yearning to surrender to the darkness, to fall back into Marcel¡¯s embrace and submit completely. His heartbeat quickened, sounding thunderous in his ears as Marcel leaned closer, enveloping Hector in the scent of night air and the faintest trace of sweet-smelling, expensive perfume that momentarily clouded his mind.


    "Then I lose a precious family member who matters to me far more than this mission is worth," Marcel continued, in a voice as soft as velvet that wrapped around Hector¡¯s mind like a warm embrace, instantly easing his fears and melting the tension from his shoulders.


    "Vengeance is worthless if you can¡¯t savor a luxurious life while you dance on the graves of your enemies," Marcel said, sounding much older than someone with his youthful appearance should. "No matter how much we hate someone, no matter how much they deserve death, I won¡¯t throw your life away over something petty."


    "I won¡¯t," Hector said, feeling suddenly awkward at his great-uncle¡¯s closeness and the clear affection in his voice when he spoke. At times like this, he had to remind himself that Marcel was three times his age and hardly the pretty young dandy that he appeared to be.


    Still, when he stood so close, his presence was intense enough to overwhelm the senses and leave even the most womanizing of men wondering if they might be at least a little bent. Normally, Marcel contained his dark, seductive aura well, but clearly the thought of his beloved great-nephew coming to harm had disturbed him more than he let on for his power to radiate so intensely that it overwhelmed Hector in an instant.


    "What, what about the other two? The woman and the child," Hector said, trying to hide his discomfort behind business. "Usually you won¡¯t accept a contract on women unless they¡¯ve done something extraordinarily vile, and I¡¯ve never seen you accept a contract for the life of a child."


    "These two are different." Marcel said, returning to his desk and drawing a deep, calming breath as he realized that he¡¯d allowed his agitation to affect Hector in ways that were sure to be uncomfortable for the young man. "They¡¯re the wife and child of Sir Tommin Pyre. He¡¯s one of two knights who buried Lady Ashlynn in a shallow grave after Owain Lothian tried to murder her," he said, stunning his great-nephew. "Sir Broll was the other knight that Lord Owain sent to clean up his mess and bury the evidence of his crime. Lady Ashlynn killed him personally last spring."


    "So you¡¯re willing to take this job because Lady Ashlynn wants revenge on Sir Tommin?" Hector asked. "She wants his family to suffer before she has her revenge on Sir Tommin himself?"


    "Lady Ashlynn doesn¡¯t even know about this yet," Marcel said, shaking his head. "I¡¯ll tell her in a few days at the banquet. Lord Owain wants these two to suffer before they die because he doubts that the Church will move to save them, even for a Templar as promising as Sir Tommin. Owain wants Tommin to feel like the Church he ran to has betrayed him, just like Owain feels like Tommin betrayed him."


    "But if Lady Ashlynn doesn¡¯t want to kill Tommin¡¯s wife and child..." Hector began to ask, his voice trailing off as he raised an eyebrow at the vampire.


    "The venom of the Nightweaver Clan is deadly to humans, and it resists the healing techniques of the Church because its power is rooted in darkness and the night," Marcel answered. "But Lady Ashlynn is the Mother of Trees. Purging their bodies of Nightweaver venom should be easy enough for her or the Willow Witch, Heila."


    "That¡¯s why you can go ahead and poison them," Marcel said, his smile turning dark and predatory. "Lord Owain will consider our end of the bargain kept, but if the mother and child vanish later, that has nothing to do with us, does it? They may have to shelter in the Vale of Mists for a period of time, but if Lady Ashlynn wishes them to live, then they will live well in the Vale."


    "And if Lady Ashlynn wishes them to die," Marcell concluded, sinking into the shadows of his office. "Then nothing in this world can save their lives."

 Chapter 578: Married Life

    Chapter 578: Married LifeDeep underground in the ancient fortress of the Vale of Mists, Nyrielle stood with inhuman stillness on a raised step while Zedya moved carefully around her with a needle and thread. The hearth in Nyrielle¡¯s bedroom filled the space with uncommon warmth while dozens of oil lamps scattered about the luxurious room filled the space with their flickering golden glows.


    "Will Lady Ashlynn be visiting you tonight, Mistress?" Zedya asked as she adjusted the lace accent draping over Nyrielle¡¯s slender hip before pinning the dark lace against the midnight blue silk of the dress.


    "As much as I wish that she would, she¡¯s gone to visit Ollie¡¯s vigil tonight. Now that he¡¯s entering his eighth day, I don¡¯t expect to see her again until he passes his trial," Nyrielle said with a trace of audible disappointment in her voice that surprised even her. "Why do you ask?"


    "Because you¡¯ve lit a fire in the hearth," Zedya said simply as she circled around to Nyrielle¡¯s other hip to hang a matching piece of lace. "You don¡¯t require the warmth, and neither do I. You could have left the room cold and settled for lighting the lamps, but you didn¡¯t. You lit the hearth, so I assumed that you were warming your room to entertain Lady Ashlynn."


    "Am I that obvious in my desires?" Nyrielle asked, turning ever so slightly so she could meet Zedya¡¯s gaze. "Do you think I¡¯ve become foolish like a maiden since Ashlynn..."


    "No," Zedya said before Nyrielle could even complete her thought. "No, Mistress, you haven¡¯t become foolish," she said, standing up straight so she could look directly into Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue eyes. "You are happier, less restrained, and forgive me for saying it, but more driven than I have ever seen you before."


    "None of that makes you foolish," she said as she returned to her work, adjusting the lace accents on Nyrielle¡¯s dress. "You have desires now that you didn¡¯t have before, and you act on those desires, even if it¡¯s something as simple as lighting the hearth in the hopes that Lady Ashlynn will visit your chambers tonight."


    "Zedya, do you, do you mind answering a personal question? You don¡¯t have to if you don¡¯t want to," she added, her face heating slightly. "But I wanted to ask you something about Lennart and how the two of you are... adjusting, I suppose. To life together."


    "Mistress, I have no secrets from you," Zedya said, smiling up at her suddenly awkward lady. "You can gaze through my eyes at any time, and I imagine you could do the same with Lenny¡¯s if you needed to. I¡¯ve never expected to hold anything back from you."


    "This is different," Nyrielle insisted. "What you do in your private time belongs to you alone, and I would never intentionally intrude on your time with Lennart. But, how is he adjusting to sleeping through the day? And are you, are you sharing a bed when you sleep for the day, or do you withdraw from each other until night falls?"


    "Oh," Zedya said, her face heating slightly as a shy smile formed on her lips. "At the end of his first night as my progeny, we didn¡¯t want to be apart, so I brought him to my room and I held him through the coming of dawn. I had forgotten how frightening it was the first time I had to surrender to the abyss and take shelter in my memories," she said, her hands pausing in their work as her gaze grew distant.


    "I told him to hang on to a happy memory as the sun rose, and he told me that I¡¯d just given him the happiest memory of his life," she said, blushing with mild embarrassment as she thought of the memories she¡¯d just finished creating with her husband on their wedding night. "When the sun set, I brought him to Kobir Village to feed for the first time."


    If Lennart had been descended from Bardas the way Savis and Tausau were, he would have been brought somewhere to hunt people, and it was likely that the first person he fed on would die under his fangs. Nyrielle, however, enforced an entirely different tradition of voluntary offerings. For Lennart¡¯s first feeding, Zedya had carefully selected the nearest village settled by the Clan of the Great Claw, where she asked for a strong warrior who had made an offering in the past to serve as Lennart¡¯s first meal.


    Between receiving an offering from someone who was young, strong, and experienced and having Zedya available to intervene if necessary, Lennart had been able to feed without harming anyone, taking one of the most important steps of his new life without the burden of an unfortunate accident.


    Since then, Zedya spent at least half of her time each evening helping Lenny adjust to his new life. As a new vampire entering his blossoming period, now was a time of significant growth for the former captain of Nyrielle¡¯s personal guard, and with the approaching war, neither of them wanted to waste this precious time.


    Still, at the end of each day, they reunited in Zedya¡¯s chambers at least an hour before dawn, taking time to enjoy each other¡¯s company and to savor the delights that any newlywed couple would.


    "The first night, I held him until the sun rose," Zedya said with a dreamy, wistful smile. "But every night since then, he¡¯s wrapped me up in his arms like I¡¯m an important treasure he has to protect. And every night, I wake up there in his arms," she said. "I never knew how good it would feel to wake with someone else at my side, but... Even though he¡¯s cold, he warms my heart more than any hearth."


    "Zedya," Nyrielle said, softly biting her lower lip as she imagined the scene her long-time attendant described. "I¡¯m happy for you. And a bit jealous as well," she admitted. "I, I haven¡¯t been willing to allow Ashlynn to stay with me until I fall asleep. I¡¯m worried that she¡¯ll find it disturbing to see me reduced to little more than a corpse in our bed..."


    "But you want her to be there with you," Zedya said, setting aside her needle and thread to take Nyrielle¡¯s hands in her own. For a moment, their roles of mistress and servant fell away as they became two women, one recently married and the other preparing to announce her betrothal.


    "You want her to hold you as the abyss takes you for the day," Zedya said. "And you want her to be there holding you when you escape its clutches at nightfall. There¡¯s nothing wrong with wanting that for yourself, and I¡¯m sure that Lady Ashlynn would understand."


    "Do you think she could truly rest down here?" Nyrielle said, gesturing to the solid rock walls of the room that had been carved from the bedrock of the mountain itself. "It must be hard to feel nature here, where there are no windows and no fresh air. I feel like it isn¡¯t fair to her to ask her to lock herself away in a dark cave with me, even if it¡¯s only for part of the day..."


    "So talk to her about it," Zedya advised. "If you¡¯d like, I can look for plants that can be carried in here easily. We may have to rotate things in and out so they get enough light, but that would be a small price to pay if it makes your room more comfortable for Lady Ashlynn to join you..."


    "And you don¡¯t think she¡¯ll be disturbed by what happens to me when the sun rises?" Nyrielle asked, still feeling doubtful about subjecting Ashlynn to the feeling of her lover ¡¯dying¡¯ in her arms as the sun rose.


    "I know that Lenny and I are different because we both fall to the abyss when the sun rises," Zedya said. "But I think, if I had offered to take him into my bed before he became my progeny, he¡¯d still have stayed there to hold me through the day. I think if you ask her, Lady Ashlynn will be the same. You just have to decide when you want her to join you for the day."


    "And since you¡¯re already keeping your room warm, even when she isn¡¯t here," Zedya said with a teasing twinkle in her amethyst eyes. "I¡¯m sure that day isn¡¯t far off." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 579: Planning for Victory

    Chapter 579: Planning for VictoryThe impromptu celebration thrown in honor of Ollie¡¯s transformation into the Cypress Witch lasted until the small hours of the morning when the earliest rays of dawn began to paint the mists of the vale in soft golden hues, and the frost that had collected on long grasses faded away as though it were a dream to delicate to survive the light of day.


    While the villagers themselves seemed content to continue the festivities, Ashlynn insisted on bringing Ollie back to the ancient fortress, pointing out that even though he appeared to have been asleep for several days, the trial had actually been very exhausting for Ollie and what he needed most now was rest.


    "How is the castle town so different already?" Ollie said, staring out the windows of the carriage as it rolled through the large gate in the wall that stood as the town¡¯s final line of defense against Lothian aggression.


    The current wall protecting the city hardly seemed like a wall for the tiny castle town, standing thousands of paces away from the nearest building, but the new wall had been built atop the remains of the original city wall, at a time when Vale City had been a much larger settlement.


    Now, however, the space between the town and the wall seemed to have been packed full of wagons, carts, and hundreds upon hundreds of tents. That alone shouldn¡¯t have been surprising given the size of the army that Nyrielle had brought back from across the mountains. What was surprising, however, at least to Ollie, was the amount of construction that was occurring, even in the chill and damp autumn of the Vale of Mists.


    "This is Lady Ashlynn¡¯s doing," Heila said proudly, beaming from her seat beside the Mother of Trees. "She¡¯s trying to encourage people to settle here, and she hired more than a hundred architects and builders in High Fen City to spend a year here to expand the city."


    "But, it¡¯s only been ten days since you returned to the city. This is a bit much, isn¡¯t it?" The young knight said, pointing out the window at several long, wide trenches that were marked off by long lengths of twine. "Are these supposed to be streets? Why are they digging such deep trenches?"


    "For water and waste," Ashlynn said with a faint smile. It wasn¡¯t until she spent time among the Eldritch that she realized how cramped and foul human settlements like Lothian City or even her beloved Blackwell City had become with too many people creating too much waste in too small an area. "This is the system they use in High Fen City to keep trash and waste from piling up in the streets between market days."


    "But the size of this all," Ollie said, still shocked at how many of these strange, trench-lined roads had been cleared in between the hundreds of tents. After helping to build a village for the refugees, he had a much better frame of reference for the transformation that was taking place before his eyes, but he still struggled to imagine needing as many new streets as Ashlynn seemed to be laying out in the castle town. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ollie," Ashlynn said, her mood turning slightly more serious. "We¡¯re about to fight the greatest war the Vale of Mists has seen since the days of the Second Crusade. It¡¯s no exaggeration to say that if we lose, it will be the end of the Vale of Mists as we know it, and anyone lucky enough to survive will be forced to flee across the mountains again, and this time, they may never return."


    "But have you ever thought about what would happen if we won?" Ashlynn asked, raising an eyebrow at the young knight.


    "If we win, then we win the right to keep our homes and our way of life," Ollie said, unconsconsciously using ¡¯our homes¡¯ and ¡¯our way of life¡¯, including himself with the people of the vale rather than setting himself as an outsider. "The Heartwood Clan can rebuild their dams, keep their burrows, and protect the spaces that contain all the memories and treasures of their ancestors. Everyone can have the space to raise their families in peace until the next war comes and we have to defend it again."


    "Not this time," Ashlynn said, giving the young knight a bright smile. "This time, everything changes, whether we win or lose. This time isn¡¯t just about holding on to what we have, it¡¯s about retaking territory that was lost, driving the border between the Kingdom and the Vale further to the east for the first time in over a century."


    "But we won¡¯t be like the Kingdom and the Church," Ashlynn promised. Her emerald eyes were firm and resolute as she gazed out the carriage windows, seeing a future for this place that was even grander than what it had been under High Lord Torbin¡¯s rule.


    "We won¡¯t drive the humans from their lands when this ends," Ashlynn said. "It isn¡¯t the fault of the farmer or the bondsman that he was born on land usurped from the Eldritch people more than two generations before he was even born. He has no other place to ¡¯return to¡¯ after we defeat his lords and masters. He has fields that he has tended his entire life, a business he built with his own two hands... He has a home and a life and a family here in these lands, and we cannot rip it away from him."


    "So the humans get to keep the spoils of their murder and plunder?" Virve growled. "Just because they managed to hold on to it long enough to pass it down to a cub without blood on their claws, they get to keep what was stolen?"


    "Yes," Ashlynn said directly. "It¡¯s the only way to stop the cycle of fighting that consumes too many lives and creates too many tragedies every generation. But there is a difference between the bondsman and the lord," she added.


    "The lords are the ones who have fueled the endless wars," she explained in a voice that was fierce and determined. "They have commanded the slaughter of countless innocents, and steeped their families in blood for so long that the books of their family history are written entirely in blood. Those who gave the orders are the ones who will pay the price when the reckoning comes and we call all blood debts due," she promised.


    "But what does that have to do with all this work in the city?" Ollie said, returning to the original topic before Virve¡¯s temper could flare up again. He didn¡¯t know her well, but somehow, since she received the seed of the Ancient Oak, she seemed more volatile than she¡¯d been before.


    It wasn¡¯t just her anger that seemed to simmer closer to the surface, she¡¯d been far less restrained during the celebration in the village than he remembered the quiet guardsman being when they shared meals in the past. Even her fur had changed with the gray fur that had come from her advancing age shifting to shades of orange, deep crimson, and occasional flecks of bright gold, resembling flames flickering along her body.


    Ashlynn seemed to be aware of the change in Virve as well, giving Ollie a brief nod of thanks before she picked up the topic they¡¯d begun with, the changes sweeping across Vale City and the excessive amount of investment they seemed to be making in a city with such a meager population.


    "It has everything to do with Vale City," Ashlynn said with a warm smile. "Not the Vale City of today, but the one we¡¯ll need after the wars have ended..."

 Chapter 580: Ashlynn’s Vision

    Chapter 580: Ashlynn¡¯s Vision"I intend for Vale City to be a place where the human and Eldritch worlds mix," Ashlynn said. "Like blending yellow and blue paints to make green, I intend for this city to become something unique where our two peoples can live together, side by side, learning the very best of what each people has to offer and becoming something greater than the sum of its parts," she said.


    "Mother Ashlynn," Virve said awkwardly, trying to restrain her temper. The visions the Ancient Oak had given her of the Lothian¡¯s lumber yard where they hacked apart the trunk and limbs of a sacred Ancient Oak were still fresh in her mind and the thought of letting such savages into the homeland that her people had fought so long to defend filled her with a deep sense of unease.


    "Do you really think we can bring humans into the Vale on this kind of scale?" Virve asked. "How long would it be before they bring their axes and saws to chop down everything we hold dear, remaking this place in their own image?"


    "Little Sister," Heila said, interrupting for the first time since Virve¡¯s temper began to flare. As she spoke, a soothing aura that smelled faintly of willow-bark tea began to fill the carriage as Heila did her best to help the new witch calm her temper.


    "Do you really think that Mother Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle would let people get away with that?" Heila asked gently. "Maybe humans could do it to another city where they could eat away at our world, especially if one of their Templars or Inquisitors contested to become the next Eldritch Lord. But Lady Nyrielle and Mother Ashlynn won¡¯t wither away and leave the Vale behind when they grow old. They¡¯ll be here to protect it for as long as the Vale of Mists stands."


    Suddenly, the carriage grew quiet as Heila reminded them of something that all of them knew but few of them spent much time thinking about. Even though they had become witches and would live decades longer than they would have without the seeds of witchcraft that Ashlynn had planted in each of their chests, all of them would eventually grow old and die. Ashlynn, however, would endure in this world as long as Lady Nyrielle did, and the Eldritch Lady of the Vale of Mists was already more than two centuries old.


    "All of this," Ollie said as understanding dawned on him. "You aren¡¯t doing this for the world we¡¯ll live in after the war ends. You¡¯re thinking about the Vale of Mists when the children and grandchildren of the people who are alive now are living here... that¡¯s what you¡¯re having all of this built for, isn¡¯t it?"


    "I don¡¯t know how long it will take," Ashlynn said quietly as the carriage finally trundled through the gates of the ancient fortress itself. "Some change, like the fall of the Vale of Mists in Cellach Lothian¡¯s era, comes suddenly. Others take years, decades, even generations. I don¡¯t know how to see that far in the future."


    "But Nyri and I have been speaking since our reunion in High Fen City," she continued. "It does us no good to win yet another defensive victory in a string of endless wars. We need to put an end to this in a way that endures for generations to come."


    "That¡¯s why she raised such a large and powerful army," Virve said as realization dawned on her. "Sir Savis and Sir Tausau¡¯s forces can both be considered elite soldiers, the likes of which few in the Vale of Mists could match, and there are others like the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth who even High Lords beyond the mountains know to fear."


    "She doesn¡¯t intend to crush the Lothians at our borders... she intends to take the war to their doorstep," Virve said, silently impressed as she imagined the scale of it.


    "Mistress Nyrielle knows her role well," Ashlynn said with a trace of sadness in her voice. "She knows more about bringing death to a people than almost anyone in the world, and she no longer intends to restrain herself in the war to come."


    Previously, Nyrielle had been afraid that unleashing her full power would provoke the human Church into starting a crusade that she couldn¡¯t hope to win against. If she terrified the Church too much, the forces they would martial against her would be far beyond what she and her handful of human progeny could hope to repel. But now that the war was coming anyway, she no longer saw a reason to restrain herself in bringing death to her human enemies.


    "Mistress Nyrielle knows too much about death, but not enough about nurturing life," Ashlynn said softly. "That¡¯s why it¡¯s up to us to balance the power of death within the Vale of Mists. We can¡¯t just destroy our enemies, we have to build something else on top of the rubble of war... or none of it will be worth the sacrifices that so many people have made for so many years."


    "That¡¯s why," she said, taking a moment to look at each of her witches in turn. "That¡¯s why I need your help, not just to win the war, but to transform the Vale of Mists into a place that people will want to live. We can¡¯t become a land of darkness and death with strength that makes the world fear us. We have to be a place of growth and prosperity where people will want to raise their children instead of a place they fear and fight to protect their children from."


    "I know it will be hard to put down old hurts," Ashlynn said, leaning across the carriage to take one of Virve¡¯s massive paws in her hands. "And I won¡¯t ask you to forsake your vengeance. I intend to take my own as well," she said, her voice hardening as she spoke. "Owain Lothian will die a painful death, and so will the people who betrayed my family¡¯s trust to tell him about my mark."


    "But after that," Ashlynn said as she gently stroked the Oak Witch¡¯s fur. "After we¡¯ve reaped the lives of the people who are responsible for the tragedies that must be avenged... I hope that you and I can both put down the hatred in our hearts to build something for the future."


    "I¡¯ll help," Heila said, reaching out to add her diminutive hands to Ashlyn¡¯s, clutching tightly at Virve¡¯s paw and looking at the taller witch with shining eyes. "I¡¯m smaller and younger, but when it comes to healing, when you¡¯re ready, I can help, just like I helped Sir Ignatious," she said.


    "I¡¯ll help too," Ollie said, adding his hands on top of Heila¡¯s. "I, I may not understand as much about vengeance and what everyone has suffered," he said, thinking back to his own recent trial. He¡¯d gotten a taste of the pain that people like Milo, Old Nan, and the rest of the refugees had suffered, but in the end, it hadn¡¯t been real. He was able to wake from the nightmare of the trial, but the people who had actually suffered and lost loved ones could only continue living the lives they had.


    "But I promise to help build a future for everyone," he said firmly. "One where sister Virve can rest and raise her children in peace after the fighting is done."


    "Hey, brat!" Virve said, suddenly flustered by the attention. Reaching out with her free paw, she gave Ollie a gentle smack across his shoulders before giving him a slightly embarrassed look. "Whoever said I¡¯d be raising children? Huh? Do you see me with a man to give me children? Or are you offering to be the father to these children you think I¡¯m going to be raising in the future?" S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "What? No, I, I didn¡¯t... wait!" Ollie said, taken off guard by the sudden change in Virve¡¯s tone.


    Virve, however, responded with a hearty, body-shaking belly laugh that was soon followed by everyone else in the carriage. All of this talk of the future and forgiving the humans who were supposedly ¡¯blameless¡¯ had placed a great weight on her heart, and she wasn¡¯t entirely sure she believed that things could work out as well in the end as Ashlynn believed...


    But those problems belonged to a distant future, one that she might not even be alive to witness. Since that was the case, there was no reason to allow it to become a seed of discord in their newly forming little family. She could leave that worry to Mother Ashlynn. As long as she was able to avenge her father, extracting the blood debt owed to her by Bors Lothian, and as long as she could recover what remained of the butchered Ancient Oak... nothing else really mattered.


    "Come now, Big Brother Ollie," Virve teased, smiling broadly at the awkward young knight as she stepped out of the carriage and held out her arms. "Let me carry you up to bed. But if you think I¡¯m going to help you start siring children, you have another thing coming!"

 Chapter 581: A Recurring Dream

    Chapter 581: A Recurring DreamLow clouds hung across the Vale of Mists, wrapping the ancient fortress in a soft, cottony layer of dense fog that made it impossible to see more than a few dozen paces beyond the reach of a person¡¯s own hands. For Ashlynn, as she sat behind the writing desk in her room, it meant that the world beyond her terrace vanished into the fog, leaving her feeling like the tower she had claimed for her coven was an island, floating in a vast sea of gray.


    The fire in her hearth crackled merrily, filling the room with the faint fragrance of cedar smoke as it pushed back against the autumn chill in the air. Near her hand, a cup of hot jasmine tea added a faintly floral scent to the air that helped calm her heart.


    She¡¯d intended to sleep for most of the day after returning from the celebration of Ollie¡¯s awakening but after a handful of hours, she woke gasping for air, trembling with remembered terror from a dream that seemed to come more and more frequently the closer she came to Lothian March.


    Ever since forging a bond of blood with Nyrielle, Ashlynn¡¯s dreams had become more vivid and more memorable, but one dream had haunted her more than any other.


    It began with a familiar conversation with her mother. The pair of women stood alone in a luxurious sitting room hung with white lace curtains and filled with the earliest flowers of spring while the Blackwell Countess helped Ashlynn make the final adjustments to her wedding dress.


    "Mother, what do I do if he sees the mark?" Ashlynn asked, just as she had on the night of her wedding to Owain Lothian. "How can I hide it when we..."


    Looking back, it was almost embarrassing how flustered she¡¯d been at something as simple as an act of intimacy between a man and a woman. In the months she¡¯d spent with Nyrielle, she¡¯d learned all too well the ways that leaving clothing on while hands roamed beneath and tongues danced along the slight gaps where a bit of skin showed could build pleasure in a way that simple nudity never accomplished, but the Ashlynn trapped in her dream had none of that experience.


    "Just do as I¡¯ve taught you," her mother suggested. "Dim the lights and..."


    The advice was useless. By the time Owain reached the bedroom where she had prepared to give every last bit of herself to him, he was already aware of the mark on her hip. She never had the chance to dim the lights or slip into bed without him seeing her mark... everything ended before she could even try.


    Sometimes, when the dream came upon her, she tried to run the moment she realized she¡¯d returned to the same dream. If she could just make it to the Vale of Mists, if she could steal a horse, or a carriage, if she could find the place where Nyrielle had hidden herself, waiting until nightfall, if, if, if...


    But fleeing never worked. Sometimes, her mother stopped her from fleeing. Other times, she escaped her chambers only to be brought back by a smiling guard, a wandering priest of the temple, or someone else. Once, it had even been Bors Lothian who brought her back to her wedding with Owain.


    "It¡¯s fine to be nervous," the gray-haired Marquis said when he caught Ashlynn trying to slip out of the temple through a side entrance that led to the stables. "My Isla was as nervous as a young colt on its first ride to war the night of our wedding. Her mother found her pacing in the gardens until just before the ceremony."


    "Do you like horses?" Bors asked with a gentle smile. "If it would help, I could take you to the stables. They might even have an apple or two stashed away that you could feed to the horses that will pull your carriage when you leave the temple and come home to the manor," he offered, speaking as though his soon-to-be daughter-in-law was as skittish as the horses he thought she wanted to visit.


    "I¡¯d love to visit the horses, Father-in-law," Ashlynn said sweetly, hoping she could use it as an opportunity to escape. Once they reached the stables, she was confident that she could subdue the aging Marquis, and then she would take the fastest horse she could find and ride away from the wedding without ever looking back.


    When she tried to summon her familiar magic, however, she found that her body couldn¡¯t even feel the power of the world beneath her feet. The grass in the fields, the trees in the gardens of the temple grounds... she couldn¡¯t feel any of it. In the dream, she was just as weak and helpless as she was on the day of her wedding.


    Suddenly, the idea of overpowering Bors Lothian became laughable. Without her witchcraft or her bond with Nyrielle, she was just a young woman trying to confront the veteran commander of the War of Inches. Even if it had been years since Bors Lothian last rode to battle, he was still a powerful man who towered over her and could easily overpower a simple, ordinary Ashlynn.


    And so she learned, no matter what she did in this dream, it would always result in her standing beneath the glittering golden dome at the center of the temple, bathed in the multicolored light filtering the stained glass windows and swearing herself to love, honor, cherish and obey her husband for as long as the light of the Holy Lord of Light shone upon them.


    After that, she attended the banquet where she danced with Owain, Loman, Bors, and her own father before finally retiring to the chamber where Owain brutally beat her to the edge of death.


    The dream never ended there. Each time the dream repeated itself, it didn¡¯t end until she found herself wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet, soaked to the skin in the rain, and shivering as Sir Broll and Sir Tommin shoveled pile after pile of sodden earth into her grave. Only, in this dream, the trees never helped her, the roots never found her fingers to pull her from the earth, and she had nothing to cling to as she struggled to get free.


    In the dream, the darkness of her grave was inescapable and the dirt piled on and on and on until there was no air left to breathe.


    That¡¯s when she woke, shivering, gasping for breath, and desperate to escape the dark curtains that blocked out the light in her room while she slept through the middle of the day. Her heartbeat thundered like a warhorse at a gallop, so loud in her ears that it drowned out the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat in her chest, leaving her feeling more alone than she¡¯d felt any time in the past six months.


    It wasn¡¯t until several minutes passed that she was able to light a lamp beside her bed, open the curtains and reassure herself that, no matter how vivid and real it felt, it was only a dream.


    But some dreams held more truth in them than others and so Ashlynn began to ask the question... Could she use the dream to find answers? Could she search for the person who had betrayed her to Owain Lothian?


    Whether it had been one of the serving women who helped to fit her dress, or one of the ladies of the Lothian court who had seen something they shouldn¡¯t have when they escorted her to the cleansing ritual, could she use the dreams that haunted her to discover them? sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She didn¡¯t know, but since she couldn¡¯t keep the dreams away, she resolved to use them however she could. And maybe, if she could find an answer somewhere in the depths of her mind that she could only search from within these vivid dreams... maybe she could find her way to a measure of peace and put an end to days where she woke breathless and alone, feeling the weight of the sodden earth crushing the air from her lungs...

 Chapter 582: A Letter Unsent

    Chapter 582: A Letter UnsentAshlynn¡¯s attempts to use her recurring nightmares as a means of finding the person who betrayed her turned out to be worse than a waste of effort. Unlike Nyrielle, who relived her memories each night, Ashlynn¡¯s dreams, no matter how vivid and real they felt, were still dreams. They still prayed on her hopes and fears and the things she ¡¯discovered¡¯ within them were no more reliable than wild guesses.


    In one dream, she managed to catch a young female acolyte, peeking in her chambers within the temple. Later on, she saw that same acolyte whispering in Owain¡¯s ear during the preparations for the banquet. In another dream, it was one of the maids from Blackwell County who had accompanied them on the long journey that stopped Owain just outside the door of the bridal chamber to tell him what she had seen on Ashlynn¡¯s hip several years ago.


    The worst nightmares were the ones where her own family moved against her. In some of those dreams, a member of her family arrived in the bridal chamber after Owain had beaten her nearly to death in order to confirm that she was ¡¯dead.¡¯


    "The deed is done?" Count Rhys Blackwell asked, striding into the bridal chambers where Ashlynn lay limp on the floor, unmoving and barely breathing after suffering yet another beating at Owain Lothian¡¯s hands.


    "I¡¯ve done your dirty work," Owain said, fetching a handkerchief to wipe Ashlynn¡¯s blood from his knuckles and the places on his face where dark crimson droplets had splattered when he pummeled her once beautiful face. "You¡¯ll keep your promise to deliver the ships and supplies that we need, no matter the cost, won¡¯t you?"


    "As long as you keep the other half of your bargain, young lord Owain," Rhys Blackwell said darkly. "The Lothian artifact that allows your family to birth multiple sons into each generation. I expect that it will work for my Maela, or we won¡¯t have a deal..."


    "Relax, Count Blackwell," Owain said as he gestured for Sir Tommin and Sir Broll to carry Ashlynn away. "Even if it doesn¡¯t, you still have one more daughter. If you cannot father a son with Countess Blackwell, then I will wed Jocelynn, and I can promise you that I will father enough grandsons to provide you with a method of continuing your bloodline¡¯s rule over Blackwell County..."


    Listening to her father speak over her ¡¯body¡¯ in such a cold, detached way, as though the wedding had been a trap all along, left Ashlynn heartbroken, waking in tears and struggling to catch her breath through the sobs that shook her body long after the feeling of being buried beneath the wet soil of the Vale of Mists left her.


    But Rhys Blackwell wasn¡¯t the only person who appeared in her dreams after betraying her. Another time, it was her mother who appeared, this time claiming that she had to put an end to her daughter¡¯s evil and that she couldn¡¯t allow the spawn of a witch to inherit both Blackwell County and Lothian March. Before the nightmare ended, she watched as her mother pleaded with Owain, offering up Jocelynn to buy his silence about the Blackwell family¡¯s ¡¯great sin¡¯ of sheltering a witch.


    In the end, Ashlynn refused to believe that any of the caricatures of her family that her nightmares conjured represented the truth. Dreams were only dreams, and the fears she confronted there were just that, fears that preyed upon the mind and heart in moments of weakness.


    Now, as she sat at her writing desk, staring out the window at the endless sea of gray fog that blanketed the Vale of Mists and left her feeling cut off from the world she had once known, she clutched the cup of steaming jasmine tea in her hands and tried to draw some of its comforting warmth into her body as she inhaled the light, floral fragrance of the tea.


    "When this is over," Ashlynn swore bitterly. "I¡¯ll leave you with just enough breath in your body to understand the feeling of being buried alive. You¡¯ll still get off easy, though," she whispered as she imagined piling heavy, sodden earth on Owain¡¯s broken and battered body. "You¡¯ll only have to live through it once because there will be no crawling out of the grave for you."


    Several minutes slipped by as Ashlynn sipped the warm, soothing tea, breathing in the cool, misty air of the Vale and extending her senses out among the the red cedar, hemlock and oak trees of the Vale, as if she was reassuring herself that she hadn¡¯t lost the strength to fight back against the Lothians before she felt calm enough to open the box of writing tools on her desk and fetch a fresh sheet of paper.


    ~Jocey~


    ~I¡¯ve finally returned to the Vale of Mists after so many months in the Eldritch lands. I¡¯m closer to you now than I¡¯ve been since this nightmare began, but I still feel so far away.~


    The sound of Ashlynn¡¯s steel tipped pen scratching across the paper filled the air as line after line of neat, flowing script filled the page.


    ~I hoped that you would still be in the Summer Villa when I returned. If you were, there is no force in this world that would have stopped me from rushing to rescue you from Owain¡¯s clutches.~


    When Ashlynn had spoken to the woman impersonating her in the Summer Villa, Samira, it had sounded like Owain planned for Jocelynn to remain in the villa until the fake Ashlynn could conveniently ¡¯die in childbirth¡¯, something that shouldn¡¯t happen for a few months yet. When she left to learn from the Mother of Thorns, Ashlynn firmly believed that she would be able to rescue Jocelynn before anything tragic could happen.


    When she finally arrived back in the Vale, however, it had been to the news that Jocelynn had left the Villa, returning to Lothian City under the watchful eyes of Bors Lothian until Owain returned from Blackwell County with a pair of Guild Masters in tow. Since then, Jocelynn and Owain had often been seen together, as if the Lothian heir refused to let his captive bride out of his sight for even a moment.


    ~Soon, we will have the strength to confront Owain and his family within their own city walls,~ Ashlynn wrote.


    ~It isn¡¯t fair to you that I make you wait, and I hope that one day you can forgive me for so many days of delay. Our soldiers may be strong, but they aren¡¯t yet an army. Until we are ready, we would risk too much by moving too soon, and I will not snatch you back now only to lose you to a Lothian counterattack.~


    ~Among the men I will bring to rescue you, there¡¯s one you may find to be a worthy companion. Sir Ollie earned his place as my Cypress Witch, and there are few people that I would trust more to keep you safe, even if you don¡¯t take a fancy to him, though his appearance is handsome enough that I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t mind his company.~


    ~I argued with Father long ago to give you the right to choose your own husband, and I won¡¯t meddle in your love affairs more than introducing you to a good man who I respect and admire. Your choices are your own, and I will never try to force you, no matter the circumstances. But if you find him as charming as I think you will, I hope you¡¯ll give him the chance to win your heart.~


    ~Tomorrow night, Nyri is holding a grand festival and banquet to announce our betrothal. I wish that you, Mother and Father, could be there. It feels so lonely without you, even though I¡¯m surrounded by the family I¡¯ve built among the Eldritch. You will always be the sister that I treasure, and no one can take your place in my heart away from you.~


    ~I hope that you will be able to join me soon. There¡¯s so much of this world I want to show you. The world is so much bigger than the tiny spaces behind castle walls where we¡¯ve lived our lives as children. I miss the days of sneaking out with you to roam the cliffs and coves of our home, but the places I¡¯ve gone since then are just as beautiful and even freer. You¡¯ll understand what I mean soon, I promise.~


    ~With all my love,


    Your sister, Ashlynn~


    Once the ink had dried, Ashlynn carefully folded the letter, sealing it with a drop of dark green wax and pressing a freshly carved sigil of a mighty tree surrounded by lavender blossoms into the wax. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    From a box on her desk, she pulled a stack of similar letters, bound together by a slender silk cord. Gently, her thumb ran along the edge of the stack, silently counting the letters she¡¯d begun writing in the Briar when Amahle suggested that she find a method of giving vent to the feelings bottled up in her heart.


    At times, Ashlynn wished that she could send the letters to her sister. Occasionally, she indulged herself in the fantasy of asking Marcel to find a way to carry the stack of letters where she laid her heart bare and poured out the wonders she¡¯d seen along with the worries that plagued her, just so her sister could know that she was still alive and that she was fighting to bring them back together again. To keep Jocey safe from Owain¡¯s murderous hands.


    But the letters themselves were far too dangerous, and if they were ever discovered in Jocelynn¡¯s hands or even in her chambers, it would be all too easy for her sister to find herself consigned to the grim fate the Inquisition reserved for heretics who consorted with witches and ¡¯demons.¡¯


    Once she managed to free Jocelynn, she would give her the letters in the hopes that Jocelynn would understand that she¡¯d never given up on her. Until then, there was little Ashlynn could do to retrieve her sister from Owain¡¯s dangerous clutches.


    "After the festival," Ashlynn mused... "I should return to the Summer Villa. Even if Jocey isn¡¯t there, she still spent several months there with the impostor, Samira. Maybe Samira knows more about how Jocey is fairing than Marcel has been able to learn. Even if she doesn¡¯t know anything, it¡¯s still worth the trip to find out, and the trip can serve as an opportunity for my coven to flex their might and find their limits..."


    As plans went, a visit to the Summer Villa to interrogate Samira might not offer much information of real worth to the war that was rapidly approaching. But to Ashlynn¡¯s uneasy heart, the idea felt like a soothing balm on an open wound, and that alone made it worth the risk. She just had to wait a few more days before making her move...

 Chapter 583: The War Council Gathers

    Chapter 583: The War Council GathersThe night before the festival was to begin, while many in the fortress city were making final preparations for a day of joy and celebration, a gathering of an entirely different nature was about to begin in a formal dining room deep in the caverns of the ancient fortress.


    Unlike the last time Ashlynn had dined with Nyrielle, Thane, and the handful of others who made up what passed for a ruling council in the Vale of Mists, this time the room was filled to capacity and not a single seat at the long cedar table was empty.


    Nyrielle took her place at the head of the table, dressed in a form-fitting black gown adorned with spills of dark crimson lace that accentuated the curves of her lithe figure while making her appear even taller and more imposing than she was on her own. Though she kept her wings tucked away, it was impossible for her to conceal the aura of darkness that clung to her when her emotions ran high and the fresh, blood red coat of polish she wore on her pointed fingernails only added to the feeling of bloodthirsty menace that radiated from her as she gestured for the others to take their seats.


    That aura of darkness melted like frost as sunrise as soon as Ashlynn took her place to Nyrielle¡¯s left. One touch of Ashlynn¡¯s delicate hand on Nyrielle¡¯s slender wrist was enough to bring the powerful vampire out of her dark musings and place a smile back on her soft lips.


    Of course, Ashlynn¡¯s choice of attire may have contributed to the change in Nyrielle¡¯s mood. While Ashlynn normally preferred natural hues of greens and browns that suited her nature as the Mother of Trees, tonight she¡¯d adorned herself in a gown of deep crimson.


    Paired with a half cape made entirely of dark raven¡¯s feathers that gave the crimson gown an aggressive, martial feeling, as though she couldn¡¯t bear to restrain her sword arm in the event that some violence should break out at the council meeting.


    The dress, along with the absence of any of her signature hats, served as a reminder to everyone present that, although she was the Mother of Trees, a woman with status that could rival the Harbinger of Death herself, she was also Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal and tonight, she was making it clear which identity took precedence.


    "You know, if you keep this up, my darling," Nyrielle said, her eyes shining with affection as she gazed at Ashlynn. "I¡¯m going to need to find a larger table to accommodate your coven and my progeny."


    "I¡¯m sure that Ollie knows someone who would be happy to carve something for us when the time comes," Ashlynn said, laughing lightly as she looked down at what had become ¡¯her¡¯ side of the table.


    To Ashlynn¡¯s left, each member of her coven had come dressed in their finest. Whether it was Heila in her understated brown dress with its accents of coppery brocade, Ollie in his ice-blue tunic with its silver embroidered accents, or Virve in the formal midnight blue tunic with a crimson captain¡¯s sash running from one shoulder to the opposite hip, each of them had come with an awareness that their actions in this meeting represented not only themselves, but the lady they served as well.


    Even Hauke, who was large enough to loom over everyone else in the room, managed to make himself feel smaller as he set aside the chair at his place at the table to sit directly on the floor, reducing his stature until it felt as though he matched the height of the Clan of the Great Claw.


    "Are you sure I should be here, Lady Ashlynn?" Hauke asked as he fidgeted into position. While Nyrielle¡¯s formal dining room had been built to accommodate men and women like Lennart and Virve, if Hauke wasn¡¯t careful, his iridescent horn would brush up against the crystal chandelier hanging overhead and the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble by bringing the dozens of small oil lamps arranged within the chandelier crashing down on their dinner table.


    "I¡¯m not even properly a member of the coven yet," he added as he looked around the room at the other people taking their seats. "And I don¡¯t know that I have much to add to something like this."


    "Hauke," Ashlynn said gently. "You aren¡¯t here because you may one day join my coven. You¡¯re here because in a few years, you may find yourself the lord of the High Pass. I cannot hold the title of Eldritch Lady of the High Pass forever, it belongs with you and your clan. When that day comes, the things you learn by observing gatherings like this will be priceless."


    "Besides," she added with a knowing look. "You may find that you have more to say about the things we discuss today than you thought." S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For a moment, Hauke looked like he still wasn¡¯t sure he belonged there, but a reassuring look from Ashlynn, along with a gesture that he should stay put, stopped him from protesting any further. Instead, since he was supposed to be here to learn, he turned his attention to the other side of the table and the several notable figures he had only barely met, if he had met them at all.


    Opposite Ashlynn, Sir Thane led what had become ¡¯Nyrielle¡¯s¡¯ side of the table. The amber-eyed vampire seemed to be one of the only people who was immune to dressing up for the formal occasion, sitting comfortably in the same loose-sleeved white tunic and tight black breeches that he¡¯d worn when he taught Ashlynn how to fight with a sword. Only the intricately embroidered midnight blue sash at his waist gave any hint that he¡¯d chosen to ¡¯dress up¡¯ for the occasion.


    Beside him, Ignatious, still wearing the crimson and gold robes of the Inquisition, seemed slightly uncomfortable taking a place ahead of Zedya until he realized that it placed him directly across from Lady Heila, who smiled warmly when he took his seat. Next to him, Zedya and Lennart both exchanged knowing looks as the former captain pulled out Zedya¡¯s chair to help her into her seat.


    "Marcell will be joining us later," Nyrielle said, nodding to the sole empty seat at the table as the final members of the gathering took their seats. Commander Bassinger and Marshal Jakob looked distinctly uncomfortable in a room filled with so many powerful beings. They subconsciously shifted their positions further down the table, yielding the more prominent seats to Savis, Tausau, and the broken-beaked Aspakos.


    "Tomorrow will be a day of joyful celebration," Nyrielle began, taking Ashlynn¡¯s hand in hers and gazing lovingly into the young witch¡¯s emerald eyes for a long moment before she continued. "But our people are also uncertain about their futures. I¡¯ve brought an army like none the Vale has ever fielded, and Ashlynn has brought engineers and workmen to transform not only the city we live in but the way we live our lives each and every day."


    Looking around the table, Nyrielle saw a variety of looks from the faces arrayed before her. Some, like Thane and Ashlynn, knew what was coming. There would be no surprises for them in what Nyrielle had to say, and any objections they might once have held had been resolved in the nights leading up to this meeting.


    Others were quietly confident, even though they didn¡¯t know what was coming. People like Heila, Ollie and even Hauke were too young to have participated in many grand undertakings and this was their first time joining a war council as participants. Their quiet confidence came from the belief that people like Nyrielle, Ashlynn, Thane and Zedya would lead them well no matter what storms awaited them on the horizon.


    It was the third and final group that created the only cause for concern Nyrielle had as she surveyed the council she¡¯d assembled. People like Bassinger, Savis, Tausau, and Jakob, who had been too far from the inner circle while Nyrielle underwent tremendous changes brought about by her bond with Ashlynn, had no way of predicting what the Eldritch Lady of the Vale would do now that she had returned with such a powerful force.


    The doubts and concerns on their faces couldn¡¯t have been more clear if they were written in black ink, but if any of Nyrielle and Ashlynn¡¯s plans were going to succeed, they would need to dispel those doubts. Because without the support of the people in this room, and several who weren¡¯t able to attend as well... everything they wanted to build was likely to collapse under its own unsupported weight.


    "I know some of you must have concerns," Nyrielle said, looking around the table. "Tonight, speak your mind. I would rather resolve your doubts now than leave them to fester in the dark where they might poison us all."


    "In that case," Thane said, stepping into the conversation as though he were expecting this exact opportunity. "There¡¯s something that I think is weighing on the minds of several people in this room..."

 Chapter 584: Rumors Light and Dark

    Chapter 584: Rumors Light and Dark"Rumors have already begun to spread, Mistress," Thane said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles in front of him. "Some rumors say that you¡¯ve brought men from the High Fen because you intend to submit the Vale of Mists to the rule of High Fen City. Others wonder if you¡¯re about to take friend Savis as your husband to gain the support of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s progeny in fighting against the Lothians."


    The first rumor Thane mentioned drew a handful of scoffs from people who knew Nyrielle well, especially people like Heila, who had seen the way Lady Nyrielle interacted with High Lady Erna. Some of them could envision the serpentine High Lady offering up her domain to her teacher, but no one could imagine things flowing the other way.


    When Thane mentioned the second rumor, however, the entire room broke into laughter, though Savis adopted a detached posture, as if the idea of a betrothal between himself and Nyrielle was too ridiculous to acknowledge enough to laugh at.


    "Those are tame rumors compared to the ones I¡¯ve heard, Sir Thane," Marshal Jakob said from the far end of the table, interrupting the moment of levity with a serious tone and a worried expression on his weathered face.


    The aging Marshal from the Horned Clan had presided over the villages across the Vale for more than twenty years at this point and there wasn¡¯t a village elder, wise woman or prominent figure in the entire Vale that he hadn¡¯t spoken to within the past ten days since Lady Nyrielle returned to the Vale of Mists at the head of a vast army.


    Perhaps more importantly, as the Marshal of the Vale, Jakob was responsible for keeping the peace within the Vale. Normally, that involved mediating in instances of minor disputes and arranging a few strong men to watch over ale houses late at night in case things got out of hand, but lately, with so many strangers mixing together with the natives, his constables had been strained to their limits trying to keep minor conflicts from turning to racaous brawls.


    "We¡¯ve taken in thousands of refugees from the outlying villages," the old man pointed out, tugging at his snow-white beard as he began to make his point. "We were able to endure through the summer without hardship, and thanks to Sir Ollie, the village of Refuge has begun to sustain itself."


    "While some people settled in the castle town, the ones who have are the ones who are looking to be around others, to ply their trades and open shops of their own. They don¡¯t create much trouble. Still, whether it¡¯s the village of Refuge or the newcomers in the castle town, half of the food they consume needs to be gathered from other villages."


    "We¡¯re working as fast as we can to solve this problem, Lady Nyrielle," Ollie said awkwardly, feeling compelled to speak up on behalf of his villagers. "Some crops take longer to be ready, and it was already summer by the time we began to plant our fields. Next year, the crops will be more abundant, and the herds of goats and sheep will be larger too. We just need to make it to the next harvest in order to stand on our own."


    From his seat across the table, Thane smiled with obvious pride in his young pupil. In the beginning, Thane might have given him more specific directions and advice to guide the young man in managing the crisis.


    He¡¯d also made men like Marshal Jakob available to Ollie in order to help with much of the planning that resulted in the harvests the young knight had mentioned. Still, it was no exaggeration to say that Ollie himself had made many of the critical decisions that allowed the village to be much more successful than even experienced leaders like Jakob had believed would be possible.


    "That may be true, Sir Ollie," the aging Marshal acknowledged. "And many of the newcomers were able to bring enough of the necessities for living that we¡¯ve been able to fill the gaps without anyone suffering too much hardship, but..."


    "But?" Nyrielle asked, raising a slender brow at the old man who knew the people of the Vale almost as well as she did, if not better. If he was worried enough about the people of the vale that he was speaking up now, then the cracks caused by the recent influx of people must be large enough to pose a significant risk.


    "What rumors have formed about the refugees that concern you, Old Goat?" Nyrielle asked, using the term of endearment she¡¯d applied to the Marshal ever since his beard turned white.


    "They say that this will be the last war against the Lothians," Marshal Jakob said directly. "They say that we cannot feed everyone who has come here, and all the extra mouths that have come with the army will only make the winter leaner. The people are worried that the winter will be too hard, my lady," the old man said.


    Around the table, several people nodded, unsurprised at the rumors that had circulated. Both Nyrielle and Ashlynn had worked hard to compensate for the impact of bringing along such a large influx of people and many of the wagons that followed the army were loaded with everything from grains and preserved meat to sugar and spices that would let people find more than just subsistence in the meals they ate through the cold winter months.


    Still, neither Nyrielle or Ashlynn had been aware that Owain Lothian or Liam Dunn would go on a rampage through the outlying villages, sending thousands more people into the Vale of Mists to find safety from the human¡¯s latest wave of aggression. Now that the refugees were here along with the army, the concerns Jakob brought up weren¡¯t unfounded. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If it were just rumors about running out of food, it would be bad enough, my Lady," the horned Marshal continued. "But people who can rub two ideas together often ignite the worst sparks. Some people think that you¡¯re not worried about the food shortages because they haven¡¯t seen anything being done about it. They say that once spring comes and the winter snows melt, everyone will be forced to fight to the last man, woman and child... and that you¡¯ll sacrifice the weak that you cannot feed in order to preserve the lives of the army in the hopes of claiming victory."


    "It¡¯s not all that bad, is it?" Heila asked from beside Ashlynn. "Surely the people understand how hard Lady Nyrielle worked to recruit an army just to keep the people of the Vale safe from the Lothians. And Lady Ashlynn brought in so many people to help build up the Vale... they can¡¯t think we mean to give up after all this work and sacrifice them to the Lothians, can they?"


    "That¡¯s just it, Lady Heila," Marshal Jacob said grimly. "When they see the strangers tearing up the ground to build new roads and buildings, some of them see new neighbors and they welcome them with open arms. But others worry that the people coming from across the mountains are more skilled than they are... and they think that Lady Ashlynn is bringing them here to replace them."


    The picture that Marshal Jakob painted was grim, filled with anxiety about the war to come and uncertainty about whether or not Nyrielle truly cared for her people when it seemed like she¡¯d brought in warriors that were stronger, engineers who were smarter, and sorcerers who were far more powerful than anyone who had grown up inside the Vale in the past century.


    "The worst rumors are always the ones that contain a kernel of truth," Ashlynn said, giving Nyrielle¡¯s hand a comforting squeeze. "The people are right to think that we¡¯re preparing for our final war against the Lothians," she said.


    "But if they think that we¡¯ll need to sacrifice the common people to bring the March under our control," Ashlynn continued, her voice growing dark as her emerald eyes grew cold. For a moment, her chest grew tight with the remembered sensation of sodden earth piling atop her as Owain¡¯s knights tried to bury the person who had slowly transformed herself into the greatest threat the march had ever faced.


    Sensing the dark mood settling over her lover, Nyrille reached out under the table, placing a slender hand on Ashlynn¡¯s thigh and giving her a gentle squeeze to remind her lover that whatever she felt, she wasn¡¯t alone, and that she would never have to face her enemies without the help and the support of the people who loved her the most.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn mouthed softly to Nyrielle as she drew a deep breath to recollect herself before she continued speaking in a fiercely determined tone. "If our people think we¡¯ll need to sacrifice the common folk just to gain a chance of victory in the war to come, I¡¯m afraid they¡¯ve underestimated the strength we¡¯ve brought back to the Vale and just how vulnerable the Lothians are to our plans," she said, nodding at each member of her coven in turn.


    Just the fact that the Vale of Mists had gained four powerful witches, plus the support of Hauke, who was still a powerful sorcerer even without a seed of witchcraft, and Talauia, who wouldn¡¯t hesitate to join in battles even if it wasn¡¯t appropriate for her to join the war council that planned them already added a kind of strength that the Vale of Mists had never hoped to wield against the Lothians before.


    When you added that to the powerful army Nyrielle recruited, along with everything else that they planned.... Ashlynn and Nyrielle had already begun to plan for the war they would have to fight after they defeated the Lothians, when the Church began to launch its crusade. But while the two of them had already started to look at the next threat, the people around them were still very much concerned with the threat directly in front of them.


    "My darling and I have spoken extensively about how we intend to use the power we¡¯ve brought back from the lands across the mountains," Nyrielle said. "For years, I¡¯ve cared little for the world beyond our borders. So long as we could protect the lands we still held and the people who lived there, I was content."


    "But now that Ashlynn has joined us, I am no longer able to remain as impassive as I once was," the powerful vampire added with a predatory gleam in her eyes that had only rarely been seen by those who had grown up seeing only the impassive mask her face had worn for so many years.


    "So this time, instead of defending our borders, we will bring the war to the Lothians and their vassals. And we will not wait for the snows to melt in the spring... Our war will begin as soon as the festival ends!"

 Chapter 585: Appointing the Lord General (Part One)

    Chapter 585: Appointing the Lord General (Part One)"Our war will begin as soon as the festival ends!"


    Nyrielle¡¯s words landed in the room like a torch thrown onto a puddle of oil, igniting strong reactions in everyone present. A few eyes turned to Hauke, wondering if the Vale of Mists¡¯ recent alliance with the Frost Walkers was the reason that Nyrielle felt confident to press for war as winter approached.


    For decades, the Vale and the Lothians had fallen into a stalemate where the heavy snows and bitter cold of winter constrained both sides, preventing Nyrielle and her progeny from exploiting their greater reach during the long nights of winter. While it was true that Nyrielle and her progeny had more ability to move, any attempt to bring her army along with her was likely to result in more deaths from exposure to the cold and difficulty transporting supplies than they would suffer at the hands of the enemy.


    It was the same for the humans. While they could try to lay siege to the Vale or other Eldritch strongholds during the winter, they would be placing themselves at the edges of their ability to manage supply lines and deep within the striking range of Nyrielle and her progeny. Enough of them massed in one place might deter the powerful vampires but doing so would certainly leave them exposed somewhere else without the ability to quickly send reinforcements through the harsh weather.


    But when people looked to Hauke as if the young Frost Walker lord was the key to the strategy behind Nyrielle¡¯s announcement, he looked just as confused as everyone else. Other people at the table, however, were freer with their thoughts.


    "Finally," Savis growled. A fearsome, predatory grin formed on his face as he bared his fangs, clutching his claws in anticipation of heated battles in the days to come. The battle against the Frost Walkers had been a shameful affair, and even though his Black Wolf Brigade had acquitted themselves well, it was far from the unrestrained slaughter that he and his men yearned for in these human lands.


    "Already?" Ollie said softly, blinking in surprise and turning to face Ashlynn with a puzzled look. Hadn¡¯t she said that they would need the winter to study witchcraft and prepare for the war to come? If the war was going to begin in the fall, how could he prepare himself for something that would surely be much, much worse than the nightmare he¡¯d faced in the trial that Ashlynn had given him?


    "My Lady," Commander Bassinger said in a deep, rumbling voice that cut through the chatter coming from other members of the war council. "My men are capable and blooded, and they will follow any order that you give. But they have just spent the summer fighting a campaign against Liam Dunn and Loman Lothian¡¯s forces. The men are tired, and even though we fought well, there were losses to be mourned. It may be too soon to press them into battle again."


    "They¡¯ve fought one season, and they need to rest for two before they can fight again?" Savis sneered. "What kind of soft soldiers are you training in the Vale?"


    "Soldiers whose lives are too precious to expend on uncertain actions," Bassinger shot back. "Each life in the Vale is worth twenty human soldiers, and I won¡¯t trade one for less than that. To do so is an insult to their sacrifice and a price we can¡¯t afford. You may have the luxury of expending your men¡¯s lives carelessly, but we do not."


    "Gentlemen," Ashlynn said softly, tapping the table with a finger and sending a ripple of soft, soothing power down the length of the massive piece of cedar. "Mistress Nyrielle has yet to explain our plans. Wait until you¡¯ve heard what we have to say, and then you can make your arguments," she said firmly. "And when you do, please remember that everyone seated here is a brother or sister in arms. You may question an idea, but save your insults for our enemies."


    "My darling is right," Nyrielle said, sweeping the table with her midnight blue gaze. "We need to save our energy for fighting our real enemies, not for fighting among ourselves. To that end, before we discuss our plans, it¡¯s time to make the first of many changes to the leadership of the Vale of Mists," she said, startling several people at the table to sit up straighter.


    "Commander Bassinger, you have served the Vale well for decades," Nyrielle began. "You¡¯ve been my guard, my captain, and the commander of all the soldiers of the Vale, and for that you have my deepest thanks."


    "The honor has always been mine, my lady," Bassinger said in a deep, rumbling voice as he placed his hand over his heart, bearing his sharpened claws as if demonstrating a willingness to rip out his own heart and offer it to her if she required it. "If you need something of me now, you need only to ask. These hands will always be yours to command."


    "It¡¯s good of you to make that offer," Nyrielle said with a smile. "But from now on, you and your claws answer to another." The statement, in and of itself, didn¡¯t draw much surprise, and many heads were already turning toward Ashlynn when Nyrielle spoke again, and this time, nearly everyone at the table was taken off guard.


    "Our army has grown too large and too complex for a man of Commander Bassinger¡¯s limited experience to lead," Nyrielle said. "We need to swiftly integrate members of several different clans and traditions, and at the same time, we must quickly learn to make use of their unique strengths while finding ways to compensate for their individual weaknesses. To that end, the Vale of Mists will create a new position with the title of Lord General of the Vale of Mists."


    "Every soldier within the Vale will ultimately answer to the Lord General," Nyrielle said, pinning a sharp gaze on several people around the table to ensure they accepted her pronouncement before she continued. "There is one man here who has fought at my side through more wars than anyone else, and I can think of no one better suited than him to lead our growing army."


    "Thane," Nyrielle said, turning to face the vampire sitting at her right hand. "Our people are worried that the forces we¡¯ve raised will become a chain around their necks, dragging the whole of the Vale to ruin. I believe that you can do more than just prove their fears unfounded. Will you take up this burden and lead our forces to victory in the battles to come?"


    "I swore my sword to your service long ago, Mistress," Thane said, sitting upright in his chair for the first time since the meeting began. "When I did, you bestowed the Voice of Command on me so I could give your soldiers the courage and discipline of knights with nothing more than a spoken word."


    "Today, our men already have the courage of knights," he continued. "They will fight to the last man to defend the home they¡¯ve reclaimed from the ruins of High Lord Torbin¡¯s Vale of Mists. But the discipline to fight, and the ability to fight together with men they barely know... Mistress Nyrielle, if this isn¡¯t the best use of the power you¡¯ve given me, I don¡¯t know what is. Of course, I¡¯ll take up this burden." S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "In that case, Lord General Thane," Nyrielle said with a faint smile as she led the conversation in a direction that had clearly been prepared in advance. "I think everyone gathered here would benefit from understanding your plans. You must attack and wage war when supplies are scarce, you must teach the Lothians and their vassals that they are no longer safe huddling behind their walls though the dark months of winter, and you must deliver decisive victories before the humans begin to receive reinforcements from across the sea next year."


    "So please, Lord General," she said, her dark eyes twinkling with a mix of pride in her progeny and anticipation for how he would rise to the challenge of this moment. "Tell us your plans for the coming war."

 Chapter 586: Appointing the Lord General (Part Two)

    Chapter 586: Appointing the Lord General (Part Two)The challenges Nyrielle laid out so plainly were ones that weighed on the minds of everyone who had dwelled in the Vale of Mists their entire life. Virve and Lennart both nodded along as Nyrielle laid out the challenges, quickly understanding why, even with the sizeable reinforcements they¡¯d brought from across the mountains, Lady Nyrielle would choose to create a new, more senior position imbued with the authority to command their forces in such an unconventional campaign.


    Others around the table showed reactions that had less to do with the coming war and more to do with what they saw as long overdue recognition of Thane¡¯s position within the Vale of Mists. Ashlynn wore a radiant smile as she looked at the man who had declared himself her ¡¯big brother¡¯ when she first arrived in the Vale, and Ollie, sitting nearby, looked equally proud at the recognition his mentor was receiving.


    But not everyone reacted to the appointment of Nyrielle¡¯s oldest human progeny to the position with the same levels of enthusiasm.


    Sitting beside the bearish commander, Marshal Jacob reached out to put a gentle, reassuring hand on his long-time friend¡¯s forearm. To give an entire life to the service of the vale, leading his men in countless minor actions of the long-simmering conflict since the end of the War of Inches, and suddenly finding himself relieved of command now that the next real war was about to begin...


    The diminutive Marshal couldn¡¯t begin to understand how his friend could swallow the insult.


    "It¡¯s fine," Bassinger said quietly as he gave his old friend and fellow councilor a fragile smile that held back a storm of conflicting emotions. "If it were anyone else, I might argue, but compared to Lord General Thane, I truly am inexperienced and lacking."


    Thane had been old, wise, and experienced when Bassinger was still a cub. It had been Thane who noticed the bearish commander¡¯s talents during the War of Inches, pulling him away from the front lines and assigning him to Nyrielle¡¯s personal guard where he could begin to observe more of the decision-making that shaped the final days of the war. Years later, it had been Thane again who recommended Bassinger to take over the position as Captain of her guard when his predecessor retired.


    There had never been a point in Commander Bassinger¡¯s long career when he hadn¡¯t been able to turn to the powerful vampire for support, whether it was honing his fighting techniques or adjusting to life behind a desk when he assumed what had once been the highest office in Nyrielle¡¯s army. Thane had always been there, acting like a big brother to Bassinger and everyone under his command.


    "Thank you, Bassinger," Thane said graciously from the opposite end of the table. "But just because I¡¯m assuming command as the Lord General, that doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t need capable commanders like you to help through this war. In fact, I need three more men to take up burdens every bit as heavy as your own if we¡¯re going to use our forces to the greatest effect."


    As soon as he said it, people once more cast glances around the table, some more overt than others. A few gazes gathered on the newest vampire at the table, wondering if the former captain of Nyrielle¡¯s guard would be taking up some greater responsibility now that he had transcended the barrier between life and death. Others looked to Zedya, Virve, and even Savis, wondering which of them would be next to be named to a position of authority.


    "There are five pillars of strength within the army of the Vale," Thane said. "The largest by far are Ordinary Soldiers, men who are well trained, disciplined, and who we will rely on to man the walls in defense and lay siege in offense. Commander Bassinger, these men will be yours to command, and you can expect that you will receive several reinforcements as we reorganize our soldiers to thicken your ranks," the Lord General explained.


    "Our next pillar of strength are the elite soldiers who are capable of serving as the sharp point of the spear on the attack, and siege breakers on defense. They are men and women with the power to become arena champions in High Fen City or to serve as the most feared division under the command of High Lord Hamdi," Thane said, turning his gaze to the white-furred vampire from the Golden Eyed clan.


    "Sir Savis, will you accept the title of Commander and weld together the greatest of our warriors into a force that can stand toe-to-toe with the Templars and the knights of our enemies?" Thane asked.


    "You want me to submit to a man less than a quarter my age and accept that he is a greater general than I am?" Savis said, his white fur bristling in instant revulsion at the idea. Savis was the first of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s progeny, and he stood within the same generation as Nyrielle¡¯s grand sire, the late High Lord Torbin. Nyrielle¡¯s parents could be considered his nieces and nephews, to say nothing of Nyrielle and her own progeny.


    To the proud and mighty Savis, the mere suggestion that he should answer to ¡¯Lord General Thane¡¯ was little different than asking a veteran warrior to take orders from his own great-grandson who had barely graduated from playing with toy soldiers in the dirt!


    "Lady Nyrielle, I can humble myself before the Harbinger of Death," the lupine vampire said, turning to look at the woman at the head of the table. "I agreed to serve you until High Lord Hamdi heals and calls me home, but this..."


    "Thane," Nyrielle said, silencing the furious Golden Eyed vampire with a single word. "If you want him to serve as one of your commanders, you need to bring him to heel. I¡¯m entrusting my army to you, to forge as you see fit, but if Savis proves himself to be the greater man," she said, casting the older vampire a pointed look. "Then I will pass the position of Lord General to the man who can best wield my army to defeat our enemies."


    Savis bristled when he heard Lady Nyrielle mention ¡¯bringing him to heel¡¯ and his claws resting on the table dug into the soft cedar wood, leaving shallow gouges behind as she prodded one of the few emotions the white-furred vampire had left. But a moment later, she offered a balm to his wounded pride along with a chance to seize control of power and authority in the Vale of Mists that was as great as what he had possessed under High Lord Hamdi in the Tangled Wood.


    "Do I make myself clear?" Nyrielle asked, returning her midnight gaze to Thane. That gaze seemed to carry even greater weight and meaning than the simple words would suggest, and Ashlynn did her best to keep her face impassive as Nyrielle and Thane led the unsophisticated Savis into the trap they¡¯d prepared for him.


    Of all of the leaders who had come under Nyrielle¡¯s banner during her visit to the Eldritch nations beyond the mountains, Savis was the most difficult to control. He acknowledged his defeat at the battle of the Tangled Tower, and he gave his service and the service of his Black Wolf Brigade to Nyrielle in exchange for a promise that she wouldn¡¯t kill his sire, High Lord Hamdi, for the offenses he committed against Nyrielle when she visited.


    On the surface, capturing a portion of a defeated enemy¡¯s strength to use as your own was a brilliant move and one that had given her new army a core of well-trained, elite soldiers. Beneath that, however, there were several cracks in their relationship, and Savis remained a reluctant weapon that could twist in Nyrielle¡¯s hand to betray its wielder.


    They¡¯d made it this far by relying on his sense of brotherhood with Tausau, who was far more enthusiastic in supporting Nyrielle. But everyone knew that this wasn¡¯t enough to bring Savis fully into the fold, and so Ashlynn had suggested giving him an opportunity to seize command of the army for himself at the very beginning.


    By allowing him to make the attempt to usurp command at the very beginning, they would preempt any attempts that might occur later on. More importantly, he would learn firsthand, in the Eldritch way, that besides Nyrielle and Ashlynn, there were still people in the Vale with the strength to command his obedience.


    "Your orders are perfectly clear, Mistress Nyrielle," Thane said with a smile as he stood up from his chair and faced Savis¡¯s bristling figure. "If I can¡¯t subdue one lone wolf, how can I ever hope to lead your army?" Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Savis," the newly named Lord General said in a voice brimming with so much confidence it could be mistaken for arrogance. "I will accept your challenge, but do you dare to accept my terms?"

 Chapter 587: The Voice of Command (Part One)

    Chapter 587: The Voice of Command (Part One)"I will accept your challenge, but do you dare to accept my terms?"


    Thane¡¯s taunt dug under Savis¡¯s skin like barbed needles, tearing at his already tattered pride and provoking the beast that lurked behind his normally impassive golden gaze. During the battle of the Tangled Tower, Savis fought Zedya to what could charitably be called a draw. In reality, only Nyrielle¡¯s prompt arrival had rescued her prized maidservant from the powerful vampire¡¯s claws.


    Now that he was being asked to simply submit to another of Nyrielle¡¯s young progeny, it was all Savis could do to keep himself from erupting in fury in the middle of the war council.


    "If you wish to settle this as a contest between men, I won¡¯t refuse," Savis growled, standing up from his chair. "Little Brother Tausau can stand as my second and as my witness. Name your second, and we can take this outside to resolve without spoiling the mood here."


    From his seat beside Savis, Tausau gave Nyrielle a complicated and helpless look before the Clanless vampire stood at Savis¡¯s side. He¡¯d shared his concerns about his ¡¯older brother¡¯s wounded pride and questionable loyalty on more than one occasion since coming under her banner. Savis had once been hailed as the White Fang of the Tangled Wood, renown for defeating two Eldritch Lords in single combat to expand High Lord Hamdi¡¯s territory and the sudden fall in status had shaken Tausau¡¯s older brother more than the proud vampire might admit.


    In the High Pass, while they were recovering from the battle and making arrangements for their dead, Tausau had even gone so far as to plead with Nyrielle for her to bestow the same gift of reawakening the heart that she¡¯d given him. He¡¯d hoped, perhaps naively, that a return of the emotions he¡¯d lost centuries ago would fill Savis with the same gratitude and loyalty that he felt after experiencing a rebirth at her hands.


    Nyrielle had rejected him instantly, saying that Savis had yet to earn such a favor and that there were others who were still waiting for that gift who had contributed far more to the Vale¡¯s cause over decades of war than Savis had by contributing in a few minor battles while they traveled the Eldritch nations. Now that things had come to a head, part of Tausau¡¯s complicated glance at Nyrielle seemed to say ¡¯I warned you, grand-niece,¡¯ even as another part seemed to say ¡¯Now that it¡¯s come this far, I¡¯m helpless to stop him.¡¯


    "I have no need of a second," Thane said, smiling lazily as he stood from his own chair, spinning it effortlessly as though it were a dance partner before he tucked it out of the way. "My terms are very simple and advantageous to you," Thane continued as he adjusted the laces at the cuffs of his white tunic, as well as the laces across his pale, muscular chest that he normally allowed to hang loose.


    "I¡¯ve worn my best white tunic for tonight¡¯s gathering," the Lord General continued, holding his arms out wide in a grand gesture and taking a slow turn as if to show off the way the garment strained across his broad shoulders while falling loose around his trim waist before vanishing beneath his wide sash. "If you can stain it with so much as a single drop of my blood, I will count it as your victory and submit to your rule as Lord General of the Vale of Mists."


    "You think that your sword will give you an advantage against my claws, boy?" Savis jeered. "I thought that you knights had honor and fought for your virtues. But I¡¯m not a petty man. If you want to match your sword against my claws, I¡¯ll allow it. And if you can stain my fur with a single drop of my blood, we¡¯ll count it as your victory."


    "Sir Thane wouldn¡¯t resort to such low tricks," Ollie objected fiercely. Thane was the man who had taught him more about what it meant to be a knight than anyone else, and seeing him insulted like this struck Ollie in a particularly sensitive spot after completing his own vigil to become a knight.


    "It¡¯s fine, Sir Ollie," Thane said, untying the knots that bound his darksteel arming sword to his sash and removing the weapon, sheath and all, before passing it across the table to a surprised-looking Ollie. "I said that I wouldn¡¯t need a second, but since you want to make this a matter of the honor of knights, then Sir Ollie can stand as my second and hold my blade. I won¡¯t be needing it anyway."


    "Arrogant boy," Savis growled, moving to one end of the room and taking a fighting position with his knees bent, ready to pounce and his claws extended as though he was preparing to tear Thane¡¯s flesh from his body.


    "Give us the side," Thane said calmly to the people on Nyrielle¡¯s side of the table. "This room is a bit narrow for a duel but if you clear this side and stand behind Lady Ashlynn¡¯s coven, there should be enough space. It won¡¯t take long anyway," he said confidently.


    Thane¡¯s words weren¡¯t a request and everyone on Nyrielle¡¯s side of the table acquiesced immediately to his spoken command, deferring to the newly promoted Lord General without the slightest word of complaint.


    "Don¡¯t worry, Ollie," Ashlynn said softly when she noticed the young knight¡¯s hands tightly gripping Thane¡¯s sword. "Lord Thane has nothing to fear from Sir Savis. You¡¯re about to witness something very important so watch closely."


    "What do you mean?" Ollie asked, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the two vampires as if he was afraid he would miss their duel in the blink of an eye. Given the speed with which he¡¯d seen Thane move during their lessons, it was possible that thing truly would begin and end in the blink of an eye. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Sir Savis is one of High Lord Hamdi¡¯s progeny," Ashlynn explained. "High Lord Hamdi inherited the Blood of the Pack from Bardas, the Jaws of Death. He¡¯s passed a trace of that power on to Savis."


    "Savis is the most dangerous when he¡¯s surrounded by other members of his clan," Virve added, having seen Savis fight first hand during the battle of the Tangled Tower. She¡¯d felt helpless then to help Zedya in her battle against the fearsome vampire and even now that she¡¯d received the seed of the Ancient Oak, she knew she was far from becoming the Golden Eyed Vampire¡¯s match.


    "He doesn¡¯t have any progeny of his own," Virve explained. "But he shares the blood of the Golden Eyed Clan, so as long as he¡¯s among other members of his clan, he can use their strength to supplement his own."


    "But, he¡¯s alone here," Ollie pointed out the obvious as the people from the other side of the table shuffled in behind them. "So is that why Sir Thane thinks he has an advantage?"


    "No," Ashlynn said, sharing a knowing look with Nyrielle. "Watch, see for yourself," she said as the air began to crackle with intense energy.


    Even though Savis couldn¡¯t draw on the strength of a ¡¯pack¡¯ he was still a vampire who had lived centuries longer than even Nyrielle had. He knew the limits of his powers well so when he summoned the power of his blood, he focused all of that energy into the speed of his limbs and the strength of his claws. The battle would begin and end in a single strike, and the young pup before him would learn that there was more to being a vampire than having the fortune to be the progeny of the Harbinger of Death!


    Thane, on the other hand, made no movements and summoned no power. He seemed content to stand facing Savis with a calm expression on his face and his empty hands at his sides, as if he couldn¡¯t be bothered to defend himself from Savis¡¯s attack.


    "Begin!" Nyrielle said, giving the table a sharp tap with a pointed nail to signal the start of the duel that would determine once and for all which of these powerful vampires had the right to command the armies of the Vale of Mists.

 Chapter 588: The Voice of Command (Part Two)

    Chapter 588: The Voice of Command (Part Two)"RAAAA!" Savis roared as he exploded forward in a rush that became a blur of white fur to many of the people who lacked enhanced senses in the room. His right hand opened wide, stretching his claws for a powerful swipe that would end the duel in a single move as soon as he closed the gap between him and the young ¡¯Lord General.¡¯


    "HOLD!" Thane snapped, his voice echoing with the power of a battlefield commander who would be heard by thousands of soldiers marching under his banner.


    Two things happened at the same time as soon as Thane spoke. Beyond speaking the word, Thane took a short step forward, reaching out with blinding speed to capture Savis¡¯s wrist in a grip that felt as tight as iron shackles.


    All around Thane, the air seemed to darken, coalescing into a billowing cape of shadows that hung from his shoulders, flapping lightly in a wind that no one else in the room could feel. Everyone could, however, hear the faint sounds that emanated from Thane¡¯s shadowy cloak as he held a paralyzed Savis in his iron grip.


    The sounds of horses preparing for a charge echoed from a great distance away, as if they were preparing to charge out of the abyss itself. The faint clank of armor and the footfalls of thousands of soldiers echoed alongside the snorts of horses and beyond that, sounding almost too faint to make out, the shouted orders of sergeants and captains as they marshalled their legions of the damned, preparing to answer Thane¡¯s orders to descend upon the man trapped in his grip and tear away his soul.


    "KNEEL!" Thane commanded in a voice that carried a hint of the darkness of the void, pressing down on everyone who heard it with an intense sensation that bypassed their conscious mind and whispered into their innermost being that failure to obey would doom them to a swift and merciless death.


    Ollie felt his knees touch the floor before he realized he¡¯d left his chair, and Virve similarly knelt next to him. Lennart, Commander Bassinger, and Marshal Jakob all found themselves obeying as well, as years of habit to defer to Sir Thane left no room in their mind to defy the powerful vampire. Surprisingly, both Heila and the young Frost Walker lord, Hauke, managed to resist the pull of Thane¡¯s powerful command. Both of them had far too much experience with forces from beyond the grave attempting to twist and control their fates to yield so easily to Thane¡¯s command.


    Savis, however, bore the full brunt of Thane¡¯s powerful command, and something deep within his heart that he had once forgotten existed stirred to life again, shuddering and trembling as Thane¡¯s dark power reminded him that even vampires as powerful as Savis still had a reason to remember fear.


    For a moment, Savis managed to resist. His legs shook with the effort of remaining standing and his tail already drooped low as Thane seemed to grow even larger in his vision, towering over the frightened lupine vampire like he had come to drag him back to a kennel.


    "I don¡¯t want to make this ugly, Sir Savis," Thane said as his sandy blonde hair danced in the same wind as the one that caught at his cloak of shadows. "Submit now, and I can leave you with a shred of pride."


    "I, will, not..." Savis began, only to be interrupted by Thane¡¯s sharp, commanding voice.


    "HEEL!" Thane commanded, pulling down on Savis¡¯s wrist and taking a sharp step back, pulling the startled vampire off balance and breaking his resistance to Thane¡¯s orders as the younger vampire treated him like a disobedient pup.


    "Dancing leaves and whispered winds," Ashlynn said softly as soon as she felt the strength of Thane¡¯s humiliating command descending on the people on her side of the table and the ones gathered behind them.


    Power rippled across the room as Ashlynn¡¯s simple spell created a curtain of drifting phantom leaves that rippled as if caught in a quiet breeze, shimmering between Thane and everyone watching. The spell blunted the strength of his voice enough that the demeaning command failed to take hold in the minds of the people who were most vulnerable to the Lord General¡¯s Voice of Command.


    Savis, however, had no such protection against Thane¡¯s cutting command and he was left as vulnerable as a newborn pup before the intensity of the Lord General¡¯s order. Deep within his soul, something ancient and primal shattered when Savis heard that word. In his centuries of existence, he had been many things. Savis was a celebrated warrior, and a champion of the Tangled Wood, even the commander of the Black Wolf Brigade, but not once in half a millennium had he been treated like a common beast to be tamed.


    A hot flash of humiliation burned through him, more painful than any wound he¡¯d suffered in battle. Again, it was happening to him again! First Lady Nyrielle had humbled and humiliated him, turning him into nothing more than her herald and treating him like a defeated dog, and now one of her progeny was dragging him even lower.


    This wasn¡¯t just defeat, it was degradation in front of witnesses who had once looked upon him with both fear and awe. But behind the growing panic that filled his ears with the sound of his heart¡¯s rapid beat, a voice of reason whispered in his ear, reminding him that it didn¡¯t have to be this way. Thane had told him that he didn¡¯t want to make it ugly and when Savis had rejected that kindness, the Lord General responded with ruthless venom that pierced to the very core of Savis¡¯s being.


    That realization gnawed at him even as the word ¡¯HEEL¡¯ echoed in his mind, forcing his body to submit whether he was willing to accept the order or not. All of Savis¡¯s desires, his determination to fight until the last, his pride... none of it mattered as his body acted on its own before the dreadful command that echoed from the depths of the void.


    On the floor of the formal dining hall, Savis¡¯s resistance completely crumbled as he quickly sank to all fours, lowering his head to the ground and looking fearfully up at the terrifying figure cloaked in shadows above him. For a moment, he almost thought he saw the shadows gathering to form a suit of armor around the vampire knight, but as soon as his chin touched the ground, the shadows began to fade, evaporating from around Thane as though they¡¯d never been there to begin with.


    "Never forget this lesson, Ollie," Ashlynn said as she helped the Cypress Witch back into his chair. "While Lady Nyrielle had several progeny before Thane, in many ways, he can be considered the one she spent the greatest effort to nurture from the moment she chose to bring humans into her household."


    "Savis might be the greatest among High Lord Hamdi¡¯s progeny," she explained. "But even Savis can only inherit a portion of what Bardas bestowed on Hamdi. Thane has received one of the greatest blessings that Mistress Nyrielle is capable of bestowing, and she is no weaker than the Jaws of Death who created Hamdi. The gap between Thane and Savis," she said with a faint twinkle in her eyes. "Is as wide as the gap between a kitchen boy and a knight." S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 589: Bitter Realization

    Chapter 589: Bitter RealizationThe outcome of the duel between the newly appointed Lord General Thane and Savis couldn¡¯t be any more clear. Savis¡¯s claws hadn¡¯t come within a handbreadth of Thane¡¯s brilliant, white tunic without being completely restrained by the new Lord General. Rather, with a few sharp words and a display of frightening power, Thane had completely dominated the white furred vampire, leaving him with no ability to retaliate.


    At this point, the people who had moved behind Ashlynn and her coven should return to their seats so the meeting could continue, but as they stared at the sight of the powerful, Golden Eyed vampire groveling on all fours before Thane¡¯s relaxed figure, no one seemed willing to make the first move.


    "RISE," Thane commanded as a gentle smile spread across his soft lips, allowing the power of his voice to ripple over the cowering vampire like the cleansing waters of a mountain stream. "Rise as my commander and REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE."


    Once again, Savis found his body moving of its own accord before he could even think of whether or not he should obey, only this time, something about Thane¡¯s softer tone made him want to rise, to climb to his feat, not because he hated the humiliation of being forced to grovel on the floor but because Thane asked him to rise and to remember himself.


    "You are Savis, the White Fang of the Tangled Wood, Slayer of the Eldritch Lords Garibor and Talshafan and Commander of the elite soldiers of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army," Thane said, infusing his voice with enough power to completely dispel the effects of his earlier command. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "There is no shame in submitting to your Lord General," he added in a quieter tone as he extended a hand to help the defeated vampire return to his feet. "And there is no reason to lose your pride for what you have accomplished in the past. But now, I need you to set your eyes on the battles of the future. Can you do that for me, Commander Savis?" Thane asked, looking directly into the older man¡¯s golden eyes.


    "I admit my mistake," Savis said, turning his golden eyes briefly to Zedya whose amethyst eyes shone brightly as whispered in her husband¡¯s ear, doubtless sharing her own insights on what had just taken place. "I judged you by my experience fighting Madame Zedya. I didn¡¯t realize that there existed a vampire among Her Eternity¡¯s progeny who could overwhelm me with their strength."


    "Then I should warn you," Zedya said lightly as she took Lennart¡¯s hand in hers and led him back to their seats. "Among all of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s human progeny, I am the weakest in a clash of arms. Because I serve at Mistress Nyrielle¡¯s side, I rarely need to resort to force and I have much less practice fighting than my siblings."


    "Had you been facing off against Marcel," she suggested with a brief glance at the empty seat. "You may never have seen him before his blades found your neck. And Sybyll would have torn you limb from limb, just to paint the room red with your blood."


    "Zedya," Thane said gently as he helped the still shaken vampire back to his seat. "He¡¯s acknowledged his mistake. There¡¯s no need to rub salt in the wound. I¡¯m sure that Commander Savis is looking forward to the chance to fight side by side with the rest of us in the battles to come."


    "Your Eternity," Savis said as he took his seat, his voice carefully controlled despite the slight tremor he could still feel in the hand that Thane had grasped, stopping his attack as if his arm were caught in a vice even before the command of ¡¯HALT¡¯ overwhelmed his mind. His golden eyes remained lowered, unable to meet those of the others at the table directly and there was no trace of his previous arrogance to be found in his slumped shoulders and tightly curled tail. When he finally did look up at Nyrielle, his golden eyes held a mixture of deeply wounded pride and grudging respect.


    "I have defeated Eldritch Lords who were strong enough to rule over domains twice the size of the Vale of mists," he said quietly. "But none commanded the kind of... presence I felt from Lord General Thane," said as he straightened his shoulders slightly, sitting upright in his chair and attempting to recover some of his lost dignity.


    "After seeing Sir Ignatious suffer under High Lord Hamdi¡¯s claws for so long, and facing Madame Zedya in combat, I believed that I understood the limits of your progenies¡¯ strength and ability. Clearly," he added with a touch of his former pride, "I was sorely mistaken."


    For a moment, the defeated vampire paused, visibly struggling as he suppressed his desire to lash out at one of Nyrielle¡¯s other progeny in order to reclaim some of his lost standing and the bitter realization that the difference between him and the other vampires at the table might be even greater than he imagined.


    "The others in your service," he finally asked, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. "Do they all possess such... formidable gifts?" His gaze flickered briefly between Thane and Nyrielle, as though he was trying to reassess not just the opponent who had defeated him but the nature of the battlefield itself now that he had entered the heart of the Harbinger of Death¡¯s territory.


    "As much as I would like to boast that all of my progeny can stand equal to Thane," Nyrielle said, looking at the handsome vampire with a complicated gaze. "Even I will admit that Thane received a greater gift from me than I have given anyone else. When he drank from my wrist the night he became a vampire, I allowed him to feed until I could feel the call of the abyss tearing at my soul," she said, looking into Thane¡¯s eyes as she briefly fell into a world that belonged to the two of them alone.


    Both of them had changed a great deal in the years since their first meeting and looking back, perhaps she¡¯d been wrong to do what she had done. It wasn¡¯t until decades later, when Ashlynn had appeared in her life, that she realized just how misguided she¡¯d been, but at the time, she had risked her very existence in the hope that Thane could bring her something that she had only seen from the outside and never felt for herself...

 Chapter 590: The Secret of Thane’s Power (Part One)

    Chapter 590: The Secret of Thane¡¯s Power (Part One)In the wake of two bitter wars that saw the death of her parents and the fall of the Vale, followed by a ruthless reclamation of the territory she¡¯d lost and her blood-soaked vengeance on Cellach Lothian, Nyrielle spent years searching for something that would soothe the jagged wounds in her heart.


    While it was true that Nyrielle had recaptured the Vale of Mists, she lost several of her forty-seven progeny in the process and even more in the war that followed when Cellach Lothian¡¯s children came of age. Her heart was still filled with hatred, burning with the desire for revenge, but she was also haunted by a terrible, aching loneliness that had plagued her since her parents¡¯ death.


    Pouring herself into the reconstruction of the Vale did nothing to fill the void that threatened to consume her. Too many of her people refused to return, and those who did were as frightened as mice gazing at the shadow of a cat on the wall. They demanded safety more than anything, and so Nyrielle built the strongest walls she could, sealing the entrance to the Vale from the Lothian threat without realizing that she was only isolating herself further from the villages that couldn¡¯t be part of the smaller, reconstructed Vale of Mists.


    In the end, it had been a cook in the kitchens, a man named Yorig, one of Georg¡¯s ancestors, who suggested that she seek out humans who might be worthy of becoming her progeny.


    "We all have each other, My Lady," he¡¯d said at the time. "And your champions are all fierce warriors. But... none of them are more than that, and few of them think of the Vale as a place where their heart belongs. They belong here because you are here and they are bound to you, but... they don¡¯t care about us and they don¡¯t care about fighting our enemies."


    "The soldiers all know that they may have to fight again," the chef continued as he set out a small dish of her favorite pickled vegetables and sweet beets. "But they don¡¯t have a champion among your progeny that inspires them the way you do. Maybe... maybe that¡¯s what we¡¯re lacking. And if none of our people in the Vale are worthy of being your progeny, then maybe our enemies have enemies among the humans."


    "How did you become so wise, Yorig?" she asked between bites of the sweet and sour salad. "Where did you learn these things?"


    "Everyone needs to eat, my lady," he replied. "Even you. And when people eat, they share their thoughts. I just happen to be good at listening." S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ve become wise from listening," Nyrielle said, giving the bearish chef a reevaluating look. "Are you sure you aren¡¯t worthy of becoming one of my progeny? Just for your council alone, you would be worthy, and I wouldn¡¯t mind being able to eat your cooking for many years to come."


    "I¡¯m honored, my lady," Yorig replied, bowing deeply. "But I have a wife and three little ones to raise. If I were your progeny, I¡¯d have to..."


    "Say no more," Nyrielle said, pausing before his words could pierce any deeper into her heart that still ached for the family she¡¯d had with her parents and grandsire Torbin. "But I take your meaning. Take care of your own little ones," she said as gently as she could manage. "And when the time comes, if any of them wish it, I¡¯ll be happy to have them cook for me as well."


    Yorig hadn¡¯t realized it at the time, but it was his mention of family more than anything that drove Nyrielle into the darkness and the rain of autumn outside the Vale. At first, she didn¡¯t quite know what she was looking for, but as she listened to rumors in rundown alehouses or in the refined restaurants of Lothian City, a picture began to emerge in her mind... one that reminded her of her dashing, handsome father and the affection he always showed to her kind, loving mother.


    No longer was she simply searching for a powerful warrior to take as her progeny. While it was still important that she find someone who could share her mission to fight against the Lothians and their vassals who constantly threatened the Vale¡¯s safety, Nyrielle had begun to look for something much, much harder to find.


    Her lucky break had come when she learned of a fallen knight, stripped of his lands and title after his sister murdered a baron for assaulting her. With little left to his name and few skills beyond fighting, he¡¯d opened a small school in Lothian City to teach swordsmanship to men who fancied themselves demon-hunters and young lords who dreamed of fame as duelists.


    "Would you teach a woman how to use a sword, Master Thane?" she¡¯d said one cold winter¡¯s night when she approached him as he was locking up his school for the night. "I could pay," she added, opening her hand to reveal several gold sovereigns. "Private lessons, after nightfall," she added.


    "I wouldn¡¯t advise it, your ladyship," the handsome young man said. "I¡¯ve seen women dream of mastering the blade before. I¡¯ve even seen them do it, but people who choose to live for the sword have a way of dying by it... She didn¡¯t meet a good end," he said, speaking around a lump in his throat. "My lady is far too beautiful to meet the same fate she did."


    "I¡¯m not as weak as you think I am, Master Thane," Nyrielle said, smiling for the first time in what felt like far too long. "Let me worry about the danger," she added, tossing him a pair of coins. "That should be enough to buy me an opportunity to be your student, shouldn¡¯t it?"


    It was an underhanded move, and she was well aware of just how underhanded it was. Thane was struggling to make ends meet, even after selling his horse, his armor, and most of his possessions. An opportunity like the one she presented him could keep his school open through the winter and perhaps even longer.


    In the end, practicality beat out his principles, and he agreed to let Nyrielle study the sword with him. A ¡¯try out,¡¯ he called it, to see if she was truly suited to the sword. What he didn¡¯t realize at the time was that even as he was testing her, she was testing him to see if he was the man she¡¯d been hunting for.


    Slowly, over the course of the winter, Thane opened up about what had happened to his sister and his reasons for opening a school in Lothian City.


    "So you¡¯re hoping that you¡¯ll have an opportunity to challenge the Marquis or one of his heirs to a duel in order to claim your vengeance," Nyrielle said after one of their lessons. Winter would be coming to an end soon, and she would need to return to the Vale of Mists, but she¡¯d already determined that Thane was an ideal candidate to become the first of her human progeny.


    She couldn¡¯t say that she loved him, but they shared many of the same pains and the same hatreds. Human relationships, especially those that were arranged between noble families, had been built on far less, and she was willing to take a chance on Thane.


    "I know it sounds silly when you say it like that," Thane said in a voice that had lost none of its confidence. "But it¡¯s the only opportunity I¡¯ve been able to make for myself so far. Maybe in a year or two I¡¯ll find another, but for now, I need to find a way into the inner circles of knights and lords around the Marquis, and this is the best I¡¯ve been able to come up with."


    "What if... what if I had a better way?" Nyrielle asked with a raised brow. "One that would all but guarantee that you would be able to see your enemies dead and buried. If it meant leaving behind everything you¡¯ve built for yourself since your family¡¯s fall... would you dare to take it?"

 Chapter 591: The Secret of Thane’s Power (Part Two)

    Chapter 591: The Secret of Thane¡¯s Power (Part Two)"Would you dare to take it?"


    Her offer was a challenge, but it also required Thane to believe that the strange woman who had come to him several nights a week for sword lessons was actually capable of threatening the height of power within Lothian March. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You¡¯ve never told who you really are, your ladyship," Thane said, relaxing casually with one foot on a low bench while he used a towel to wipe sweat from his neck and broad, muscular chest. "You¡¯re quicker than me and surprisingly strong for your size, but it will take more than that to threaten the Lothians. What gives you the confidence to deliver on your promise?"


    "It¡¯s simple," Nyrielle said, summoning the darkness and shadows of the dimly lit school to wrap around her like a cloak before slowly unfolding her dark, feathered wings. "I¡¯ve killed one Marquis already," she said with a smile that bore a hint of wickedly pointed fangs. "With you fighting at my side, I have every confidence in killing another."


    "One bite," she said, appearing behind him faster than his eyes could follow her motion. "One bite on your neck, and one drink of my blood and you¡¯ll gain strength like few humans have ever possessed. Strength enough not only to destroy the Marquis who condemned your sister, but to destroy the barony that fostered a vile beast who tried to defile her. Your enemies are my enemies, Thane," she whispered against his neck.


    "Say the word, and everything will change," she promised. "You can have your vengeance, and an eternity of days afterward to live free of the oppression and disdain that the rulers of this wretched place subject you to," she said, gesturing at the rundown school that he¡¯d barely been able to keep open without her assistance.


    "You," he started to say before his voice caught in his throat and it felt like the beads of sweat on his body turned into tiny crystals of ice. "You¡¯re the Demon Lady of the Vale..."


    "Shhh," Nyrielle whispered against his neck. "We don¡¯t like the word ¡¯Demon.¡¯ But you, if you accept my offer, can call me ¡¯Nyrielle.¡¯"


    "And if I refuse," Thane asked as his heart beat wildly in his chest, urging him to run, to flee, to escape the monster whose mere presence meant certain death. "Will you kill me to hide your secret?"


    "I don¡¯t like the idea of killing a friend, Thane," Nyrielle whispered. "Refuse, and you will never see me again. But if you refuse, the offer will never come again. Or accept, and gain the power to take revenge for yourself with your own hands..."


    In the end, it had been an offer that the fallen knight couldn¡¯t refuse. She had been searching for a partner who could fill the aching void within her heart and she thought that she finally found him, even if there wasn¡¯t love between them yet, there was at least friendship.


    When she took Thane back to the Vale of Mists, bringing him to the hidden waterfall where her mother had once worked to nurture life in one of the most shadowed places in the ancient fortress, she did everything she could to transform him into a vampire that could be worthy of standing next to her, reigning above any of her other progeny as a true equal to her power. She chose to give him the Voice of Command so that no one in the Vale could disobey him, intending to share her power equally with him and rule the Vale together.


    At the time, she had naively believed that if she allowed him to drain her to the point of death, he would gain strength close enough to her own that they could truly become partners, equals, and in time, perhaps lovers, giving birth to a relationship filled with warmth like the one she had seen between her parents.


    Reality, however, had no intention of indulging such childish fantasies. Two hearts that knew only a thirst for vengeance and death could never find love and no matter how much of her power she poured into Thane, it was always her power that gave him strength. No matter how close to him she drew, there was always an uncrossable gulf between them, and he was never able to step out of her shadow to cast one of his own.


    Neither of them ever spoke of how close they had come to becoming more than a loyal servant and his mistress. Over the years, Nyrielle had come to see him more as a prodigal son than a potential lover while Thane treated her as the greatest liege lady a knight could ever dedicate his sword to.


    The closeness they shared never became romantic but if either of them regretted that fact, those regrets had been ground to dust decades before Ashlynn¡¯s arrival could wash away any lingering notions of such a relationship. It had been a fanciful idea then and now that she knew what it meant to find someone who could be a real partner for her, it was one that Nyrielle no longer regretted leaving in the past.


    "Just because Thane is special," Nyrielle said, shaking herself out of her memories and returning to the conversation at hand. "That doesn¡¯t mean you should underestimate the others. You saw Ignatious at his weakest and most broken. Now that he has begun to mend his faith and found meaning in his life again," she said, giving Heila a brief, knowing look before she continued. "I expect that his flames will burn hotter than the Inquisition¡¯s in the war to come."


    "I understand, Your Eternity," Savis said, bowing his head in acknowledgement. "But, Lord General," he said, returning his attention to Thane in the hopes of moving the conversation on to a different topic, any topic, that would shift the attention away from him and allow him to recover from the crushing defeat he¡¯d just suffered. "You said you needed three men to join Bassinger as commanders of the army. He will lead the common soldiers and I will lead our elite warriors, but what else does that leave?"


    "I¡¯m glad you asked," Thane said, pulling his gaze away from Nyrielle and taking a moment to allow the memories she¡¯d stirred within him to subside. All the things that had happened between them and all of the things that hadn¡¯t belonged to the past and he had no regrets for the choices they¡¯d made or the things that had never been, and seeing Nyrielle¡¯s genuine happiness with Ashlynn now only made him grateful that his Mistress had finally found the partner she sought after so many years.


    Those old memories, however, stirred other thoughts within the Lord General as he looked down the table at the bearish figure sitting next to Savis.


    "I¡¯m sure that High Lord Torbin would be proud that one of his brothers has come to fight alongside the Vale against the enemies that sent him into the dark embrace of the abyss," Thane said, nodding briefly at Savis. "But I think it would be an even greater comfort to him if Commander Savis was joined by another brother."


    "So what say you, Tausau?" Thane asked, raising a brow at the Clanless vampire as he tried to imagine how the great-grandsire he¡¯d never met would feel about seeing this younger brother of his sitting here now.


    "You and your Mongrel Horde are ideally suited to form the core of the Vale¡¯s third pillar of strength," Thane said, trying to shake off thoughts of the past to focus on the present. "While Commander Bassinger¡¯s men are well organized and disciplined soldiers and Commander Savis¡¯s men are elite professionals, sometimes, we need to make use of far less organized forces led by a commander who can bring out the most of their individual and unique strengths."


    "You would put me and my Mongrel Horde on equal footing with Commander Savis and Commander Bassinger?" Tausau said, blinking several times in surprise. "I had thought that I would serve as one of Savis¡¯s captains when he formed his army."


    "If you wish to serve under your elder brother, we won¡¯t force you," Ashlynn said, stepping up beside Nyrielle and resting a hand on her shoulder as if to reassure the vampire that she was still here and to provide a moment of warmth through the touch of her fingers on her lover¡¯s cool skin.


    Ashlynn might not understand everything that had passed between Thane and Nyrielle in that gaze but she understood how her lover felt when the vampire stumbled into a memory from long ago that carried emotions Nyrielle had only recently begun to understand.


    Feeling the echo of her lover¡¯s fluttering heartbeat in her chest as it refused to slow even as the conversation moved on from Thane¡¯s uniqueness made it clear that something powerful had stirred feelings long buried within Nyrielle¡¯s heart and it was clear that the look she¡¯d shared with Thane had stirred up distant memories in him as well. So, rather than forcing either Nyrielle or Thane to explain the details of their plan, Ashlynn smoothly inserted herself to take over part of the explanation.


    "But before you refuse, I¡¯d like to explain how we¡¯d like to use the army we¡¯re asking you to build," she said with a faint smile as she walked across the room to the wall behind Nyrielle where a detailed map of the Vale of Mists and the surrounding territories had been hung expressly for this meeting, drawing attention away from Nyrielle and Thane as she took the lead explaining this part of their plan.


    "I think that you¡¯ll find we need your talents even more than you may suspect and that your army will be a vital part of the opening phase of this war," Ashlynn said as ghosts of her own began to dance behind her eyes. After all, if all went well, it would be Tausau¡¯s men who struck her first blow of vengeance against Lothian March.


    "Your army will also be the sharp spear we rely on to solve one of the most pressing issues weighing on Mashal Jakob¡¯s mind," she added with a nod of acknowledgement toward the horned marshal at the far end of the table.


    "So," she asked, giving the Clanless vampire an encouraging smile. "Will you hear us out?"


    "When you put it like that, Your Dominion," Tausau said, puffing up his thick chest with pride he¡¯d only recently regained the ability to feel and smoothing out the ruffles on his tunic. "How can I refuse?"

 Chapter 592: An Irregular Commander

    Chapter 592: An Irregular Commander"Before I begin, I want to make something clear when we talk about your irregular forces, Commander Tausau," Ashlynn said, addressing the elder vampire as a commander even though he had yet to accept the title.


    Her father had often said that when you spoke as if a decision had already been made, by the time you asked them to formally make the decision, their minds had already been shaped to accept the outcome you desired. While it felt slightly underhanded to use such a technique on one of their own allies, in this case, she felt more like she was helping Tausau to overcome his own lack of confidence rather than manipulating him against his own interests.


    "During our time in High Fen City, Lady Heila secured the services of ninety gladiators and mercenaries who fought against her in the arena," Ashlynn reminded the gathered leaders of the Vale. "As useful as it would be to have that force under her command in the months to come, as a member of my coven, Heila¡¯s duties lay elsewhere. If we have need of them, we may request that they return to her side, but for now, especially for the next few months while my coven trains and prepares for what is to come, these men would be more useful serving in an army like Commander Tausau¡¯s."


    "You mean to say that you¡¯d transfer ninety of these gladiators to my command?" Tausau said, looking slightly startled as he considered the number of warriors who had pledged themselves to Heila as part of her wager with a merchant in High Fen City. "That¡¯s three times the number of Mongrels I brought across the mountains," he said as he struggled to think of how he would use such a sizable force.


    "Not only them," Ashlynn added. "There are several former refugees with unique skills for defending their villages, but just as Heila can¡¯t be spared to lead her gladiators, Ollie has even greater need of this time to train," she said, nodding at one of her two new witches. "The hunters, trappers, and guardians of his village, some of whom helped in Commander Bassinger¡¯s summer campaign, would also come under your command while Ollie learns his craft."


    Neither Ollie nor Heila looked surprised at Ashlynn¡¯s decision to pull soldiers away from them in the months to come. While both of them felt varying levels of attachment to the people whose trust and service they¡¯d worked hard to gain, they also knew that compared to the likes of Savis, Tausau, and Lord General Thane, they were far too young and inexperienced to lead soldiers effectively in battle.


    It would be better not only for Hiela and Ollie to focus on mastering their witchcraft in the months to come, but for the people who relied on them to have competent and capable commanders in the battles ahead. Things might change in the years to come as they grew into their powers and their roles within the Vale, but for now, both of the young witches readily accepted this arrangement.


    Across the table from the witches, hearing Ashlynn describe what sounded like an increasingly powerful force, Tausau¡¯s gaze flickered briefly toward Savis, looking for a sign of support or approval from his elder brother. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Sitting here in the depths of the Vale of Mists, in Torbin¡¯s old castle, the Clanless vampire missed his fallen brother¡¯s wise council more than ever. Of the three of them, Torbin had always been the master of reason. ISince his death at the hands of the human crusaders, Tausau had fallen under the sway of the strongest of Hamdi¡¯s progeny, depending on him for guidance for more than a hundred years.


    The white-furred vampire¡¯s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his golden eyes narrowing at the edge of Tausau¡¯s vision. Even as he struggled to process his own defeat, Savis radiated a quiet displeasure seeing the way his Clanless little brother seemed to be rising rapidly in Lady Nyrielle¡¯s favor while he was subjected to a humiliation at the hands of her progeny.


    In the end, however, he held his tongue. Both Thane and Nyrielle had made it clear that, while he would be respected as a commander, the decisions of the ruling trio weren¡¯t to be defied. If they wished to offer Tausau a position equal to his... he could only accept it.


    Tausau held his breath for a moment as he watched subtle twitches in his brother¡¯s fur and slight shifts of his eyes convey more about his conflicted emotions than a dozen books could contain. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t in favor of his younger brother stepping forward but... neither was he making a move to stand in opposition.


    For Tausau, who had spent centuries being reminded of his place at the very bottom of Hamdi¡¯s collection of progeny, the offer of equal standing with his pure-blooded brother felt almost like a trap, one that, if he accepted the position, would only prove to the powerful people gathered in this room just how far beneath them and how much less capable the Clanless vampire truly was.


    "I understand your hesitation," Ashlynn said with a confident smile, either missing or deliberately ignoring the silent exchange between the brothers. "But many of the vampires in your Mongrel Horde are still individually stronger than most of the gladiators we would be sending your way. I doubt you¡¯ll have any trouble maintaining the dominance of your Horde, or your own authority as the Commander of your army."


    "The only group who might cause you some trouble are the Tuscans who previously fought as mercenaries," Ashlynn continued, working to bolster the vampire elder¡¯s confidence. "But since they are more professional soldiers, we¡¯d prefer to assign them to Commander Savis¡¯s elite forces. Unless you object?"


    Tausau straightened slightly, as if Ashlynn¡¯s words had given him a path forward that he felt confident he could take. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in the first hint of confidence he¡¯d allowed himself to display since entering the room.


    "Your Dominion," Tausau said diplomatically. "I think it¡¯s wise to assign the most capable, professional mercenaries to big brother, er, Commander Savis," he said, using his brother¡¯s newest title deliberately to show his acceptance of his brother¡¯s new position within the Vale. "Brother Savis," he continued, his voice growing firmer and more confident as he spoke.


    "I think you¡¯ll make better use of the Tuscan mercenaries than I will, but you remember how uncoordinated even the champions of the arena were when they were forced to fight against us as a group," he said, reminding his brother of their battle in the arena. "Even though we were chained and they outnumbered us three to one, they still couldn¡¯t present a serious threat. Let me take up the trouble of the irregular soldiers who would only get in your men¡¯s way."


    "You don¡¯t need my permission," Savis said tersely. "But," he added after taking a deep breath. "You¡¯re right that these amateurs would only get in my men¡¯s way. You¡¯ve been sorting out people with the strangest mixes of talents and weaknesses for centuries," he continued, offering rare praise to his younger sibling¡¯s talents. "If anyone can turn these ¡¯irregulars¡¯ into an army, then I¡¯m certain you can," he said with grudging respect.


    "In that case, Your Dominion," Tausau said, returning his attention to Ashlynn and the map. "I¡¯ll take every man you send me and I¡¯ll make sure you get the best out of them that they can offer," he said, sitting up straighter and prouder than he had even when he first entered the room.


    "Good, because I¡¯m afraid that we¡¯re going to spread your men a bit thin," Ashlynn said with a somber expression on her face. The plan she had devised with Nyrielle and Thane would accomplish several of their goals as long as they moved quickly but even with all of the extra forces they could muster, the area they needed to cover was incredibly vast. That meant that Tausau¡¯s men would have to work in smaller groups that could easily be defeated if they encountered significant resistance.


    "The mission we have in mind for your irregulars will require you to split your forces into several small groups in order to achieve all of our goals," Ashlynn continued. "Let me explain what we¡¯re hoping to achieve by unleashing your expanded horde on the unsuspecting March..."


    As opening moves went, what Ashlynn had in mind would land on Owain and his father, Bors, like a tight slap delivered before the full court. It would sting, and it would embarrass them in front of their peers, but it wouldn¡¯t truly hurt either man. But Ashlynn knew Owain well, and she knew enough about his father to have a good idea how he would respond. Neither man could accept this kind of insult easily and when they responded to her provocation, she would be waiting to deliver an even heavier blow.

 Chapter 593: An Opening Gambit (Part One)

    Chapter 593: An Opening Gambit (Part One)"There are five ¡¯western¡¯ barons in Lothian March," Ashlynn continued, gesturing at the map. Much like a sailing ship needed to haul in several lines in order to adjust to the wind, Ashlynn intended to ¡¯tug¡¯ on a few of the barons of Lothian March in order to pull the rest of the March onto the course she desired.


    On the map, they looked like powerful domains ruled by capable men with borders that had only expanded over the years since they were first drawn, but to her, they were little different than the spokes of a ship¡¯s wheel, unaware that the force that was preparing to descend on them was only intended to cause a greater power to move. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But of the five, only three directly border lands controlled by Eldritch nations. Baron Dunn to the north-east is the closest to the Vale, Baron Hanrahan to the south-east is closer to Airgead Mountain than to the Vale, and Baron Aleese, even further south, borders the Southern Steppe," Ashlynn explained, tapping each territory in sequence.


    Sitting in their seats, Savis and Tausau perked up at the mention of the ¡¯Barons¡¯ who controlled the territory neighboring the local Eldritch Lords. From what they could make out on Ashlynn¡¯s map, each of these men controlled a swath of land roughly the same size as the Vale of Mists, which should mean that these ¡¯Barons¡¯ should be prey on the same level as an Eldritch Lord.


    For Tausau, such powerful foes were a risk that his Mongrel Horde would need to avoid at all costs, but Savis¡¯s eyes took on a predatory gleam as he imagined adding a third or even fourth Ring of Conquest to the piercings in his left ear.


    The lesser soldiers in the Black Wolf Brigade marked significant kills with small rings and their ears often held five or even six slender rings, but Savis only marked his ears when he defeated an Eldritch Lord or greater foe. The two thick, heavy rings in his ear bore delicate inscriptions and the glyphs that represented his conquered foes, standing out as a mark of pride that no one could ever strip from him.


    If he could add another ring for killing one of these ¡¯Barons¡¯, then the shame he felt from his humiliating encounter with Thane and the defeats that brought him here would fade like fog in a stiff breeze.


    "Commander Bassinger¡¯s men have just finished a summer campaign against the Dunns forces in the foothills, here," Ashlynn said, pulling the bloodthirsty vampire¡¯s attention back to her briefing. "And this will be the one of the first places we begin our attack after tomorrow¡¯s festival."


    "It wasn¡¯t much of a campaign, my lady," Commander Bassinger said humbly. "We mostly fought to buy time for the people in the outlying villages to evacuate to the Vale of Mists and to give the Dunn¡¯s enough of a bloody nose to train our own men," he explained.


    As much as he wanted to stand up tall and proud for what they had accomplished, just being in the presence of the bloody and aggressive aura that radiated from his white-furred ¡¯fellow commander¡¯ was enough for the veteran soldier to recognize that there was a gap he still had to cross before his ¡¯ordinary¡¯ soldiers could meet the standards that would be necessary in the war to come.


    "Still, your delaying campaign set the stage for our plan," Ashlynn said, nodding her head in genuine thanks, and not just for the way his actions improved their military footing. Without his efforts over the summer, far fewer people would have made it to the safety of Ollie¡¯s village and there would have been many more people with the haunted eyes of those who had lost loved ones than she¡¯d seen when she visited the village for Ollie¡¯s trials.


    "Without your efforts this summer," Ashlynn said. "The attack we have planned would be much, much more difficult."


    "My lady," Mashal Jakob said hesitantly. "Of all the humans we have fought, I thought that the Dunns were only barely weaker than the Lothians. They have nearly a dozen knights under their command, at least five times as many soldiers as the Hanrahans. Should we really be attacking them when they¡¯re already on alert after Commander Bassinger¡¯s campaign? Wouldn¡¯t it be better to pursue the Hanrahans instead?"


    "Instead?" Ashlynn said, giving the marshal a very flat look. Was he looking down on her and the forces they¡¯d gathered to suggest they couldn¡¯t afford to fight a single baron? Or perhaps he simply hadn¡¯t adjusted to the idea of going on the offense after Nyrielle¡¯s people had spent so many generations fighting mostly defensive campaigns.


    After all, she¡¯d spent months considering how she would lash out at the Lothians and their vassals when the time came and she¡¯d had weeks to discuss these matters with Nyrielle once they reunited in High Fen City. By the time they¡¯d arrived to begin sharing their plans with Thane and adjusting to recent events in both the Vale and the March, she had long come to accept that the first war they fought would be an offensive one. The Marshal, however, was hearing about these things for the first time. In which case, perhaps all he needed was a few pointers in the right direction to adjust his thinking.


    "Marshal Jakob," Ashlynn said, subconsciously drawing herself up to her full height and smoothing out the faint wrinkles in her crimson and black gown. "We intend to attack the Dunns and the Hanrahans at the same time. As I said, Commander Tausau," she added with a nod at the Clanless vampire. "We¡¯ll be spreading your men a bit thin, sending them in small groups to strike several places at once."


    Tausau frowned slightly as he examined the map. Even though the Mother of Trees had promised him the support of the former gladiators along with the hunters, trappers and warriors of the outlying villages who had resettled in the Vale of Mists, the territory Lady Ashlynn was talking about was vast.


    And yet, when he thought about it, the thing his ¡¯irregular¡¯ forces were the least suited to was participating in a large battle that required close coordination between troops. Spread out and acting as small squads of men with one of the locals to act as a guide for his Mongrels and the gladiators from High Fen City might just be the best use his warriors could be put to.


    "Marshal Jakob isn¡¯t wrong, the Dunns have more men under their banner than any other baron. Their forces are nearly as powerful as my father¡¯s and many would consider him to be a Count in all but name. But he isn¡¯t a count," Ashlynn said pointedly. "He is forbidden from naming barons to serve him and by royal decree, a baron may not be served by more than ten knights."


    To the Eldritch, these artificial sorts of restrictions were utterly foolish. But to the Kingdom of Gaal, preventing a lord from amassing too many knights under his banner was a method of preventing him from bullying his neighbors or challenging his own liege lord. A knight was entitled to privileges that few common soldiers could enjoy, and no matter how much the Dunns wished to prop up their elite ¡¯captains¡¯ they were still lacking when compared against properly trained and equipped knights.


    "The Dunns have been skirting the restrictions placed on barons by building dozens of small hamlets, tiny fortified farming and ranching communities tied together by a network of simple roads that cavalry can move swiftly along during the dry months, though the dirt roads become treacherous in the rainy season," Ashlynn explained as she traced a finger along a network of dotted lines on the map.


    "Commander Tausau," Ashlynn said with a predatory smile. "These hamlets are your first target."

 Chapter 594: An Opening Gambit (Part Two)

    Chapter 594: An Opening Gambit (Part Two)"You want me to destroy their settlements?" The Clanless vampire said, scratching a furry eyebrow with the tip of one of his small, dexterous fingers that looked so incongruous on his large, bearish frame.


    "It¡¯s easier to burn a village to the ground in the summer when the thatch is dry and the streams are running low," he said, thinking of the occasions over the years when he¡¯d been forced to teach a lesson to smaller Eldritch settlements for picking on the Clanless trying to make their way to his manor. He¡¯d learned long ago that dealing with them immediately might be the most satisfying, but choosing the right time could be far more devastating.


    "No, we don¡¯t care about the people or soldiers in the Hamlets," Ashlynn said, shaking her head lightly. "We want you to steal from them. Sheep, goats, cattle, chickens... In the dark of night, when the living are huddled around their fires and sheltering from the rain, we want you to empty their barns and coops, carrying away as much of their livestock as you can."


    "If you¡¯re lucky, you may not need to fight at all," Thane added. "But if you do encounter the soldiers protecting these hamlets, you can expect as many as two dozen men under the command of one of the Dunns¡¯ ¡¯captains,¡¯ men who are training to become knights if a position ever becomes available to them."


    "This, this is how you intend to solve the shortage in foodstuffs?" Jakob said, unable to hide his astonishment at such an underhanded move as the opening of their war. "By stealing livestock from common folk?"


    "Not just livestock," Ashlynn said, tapping further south on the map around the Hanrahan Barony. "The Dunns have spread themselves thin in order to raise more head of cattle than any other barony, and their herds of sheep produce more wool than anyone else in the march as well. That makes them an ideal target for small raids by irregulars, but men can¡¯t feast on beef and mutton alone," she pointed out.


    "But Hanrahan Barony is lush with vast fields of wheat and barley," Ashlynn added. "And their farms produce dozens of other useful crops that fill up storehouses in their villages, waiting to be carted to Lothian City to be sold each market day. Commander Tausau, your Mongrel Horde won¡¯t be very useful attacking those caravans of wagons hauling grain and produce because they move during the day, but the other irregular soldiers should be more than capable of overcoming a single knight and his escort."


    "My Lady," Commander Bassinger interjected, pursing his lips together as he tried to imagine what these raids would look like for the soldiers carrying them out. "We allowed the Dunns to keep the territory they claimed in the summer campaign. Even though we made them pay a price for it, they still built camps to hold the positions of several fallen villages. If Commander Tausau¡¯s men have to detour around the Dunn¡¯s advanced positions in order to conduct these raids, they may not be able to return to the Vale by sunrise."


    "We only need the Mongrel Horde to be present for the initial raid," Ashlynn said smoothly. She didn¡¯t intend to get so far into the details of their plan in this meeting when there was still so much to cover. They hadn¡¯t even talked about the fourth person they needed to take on a leadership role yet and in her mind, these were questions that should be resolved between Lord General Thane and Commander Tausau, but since the question had been asked, she answered for the entire group.


    "The vampires of the Mongrel Horde can withdraw once they¡¯ve ensured that there are no soldiers in pursuit that could threaten the rest of the raid," she added. "We only need them to provide an overwhelming individual power during the moments of greatest danger."


    There were other reasons to use the Mongrel Horde as well. The Lothians and their vassals had been fighting the Vale for so long that they were accustomed to encountering the Horned Clan and the Clan of the Great Claw, or perhaps a few of the smaller clans from the outlying villages like the Nightweaver Clan or the Heartwood Clan. But Ashlynn and Nyrielle had brought warriors from clans that the humans had never fought before, and none were more visually terrifying than Tausau¡¯s misshapen Mongrel Horde.


    The appearance of such terrifying looking ¡¯demons¡¯ alone would be a shock to the defending soldiers and when it was paired with the unexpected strength that came with being Tausau¡¯s progeny, Ashlynn was certain that it would provoke those who had studied their history or listened to the songs of old to remember tales of Nyrielle¡¯s forty-seven progeny during what humans had called the War of Undying Demons.


    If she could provoke the Lothian¡¯s Vassals into thinking that new, unspeakable horrors were spilling forth from the Vale, that would make some of her next objectives even easier to achieve.


    "Still," Marshal Jakob added, frowning as he looked at the map. While he appreciated that Lady Ashlynn was trying to solve their immediate crisis, when he considered the logistics of pulling off such an ambitious raid, it felt like there were too many details that hadn¡¯t been carefully considered. "You¡¯re talking about hundreds of heads of cattle, sheep, chickens... It¡¯s going to be very noisy, and those beasts can be very skittish about strange smells. Many of them may be frightened the moment they catch the scent of Eldritch people, how will you..." sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Everyone, hold your questions," Thane said, holding up a hand before the aging Marshal could further pick things apart. He appreciated the time that Lady Ashlynn had given him to recollect himself, but people like Jakob and Bassinger had yet to adapt to just how much Ashlynn had changed since she first entered the Vale. Perhaps if they¡¯d seen the battle in the High Pass that Nyrielle had told him about, or if they¡¯d spent more time with her in the days since her return, things would be easier for her, but for now, he allowed a trace of his power to seep into his voice as he chastised the Marshal.


    "When you understand the fullness of our plan, then you may raise questions, but if you speak out of turn, you¡¯ll only confuse matters. Lady Ashlynn," he said, giving an artful bow from his chair. "Please continue."


    Beside him, Nyrielle gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. There had been a time when she never would have tolerated questions like these. It would have been enough to tell people her intentions, and they could accept them or they could leave her service. She had no use for subordinates who would not follow orders.


    Ashlynn, however, insisted that this method of building consensus would be important when they began to integrate more human leaders into their growing nation. While it was somewhat foreign to Nyrielle, the lessons Ashlynn received by watching her father hold court for many years were clearly useful, even among a mostly Eldritch audience, leaving Nyrielle with little to do other than sit back and watch her lover with pride as the young Mother of Trees used words and the logic of her arguments to sway the leaders in the room, without relying on her considerable strength to force anyone to bend to her will.


    Still, if the resistance to her darling¡¯s ideas grew too strong, Nyrielle thought as her fingers briefly lengthened into wickedly sharp claws, she wouldn¡¯t hesitate to make her own position known... as forcefully as the situation

 Chapter 595: Targeting The Innocent?

    Chapter 595: Targeting The Innocent?"Thank you, Lord General," Ashlynn said with a warm smile for Thane before she surveyed the other leaders gathered around the table. Savis seemed to be recovering from his earlier clash with Thane and was looking at the map as if it were a side of beef, ready to be carved up into choice targets that he would be able to sink his claws into. Tausau, sitting next to him, had been very attentive, listening to the plan as Ashlynn unfolded it and committing each piece to memory.


    Several of the people around the table who knew Ashlynn the best were waiting to learn their own roles to play in what was to come. Zedya knew that these opening moves weren¡¯t the right place for her to contribute, though she wondered if her Lenny would be called to assist with Tausau¡¯s Mongrels. As a veteran captain, he could be useful in coordinating, while a low-risk hunt might also be ideal for the new vampire to exercise his newly awakened powers.


    Silently, Zedya made a mental note to speak with Ashlynn and Thane about it if neither of them brought up a need for Lenny in this opening phase of the war. She didn¡¯t expect that they would neglect him deliberately, but if they thought he needed to train in the Vale the way Ashlynn seemed to intend on training her witches, Zedya was willing to speak up for something different for her progeny. After all, though she hated to see him face danger, she hated the idea of him going into battle with dull fangs that hadn¡¯t been honed in the hunt even more.


    Of everyone gathered at the table, however, Ollie looked the most uncomfortable, shifting nervously in his chair and appearing at several moments as though he wanted to speak but held himself back instead.


    "Ollie?" Ashlynn asked before she resumed her explanation. "You seem troubled by something."


    "Mother Ashlynn," Ollie said, sitting up straight in his chair and struggling to choose his words with exceptional care. During his trial to become the Cypress Witch, he¡¯d been haunted by a nightmarish sun that burned in the night sky, destroying crops and slowly starving his people to death. Now that it seemed like Ashlynn was about to inflict the same cruelty on their enemies, he found it difficult to accept such a cruel form of warfare, even if it was needed to fill the bellies of their own people.


    "This isn¡¯t so much a question about the plan. I understand what we¡¯re hoping to achieve and why, and I believe that we¡¯ll be able to succeed," he began, wanting to distance himself from the older men in the room who seemed to question the viability of Ashlynn¡¯s plan.


    "But, what will happen to the common folk in the baronies?" Ollie asked hesitantly as all eyes in the room gathered on one of the youngest men present. Of everyone attending the meeting, only Hauke was younger, and the future Frost Walker lord had already worked to diminish his presence as an observer rather than a participant, leaving Ollie as the youngest person here with a right to speak.


    "Are we condemning the farmers, the servants, and tradesmen of the baronnies to a slow death this winter in order to feed ourselves?"


    Just asking the question, particularly phrased the way it was, felt like a test of his virtue of courage as he felt the weight of everyone¡¯s gaze. Savis¡¯s golden eyes and raised brow seemed to be silently asking Ollie if he was concerned about stepping on ants, while Marshal Jakob seemed to nod a bit too eagerly, as if he had found an unexpected ally in the conversation. It was the burst of hostility from the seat directly next to his, however, which put the most pressure on the young knight.


    "Those common folk include the common soldiers who drove hundreds of villagers from their homes this summer," Virve pointed out, tapping loudly on the table with the sharp tip of a claw. "Even the farmers are grazing their cattle on lands that once belonged to our clansmen and neighbors, little more than a hundred years ago. If they suffer for choosing to settle on stolen land, why should we be bothered by it?" the Oak Witch said bitterly.


    "Many of those people were born there," Ollie countered. "Their grandparents or great-grandparents stole those lands, but the people born into life as bondsmen on those farms had no more choice in their futures than I had when I was born into service in Lothian Manor. The most I could do was choose my vocation, but leaving was out of the question."


    "And yet here you sit," Virve pointed out. "When the choice was upon you, you made the right one. Why shouldn¡¯t we hold them accountable for refusing the opportunities that came their way to do the right thing instead of helping the Lothian dogs to devour even more of our people¡¯s lands..."


    Around the table several people shifted awkwardly, particularly as a dull, russet energy seemed to gather around the edges of Virve¡¯s claws as her temper flared even hotter. Hauke¡¯s horn began to glow with a faint ice blue radiance as the young lord debated whether or not he should create a barrier between the two new witches while across the table, Savis leaned forward as if he was anticipating an explosive display that would reveal which of these two members of Ashlynn¡¯s coven possessed the strength to back up their words.


    "Virve, Ollie," Ashlynn said sharply, holding up a hand and letting a trickle of power carry a soothing scent of earthen softness, like the smell of the forest at night, to calm the tension in the air before the argument between the two witches grew even more heated. "I understand your perspectives, but this is a plan that aims to achieve many things at once, and in order to obtain all of our objectives, we need to wage a war that will be felt by everyone in the neighboring baronnies, not just the knights and lords who could cower behind their walls in their manors."


    "Obtaining more food for the winter to come is an important goal," Ashlynn acknowledged. "But it¡¯s far from the only one. The way everyone else in the March will react to our attack is almost more important than the immediate gains of food for the winter."


    "Never forget who our real enemy is," Nyrielle added from the head of the table. "The Lothians and the Church are the ones directing the men at the front lines, and even they have masters who they answer to in even more distant lands."


    "Think of them like rows of tiles, all standing on end," Ashlynn said. "Push the first one over gently and it will fall alone without disturbing any of the others. Hit it hard enough and it will tumble into another tile, prompting that one to fall as well. But hit it too hard and you¡¯ll knock over tiles you aren¡¯t ready to deal with yet."


    "What we¡¯re trying to do," Ashlynn explained. "Is to use our attacks against the western barons to provoke the Lothians and the local Church officials, without alarming the King in the royal capital or the Saint in the Holy City. Ollie, I know you dislike harming the common people," she said gently. "I don¡¯t like it either. That¡¯s part of why we¡¯re targeting crops and livestock rather than burning homes and slaughtering people. I understand that an empty belly can be just as deadly as a sword through one, but the number of common folk who suffer greatly in this will be much less than what would happen otherwise."


    "At the same time," she continued. "Sparking a small uprising of dissatisfied commoners who must demand protection and restitution from their lords for failing to safeguard them and their goods is exactly the sort of trouble that will force the Lothians¡¯ hands without alarming the powers behind them."


    The opening act of this war would be finely choreographed, like the dances in the opera halls of High Fen City, but Ashlynn never lost sight of who her real enemy was. In order to bring Owain down, she first needed to cut his legs out from under him, and that would require decimating the knights who were most willing to answer the call to fight against ¡¯demons¡¯ in the name of the Lothians.


    She expected to draw a number of knights from the baronies farther to the east, and if she was very, very lucky, she might even draw out a few promising templars like the recently elevated Sir Tommin. It had been months since he and Sir Broll had stood over her body in the rain, piling shovel after shovelful of damp earth on her broken and barely breathing body after Owain¡¯s savage beating, but she had never forgotten the pair of knights who had so eagerly done her former husband¡¯s bidding. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    One of those men had already died at her hands, and the other... Whether he fell into this trap or not, he would fall into her hands eventually.


    "And then," she said as the image of Owain¡¯s knights falling into shallow graves to become mulch for trees danced behind her eyes. "We¡¯ll be ready to draw them into the jaws of our next trap..."

 Chapter 596: A Trap for the Lothians

    Chapter 596: A Trap for the Lothians"You all understand the first purpose of our raids," Ashlynn continued a moment later as she shook off the memories that tried to drag her back into the shallow grave Owain¡¯s knights had buried her in. "We need supplies, and if we can¡¯t grow or raise enough on our own, we will raid them from our enemies. Not once or twice, but continuously until we manage to provoke a response from the Lothians themselves."


    "What if the Lothans don¡¯t respond?" Ignatious asked, breaking his silence for the first time in the meeting. "The Dunns are proud men. They may attempt to resolve things themselves instead of looking weak in front of the Marquis."


    It had been that way eighty years ago when Ignatious was still part of the Inquisition, fighting alongside the local lords. At the time, not only the Dunns but all of the minor lords vied for advantages, whether it was in the assaults they led or the castles they defended, there was constant competition to exit the war better and stronger than their rivals while setting those same rivals up to suffer even greater losses.


    For Baron Dunn and Baron Hanrahan to face assaults on their farms and livestock would be an embarrassment that they should work to conceal until they had resolved the problem. Even if it caused a shortfall in their winter tithe to the Marquis, showing up with a sack full of trophies taken from ¡¯demons¡¯ and an excuse of excessive raids was far better than appearing before your liege lord with your hat in hand, hoping he would help to solve the problem plaguing your lands.


    "If we only attacked Baron Dunn, that might be true," Ashlynn acknowledged. "But I¡¯ve studied Baron Hanrahan well. He only set foot on the field of battle once during the War of Inches, and his Barony has been struggling ever since the funds from that war dried up a few years ago. If we put pressure on him, he¡¯ll demand that Bors Lothian dispatch knights and soldiers to protect his caravans."


    "Ah, I see," Ignatious said as he caught on to Ashlynn¡¯s plan. "If the Lothians send men to reinforce the Hanrahans, then Baron Dunn will demand the same treatment for his own barony. He won¡¯t be willing to expend the lives of his own men when he can force the Lothians to expend theirs."


    "Bors Lothian will never risk the lives of his own men over something as petty as this," Nyrielle interjected. "Especially not since the visit I paid him at the end of his pathetic excuse for a war," she said with a dark smile. One of the secrets to the Vale¡¯s ability to weather wars that seemed to flare up each generation lay in her bestowal of the Kiss of the Void on the rulers of Lothian March.


    She had learned the hard way that killing a Lothian Lord only resulted in a new heir ascending to the throne, sometimes with more ambitions than his predecessor. Even if she left behind nothing but children, an uncle or elder cousin would declare himself the regent, and a war of revenge would begin just a few years after the last lord died.


    If, however, she stalked the current Marquis carefully during the war, waiting for a moment when he had reaped a measure of success that would allow him to back down after a declaration of some form of victory, she could drain away what ambition and thirst for conquest remained within him before delivering a series of defeats that made continuing the war look pointless.


    Once she¡¯d reduced the current lord¡¯s ambitions to a shadow of what they had once been, he would safely retire from the field, giving the Vale of Mists and the neighboring Eldritch nations decades of respite while the Marquis turned his attention inward to matters within his own domain. Only when the old lord relinquished his throne would a new lord start the cycle anew, seeking a way to achieve what his predecessor never had.


    "Bors has lost what drive he had for personal glory long ago," Nyrielle explained, smiling slightly as she remembered the look of terror on the human lord¡¯s face when she appeared in his command tent one night during the War of Inches.


    To this day she didn¡¯t know whether he was more terrified of her or of the fact that the High Priest who had been at his side for the duration of the war had proven to be utterly incapable of stopping her from reaching the Lothian Lord, but the sight of the priest¡¯s broken body at her feet certainly hadn¡¯t done much for Bors courage when he faced her. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "For years, all Bors has cared about is how he can pass on the March to his son," Nyrielle said definitively. "It¡¯s become his last lingering obsession since the death of his wife. So Bors won¡¯t risk the men that he wants to pass on to Owain," Nyrielle concluded. "He¡¯ll demand that the Eastern Barons send some of their men to reinforce the border, borrowing the power of his vassals without risking his own men."


    "What about Lord Owain?" Ollie asked as he thought back on the ruins of the Heartwood Clan¡¯s village and the stories he¡¯d heard from Milo about the summer campaign against the Dunns. "When Lady Ashlynn embarrassed Lord Owain at the Summer Villa in the spring, wasn¡¯t it Marquis Bors who sent Owain to assault the outlying villages in order to ¡¯redeem¡¯ himself? What if he sends Owain or Loman to deal with the raids?"


    "Then we count ourselves lucky that he delivers himself into my hands early," Ashlynn said with more venom in her voice than she¡¯d meant to. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she reigned in the white hot surge of anger that flooded her heart and tried to focus on the things that were most likely.


    "In the end, it won¡¯t matter whether Owain comes or the Eastern barons," Ashlynn insisted. "The goal is to force them to spread their forces across the frontier, sending men in every direction without knowing where we may strike next."


    "You¡¯re fattening them up for me, aren¡¯t you, Your Dominion?" Savis said as he caught on to Ashlynn¡¯s plan. "You want to use little brother, to use Commander Tausau¡¯s raids to force them to commit enough men and soldiers that it¡¯s worth letting my men off their leashes to crush them."


    "We need to hand the Lothians a crushing defeat," Thane said, tacitly agreeing with Savis. "Two or three would be even better. We need to fracture the lords of the March in order to give Lady Ashlynn an opening. At the same time, we need to thin the ranks of the Lothian¡¯s knights. In wars past, we¡¯ve lost between five and ten Eldritch warriors just to pull down one heavily armored knight. The fewer of them who can take the field later on, the better," the Lord General said.


    "What sort of opening are you trying to produce?" Virve asked, cracking her knuckles in anticipation. "Is the goal to draw down the defenses of Lothian City enough that we can strike directly at their heart?"


    "None of this ends until we topple the Lothians from their throne," Ashlynn said. "We do that one of two ways. Either we lure them out of the turtle shell of Lothian City and the defensive sorcery of the Church..."


    "Or we bleed them enough to crack their defenses wide open," Thane added, finishing Ashlynn¡¯s sentence smoothly as he turned to a dark figure who had been silent throughout the meeting. "Aspakos, the fame of your Sorcerers of Sundered Earth and their vast knowledge of the arcane has reached us even in this faraway corner of Eldritch lands. I can think of no one better to take command of the fourth pillar of the Vale¡¯s forces."


    "You want me to lead the sorcerers I¡¯ve brought with me against these Lothians and their little vassal lords?" Aspakos asked in a voice that was thick with disdain. "Lady Nyrielle should already have informed you of my answer. This war is no business of ours. We did not come here to take sides in your blood feud. It is better if we stay to the side while you wage this war," the broken-beaked sorcerer said.


    All around the table, several people stared at the powerful sorcerer in open-mouthed shock, but little seemed to ruffle Aspakos¡¯s feathers. The multicolored glyphs adorning his dark robes shifted slightly in hue, each of them turning darker as the sorcerer¡¯s presence seemed to grow thin, as if he was no longer worth paying attention to now that he¡¯d said his peace.


    One person, however, saw through his sorcery clearly and didn¡¯t hesitate to voice her disapproval.


    "You said that we share an enemy among the humans," Nyrille said as her midnight eyes focused on the mysterious sorcerer. "You said that you wouldn¡¯t participate in a battle between our armies, but if their sorcerers and mystic warriors take the field, if we face Inquisitors and Templars in the battles to come, do you truly intend to stand on the sidelines and do nothing, just because this isn¡¯t the ¡¯war you came to fight?¡¯"


    Nyrielle¡¯s question hung heavily in the air, and a dark wind seemed to blow from behind her, stripping away the magic that allowed Aspakos to remain unobserved and unobtrusive for much of the meeting. He might have held himself apart successfully so far, but in Nyrielle¡¯s mind, the ability to stand aside was withering like grapes left too long on the vine.


    If Aspakos couldn¡¯t even be counted on to face the enemy they shared, then she might have to reconsider the terms of their... arrangement.

 Chapter 597: Those With Darkness In Their Hearts

    Chapter 597: Those With Darkness In Their HeartsThe dark breath of power that Nyrielle unleashed might have stripped away Aspakos¡¯s attempt to conceal himself by diminishing his presence in the meeting, but it did nothing to strip away the bloody aura of power and mystery that clung to the Dark Feathered sorcerer. The veins of gold that held the shards of his broken beak glittered in the flickering light of the formal dining room¡¯s many oil lamps, providing a singular bright spot in his otherwise dark appearance and drawing all eyes as he responded to Nyrielle¡¯s question.


    "My Lady," the aging sorcerer said in a resonant tone that commanded the attention of the entire room. "The Sorcerers of Sundered Earth cannot take part in this war. The blood that will be spilled if we do will be enough to turn rivers red and make the heavens weep," he said. "Do not force our hands. It is unwise for you and your people for us to become involved too early."


    Sitting next to the ominous sorcerer, Hauke shifted awkwardly, trying to put a bit of distance between himself and Aspakos. The way the man spoke was eerily similar to how he¡¯d spoken after using strange sorcery to divine Hauke¡¯s destiny, as if he could see certainties of what was to come rather than speculating about possibilities.


    When he¡¯d spoken of Hauke, he¡¯d said that the world would be a darker place without him in it, and at the time, the young lord was grateful that whatever vision Aspakos had obtained had swayed him to help the cursed Frost Walker. Now that he was speaking of rivers of blood and the heavens weeping, the mysterious man¡¯s dark sorcery felt much less reassuring.


    "Don¡¯t resort to parlour tricks and cryptic phrases in front of me, sorcerer," Nyrielle said as darkness gathered around her with midnight blue energy swirling in her dark eyes. "A mended beak may break again, never to speak again if its owner can¡¯t keep his promises," she said. "You said you came to face the ones who had followed the stars across the seas, to fight against the misguided children of the heavens who had seized power they weren¡¯t meant to hold. Now that we¡¯re preparing to face them, do you intend to go back on your words?"


    With each word she spoke, Nyrielle¡¯s presence in the room grew colder and heavier, and her voice sounded more and more distant, even as it grew louder, as if she spoke from the depths of the void.


    Seeing the faces of Ollie, Heila turning ghostly pale, along with the faces of the remaining living members of the council, Ashlynn moved quickly, returning to stand behind her seat, summoning a faint aura that resembled a vast oak tree, sheltering the people at the table from the cold winds of the void that flowed through the room when Nyrielle spoke.


    Even Thane moved, allowing shadows to gather around his shoulders, forming a great cloak that shielded the vampires in the room from the call of the void that accompanied Nyrielle¡¯s display of power. Though Zedya barely seemed to suffer under the effects of Nyrielle¡¯s power, Lennart slumped in clear relief when Thane unfurled his cloak of shadows, and even Savis and Tausau looked relieved that they weren¡¯t the target of Nyrielle¡¯s ire.


    "I will not be intimidated, Lady Nyrielle," Aspakos said, raising a taloned hand that was shrouded in a dark crimson aura. With the point of one talon, he tore through the dark flow of energy that blew from Nyrielle, parting it like a stone in a river and allowing it to flow harmlessly around him.


    "I have told you already," he continued firmly. "The Sorcerers of Sundered Earth are not for you to command against puppets and misguided sheep. You have more than enough strength to slaughter the lambs with the other forces you¡¯ve gathered here," he said, gesturing to Thane, Tausau, Savis and Bassinger in turn. "My men will not move for this."


    "Not your men," Ashlynn said, inserting herself between her lover and the dark sorcerer. The instant she did, the dark wind blowing from the void seemed to ripple through the leaves and branches of Ashlynn¡¯s own aura becoming something that was both dark and haunting while at the same time possessing a life and will of its own to stalk around the room, wrapping around Aspakos like the roots of a tree winding around a stone.


    "Not your men," Ashlynn repeated. "Just you, for now. We have plenty of sorcerers from half a dozen clans, each with their own traditions and talents. They need leadership, and they need to learn from each other if we¡¯re to make the best use of them in this war."


    "You think I would rain down less blood and fire without the remainder of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth marching under my banner?" Aspakos said with a dark, self-deprecating laugh. "Mother of Trees, my men are my shackles. They restrain the darkness that clings ever tighter to my soul and remind me of the promise our order made to the Sovereign of the Stars so many years ago."


    "Without them to hold me back," he said, flexing his talons that seemed to drip with an aura of blood and darkness. "Do you truly think I can be trusted on the field of battle?"


    "You can be trusted," Ashlynn said, slowly walking down the length of the table until she stood before the Dark Feathered sorcerer, close enough that his murderous, bloody aura brushed against her skin as he loomed over her. "This darkness that clings to you," she said, reaching out and running a hand just over the surface of his cracked and broken beak before gently stroking his feathered head. "It doesn¡¯t belong to you at all."


    "What..." Aspakos said, momentarily so flustered that his dark aura began to recede beneath Ashlynn¡¯s gentle touch.


    "You aren¡¯t like the rest of us," Ashlynn said, glancing briefly back at Nyrielle, Thane, Zedya, and Ignatious. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ghosts of suffering, long-lost loved ones, and hurts that no amount of revenge could heal lurked in each of their shadowed eyes as Ashlynn confronted the mysterious sorcerer. When she spoke, her voice carried the pain not just of the savage beating she suffered at Owain¡¯s hands or the burial that happened afterwards, but the years of isolation and fear of discovery that made her a prisoner within her own home, constantly guarding herself against discovery by the Church and their Inquisition.


    "Your world has never been torn apart, no matter how sharp your talons are," she said, gently taking his dark talons in her hands and holding them as gently as she would hold a delicate flower. "Even though the men leading the Church of the Holy Lord of Light are your enemies, you don¡¯t hate them the way we do," she said softly.


    For a moment, Aspakos wanted to protest. His quiet life as a researcher had ended the day rumors of the ¡¯treasures¡¯ in their vaults began to spread across the Eldritch lands, sending dozens of would-be conquerors to their doorstep. He¡¯d stained his hands with blood, unsealing the potent sorcery of the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth for the first time in centuries, slaughtering any who dared to invade their ancient fortress in the Forsaken Lands.


    But had he really lost anything the way these people had? His order had yet to face a threat that could breach their walls, much less claim their lives. Certainly, he¡¯d lost his ability to see the world in with the distant gaze of someone who had long ago removed himself from its concerns, but who in this room hadn¡¯t faced harsher realities when they left their childhoods behind and took up the burdens of their people?


    When he made the decision to practice the Founder¡¯s lost art, he¡¯d cloaked his own destiny in blood and darkness, surrounding himself with a mantle so fearsome that even children ran from his presence, but did that darkness really belong to him? Or was it just a spectre of events that had yet to unfold that led him into acting as though he was already a man who had lost the light of the stars and wandered beyond redemption?


    "So yes, I trust you to lead our sorcerers in battle," Ashlynn said, looking directly into the powerful sorcerer¡¯s eyes and pulling him out of his inwardly spiralling thoughts. "Because you¡¯re still trying to avoid conflict that would force you to kill the men you call ¡¯puppets and misguided sheep.¡¯"


    "We want you to lead our second most dangerous force," Ashlynn said firmly. "Because the others we might place in command have far too much reason to give in to the darkness that dwells within their own hearts, while you only contend with the darkness that you¡¯ve dipped your talons into," she said to a shocked-looking Aspakos.


    He had been completely seen through, he realized. Perhaps seen more clearly than he¡¯d been able to see his own reflection in the mirror, and by a woman less than half his age. It was a humbling feeling that left his feathers twitching in disbelief but it was also one that contained a thread of hope.... Hope that maybe, just maybe, this witch could find a path forward that wasn¡¯t as dark as the one he¡¯d seen.


    "So," the young witch asked the Dark Feathered sorcerer. "Will you take up this burden, along with the darkness that clings to you, Commander Aspakos? Or will you leave the destiny of our sorcerers in someone else¡¯s claws and accept whatever horrors they choose to unleash upon your long-lost brethren?"


    "I..." Aspakos started to speak, only to be surprised that his mouth had gone dry and his throat closed up when he began to see the faintest glimmer of a brighter future leading from this moment. Not just brighter for the extraordinary woman in front of him, but perhaps, for himself as well.


    "I would be honored to, My Lady," Aspakos said as he slowly descended to one knee before the Mother of Trees. "I still have my reservations about joining the Sorcerers of Sundered Earth to your cause against these minor lords," he added as he lowered his head in submission. "But so long as you only wish to command me, then my talons are yours to guide."

 Chapter 598: Meeting’s Abrupt Ending

    Chapter 598: Meeting¡¯s Abrupt Ending"Good," Ashlynn said in a voice that seemed to have grown strangely flat and distant as a blend of her own earthy power and Nyrielle¡¯s dark wind swirled around her. Her face had grown pale and her emerald eyes seemed to harbor ghosts beyond the ones that had haunted her ever since the night of her wedding to Owain Lothian.


    "Rise, Commander Aspakos," Ashlynn said formally, almost mechanically as she reached out to take his taloned hands in hers, helping him to stand even as the power she held made him feel as though he was standing at the edge of a dangerous precipice. "We respect your reservations," she added in the hopes of reassuring him. "We won¡¯t ask you to do more for now than training and organizing the sorcerers under our banner. You won¡¯t need to lead them in battle against the Lothians unless the Church sends their mightiest of Miracle workers."


    As the last words left her lips, Ashlynn¡¯s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly and a fine sheen of sweat appeared across her brow. In her chest, her heart began to beat rapidly, falling out of sync with the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest as it struggled to regain its own rhythm.


    "Commander Aspakos," Nyrielle said with a calm voice and the barest of smiles as she withdrew her dark aura and the thread of power that flowed from her to Ashlynn during the tense exchange with the mysterious sorcerer. Instantly, the room seemed to brighten and the pressure that had kept anyone else from interjecting in the intense exchange faded away.


    "I¡¯m grateful that you have agreed to join us," Nyrielle said simply. "But now, the evening is already growing late and there are precious few hours before dawn. Lord General Thane," she said in a tone that was both warmer and softer as she faced the greatest of her progeny. "I¡¯m sure you have many details to discuss with your new commanders as well as Marshal Jakob."


    "Of course," Thane said, noticing a subtle shift in Nyrielle¡¯s eyes as she spoke. "Gentlemen, I have more detailed maps available in my office. Before tomorrow¡¯s celebration, it would be good if we can pin down a few last details and I value each of your insights to make final adjustments to our opening moves," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the door.


    "Ollie," he added with a warm, inviting smile filled with so much charm that it made it difficult to reconcile the affable appearing vampire knight with the terrifying figure who forced Savis to his knees with little more than words. "You and young lord Hauke should attend as well, if for no other reason than to learn a few things that may be useful to you later."


    "If Lady Ashlynn permits it," Ollie began, only to be interrupted by Nyrielle who seemed to materialize from the darkness directly beside Ashlynn.


    "I have a few more matters to discuss with my darling," Nyrielle said as she slid around a startled looking Ashlynn who seemed to have become so distracted that she hadn¡¯t even noticed Nyrielle¡¯s movement. "If she has instructions for you, she can deliver them after."


    "I¡¯ll make sure everyone is settled and prepared for the beginning of the festivities tomorrow," Heila said helpfully as she all but tugged Ollie out of the room by the sleeve of his tunic. "And I¡¯ll see that we have everything we need to prepare a hearty lunch before joining the festivities tomorrow."


    "What was that all about?" Ollie asked Heila after she ushered him rapidly out of the room. "Is something wrong?"


    "Hush," Heila said, quietly pulling Ollie to the side as everyone else filed out of the room. "You felt Lady Nyrielle¡¯s power when she confronted Aspakos, didn¡¯t you? How intense it was?"


    "I did," Ollie whispered, briefly glancing in the sorcerer¡¯s direction. "But Lady Ashlynn stopped it from affecting us, just like she weakened Sir Thane¡¯s voice when he... Ow!" Ollie yelped as Heila stepped on his foot with a cloven hoof.


    "Now that you¡¯re one of Mother Ashlynn¡¯s close ones," Heila said quietly. "You have to learn to pay attention to these things. Mother Ashlynn has been too busy with you and Virve to attend to Lady Nyrielle much since we returned to the castle. Even if she could have tended to Lady Nyrielle, because she was nurturing Virve¡¯s seed after bestowing your seed on you, her body was too weak to offer up much blood to Lady Nyrielle."


    "I... don¡¯t understand," Ollie said, blinking in confusion. "Doesn¡¯t Lady Nyrielle take offerings from the villagers the same way that Sir Thane, Sir Marcel and the others do? Why would she need to feed on Lady Ashlynn?"


    "Because a witch¡¯s blood is powerful," Virve said quietly as she joined the conversation. "And because there is meaning to the sharing of blood between them. Heila, do you think confronting Aspakos put as much strain on Lady Nyrielle as exposing herself to the Holy Flame Blade did? Is that why she wanted to hurry everyone out?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Heila said honestly as her diminutive hands clutched at the folds of her skirt. "I think this was something different. I¡¯ve only seen Mother Ashlynn do this once before," she said slowly as she recalled the way Ashlynn had transformed the arena in High Fen City into a lush Willow Grove by collecting the last wisps of energy from dying and decomposing plants all across High Fen City following the harvest.


    "Mother Ashlynn wasn¡¯t just using her own power when she stepped in to speak to Aspakos," Heila explained. "She was blending her power with Lady Nyrielle¡¯s. It¡¯s something that..." For a moment, she almost said ¡¯something that no other witch could do¡¯ because she was certain that the bond between a True Vampire and her Seneschal was what allowed Ashlynn to do it but, was that really true? Already, Heila felt a growing closeness with Ignatious and she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she might one day be able to achieve something similar to what Ashlynn had.


    Heila¡¯s face began to turn a brilliant shade of crimson as she imagined sharing the kind of closeness with Ignatious that she¡¯d seen between Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle. Would he shower her with kisses as sweet and all encompassing as the ones she¡¯d glimpsed Lady Nyrielle bestowing on Ashlynn? Would he carry her away again, the way he¡¯d held her closely during their battle in the snow at the Frost Walker Fortress?


    The thought of it was enough for her knees to grow weak and the blush on her face only grew hotter when she spotted a knowing smile on Virve¡¯s lips that suggested the older woman had followed the trail of her thoughts.


    "It¡¯s something that, for now, belongs to the two of them alone," Heila said, putting aside questions about herself and Ignatious for the moment to focus on what had happened in the dining room. "Lady Nyrielle didn¡¯t feel hungry, but when she looked at Mother Ashlynn, the feeling there was almost as intense as when she needs to feed, so... So we should make sure that lunch tomorrow is hearty in case Mother Ashlynn needs to replenish herself," she said with a determined nod.


    "Do you need my help in the kitchens?" Ollie asked, casting a conflicted look over his shoulder as Thane led the newly appointed commanders towards the tower where he kept his office. "I should..."


    "Oh, just go," Heila said, placing her hands on Ollie¡¯s waist to turn him around and give him a gentle shove. "Go with the other boys and plan your battles," she said firmly. "Virve and I can tend to Lady Ashlynn¡¯s needs in the morning." S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But I," Virve began, looking in the direction of the departing warriors. She hadn¡¯t been invited to attend, but if even Hauke was attending in the name of learning more then it shouldn¡¯t be a problem for her to attend as well, should it?


    "Fine! Go, I¡¯ll make the arrangements myself," Heila said, throwing up her hands and shaking her head at her ¡¯younger¡¯ siblings. The three of them formed a trinity of healer, warrior and guardian and she could hardly blame the other two for focusing more on the battles to come, but she couldn¡¯t help but hope that Ashlynn¡¯s next witch would be somewhat less focused on the battles ahead even though she knew it wasn¡¯t likely.


    At least not as long as the war was looming over them. But perhaps, one day, there would be someone to take up a plum seed, or an apple... someone bright and sweet who could help to feed other rather than fight them. For now, however, Heila was certain that Ashlynn would want help recovering from the intense meeting and she intended to make sure that her lady had whatever she needed, even if she had to rouse Georg from sleep to make something special for her.


    With a last glance over her shoulder at the closed door of the formal dining room, Heila set off in the direction of the kitchens. Even though the hour was late, she was certain that the cooks would be busy with preparations for tomorrow¡¯s celebration. Even if Georg wasn¡¯t there, someone should be able to help her to prepare something that Ashlynn could easily eat before bed when Lady Nyrielle carried her back to her bed chambers after feeding and she could leave instructions for a hearty morning meal as well...


    Meanwhile, inside the formal dining room, Nyrielle wrapped her arms around Ashlynn¡¯s shivering body, giving her strength and support even though she couldn¡¯t offer warmth.


    "Talk to me, my darling," Nyrielle whispered. "You¡¯ve never borrowed my power like that before. What is it that you needed it for?" she asked softly as she gently stroked Ashlynn¡¯s long, pale blonde hair. "And what price did you pay to use it?"

 Chapter 599: Ashlynn’s Growing Darkness (Part One)

    Chapter 599: Ashlynn¡¯s Growing Darkness (Part One)..."And what price did you pay to use it?"...


    Nyrielle¡¯s words pierced through the veil of gloom that clung to Ashlynn like a shroud, startling her out of the dark world she¡¯d glimpsed and bringing her fully back to the present. Slowly, she drew a deep, shuddering breath, followed by another as she fought to get her disordered heart back under control and restore the natural flow of energy through her body.


    "I, I¡¯m fine," Ashlynn said as she slumped into Nyrielle¡¯s embrace, allowing herself to rely completely on her lover for support. "This, this will pass," she said a moment later as fatigue washed over her. "I just need a few minutes to recollect myself."


    "Should I carry you away?" Nyrielle whispered softly. "The air here isn¡¯t fresh and nothing grows here. Dawn is hours away. I could carry you out into the forest if it would be better, or just to your terrace if that¡¯s enough for you," she said as she turned Ashlynn around so she could gaze into her lover¡¯s tired, haunted eyes.


    "Just tell me what you need," Nyrielle said gently as she pulled a handkerchief from her dress and began to gently dab away the beads of cold sweat on Ashlynn¡¯s brow. "You know how I hate to see you like this."


    "Fresh air," Ashlynn said softly, burying her face in the soft fabric of Nyrielle¡¯s dress and taking a deep breath of her lavender and jasmine scent. She didn¡¯t want to admit how far she¡¯d pushed herself and she was certain that once she recovered, Nyrielle would be cross with her, but at the moment, the thought of fresh, cool air in her lungs and the soft loam of dirt between her toes appealed far too much to reject for a moment of stubborn pride. "And growing things. But we don¡¯t need to go far. The gardens will be fine."


    Gently, moving as though Ashlynn was a delicate piece of porcelain, Nyrielle scooped her lover into her arms before shrouding them both in darkness. She swept silently through the corridors of the ancient fortress at a speed too quick for most people to observe, leaving behind only the slightest breeze to mark their passage until they arrived in a dark, quiet rooftop garden.


    Of all the gardens scattered around the grounds of the ancient fortress, this one was the most private, belonging originally to Nyrielle¡¯s mother and filled with the lavender, lilac, wisteria and primroses that had been among her mother¡¯s favorites when she was alive. It was also the garden where Nyrielle and Ashlynn had taken their meals together, sharing fleeting tender moments until Ashlynn trusted Nyrielle enough to invite the vampire into her bed chambers and dinner moved onto Ashlynn¡¯s terrace. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Thank you," Ashlynn said as Nyrielle set her down next to the wooden trellis that supported a climbing wisteria. The feeling of the cool, damp night air did more good for her than she¡¯d imagined as she took one long, steadying breath after another while running her fingers ever so lightly over the rough surface of the wisteria¡¯s gnarled branches.


    For several minutes, neither woman spoke as Ashlynn allowed her senses to envelop the garden, feeling a supportive, nurturing offer from many of the trees that dotted the garden. Though she didn¡¯t need the energy of the trees in the garden in order to recover, the fact that they offered so readily told her a great deal about how close she¡¯d come to touching the source Nyrielle¡¯s dark, deadly power and how dangerous it was to use so carelessly.


    "I¡¯m sorry," Ashlynn finally said when she felt she¡¯d recovered enough to stand on her own, without leaning on the wisteria¡¯s trellis for support. "I overdid it tonight. It, it wasn¡¯t intentional, but once I stepped forward I felt... caught up in a dark wind," she explained awkwardly. "Once my sails were filled, it was all I could do to steer around the rocks and shoals. I, I think I avoided the hazards but I had to go forward."


    "And where did this dark wind carry you?" Nyrielle asked gently, running her slender fingers through Ashlynn¡¯s soft blond hair and caressing her cheeks that had turned rosey in the cool autumn night air. "What is it you were trying to do by blending our power tonight?"


    "You told me once," Ashlynn began as she tried to put words to something that had been more feeling than deliberate intention. "You told me that you caused the death of the soul. That your power could destroy part of what made a person who they were."


    "That¡¯s true," Nyrielle said slowly. "The Kiss of the Void will cause anything it touches to wither. Sometimes, whatever part of a person I¡¯ve touched withers away completely and dies. Sometimes, so little is left that it can never recover to what it was," she explained.


    "If a person is strong, or if I try to envelop too much of their soul, then it lasts for moments at most, though those moments can prove lethal," she said, thinking of the moment of utter helplessness she¡¯d bestowed on Hamdi to allow Ignatious to claim his vengeance against the powerful High Lord.


    "I¡¯ve seen your power up close, when you used it on the Frost Walker¡¯s ancestors," Ashlynn said. "Ever since then, I wondered if Aspakos had touched something similar. He¡¯s lost his ability to touch tools and it seemed like such a strange thing, but it¡¯s also bound up in the aura of darkness and violence that clings to him, like a layer of oil paint."


    "When you pushed back against his power, for a moment, I felt like the aura clinging to him loosened," Ashlynn said. "Like I could see a glimpse of the man beneath the miasma. And I wondered... I wondered if I could reach out to the man he¡¯d been, to help him regrow what had been lost."


    There was more to it than that, of course. What she¡¯d seen in Aspakos had been a pain that reached so deeply into his heart that she couldn¡¯t help but sympathize with the broken-beaked sorcerer. After all, her own heart and spirit had suffered wounds so grievous that they still felt raw and tender, even after all these months. Worse, the pain she felt only seemed to grow greater with the passage of time, as if someone had left a twisted barb in her wounds when they heaped shovelfuls of damp earth into her shallow grave.


    In that brief, fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the aura that clung to him, she¡¯d seen something so painful in Aspakos that she wondered... if it could be healed, if she could find even a sliver of relief for him... could she find relief for herself as well?

 Chapter 600: Ashlynn’s Growing Darkness (Part Two)

    Chapter 600: Ashlynn¡¯s Growing Darkness (Part Two)"You thought that if you healed him, he would join with us more willingly," Nyrielle said with a heavy sigh as she listened to her lover¡¯s explanation. "My darling, you are already pushing your coven to its limits to care for Ritchel. You have healed young lord Hauke much sooner than anyone expected and Heila has done more for Ignatious in a few weeks than I was able to do for him in months. The healing ability of witches is far more powerful than I imagined, but even you have limits," she chastised.


    "I know," Ashlynn said as she wrapped her arms around Nyrielle, resting her head above her lover¡¯s slowly beating heart. "I can¡¯t heal Aspakos," she said in a voice so quiet that only people like Nyrielle with extremely sensitive ears would be able to hear, even from inches away. "He, his wounds feel like a cloak laying over him, and when I look closely, I can almost see through them, like they¡¯re reflections of wounds instead of real ones. There¡¯s nothing there for me to heal."


    "That¡¯s why you said that his darkness doesn¡¯t belong to him," Nyrielle said. "But you also said that he wasn¡¯t like me, or Ignatious or Thane... or you," she whispered as her hands stilled, resting gently on Ashlynn¡¯s back and hair where she¡¯d been gently stroking her lover. "The three of us are vampires and we¡¯ve long been wrapped in the darkness of the abyss, but what about you, my darling? What darkness is it that belongs to you?"


    "It¡¯s not the darkness of being a vampire," Ashlynn said, biting her lower lip and closing her eyes against the memories that tried to float to the surface of her mind. "It¡¯s the pain of loss and the thirst for vengeance. It¡¯s the nightmares that," she started, only to cut off abruptly as her fingers clutched at the fabric of Nyrielle¡¯s dress.


    "The dreams have come back?" Nyrielle asked, pulling back slightly from Ashlynn to lift her lover¡¯s chin up. Ashlynn¡¯s eyes were still screwed shut against memories that haunted her while her body trembled and her hands clutched at Nyrielle¡¯s dress like a drowning woman clutching a rope and the sight of it was enough to pierce the vampire¡¯s heart like a sword thrust by her most hated enemy. "Ashlynn, my heart, why didn¡¯t you tell me?"


    "They, they never really went away," Ashlynn admitted after drawing a deep, shuddering breath. "They were less frequent before. When I was in the Briar, everything happening in Lothian March, my worries about Jocelynn and the hot, burning need..."


    The need to see Owain¡¯s body, broken and battered at her feet before she dumped it into a shallow grave in the wilderness where no one would ever celebrate his accomplishments or mourn his passing... Ashlynn might not have said the words, but Nyrielle knew her lover too well to need to hear them.


    And even if she hadn¡¯t known Ashlynn so well, the words weren¡¯t much different from the ones she would have spoken all those years ago when her parents were burned alive for their crime of ¡¯heresy.¡¯ Some wounds cut so deeply that the only balm that would soothe the pain was seeing the person responsible for inflicting the wounds suffer the same fate or one even worse.


    "But now that we¡¯ve come home," Nyrielle said softly, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from Ashlynn¡¯s face. "Now that we¡¯re so close to the sister you must rescue and the man you must kill, it¡¯s much, much harder to keep the worries away and the nightmares have returned along with them."


    "I¡¯ll be fine," Ashlynn said firmly, opening her eyes and staring at Nyrielle with an emerald gaze filled with tears she stubbornly refused to shed. "Soon, this will all be over. Nothing will stop me from claiming his life. I just hope," she said, her voice catching as her confidence faltered. "I just hope I¡¯m in time to save Jocey before something happens to her. If he defiles her or worse, does to her what he tried to do to me... If she suffers because I waited until the time was right for my vengeance, then the nightmares will never stop."


    "And," she said in a very soft, very small voice. "And if that happens, then I¡¯ll deserve them."


    Nyrielle¡¯s midnight blue eyes darkened when Ashlynn whispered words reached her ears and a flash of long buried pain flickered across her pale features. For decades, she had been haunted by a very similar guilt after failing to protect her parents from Cellach Lothian and the Church¡¯s executioners.


    The wound their deaths left in her soul had never fully healed, even after she claimed her vengeance against everyone who bore even the slightest amount of responsibility for that tragedy. Now, as she watched Ashlynn teetering on the edge of her own personal abyss, she refused to allow Ashlynn to walk down the same path of endless self-recrimination.


    "Never say that," she whispered fiercely, cupping Ashlynn¡¯s face between her cool palms. "The only one who deserves suffering in this tale is Owain Lothian. Anything that happens to your sister, you lay at his feet, not your own," she said fiercely before her expression softened and she continued in a much gentler tone. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Ashlynn, my darling," Nyrielle said, making up her mind on the spot to take a step she¡¯d still been hesitating to take. Now, however, it was obvious that her discomfort was leaving her lover vulnerable to needless pain and she refused to allow Ashlynn to suffer even one more night if she could prevent it. In one swift movement, she swept Ashlynn off of her feet, holding her close as she carried her away from the garden.


    "If your dreams are tormenting you, then I will protect you from them," she said as she carried her lover toward the deepest, darkest reaches of the castle where her own bed chamber lay. "I had meant this to be a surprise for after we announced our betrothal tomorrow," she said softly as she paused outside the heavy, iron-bound door that protected the place she rested when she was at her most vulnerable.


    "But if it will ease your suffering even a little," she said. "Then I will show you a night early..."

 Chapter 601: Room For Two (Part One)

    Chapter 601: Room For Two (Part One)When Nyrielle opened the heavy, iron-bound door to her bed chambers, she carried Ashlynn across the threshold as though she was carrying a newlywed bride, refusing to set her down until they¡¯d reached the center of the opulent space.


    On the far wall, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, filling the air with the faint scent of cedar woodsmoke that accompanied a warmth that was rare this far beneath the ground. Previously, on the occasions that Ashlynn visited Nyrielle¡¯s bed chambers, the flames in the hearth had only burned long enough to take some of the chill from the air. A few hours of a burning fire could only do so much to push back the chill that seeped from the stones themselves after all.


    Now, however, the entire chamber felt warm and inviting, as if the fire had been kept burning for several days until the stone walls of the chamber themselves were no longer cold to the touch.


    The changes in the room went far beyond the simple hearth however. While Nyrielle¡¯s large, four poster bed still dominated the center of the room with its dark curtains and spills of delicate lace that trimmed the soft, satin bedspread, a new feature in the room immediately commanded Ashlynn¡¯s full attention.


    "Nryi, you," Ashlynn whispered softly, unable to take her eyes from the sight of the wall that faced the foot of the bed.


    "I painted it for you," Nyrielle said as she set Ashlynn down gently on her feet. "I did my best to capture every detail you showed me in your dream," she said. "I, I hope that you don¡¯t mind," she said quietly as she felt the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest begin to race.


    "Mind?" Ashlynn said numbly as she took two hesitant steps toward the painting before she even realized she¡¯d moved. "How could I mind something like... something like this?"


    After Nyrielle¡¯s conversation with Zedya about what she could do to make her bed chambers more welcoming for her lover, Nyrielle had gone far beyond looking for ways to add hints of life and growing things to her cold, dark chambers.


    Her room already held one of her largest paintings of the ancient fortress and the city around it in the days of her youth, before the Lothians had put it to the torch. It also held one of Zedya¡¯s best tapestries depicting the Vale of Mists as her progeny saw it, a place of vast trees shrouded in layers of silvery fog that promised safety and refuge for everyone who had been burned by the greed and ambitions of human rulers.


    Both pieces brought a trace of life and vibrancy to the dark chambers but neither of them would speak to Ashlynn in a way that would truly welcome her lover and make her feel at home. So, rather than adding another painting of the Vale or even one of the Briar where Ashlynn had spent so much time mastering her powers as a witch, Nyrielle had taken up her paintbrush to transform an entire wall of her bedchamber into a vision of a place that she had only visited in Ashlynn¡¯s dreams.


    Gently swaying seagrass framed the bottom of the mural, faithfully recreating the look Nyrielle remembered from the edge of the cliff where she and Ashlynn had enjoyed a moonlit picnic beneath the stars. The sky she¡¯d painted was light, with the faintest hint of peach coloring the bottoms of wispy clouds in the moments before the sun would rise above the waves in Blackwell Harbor.


    As Ashlynn examined the mural in greater and greater detail, she realized that everything in the harbor had been recreated so perfectly that she could read the names of several familiar ships, captured in moments of stillness as they raised their sails to ride the morning tide.


    The view of Blackwell City was just as detailed, with streets laid out exactly as they were in Ashlynn¡¯s memories, as if Nyrielle had possessed a perfect map to reference when bringing the city in Ashlynn¡¯s dream to life on the bed chamber wall. There were even tiny people moving about, opening shops after the previous night¡¯s celebration or collecting near the docs to begin the day¡¯s work.


    "You even, even added this," Ashlynn whispered, falling to her knees before the mural as her fingers traced the well worn footpath that she and Jocelynn had taken when they snuck out of Blackwell Manor at night to watch the sun come up and the ships setting sail. And at the opposite end of the mural, seen in the distance as it reached the far wall, Blackwell Manor itself, perched in its stately position atop a ridge, overlooking the harbor below.


    "I thought about adding our picnic blanket and the basket you filled with delicacies from the festival," Nyrielle said softly as she knelt next to her lover. "After all, this is the memory of your home that you chose to share with me," she said, wrapping her arms around Ashlynn in a tender embrace. "But I wanted to give this to you the way it always was, not just the way it was that one time..."


    "It¡¯s perfect," Ashlynn said, leaning her head on Nyrielle¡¯s shoulder as her eyes continued to scan the mural, picking out one familiar feature after another. "But why? This must have taken you days... Did you start the day we returned?" Ashlynn asked, turning slightly to gaze into Nyrielle¡¯s shining, midnight blue eyes.


    "Not quite," Nyrielle admitted. "It was after Zedya and Lennart¡¯s wedding when I realized that I was jealous of the two of them," she said slowly, choosing her words with care as she tried to find a way to express the emotions that felt so twisted together and tangled within her heart.


    "I, I haven¡¯t allowed you to share a bed with me when the sun rises," Nryielle explained, struggling to meet Ashlynn¡¯s limpid emerald eyes as she confessed what felt like a deep, personal failing. "You have been present when I seal myself away in a daybed while we¡¯re traveling, but you¡¯ve never seen what truly happens to me, to any vampire, when the sun rises."


    "But, talking to Zedya about how she falls asleep in Lennart¡¯s embrace, I realized that maybe, maybe it was wrong of me to send you away before the sun rose each day," Nyrielle said faintly. "So, I wanted to make this a place for both of us... one that you didn¡¯t have to flee before the break of dawn." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 602: Room For Two (Part Two)

    Chapter 602: Room For Two (Part Two)"You did all this," Ashlynn said, gesturing at the expansive painting that was at least a dozen paces across and stretched all the way from the floor to the chamber¡¯s high ceiling. "Just so I would feel comfortable falling asleep here?"


    "This much and more," Nyrielle said as she stood, pulling Ashlynn to her feet along with her. "Come, let me show you," she said, guiding Ashlynn first to the large four poster bed which seemed to have spawned twice as many plush feather pillows as it had before along with a dark set of nightstands carved from figured walnut.


    "I cannot risk flames near my bed while I sleep," Nyrielle said, pointing to a strange looking lamp that held a piece of crystal, roughly the size of an apple, at the center where a candle or the wick of an oil lamp should be. "I know that most days, you won¡¯t sleep as long as I do, but with this for a focus..."


    "I can use it the same way I used a crystal the night you started teaching me sorcery," Ashlynn said, reaching out and gently touching the crystal lamp as she remembered the feeling of Nyrielle¡¯s hands roaming over her flesh, helping her feel the power within her and guiding it to the surface for the very first time. It had also been the night they shared their first kiss, and the first time that Nyrielle fed on Ashlynn, taking a small bit of her blood to show the young witch the potential of blending their power together.


    "Wait, this is the same crystal from that night, isn¡¯t it?" Ashlynn said, remembering the way it had glowed a deep midnight blue when Nyrielle used her energy to illuminate the terrace and how Ashlynn¡¯s own energy had pulsed with a deep, emerald green. "You saved it for something like this?"


    "I set it aside as a memento of the first... ah hem, the first time we kissed," Nyrielle said awkwardly, suddenly feeling too embarrassed to say that she¡¯d preserved it as a keepsake that had helped her to lower the barriers that stood between them, letting them blend their powers for the first time and so much more that night.


    "There¡¯s more for you to see," Nyrielle said, pulling gently on Ashlynn¡¯s hand to lead her away from the bed and into a corner of the room that held several heavy wardrobes. "The one on the left is yours," she said, pointing to an ornate piece that was clearly several decades newer than the other ones in the room. "I know you¡¯ll still spend some nights in your tower along with your coven, so I only prepared a single wardrobe for the items you choose to keep here. But, if you find it¡¯s not enough..."


    "It¡¯s perfect," Ashlynn said, opening the wardrobe to find that it contained not only a few of her favorite simple dresses in browns and greens that were suited to the practical work of witchcraft, but also some of the most elaborate gowns and outfits that she¡¯d worn for formal occasions in High Fen City.


    "The jewelry boxes are mostly empty," Nyrielle mentioned as she opened a simple cedar box. "Tomorrow night, when we announce our betrothal, I expect that you¡¯ll receive many gifts including jewelry. If I know the Heartwood Clan at all, they may also have prepared a few boxes for you and other wooden items, so I tried to keep this spare for now."


    "Because you know that I¡¯ll have a long time with you to fill it up," Ashlynn said with a warm smile as the last of the ghosts that had been haunting her gaze finally fell away while she imagined the years she would spend with Nyrielle, acquiring tokens and keepsakes of their moments together until even a room as this wouldn¡¯t be able to hold all of their treasured mementos.


    "I want to spoil you, my darling," Nyrielle said as she pulled Ashlynn into a close, loving embrace. "I want to fill your life with the moments of happiness and joy that were denied to you because of the mark on your hip and the power that you bear."


    "But you still included a sword rack," Ashlynn noted as she looked at the fixture attached to the wall next to her wardrobe. "And a stand for my armor."


    "We¡¯ll have to have another sword made for you," Nyrielle teased. "Since you broke your last one in the High Pass. But yes, I made sure that there would be a place here for your weapons," she said as she gently turned Ashlynn around, staring deep into her emerald eyes.


    "You are the woman that I love more than anything in this world," Nyrielle said softly. "And at night, I will always fight to keep you safe, no matter what threatens you. But during the day, while I¡¯m asleep, I¡¯m at my most helpless. And here, there are no trees for you to draw on, no life to sustain your witchcraft. But, if danger ever finds us here..."


    "Then I¡¯ll be able to fight to protect you," Ashlynn said, understanding the significance of Nyrielle preparing a space for her weapons and armor here even though Ashlynn would most likely keep both sword and armor in her chambers in the tower where they would be more convenient for her.


    Nyrielle¡¯s room would then require a second set, but when she thought of standing as her lover¡¯s last line of defense should the very worst happen, she immediately decided to commission Artificer Erkembalt to prepare something specifically to keep in Nyrielle¡¯s chambers.


    "I love you," Ashlynn said, caressing Nyrielle¡¯s pale cheek and drawing her forward into a brief, chaste kiss. "I love you in ways I don¡¯t have the words to explain, and I will never, never let anything hurt you while you sleep through the day," she promised solemnly. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I know you won¡¯t," Nyrielle said, pressing her forehead against Ashlynn¡¯s and savoring the rich, earthy scent of ancient trees and evening mist that clung to her lover like sweet perfume. "And while you sleep with me, I¡¯ll safeguard your dreams," Nyrielle promised. "Until the nightmares leave you alone, I¡¯ll carry you away at the break of dawn into the very best memories that I can share, or you can show me your most treasured moments."


    "When the dawn comes," Nyrielle whispered. "We can be together. And when you stand watch over my body, I will stand watch over your dreams."


    "I¡¯d like that," Ashlynn answered softly, running her slender fingers through Nyrielle¡¯s long, raven locks and relishing in the feel of her love¡¯s lithe body pressed against hers. "But why all this," Ashlynn said, pulling back and gesturing at all of the subtle and not-so-subtle changes that Nyrielle had made in order to welcome Ashlynn into her bedchambers on a more regular basis. "Why all this just to have me stay until you fall asleep at dawn?"


    "You¡¯ve been hesitant to have me close to you when the sun rises," Ashlynn said gently. "So what is it that happens to you when the sun rises that you haven¡¯t wanted me to see?"


    Holding Ashlynn close, clinging to the warmth of her body as if the room had suddenly become colder than the High Pass, Nyrielle took several breaths before she was able to answer Ashlynn¡¯s question. And when she finally did, her voice trembled, as if she was afraid of how her lover would react to what she had to say.


    "I told you before, my darling," Nyrielle said slowly. "A vampire balances on the edge of the knife between life and death. We are neither truly living nor completely dead but caught in between. But in the light of day, we¡¯re pressed off the edge of that knife, into the darkness of the abyss beyond..."


    "Each night, a vampire¡¯s body dies," Nyrielle said softly. "We become little different from a corpse..."

 Chapter 603: First Dawn Together

    Chapter 603: First Dawn Together"What do you mean?" Ashlynn asked slowly as she held Nyrielle¡¯s hands tightly. "What do you mean that your body dies?"


    "You can feel my heartbeat slowing when the sun rises each day," Nyrielle said, choosing the safest place to start from, hoping to ease Ashlynn into what would happen to her when dawn came. "More than just slow, a vampire¡¯s heartbeat during the day is so weak that it can barely be heard by normal ears, even with your head pressed to our chest."


    "Our breathing stills as well," Nyrielle continued. Her hands grew restless as she spoke, and her thumbs began to make slow, gentle circles over Ashlynn¡¯s fingers as she continued to speak. "You won¡¯t notice a vampire¡¯s chest rising or falling, and because our bodies have grown cold, even a mirror placed before our lips and nose wouldn¡¯t show a hint of fog."


    "Marcel taught me sorcery once," Ashlynn said, looking deeply into Nyrielle¡¯s eyes and seeing clouds of doubt and worry there, unlike any she had seen in her lover¡¯s eyes before. "He called the technique ¡¯Death¡¯s Deception.¡¯ It slows my heart and breathing until I resemble the dead. Is it, is it the same as that?"


    "I know the spell you speak of," Nyrielle said. "What happens to vampires is... similar. Close enough that you understand, but what we experience goes further." Gently, Nyrielle guided Ashlynn¡¯s hands to her soft cheeks before pulling away and looking at Ashlynn¡¯s hands in hers.


    Nyrielle¡¯s flesh had always been pale, having never once known the caress of the sun¡¯s rays since the day she was born. Her life had been one of eternal darkness that left her even more ghostly pale than her progeny, as if she¡¯d been carved from the purest marble.


    Ashlynn¡¯s skin, on the other hand, though she was pale by human standards after spending much of her life hidden away indoors, was a delicate shade of light peach that carried the warmth and hue of both life and youth. Her skin was smooth and supple, without the slightest sign of wrinkles or the drying of age. Only a few calluses from years spent gardening and her recent lessons in swordwork marred the soft perfection of her tender flesh.


    "Life is like water," Nyrielle said without taking her eyes off of their hands. "Right now, I seem just as soft and full of life as you are, but when the sun rises, I will wrap what life my body contains around my soul to keep the abyss at bay until the sun sets. There won¡¯t be enough left to sustain the soft skin you touch so freely. When the sun rises, there will be little of me left but skin and bones," she said softly.


    "Ah," Ashlynn said softly as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place and she realized once again that Nyrielle had the same concerns as many young women in love. Growing up, she¡¯d heard that some young ladies were so worried of their husbands seeing them without their faces painted that they would rise before dawn, having their servants tend to their hair and makeup before their husbands even woke.


    What Nyrielle was facing wasn¡¯t as trivial as being seen without her face paint, but the root of it was at the same point. For Nyrielle, when the sun rose, she would lose more than just the essence of life that gave her softness and beauty, she would also lose the strength that allowed her to stand tall as Ashlynn¡¯s protector. She would become weak and vulnerable, barely able to perceive the world around her, and little trace of the woman she had been for Ashlynn all these months would remain.


    "I don¡¯t know what it will feel like," Ashlynn said slowly as she reached up to place a hand under Nyrielle¡¯s chin, lifting her lover¡¯s gaze back up to meet hers. "To watch you wither away and ¡¯die¡¯ when the dawn comes. It might frighten me the first time I see it," she admitted.


    She could say that she wouldn¡¯t mind, that nothing would bother her, but the truth was that it might be as deeply unsettling as Nyrielle feared it would be for her. So instead of giving her lover empty platitudes, she gave her the purest truth she could.


    "But the first time I see it won¡¯t be the last time I see it," Ashlynn said, cupping Nyrielle¡¯s face and gently wiping away the faintly pink tear that had begun to form in the corner of her lover¡¯s eye. "I will stay with you tonight, and tomorrow night, and many, many nights after that. Because the person I love is in here," she said, resting her hand over Nyrielle¡¯s thundering heart.


    "And if you need to wrap every bit of life you have around your soul to resist the abyss when the sun rises," Ashlynn said. "Then you can wrap me around you as well, and I¡¯ll fight alongside you. Just like I promised under the Ancient Oak the night we met. I¡¯m here with you, for as long as we both live."


    "I don¡¯t deserve you," Nyrielle said softly, biting her lower lip as she stared at Ashlynn with shining eyes. "Humans have called me a monster for more than a hundred years and... I¡¯ve been a monster in more ways than one," she said softly. "Yet when I tell you about the monster I¡¯ll become when the sun rises, the withered husk who is unable to die, you tell me that you love me still and you will not leave my side."


    "We both have monsters within us," Ashlynn said as she fought off intrusive thoughts of what she intended to do with Owain Lothian when she finally got her hands on him to focus on the woman in front of her. "But I know the real you. The shy, nervous you who is afraid to reveal her vulnerable self to the woman she loves. The tender, sentimental you who kept the crystal from the first lesson you gave me on sorcery, just so I could use it as a lamp when I spend the day with you..."


    "I know you," Ashlynn said, wrapping her arms around Nyrielle and drawing her close enough to press their foreheads together. "And I know I have much, much more to learn about you. So don¡¯t ever worry that there is some hidden part of you that I cannot accept," she said softly. "Because even if there is a part of you that shocks or frightens me, I will learn to love that part too."


    "I was supposed to be the one comforting you, my darling," Nyrielle said softly. "I brought you here to protect you from your nightmares. So how is it that you are the one comforting me?"


    "Because you understand me, my love," Ashlynn said, running her slender fingers through Nyrielle¡¯s silky, raven hair. "You know that I didn¡¯t need your strength, wrapped in a suit of armor and wielding a sword to fight my nightmares. I needed your softness, your openness, and your vulnerability so we could face the dark together."


    "I don¡¯t need a champion who never falters or fails," Ashlynn said, brushing her lips against the softness of Nyrielle¡¯s. "I need a partner who struggles together with me. Who gives me a chance to be strong for you, even when you¡¯re being strong for me. And you do that for me in ways no one else in this world can," Ashlynn said as she crossed the final hairsbreadth of distance between them, kissing Nyrielle deeply and passionately until her heart raced and she felt breathless.


    "There are still hours before dawn breaks," Nyrielle said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes as Ashlynn caught her breath. "How would my darling Ashlynn like to spend the time?"


    "With nothing between us," Ashlynn said as her hands began to roam over the soft, satiny fabric of Nyrielle¡¯s dress in search of the laces that kept her corset in place. "From now until dawn breaks," she said in a voice that grew thick with desire. "And even when dawn comes and you sweep me into a dream that¡¯s safe from nightmares, I want nothing to come between us... now, or ever."


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 Chapter 604: The Engineer and the Confessor

    Chapter 604: The Engineer and the ConfessorIn the early hours of the morning, while the Vale of Mists prepared to celebrate the betrothal of Lady Nyrielle with a day of games for children and contests for adults before the grand banquet that would begin with the setting sun, very different preparations were underway in Lothian Manor.


    Walking through hallways that bustled with servants even at this early hour, Isabell fought the urge to pluck the folded slip of parchment from her breast pocket to read it yet again before she arrived at her destination. The message had been perfectly clear, leaving little room for doubt about who had sent it and the purpose of their message.


    ~In two night¡¯s time, join me for dinner at the Broken Blade Tavern in the village of Maeril. Reunions are joyous and conversations may run long, be sure to pack accordingly.~


    Marcel, the mysterious Black Merchant who seemed to know things that no boy his age should know, had promised her and Master Tiernan both that he would arrange a meeting with Lady Ashlynn if they could secure the rights to settle lands near the mouth of the Vale of Mists.


    After days of traveling with Owain Lothian, touring not only Hanrahan Barony but the territory claimed by the Dunns as well, Isabell had yet to secure a promise to allow her to settle the lands that she and Master Tiernan had selected.


    In fact, when she¡¯d suggested that they camp in the wilderness for a day or two if needed to allow her and Tiernan to inspect the lands as they passed through them on their way to Dunn Barony, Owain Lothian had reacted as though she¡¯d suggested camping in a bear¡¯s den while wearing a suit of raw meat. He not only flatly refused her request, he berated the coachment to drive their horses faster when they drew close to the Vale of Mists.


    Now that they had returned, however, Owain seemed to be strangely reluctant to bring her request to his father. Day after day, he sent excuses for denying her meeting, citing the Marquis¡¯s workload, preparations to receive visiting barons from the east, and even his father¡¯s health in order to delay the meeting.


    Now, it seemed like even Mister Marcel was tired of waiting for a resolution to the issue. Isabell had no doubt that a man as well informed as he seemed to be had a number of men in the manor in his employ, doubtlessly feeding him whatever gossip or news they could gather. When she received the note, lying folded on her nightstand and seemingly placed there while she was washing after dinner, her suspicions were all but confirmed.


    Packing would be easy. Even though she traveled with multiple trunks on the long trip from Blackwell County, she had learned long ago how to live out of the single chest allowed to an officer among soldiers, and she could make do with even less if she was required to. But while packing could wait until the last minute, her business of the morning could wait no longer.


    "Please announce my arrival," Isabell told the bored-looking serving girl sitting outside Lady Jocelynn¡¯s chambers. "Her ladyship is expecting me for tea and pastries this morning."


    "Yes, yer ladyship," the young serving girl said, hopping up from her chair and dropping into a deep curtsy before rushing into Lady Jocelynn¡¯s room to deliver the message. She hadn¡¯t even hesitated long enough for Isabell to explain that she was just a commoner herself before she¡¯d vanished from sight. A moment later, the door opened again as the servant dashed down the hall, no doubt having received fresh instructions, while a woman dressed in white and crimson robes appeared in the doorway to greet Isabell.


    "My lady Jocelynn has been looking forward to your visit, Master Isabell," the dark-haired confessor said warmly, though her dark eyes seemed to hold none of the warmth her voice did. "She¡¯s waiting for you on the balcony."


    "Thank you, Confessor Eleanor," Isabell said, carefully keeping her tone even as she addressed Lady Jocelynn¡¯s chaperone. During the time that she traveled with Jocelynn and Owain, she¡¯d the severe looking Confessor intervene between Jocelynn and Owain more than once, clearly deflecting Owain¡¯s inappropriate overtures which led Isabell to tentatively consider the other woman a potential ally.


    Still, it was difficult to tell how much of Eleanor¡¯s protectiveness came from a sense of religious doctrine about propriety and how much of it came from a genuine desire to watch over her young charge, leaving Isabell uncertain where the Confessor¡¯s ultimate allegiance lay.


    "Will you be joining us for breakfast, Confessor?" Isabell asked politely as she entered Jocelynn¡¯s luxuriously appointed sitting room. From the gilded furniture to the elegant paintings and rich tapestries hanging on the walls, it was clear that the Lothians spared no expense in treating Jocelynn like an honored guest. To Isabell¡¯s eyes, however, it was perhaps the most gilded cage she¡¯d ever seen.


    "Since Master Isabell has come to visit without Master Tiernan, my presence is hardly required," Eleanor said smoothly. "I¡¯ve already sent Epina to inform the kitchens that I¡¯ll be taking my meal in the halls below. Before I retire," Eleanor added as her dark eyes flicked in the direction of the balcony. "Can I ask you for a small favor?"


    "You can always ask," Isabell responded, lowering her voice and slowing her pace as the women crossed the room. "A good merchant entertains every proposition, no matter how preposterous, and judges it only on its merits."


    "You may not have heard," Eleanor began slowly, coming to a complete stop next to the crackling hearth in the room. "But Lady Jocelynn and I can be considered cousins, even if the relationship is somewhat distant."


    "I thought that noblemen renounced their household when they entered the Church," Isabell said, raising an eyebrow at the Confessor, who wore a strangely conflicted look on her face. "Even if there are blood ties between you, surely those were forgotten long ago when you donned the robes of a Confessor."


    "No one can sever all earthly ties, Master Isabell," Eleanor said with a slight shake of her head. "Too many of us are called to return to our families when misfortune strikes. One misfortune has already struck the Blackwell family in Lothian March. I fear that another may devour Lady Jocelynn, no matter what advice I give."


    "Lord Owain," Isabell said, not bothering to mince her words now that the Confessor had said as much as she had. "That man¡¯s eyes divide the world into tools he can use and people he must conquer. He seems to look at women with the very same gaze," she said. "Are you worried that he intends to use Lady Jocelynn as one of his tools?"


    "Worse," Eleanor said with a heavy sigh. "I¡¯m afraid that he sees her as a woman he must conquer."


    Instantly, the warm air from the fireplace felt several times hotter, as if Isabell had stepped directly in front of one of Master Tiernan¡¯s smelting forges rather than a simple hearth. Behind her silver-rimmed spectacles, Master Isabell¡¯s eyes tracked rapidly around the room, looking for any sign that Lady Jocelynn was close enough to hear them or that anyone else was in the room with her.


    While her eyes searched the room for hidden observers, Isabell¡¯s mind worked with lightning speed as she tried to understand just how much the other woman knew about the truth. Taken on its own, the statement that Owain Lothian wanted to conquer Ashlynn¡¯s younger sister was all but a condemnation that he intended to commit adultery or worse.


    But if Eleanor knew that the ¡¯Ashlynn Blackwell¡¯ in the Summer Villa was an impostor, and if she believed that Owain was moving onto the next Blackwell sister, then the simple chaperone must know some of the deepest secrets that swirled around the Lothian and Blackwell families in the March. In which case, the question of whether she was an ally or not became even more important to resolve.


    "I¡¯m sure the Church has strong opinions on the notion of a married man ¡¯conquering¡¯ his sister-in-law," Isabell said carefully.


    "In this case, the Church has no opinion at all," Eleanor said lightly. "And by extension, as a Confessor, I have no opinion on the matter either. But, as someone who once carried the Blackwell name, and as a woman who has heard the confessions of countless young women who have been led astray by charming men in positions of wealth and power..." she said, allowing her voice to trail off suggestively.


    "Well," Eleanor said lightly as she straightened her shoulders, as if she were standing up under a heavy burden. "You can imagine that such a woman would have many worries about her charge that she isn¡¯t permitted to express. And perhaps you can also imagine why such a woman would seek out the aid of someone whom her young charge has come to admire for her tales of bravery in battle and love that defied a king¡¯s wishes."


    "You want me to deliver a warning to Lady Jocelynn?" Isabell asked. "Can you tell me what I¡¯m supposed to be warning her against?"


    "I¡¯ve said more than I should already," the Confessor said, raising the crimson cowl of her robes to cover her head and giving Isabell a long, searching look before she turned toward the door. "But I believe that Master Isabell must have already seen the truth of Lord Owain¡¯s character. Perhaps you¡¯ve even learned things about him during his stay in Blackwell City," she suggested. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The truth is one of the most powerful weapons the faithful can wield against evil, Master Isabell," the Confessor said as she crossed the room. "I just hope that you can open Lady Jocelynn¡¯s eyes to a few truths today."


    With that, and without giving Isabell a chance to respond, Eleanor slipped out of the sitting room, closing the door quietly behind her and leaving Isabell alone to find her way to the balcony where Jocelynn waited for her company.


    "Lady Jocelynn," Isabell said softly under her breath. "Just how much trouble are you in that even a Confessor is powerless to intervene?"

 Chapter 605: Greatest Swordsman Of An Age (Part One)

    Chapter 605: Greatest Swordsman Of An Age (Part One)Isabell stood before the hearth in Jocelynn¡¯s sitting room, breathing deeply of the combination of woodsmoke and sweet perfume that filled the room and calming herself as she prepared to face the young lady that Lady Ashlynn had asked her to protect. Confessor Eleanor¡¯s warning had shaken her, but as Isabell thought back over the other woman¡¯s careful words she realized that it changed little about what she had come here to do.


    It was clear that Lady Jocelynn was in danger and the protection the Church was prepared to extend was much more limited than Isabell had imagined but she never intended to rely on the Church to keep Jocelynn safe in the first place. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For a moment, she considered asking Jocelynn to join her on her journey to meet with Lady Ashlynn. She was certain that both of the Blackwell sisters would be delighted by a chance to reunite, no matter what the circumstances were. But Lord Owain only rarely let Lady Jocelynn out of his sight and even when she was, he still assigned the guards that protected her and the servants who tended to her needs.


    Isabell might be able to get Jocelynn out of Lothian Manor by requesting her company to tour the city, but she would never get her out of Lothian City without an entourage of knights and soldiers who were certain to be Lady Ashlynn¡¯s enemies. Since that was the case, the best she could do was to give Lady Jocelynn a warning before learning what Lady Ashlynn¡¯s intentions were.


    With a deep breath to steady herself, Isabell strode across the sitting room, passing through a small, private dining room before walking out onto the balcony where Lady Jocelynn sat at a small table overlooking a courtyard below.


    Despite the early hour, Jocelynn was dressed in a fine gown of fitted cerulean blue silk that clung to her slender frame and emphasized her modest bust. Spills of white lace made her look like a siren of the sea with waves cresting over the gentle swell of her hips and accentuating her trim waist. The ensemble combined with Jocelynn¡¯s fair complexion and golden blonde hair to create a vision of a perfect maiden, waiting atop the balcony for the arrival of a handsome knight or heroic champion.


    Perhaps the only thing that marred the look was the necklace of sea glass and shells that would have been more appropriate gracing the neck of a commoner in Blackwell City than accenting the plunging neckline of a refined lady¡¯s dress. Isabell had considered asking about the oddity on more than one occasion but in the end decided it was best brought up in private.


    If the necklace had been a keepsake from a friend beneath her station in Blackwell City then it likely wasn¡¯t something Lady Jocelynn would want to discuss with someone who understood the meaning of the necklace.


    By contrast, Isabell¡¯s simple black tunic and skirt looked so plain as to render her nearly invisible with nothing to suggest that she was any more important than the young serving girl who had informed Confessor Eleanor of her arrival. The trappings of wealth and power had long since lost significance to Isabell, and she was far less bothered by the difference in her attire than she was by the way Lady Jocelynn seemed to be displaying herself to the people in the courtyard below.


    "Lady Jocelynn," Isabell said, offering a shallow curtsy to the young lady. "I hope I¡¯m not interrupting anything."


    "No, come, come," the young lady said, gesturing animatedly for Isabell to join her at the small table on the balcony. A steaming pot of tea sat ignored in the center of the table along with several artfully arranged pastries that looked equally untouched, though Isabell doubted it was because Jocelynn had been waiting for her arrival to begin her breakfast.


    "Lord Owain has just finished warming up," Jocelynn said, returning her gaze to the courtyard below them where Owain stood surrounded by several other men holding wooden training weapons.


    Owain himself held a polished oak longsword in a relaxed, two handed grip as he waited for the other men to get into position. Despite the chill of the autumn air and the faint drizzle that left everything in the courtyard damp, the young lord had stripped to the waist, revealing a sculpted, muscular physique that would doubtless cause many young ladies to swoon.


    Droplets of water beaded on his skin like glistening jewels giving him a presence that seemed as if he¡¯d been anointed by the Holy Lord of Light in a world of darkness and sin and the six guardsman surrounding him looked unworthy of facing him with their reliance on heavily padded armor and superior numbers.


    Even the more refined figures of Sir Rian Aleese and Sir Hugo Hanrahan standing nearby looked mundane and ordinary as they leaned against a wall under the eaves, watching the spectacle about to begin.


    Sir Hugo looked particularly pathetic as he held a handkerchief to his nose, clearly suffering from the cold and damp while Sir Rian looked almost bored as he made small stretching motions, preparing for his own turn practicing with Lord Owain.


    "Do you watch Lord Owain¡¯s training often?" Isabell asked as she took her seat across from Lady Jocelynn. Though she wasn¡¯t yet a knight, she followed the etiquette of the nobility as she took the tea pot and began by pouring a cup for Jocelynn before pouring for herself.


    "Every chance that I get," Jocelynn said, taking a polite sip of tea without taking her eyes off the spectacle below. "But you must have seen things like countless times in the Emerald Kingdom," she gushed. "I¡¯ve never seen real battles up close the way you have, so I¡¯m eager to hear what you think of Lord Owain¡¯s training."


    In the courtyard, two of the six men facing Owain carried long polearms with a padded edge to stand in for the blade of a halberd while two others carried longswords similar to Owain¡¯s. The final pair of men carried shields on one arm and padded clubs in their hands, doubtless emulating a footman¡¯s mace. Before they took up their fighting positions, each man dipped the padding of his weapon in a different color of paint, making their weapons look strangely vibrant on this dreary day.


    "Lord Owain doesn¡¯t want his training partners to hold back because of his position," Jocelynn explained excitedly as the men began to move, pressuring Owain from all sides. "He awards an extra silvery penny to any man who can mark him with their color, and another extra penny to every man if the group can defeat him. That¡¯s why Sir Hanrahan is here," she added, pointing to the hawk-nosed Steward. "So he can pay out a bonus as soon as it¡¯s earned."


    Looking at the scene below, Isabell had to admit that it left quite the impression on her, and she imagined it left an equally strong impression on Lady Jocelynn, though one of an entirely different nature. The greatest duelists that Isabell had ever seen fighting in the court of the Emerald King had practiced against two or perhaps three opponents, and they¡¯d done so wearing thickly woven protective doublets while wielding blunted weapons meant to flex and snap before they could impale another man.


    By contrast, Owain stood against six men and though the weapons they wielded were made of wood rather than steel, a solid oak practice sword was more than capable of cracking skulls and breaking hands if the wielders didn¡¯t pull their strikes in time. Yet Owain, standing naked to the waist in the rain, seemed to feel as if he held every advantage as he surveyed the men arrayed against him.


    "Begin!" Owain shouted, taking up a fighting stance and smiling as though he were a wolf gazing upon a flock of fat sheep.

 Chapter 606: Greatest Swordsman Of An Age (Part Two)

    Chapter 606: Greatest Swordsman Of An Age (Part Two)"A silver penny for striking him, and another one if the group can bring him down. That does sound like powerful motivation," Isabell agreed as she watched the skirmish begin to unfold. Owain wasted no time trying to defend himself against the greater number of men, going instantly on the offensive instead by charging one of the men with the polearms.


    Compared to the soldier facing him, Owain wasn¡¯t only stronger, he was much faster and the wooden sword in his hand swung in a series of lightning fast strikes that battered the soldier¡¯s armored hands, forcing him backwards and weakening his grip on the weapon enough for Owain to use one hand to capture the weapon while the other hand drove the point of his blade against the other man¡¯s throat.


    "I yield! I yield!" the soldier cried, going limp in Owain¡¯s grip, but the young lord was far from done with his defeated victim. Spinning around the helpless soldier, Owain used the captured man like a shield, fending off attacks from the other man with the polearm and one of the other swordsmen. Slender lines of paint soon covered the soldier¡¯s padded armor before Owain shoved him at the swordsman while charging the other man wielding a polearm.


    "See the way he moves?" Jocelynn said with a wistful sigh as she watched Owain working methodically to defeat the men attacking him. "He never lets more than two people approach him, he always moves so they get in each other¡¯s way," she pointed out, repeating the words Owain had used when he explained his method of fighting to her after the first time she watched him practice.


    In the courtyard, Owain was moving smoothly between his opponents, lashing out with vicious strikes to arms and legs, inflicting enough pain to stagger his opponent before he danced to the next, defending himself and striking again without becoming mired in a one on one duel at the expense of his ability to disengage and face a new opponent.


    "Lord Owain says that demons try to surround knights so they can pull them down in massed attacks," Jocelynn continued as she gazed at Owain¡¯s heroic figure with starstruck eyes. "So he trains himself against groups that work to pull him down. The men are also instructed to keep fighting no matter how many times they are struck unless they deliver something that is clearly a killing blow, because demons won¡¯t stop no matter how many wounds they suffer."


    "It sounds like Lord Owain takes fighting against demons very seriously," Isabell said in a carefully neutral tone. Seeing him in action, she had no doubt that he took his practice seriously, perhaps more seriously than anything else he did. Though, given the rumors she¡¯d heard from the brothels in Blackwell City during his visit, she suspected that he had at least one thing he pursued just as passionately as he seemed to pursue swordsmanship.


    By now, in addition to the man who had yielded at the point of Owain¡¯s blade, two other men lay limply in the puddles on the cold cobblestones of the courtyard. One of them sprawled awkwardly where he fell with eyes that were glazed over from the force of the blow he¡¯d taken to the head. Another clutched his ribs, crawling slowly across the courtyard in a way that suggested he¡¯d suffered broken bones from Owain¡¯s ruthless sword strike.


    "I¡¯ve spoken to other knights who have trained with him," Jocelynn said with eyes that seemed unable to see the suffering of Owain¡¯s ¡¯training partners.¡¯ "And I¡¯ve talked to the Templars who watched him fight against the demons before he left to visit Blackwell County. Everyone who¡¯s crossed swords with him agrees," she said with a growing smile.


    "Lord Owain may be the greatest swordsman of his generation," Jocelynn said, gazing at the battle below as though she could see the future unfolding before her eyes. "Not just the greatest in Lothian March, but perhaps the greatest in the whole of the kingdom. That¡¯s why he¡¯s certain to be the one who finally topples the demon lords and transforms Lothian March into a proper Duchy," she added. "Because Lord Owain is a hero without equal."


    "He¡¯s certainly a man who seems born to fight demons," Isabell said, wincing as she heard the sounds of bones crunching when Owain¡¯s training sword fell on a swordsman¡¯s forearm, knocking the blade from his opponent¡¯s hand and following up with a thrust to the chest that knocked the man to the ground where he writhed in pain, clutching his forearm. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It was impossible to say for certain without taking the man to a healer, but from where Isabell sat, it seemed like the soldier¡¯s arm was broken. If he were taken to a priest quickly, he might recover with minimal lingering effects, but unless Lord Owain was willing to pay for the use of the Church¡¯s holy magic to treat the wound, it was possible that the man would never hold a sword again.


    "It must be convenient that Lord Owain¡¯s brother is a priest," Isabell said more lightly than she felt. "Not everyone has the luxury of training to the extent that they injure their partners. But with Lord Loman available to heal his soldiers, he doesn¡¯t need to restrain himself as much."


    "But, Lord Loman has nothing to do with Lord Owain¡¯s training," Jocelynn said, looking awkwardly at the injured man clutching his arm. "Lord Owain believes that pain teaches the best lessons and that every knight who has risen to greatness has learned through countless painful lessons. If a man is injured in practice, then the injury is his lesson to do better next time."


    "So his men are commanded to fight until they are too injured to continue," Isabell said darkly. "But if they are injured, it¡¯s somehow their fault for getting hurt? Perhaps Lord Owain¡¯s true calling is to teach demons the meaning of cruelty," Isabell said with a snort. "But whether that makes him a hero or not is another matter entirely."

 Chapter 607: Tearing Away The Veil (Part One)

    Chapter 607: Tearing Away The Veil (Part One)"Cruelty?" Jocelynn said, blinking in surprise as she turned away from the courtyard for the first time since Isabell had arrived to truly look at the other woman. In her hand, her teacup clattered lightly against the saucer on the table as she set it down. "Do you really, really see him that way?" she asked hesitantly.


    After hearing how Isabell had fought in a brutal civil war for the right to bring her husband away from the court of the Emerald King, Jocelynn had hoped that Isabell would understand Owain better than anyone else. After all, Isabell had fought in just as many battles or perhaps even more battles than Owain had, and she still chose a life of love with the man who won her heart with poetry. If Isabell could do that, then... couldn¡¯t Owain do the same?


    "Cruel, ruthless and ambitious," Isabell said without sugar coating her words in the slightest. If she was going to make sure Jocelynn understood the danger she was in, Isabell couldn¡¯t afford to leave any grey areas or doubts in the young woman¡¯s mind.


    "He reminds me of the men in the Emerald King¡¯s court who thought he should follow his victory with a campaign of expansion," the engineer continued. "They wanted to turn on a vulnerable neighbor and resolve a centuries old dispute over a border with the might of the army the king assembled to win the civil war."


    "Surely Owain is different," Jocelynn said. After all, those men were fighting their neighbors while Owain was fighting demons. Even though he was still fighting to expand his lands, he was also fighting a just and holy cause instead of one motivated solely by ambition and greed. That had to make him different.


    "Did those men fight in the war themselves?" Jocelynn asked. "Or were they like the knights in Father¡¯s court who dream of a chance to win glory in the next crusade without ever having fought in a battle before? Owain is like this because he throws himself into battle against the demons every year," she said in a voice that grew steadier with each word. "That¡¯s very different from most men." S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No one came through that war unscathed," Isabell said sadly after sipping her tea. "I don¡¯t call Owain cruel because he¡¯s an extraordinary fighter who can slaughter many demons," Isabell said. "I call him cruel because, even in training, he fights his own men the way he fights demons," she said, pointing at the men who were helping each other to limp away from the courtyard after Owain¡¯s beating.


    "I call him cruel because when I¡¯ve looked into his eyes," Isabell said, recalling all the times she¡¯d faced Owain across the negotiating table in Blackwell City and ever since then. "I see a man who sleeps too well for someone who brutalizes his men this much. I¡¯ve known other men who slept peacefully after battles where hundreds or thousands of men lost their lives... I call them cruel as well."


    "And you?" Jocelynn asked hesitantly. "Did you sleep well after battles?"


    "Not once," Isabell said, picking up a rich, buttery pastry topped with chopped nuts and nibbling on it slowly. "It wasn¡¯t until we¡¯d been fighting for months that I could get through a battle without emptying my stomach. The nightmares that followed," she said softly as her gray eyes grew clouded. "Those lasted for years, even after I returned home. If Casquas hadn¡¯t been there for me... I might never have known a peaceful night¡¯s sleep again."


    "Were you ever afraid," Jocelynn said slowly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. Her eyes darted toward the door as though checking if anyone might be listening. Her fingers methodically shredded the pastry into smaller and smaller pieces, growing slightly sticky with bits of sweet cream and flakes of pastry.


    Her movements were increasingly awkward, seeming like she¡¯d forgotten about the pastry in her hands and she didn¡¯t appear to have any intention of eating the bite-sized morsels she¡¯d torn off. Instead, she slowly leaned forward, hunching her shoulders protectively inward, and when she continued, her words came in short, halting bursts.


    "Were you ever afraid that the men who fought beside you, the ones you called cruel," she said quietly. "Did you ever worry that they would turn on you? Maybe not intentionally," she added quickly. "But, accidentally. Because, because they spend so much time fighting," she rambled. "Did you ever worry that they might lash out at you... even, even if they didn¡¯t mean to?"


    A faint tremor ran through her body as she glanced toward the courtyard where Owain was still training. The common soldiers had all retreated from the courtyard, perhaps to tend to their wounds, and now Owain was belting on a suit of light armor, looking handsome and larger than life as he prepared to face off against Sir Rian who had donned a similar suit of armor for fighting with blunted steel swords.


    Nervously, Jocelynn fidgeted with the necklace of shells and frosted sea glass around her neck that Owain had given her after his return from Blackwell City. She hated the necklace, hated how cheap and common it looked but she¡¯d reminded herself again and again that Owain had needed to conserve his traveling funds when he bought it, or he surely would have given her one made of pearls and fine jewels the way tradition said he should.


    Here in Lothian City, none of the other ladies knew the tradition that the necklace represented and shells of any sort were exotic so she avoided too much embarrassment wearing it publicly, but the real reason she wore the necklace...


    "If, if you did the wrong thing or said the wrong thing, did those men ever..." She swallowed hard, her throat visibly constricting as if the loose necklace running through her fingers had suddenly become as tight as a noose. "Did they ever frighten you?"


    "My lady," Isabell said as her stoic expression crumpled, replaced by a brow furrowed deeply in a very motherly look of concern. Standing from her seat, she took Jocelynn¡¯s hands in her own and pulled her away from the balcony, drawing her back into the small private dining room and only letting go of Jocelynn¡¯s hands long enough to close the door before guiding her to the small table in the dining room.


    "My lady," Isabell said, reaching out to lift Jocelynn¡¯s chin when the young woman seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. "Has Lord Owain done anything to you? Has he hurt you in any way?"


    "What? No, no he hasn¡¯t," Jocelynn said, snatching her hands back and shaking her head fiercely. "He, he hasn¡¯t ever," she started to say only for her voice to trail off part way through her sentence. "He¡¯s never struck me," she said slowly. "It¡¯s just that there are times when, when something provokes his anger and, and he can be a bit... frightening when that happens. But he would never..." she tried to say, only to stop again without finishing the sentence.


    After all, after what he¡¯d done to her sister, could she really say that he would never hurt her?

 Chapter 608: Tearing Away the Veil (Part Two)

    Chapter 608: Tearing Away the Veil (Part Two)Jocelynn wanted to tell Isabell that Owain would never harm her. She wanted to protest that she trusted Owain as much as she trusted her own father, but... She¡¯d thought that he wouldn¡¯t harm Ashlynn either. She¡¯d thought that telling him about her mark would be enough for Owain to call things off. She¡¯d never thought that he would confront her sister directly, much less that he would murder her sister for being a witch. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ever since then, she¡¯d carried a small doubt in her mind that, one day, he might do the same to her. That was part of why she¡¯d worked so hard to please him, to help him gather the allies he needed and the accomplishments his father demanded so that he could keep his position as heir to the Lothian throne.


    She¡¯d worked hard to please him in other ways, capturing his eye and holding his attention, even teasing his body far more than a proper young noblewoman should. Her face heated in a combination of embarrassment and deep shame as she thought of all the times she¡¯d sat in his lap, feeling his manhood rising under her skirts while she gave Owain the very best plans she¡¯d been able to form in her constant efforts to secure their future.


    Most of the time, she was able to believe that he cared for her. That he was coming to treasure her, maybe even more than he could have ever treasured Ashlynn. But Confessor Eleanor had often reminded her that the time she¡¯d spent with Lord Owain was only now catching up to the amount of time that Ashlynn had spent with him over the course of two years of infrequent visits while the Lothian lord had formally courted the Blackwell heiress.


    "You know," Isabell said softly, pulling Jocelynn out of her spiraling thoughts. "Before Owain arrived in Blackwell City, I received a letter from your sister."


    "What?!?" Jocelynn said, startled enough that she jumped up from her chair, knocking it over and nearly tripping over her skirts in the process. "When? How?" she asked, gripping the edge of the table for balance like it was the only source of stability in a world that pitched beneath her feet like a ship at sea.


    "She must have sent it shortly after she arrived in Lothian March," Isabell lied, bending the truth ever so slightly. She knew that the letter had been sent after she escaped from Owain Lothian but if she revealed that, she would have to reveal too much more, and she wasn¡¯t certain how much Jocelynn knew about Owain¡¯s attempt to murder her sister. "She told me, and these are her words exactly, ¡¯my husband-to-be isn¡¯t to be trusted around women, and neither are his knights.¡¯"


    "After that," Isabell added, choosing her words with great care. Confessor Eleanor asked her to share the truth, but some truths felt too dangerous to share carelessly, no matter how much she wanted to wrap the distraught young lady in her arms and give her the love that a caring mother should. "She said that she expected that I would encounter Lord Owain sooner or later, and when I did, she asked that I watch over you. Your sister loves you very much, you know."


    "A letter?" Jocelynn said, her voice suddenly tight. She straightened her shoulders, a flash of defensiveness crossing her face. "Ash would have told me if she really had concerns. She, she shared everything with me."


    Her fingers trembled as she smoothed her skirts, clinging to this image of her older sister like a lifeline. The older sister who taught her how to sneak out of Blackwell Manor, who showed her where the cooks stashed extra pastries and other treats that they could take for snacks on their adventures. The older sister who had shared everything with her, no matter how silly her younger sister¡¯s questions were. That sister wouldn¡¯t have held back fears about Owain... not when her wedding to the Lothian Lord was so important to their entire family. Would she?


    "Perhaps you misunderstood her meaning, or..." Jocelynn started to say but the words died on her lips as the inescapable truth pressed down on her. Of course, Isabell hadn¡¯t misunderstood. If her sister was the smartest person she¡¯d ever known, then Master Isabell was surely the second. The two had shared so many moments discussing Ashlynn¡¯s ever-growing collection of books or the things that Master Isabell had learned at the universities across the sea that it was impossible that the engineer would misunderstand her sister¡¯s meaning.


    And if what Master Isabell said was true then... then...


    Jocelynn¡¯s face drained of color, leaving her lips bloodless and pale. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead as her breathing became shallow and quick. The room seemed to tilt around her, and a rushing sound filled her ears, drowning out everything but Isabell¡¯s words echoing in her mind.


    -THUMP-


    Jocelynn¡¯s knees buckled, slamming into the ground as she collapsed under the weight of Isabell¡¯s words. Her sister had tried to send a warning? No, not a warning, or at least not one that was meant to reach Jocelynn¡¯s ears. Ashlynn had meant to arrange protection for her in Blackwell City during Owian¡¯s visit and... and perhaps after that as well. And she¡¯d done it because...


    A soft sob escaped Jocelynn¡¯s lips as she realized why Ashlynn would send such a warning. Her sister was always perceptive. She¡¯d spent hours watching their father hold court and even though she was rarely allowed to speak during the proceedings, she¡¯d seen every sort of person who came before the Count with grievances. She¡¯d seen men who had been wronged, men who told lies with smiles on their faces... and men who had committed horrific crimes and unspeakable acts of violence over things as petty as the loss of a prized bull or the favor of a maiden.


    Ashlynn knew people better than someone as homebound as her should, so when it came to Owain, Ashlynn had surely noticed his pride... and his temper. Even though their time together was limited to a few extended visits, they¡¯d also exchanged countless letters for two whole years. Ashlynn must have had plenty of time to come to an understanding of Owain¡¯s strengths... and his flaws.


    "She knew," Jocelynn said softly as Isabell knelt beside her, taking the young lady in her arms without regard for the difference in their stations. "She knew how dangerous it was to marry him and she, she did it anyway. Sweet Lord of Light, she knew," Jocelynn sobbed. "But she never said anything to me.... Or to Mother and Father. She knew..."


    "Your sister has always wanted to find ways to help your family," Isabell said gently as she stroked the young woman¡¯s back. "She told me once that she never expected to marry anyone, but that she would happily marry Lord Owain and move so far away from the sea because it was a way that she could finally give back to the family that had given her so much."


    "I think your sister felt deeply burdened by something," Isabell said, thinking of the way Ashlynn would occasionally grow quiet during their conversations. At the time, Isabell had believed the rumors that Ashlynn had a frail constitution and that the things she couldn¡¯t do stemmed from an inability to exert herself, but over the years, that explanation had made less and less sense to her engineer¡¯s mind.


    "I think Lady Ashlynn felt guilty for needing your family to do so much to care for her," Isabell said carefully. "So she was willing to do anything to repay that feeling. Especially if it meant that you didn¡¯t have to take up a burden in her place."


    "She did, she did. All that," Jocelynn said through powerful sobs that shook her body. "She, she asked you. Asked you to protect. Me. And I. I... It¡¯s my fault," she said, raising her head to look at Isabell with seafoam eyes that overflowed with tears. "It¡¯s. It¡¯s all my fault."


    "Hush now," Isabell said, gathering Jocelynn into her arms. "Anything that happened, it is the fault of the people who did it," she said softly. "You don¡¯t need to carry the blame for things you didn¡¯t do."


    "No, no, you don¡¯t understand," Jocelynn insisted, staring at Isabell with red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "It¡¯s my fault. I¡¯m the one who told Owain about Ash¡¯s mark. I¡¯m the one who told him that she was a witch!"

 Chapter 609: Jocelynn’s Confession (Part One)

    Chapter 609: Jocelynn¡¯s Confession (Part One)"You, you told Lord Owain that your sister is a witch?" Isabell said, staring at Jocelynn in open mouthed shock.


    Marcel had told her when they first met that someone had told Owain about a mark on Ashlynn¡¯s body that resembled the mark of a witch. He¡¯d said that the mark was the reason why Lord Owain beat Ashlynn to death and ordered his nights to bury her body at the edge of the Vale of Mists. But Marcel never told her who had given the information to Lord Owain... perhaps the famed Black Merchant hadn¡¯t even ferreted out this secret.


    "I, I didn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t think," Jocelynn sobbed. "I didn¡¯t think that they should be, should be together," she said as she drew a shuddering breath between great, body shaking sobs. Tears spilled from her eyes and her hands clenched at her skirts with enough force to tear loose a spill of delicate white lace from the cerulean blue silk.


    "I swear, I didn¡¯t know, didn¡¯t know what he would do," she choked out. "I didn¡¯t realize how much, how much he hated demons or, or how v-violent he could be," she added, unconsciously spilling out every reason why the tragedy that followed might not be, or at least wasn¡¯t entirely her fault.


    "What did he do?" Isabell said in a voice that was much softer and gentler than she wanted to be at the moment. She¡¯d taught herself for years to be an open ear for her children, to listen to their entire story before she handed down any judgments or punishments and to give them a safe embrace that would welcome the truth so they never had a reason to lie to her.


    Now, as she looked at the sobbing noblewoman, Isabell struggled to reconcile her habits and instincts as a mother with children very near to Jocelynn in age with her loyalty to the woman who Jocelynn had betrayed. While there was a good amount of mercantile self interest in her decision to pursue knighthood in Lothian March and to travel all this way, her loyalty to the Blackwells who had done so much for her and to her friend Lady Ashlynn had accounted for at least half of her motivation in coming so far.


    The part of her who had spent months worrying anxiously about Lady Jocelynn¡¯s safety and fretting about Lady Ashlynn¡¯s fate wanted nothing more than to slap the sobbing young girl in her arms, or to shake her violently and berate her for what she¡¯d done, but instead, she clamped down on those feelings and did her best to treat Jocelynn like the young woman she was... one who had made a horrible, perhaps unforgivable mistake and who was clearly still coming to terms with it.


    "He, he killed her," Jocelynn said, staring at the floor with blurry vision as she couldn¡¯t bear to look at Master Isabell. The weight of what she¡¯d done crushed down on her more than it ever had before and the knowledge that Ashlynn had tried to arrange a protector for her, someone to protect her from Owain, dragged her down like an anchor chain around her neck.


    "He said he did it with a single stroke of his sword," she said as the sobs subsided to be replaced by a growing feeling of having been hollowed out. "But I, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true," she said quietly. She wanted to believe. Months ago, when he told her in the Summer Villa that he¡¯d ended things quickly, she¡¯d believed every word, but she¡¯d seen more of the Owain beneath the dazzling smile since then and he was never merciful to people who he felt had wronged him.


    "He wouldn¡¯t return Ash¡¯s body to my family, even for a secret burial," Jocelynn said. "He said that he commanded his knights to dismember her and burn the pieces, scattering the ashes to the wind to ensure that she couldn¡¯t rise again, but I wonder if he said that because he¡¯d already, already..." Jocelynn¡¯s voice cut off as another bout of sobs burst from her chest, shaking her body as she imagined what Owain must really have done to her sister.


    She¡¯d watched him just moments ago as he used a wooden sword to hack at the men he told to play the role of demons attacking him. His sword was merciless, falling again and again and again until bones cracked and the men couldn¡¯t stand, and this was only ¡¯practice.¡¯ How would he have treated her sister then, if he truly hated her for hiding her mark from him? If he really believed that she was a witch, would he have been any less thorough?


    "You said you didn¡¯t think that they should be together," Isabell said gently, redirecting Jocelynn¡¯s thoughts away from what had happened to Ashlynn in the hopes that she could better understand what led to all of this. "Is it because you thought your sister¡¯s mark would be discovered eventually? Were you trying to say something to protect her by revealing the mark before the wedding ended?"


    "No," Jocelynn said bitterly. "I, I know that Ashlynn didn¡¯t love him. She, she said that, that he wasn¡¯t a bad man," Jocelynn said between ragged breaths. "She said that he was a man who many would desire and she, she felt that they could come to care for each other in time. She hoped that, even if he didn¡¯t, didn¡¯t love her, he could love, love their children," she said as she recalled the way Ashlynn had spoken of Owain in the last winter before her wedding.


    "And that bothered you?" Isabell prompted gently.


    "I hated it!" Jocelynn spat. "I, I adored Owain. He was so much more handsome and capable and charming than the," she started to say only to stop sharply. This time, it wasn¡¯t a sob that held her tongue but the realization that she¡¯d been about to confess to hating her father¡¯s notion of marrying the son of one of the Guild Masters.


    "Than the... What?" Isabell prodded gently. Of course, she wasn¡¯t oblivious to Rhys Blackwell¡¯s intentions for his youngest daughter. As an honorary member of the Linemen, the current count had aligned himself with the fishermen who were a vital component of the county¡¯s economy but he¡¯d also distanced himself from the Wayfinders and the Carters in the process.


    Marrying his younger daughter into one of those guilds would have gone a long way to solidifying his relationship with the other influential powers of the County and he¡¯d dropped a number of hints about it over the years, though that seemed to have stopped when Owain Lothian began courting Lady Ashlynn.


    "It¡¯s not important," Jocelynn said, shaking her head. "There were other men that Father thought might suit me, but... I only had eyes for Owain." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In truth, she had felt that the Guild Masters, as wealthy and powerful as they were, were still far beneath her station and she didn¡¯t want to consider ¡¯marrying down¡¯ just to improve her family¡¯s standings with the powerful merchants or to give a merchant family a path into the aristocracy. Now, however, it was one of those very Guild Masters who felt like her only safe harbor in the storm she found herself in.


    But... could Isabell really do anything to help her now that things had gone so far? Or was it all too

 Chapter 610: Jocelynn’s Confession (Part Two)

    Chapter 610: Jocelynn¡¯s Confession (Part Two)"I love Owain," Jocelynn said after taking a deep breath. It was a statement that she could only make to a few people, but now that she said it out loud, she realized that it was still true. Owain frightened her, maybe more than she realized, but when she thought about him, she couldn¡¯t imagine anyone she had ever known who was as handsome, courageous, or strong and capable as Lord Owain Lothian.


    Next to him, every other young lord or knight she¡¯d met felt somehow lacking. From the first time she¡¯d seen him, she knew that he was the greatest man she would likely ever meet, and even before her coming of age celebration last year, she¡¯d felt like no other man would make her heart flutter the way he did.


    "I match up with him much better than Ash did," Jocelynn said slowly. "I, I wanted to be married to him, and she was only marrying him because mother and father needed her to. Because they don¡¯t have a son to inherit, and Owain said that their second son could return to Blackwell to become the next Count."


    In her mind, it would have been the perfect thing for her to take Ashlynn¡¯s place. She¡¯d even begged her father to change the engagement early on, but Rhys Blackwell insisted that it would be impossible for the heir to the Lothian Throne to accept the youngest daughter of a Count rather than the eldest. It might have been different if her father had been one of the five Dukes of the Kingdom of Gaal but for a Count, it was already the opportunity of a lifetime to see their daughter marrying up to a future Marquis.


    "So you wanted to take your sister¡¯s place," Isabell said, struggling to keep her voice free of reproach or recrimination as she listened to the young lady. "That¡¯s why you told Owain that she was a witch? What did you think would happen?"


    "I didn¡¯t think it would be like, like this," Jocelynn said. "I thought that it would be like it was at home. Ash¡¯s mark is why she was never allowed out of the house other than on special occasions. She didn¡¯t even have maidservants, so no one would see her while she was dressing or bathing. She just kept to herself..." S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Because she was afraid of what would happen if someone ever saw her mark," Isabell pointed out, no longer able to hold her tongue. For years, she¡¯d wondered why Ashlynn had seemed like a prisoner in her own home and why she¡¯d go through so much effort to sneak out, or why she was so eager to talk with visitors like the Master Engineer in charge of remodeling part of the manor. Now, Isabell finally understood the constant danger that Lady Ashlynn had lived in and the terrible risk she¡¯d taken to marry Owain Lothian for her family¡¯s sake.


    "Your family went to such lengths to help conceal her mark and I¡¯m certain that your mother would have helped your sister prepare to conceal it even while consummating her marriage with Lord Owain," Isabell said in a tone that was as firm as steel even while it was wrapped in a mother¡¯s gentle care.


    "But you decided that none of that mattered," she pointed out, leaving Jocelynn no room to retreat from the truth. "You decided that it would be better if Lord Owain knew the truth, not because it would be better for Lady Ashlynn if you were the one to marry Lord Owain, but because it would be better for you. Anything else you say is just a convenient fantasy you¡¯ve painted for yourself to justify giving in to your jealousy and infatuation with Lord Owain."


    "You¡¯re a smart young woman, Lady Jocelynn. If you had looked at things with a critical eye instead of eyes clouded by self-interest, you would have known how things would end when you gave up your sister¡¯s secret," the engineer said.


    Isabell¡¯s words fell on Jocelynn¡¯s mind like spears hurled by a ballista, precisely targeted and crushingly powerful. She tore away at the polite lies, the half truths and the hopeful wishes masquerading as carefully considered predictions, leaving Jocelynn with nothing but the cold reality of her actions and the motives that had driven them.


    Her father hadn¡¯t been this blunt with her, perhaps because he hoped his younger daughter could salvage their alliance from the disaster of Ashlynn¡¯s death or perhaps because he had always doted on his younger daughter, as if he was making up for all the things he couldn¡¯t do with Ashlynn because of her secret.


    Her mother hadn¡¯t been this direct either. Instead, the Blackwell Countess had retreated from life with her husband and returned to her visit with her parents and siblings, as if she could no longer bear to live in the place that was haunted by reminders of the daughter that had been snathed away from her by her husband¡¯s alliance-making and, if Jocelynn was honest with herself, by her youngest daughter¡¯s jealousy.


    "No wonder mother couldn¡¯t bear to stay home," Jocelynn said softly. "I condemned my own sister to die," she said bitterly. "And now that I have her place and I¡¯m about to marry the man I sacrificed her for... I¡¯m scared he¡¯ll do the same to me."


    Just the other night, when she¡¯d mentioned that Owain¡¯s father, Bors, seemed to be calling in the eastern barons and arranging for Loman to receive them, Owain had flown into a rage. He shouted that his father wasn¡¯t honoring their agreement and that he¡¯d soon learn what would happen to men who tried to take away things that belonged to him by right. He¡¯d included her in the things that ¡¯belonged to him¡¯ saying that he would sooner see her dead than ¡¯languishing in Loman¡¯s arms.¡¯


    Increasingly, it felt like Bors Lothian¡¯s patience with Owain was growing thin, and more and more of his attention was turning to his pious younger son. It should have been a test that drew Jocelynn and Owain closer together as they met their struggle against a fate that wanted to tear them apart. But when she tried to bring new plans or ideas to Owain, he only told her ¡¯not to worry her pretty little head¡¯ because ¡¯he had made arrangements¡¯ that would put an end to discussions of Loman inheriting ¡¯once and for all.¡¯


    "Maybe, maybe that¡¯s what I deserve," she said as her shoulders slumped in defeat. "After what I did to take her place... I deserve to follow after her. Maybe," she said as her seafoam eyes grew dull. Perhaps there really was no hope for happiness in all of this, and her best chance of a happily ever after had died along with her sister. Maybe none of them were meant to find the kind of happiness and lasting love that Isabell had found when she met her husband in the court of the Emerald King.


    "Maybe it would be best to just end it now. Thank you, Master Isabell," Jocelynn said, drawing herself upright and gently clasping the engineer¡¯s left hand firmly for a moment before letting go as she regathered a portion of her noble bearing. She¡¯d thrown away so much of her dignity recently to retain Owain¡¯s favor, but in the end, perhaps she could recover a measure of it with one final act. "I know what I need to do now."


    -SMACK-


    The sound of the back of Isabell¡¯s hand striking Jocelynn¡¯s face echoed through the small dining room like a clap of thunder, momentarily startling both women before Isabell narrowed her eyes at the young lady and spoke her mind.


    "That¡¯s enough of that," Isabell said sharply. "I think you¡¯ve more than proven that you¡¯re not ready yet to ¡¯know what you need to do.¡¯ If I had the power to do it, I would pack you up right now and take you back to Blackwell City so your father could set you straight, but since I can¡¯t do that," Isabell said, taking a deep breath.


    "You¡¯re going to tell me everything that¡¯s been going on between you and Lord Owain these past few months," Isabell commanded sternly. "All of the plots and the secrets you¡¯ve kept buried in your heart, you¡¯re going to lay it all out for me. And then," she said, holding up a finger before a stunned Jocelynn¡¯s eyes. "Then we will discuss what you will do next."


    "Have I made myself clear?" Isabell asked, giving the young noblewoman a piercing stare that would accept only one answer.

 Chapter 611: Owain’s Schemes

    Chapter 611: Owain¡¯s SchemesFor the first time in months, perhaps for the first time since her family made the long journey to Lothian March for her sister¡¯s wedding, Jocelynn unburdened herself completely. Her cheek still stung from Isabell¡¯s slap, but Jocelynn rarely noticed as she poured out every secret she held deep in her heart. From Samira the imposter in the Summer Villa to Owain¡¯s intentions to prevent the Guild Masters from gaining significant merits in the Holy War to come, she left no detail out.


    For her part, Isabell did her best to listen as calmly as she could, mentally taking notes for all the things she dared not commit to paper. Many of the schemes Jocelynn seemed to be aware of were things that Isabell and Master Tiernan had noticed already, but some of them were especially cruel.


    "He wants to press my Lassian into service as a squire?" Isabell said in shock when Jocelynn mentioned how Owain had decided to keep the powerful engineer under his control once she revealed her formidable capabilities for waging war.


    The words came out in a strangled whisper as Isabell¡¯s entire body went rigid. Her fingers curled into tight fists and her knuckles turned white as she fought to maintain her composure. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her vision went red in a way that it hadn¡¯t since the days she fought beside the Emerald King when someone attempted to capture Casquas to force her to abandon the king¡¯s side in that bloody civil war. When she finally spoke again, her voice had transformed into something hard and brittle, like ice about to crack.


    "He¡¯s only fourteen. He isn¡¯t going to begin his apprenticeship for another two years and we¡¯ve already made arrangements with the Undaunted Shipwrights for him." Her jaw clenched so tightly between sentences that Jocelynn could hear the faint grind of teeth. "Why does Lord Owain think he can just force my son into service like this?"


    "Because this is the frontier," Jocelynn said, scooting back on her chair ever so slightly, as if to put additional room between herself and the cold fury radiating from the Guild Master. "If you become a knight, then your son becomes your heir," she added, as if it explained matters. "All knights in the frontier are expected to bear arms and serve in the March¡¯s forces during times of war. And a young man can be appointed a squire at thirteen."


    "So he wants my son as a hostage," Isabell said darkly. She had known that coming here and participating in this Holy War would be dangerous, but she hadn¡¯t imagined that she¡¯d need to defend her family against her ¡¯allies¡¯ as well as the demons arrayed against them. "And as soon as I summon my family to join me here, he intends to capture them."


    "It¡¯s good that Issandra is beginning her apprenticeship in Blackwell City instead of following us here. Otherwise, I¡¯m sure Owain would attempt to wed her to one of the pigs that follow him like lapdogs," she said, not bothering to hide her disdain for Owain¡¯s loyal retainers.


    "He, he felt that your daughter, and, and Master Tiernan¡¯s youngest daughter," Jocelynn said slowly, unable to meet the furious engineer¡¯s gaze. "He felt that they should be offered as rewards to Lord Bastian Hanrahan or Sir Rian Aleese if they continued to support Owain¡¯s cause."


    "Rewards?!" Isabell said, all but shouting, before she bit back her words and continued in a quieter, but only slightly restrained tone. "But he can¡¯t just decide who my children will marry," Isabell said incredulously. "It is a matter for each family to decide which traditions of marriage they will follow. That¡¯s been the law since the founding of the Kingdom," she protested.


    "That¡¯s been the law for the common people of the kingdom," Jocelynn countered. "In the early days of the kingdom, there were too many settlers from too many different kingdoms across the sea. The founding laws are full of compromises to stop the dukes and counts from turning on each other after the First Crusade. But the law for nobles is different."


    "Different how?" Isabell asked, frowning at the young woman. This sort of thing was part of the reason she refused to be awarded a title in the Emerald Kingdom. Relationships between people were matters of the heart, and even if an introduction was arranged between families, the couple themselves should be able to accept or reject the arrangement. "I understand that most noble families follow a tradition of arranging marriage, but are you saying the law actually requires it?"


    "It¡¯s been the law ever since the Shield Breaker Rebellion," Jocelynn explained, looking helpless. "A liege lord has the right to dictate the marriages of his vassals and their children if he does so to foster peace and prosperity within his domain."


    The Shield Breaker Rebellion had been one of the greatest tests of the Kingdom of Gaal in its early years, when the nobles stationed at the kingdom¡¯s borders had betrayed their oaths and allowed demon armies to march past them unchallenged, attacking the vulnerable interior of the kingdom. The border lords argued that they were suffering too greatly to protect the kingdom, without the support or recognition that their efforts demanded.


    In the end, after years of fighting to purge the kingdom of invading demons and subdue the rebellious lords, the King issued a number of proclamations intended to prevent such an uprising from happening again. One of them had been a law allowing a lord to arrange marriages between his vassals and the king had wielded the law like a club, wedding the sons of border lords to the daughters of heartland nobles in an attempt to create ties that would once again bind together the kingdom in peace and prosperity.


    "That law is ancient," Isabell said in disbelief. "The Shield Breaker Rebellion happened more than a hundred years ago, didn¡¯t it? Besides, there¡¯s been no rebellion in Lothian March, there¡¯s no need for this sort of arrangement here."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Jocelynn said, shaking her head. "The law gives every lord the right to settle matters within his domain as long as it fosters ¡¯peace and prosperity.¡¯ You and Master Tiernan are newcomers to Lothian March. Marrying your children and heirs to established families can be considered promoting the ¡¯peace¡¯ of the March." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You still don¡¯t understand Owain the way I do," Jocelynn added. "He wants to turn Lothian March into his ¡¯sword and shield,¡¯ and he¡¯ll use any method he can find to make sure it behaves like weapons he can wield as he wishes. He, he isn¡¯t just making plans for settling you and the other Guild Masters," she said. "He wants to humble the Church as well, and bring down anyone who supports Loman for the throne. If an old law lets him do that..."


    In truth, even Jocelynn had been surprised by the extent to which Owain was rooting around in ancient history to find methods to ¡¯bring his vassals to heel.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t until she learned that Sir Hugo Hanrahan had been living a scholar¡¯s life in exile until his father needed a spare heir that she realized where Owain¡¯s knowledge of these ancient laws and traditions was coming from.


    If Owain had taken a sudden interest in the laws and traditions of the kingdom because he was preparing to take up greater responsibilities, or if he was trying to find ways that he could use that knowledge to help win his father¡¯s favor and secure their future together, Jocelynn would have been proud to help him.


    She knew less about the laws for governing than Ashlynn did, but she knew a great deal about the rules and traditions that governed commerce, taxes, and things that her father said a person must know to create a domain where even the common people lived prosperous lives. Surely, if she and Owain could have found ways to win over the hearts of the common folk by lifting them up, Bors Lothian would have seen fit to approve their marriage and Owain¡¯s inheritance.


    Instead, Owain seemed intent on dredging up every method he could to bend the March to his will, and that included controlling the lives and futures of the lords who ruled it. At first, Jocelynn had argued that going too far would provoke the very sort of rebellion that had created many of these old laws in the first place, but Owain¡¯s fury at the notion his lords would rebel against him had been so terrifying that Jocelynn never brought it up again.


    "My father could have done any of these things years ago," Owain had said with a blaze in his eyes that shook Jocelynn to the core. "The fact that he was too timid, too afraid of his own lords to turn them into a force strong enough to crush the demons is the reason that he could never become a Duke. But I refuse to repeat my father¡¯s mistakes!"

 Chapter 612: The Heart Desires, The Body Craves

    Chapter 612: The Heart Desires, The Body Craves"And this is the man that you love?" Isabell said, giving Jocelynn a piercing look. "Someone who treats the lives and futures of young girls like barrels of pickled fish to be bought and sold at market?"


    "Are they really that different?" Jocelynn said bitterly. "Wasn¡¯t my sister sold to Owain¡¯s family in the name of an alliance? Am I any different?" she added darkly. "At least I can love the man my family wants an alliance with. I can, I can find happiness with him," she said though she grew less confident in her words as she went on. "Or, at least, I thought I could find happiness with him," she said in a very small voice.


    "My lady," Isabell said, reaching out to pull the young woman into a tender embrace, as if she was her own daughter. "I had thought better of your father, the count, than to treat you like fish at market, but perhaps I misread him because he treated the guilds so well. I¡¯m sorry," she said as she gently stroked Jocelynn¡¯s bright, golden hair.


    "But my lady, this pain you¡¯re feeling," she added with a soft smile. "It¡¯s a good sign. It means you¡¯re starting to learn the difference between what the heart desires, and what the body craves."


    "What the heart desires?" Jocelynn said, twisting in Isabell¡¯s embrace to look deeply into the other woman¡¯s steely eyes. "All my heart has ever desired was a life of happiness with Lord Owain. To bear his children, raise our family and share endless joyful days at his side. I want to see him rise to be the first Lothian Duke and for the whole of the kingdom to know his greatness. But now..."


    "Now you are coming to learn that your body¡¯s cravings have misled your heart," Isabell said. "The body sees his handsome face and his sculpted physique and it begins to crave. Your body craves his touch, to be held gently by those strong arms, to hear his deep voice reduced to a whisper in your ear. Even now, your pulse quickens at the thought of it, doesn¡¯t it?" the older woman pointed out.


    "But my lady," Isabell continued gently. "The body leads us astray. The heat we feel when the body craves leads our minds to imagine things that are not true, or worse, to ignore things that are. When our mind has been led astray by the body¡¯s cravings, our heart becomes tangled in desires that aren¡¯t real."


    "You¡¯re saying that I only love Lord Owain because he¡¯s a handsome man?" Jocelynn said. Her heart beat faster in her chest and hot words of denial tried to surge from her lips but... if anyone knew about love, surely it was the woman who married one of the greatest poets on either side of the sea. Jocelynn might not want to admit it, but at the moment, she desperately wanted the other woman¡¯s help because the more Isabell spoke, the less Jocelynn¡¯s world made sense.


    "If I don¡¯t love him, then why does this hurt so much?" Jocelynn asked as tears began to flow again from her seafoam colored eyes. "Why does it feel like something is tearing my heart in two when I think about losing Owain or that he might turn his affections to another woman? If This isn¡¯t love, then why... why do I crave him even when I can¡¯t see him?"


    "Because you are young and you are infatuated by the first man who caught your eye in a way no other man ever had," Isabell said as she gently brushed Jocelynn¡¯s golden hair out of her face to look deeply into her eyes. "Because you are realizing that this love you invested so much of your heart in might never have been real. Or, if it was real, it only existed from you toward him and he has never felt for you as strongly as you feel for him."


    "So I¡¯ve been fooling myself all this time," she said bitterly. "And because I¡¯ve been a fool, my sister... my sister..." she choked out before breaking down into another bout of sobs. "I¡¯m such a fool!"


    "Hush now," Isabell said gently as she pulled the young lady into a closer embrace. "Perhaps you¡¯ve been a fool, but what young woman hasn¡¯t been a fool for a man with a charming smile and a large codpiece at some point in her life? You¡¯re learning an important lesson right now, my lady, and you¡¯ll be stronger and wiser once you¡¯ve learned it."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter if I¡¯m stronger or wiser," Jocelynn said bitterly. "Ash is already dead and I don¡¯t even have a grave I can visit to.... To tell her that I... that I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so, so, so sorry..." she said as the tears fell from her eyes like rain from the sky. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You might not be able to do anything for Ashlynn right now," Isabell said as she stroked the young woman¡¯s back. "But that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t do anything to the man who took your sister from you," she added, pulling back enough to look at the young woman with a determined gaze. "If you truly feel sorry for what you¡¯ve done, then instead of sitting here and wallowing in your own pain, use that pain to do something useful," she said.


    "Lord Owain wants to turn Lothian March into a weapon in his hands that strikes as he pleases," Isabell said with an intense stare at the broken hearted young woman in her arms. "But you can turn your pain into a weapon that cuts him as deeply as he¡¯s cut you. You can strike back at him in your sister¡¯s place," she said. "But... are you willing to take that step? Or would you prefer to return to the lies your body tells you and the delusion that you can find happiness with a man who has already murdered one bride?"


    "When you, when you put it, put it like that," Jocelynn said between ragged breaths as she fought to control her sobs. Her throat grew too tight to speak as her mind filled with sets of conflicting memories. Owain¡¯s dazzling smile and powerful arms that had once made her feel so safe when he held her close and fed her morsels of dinner during quiet moments shared together flashed before her eyes one moment, followed the very next moment by the merciless swing of his practice sword breaking a soldier¡¯s arm and the look of disdain on his face as he looked down on the man writhing in pain.


    Memories of his whispered promises of their future together and the sons they would raise to rule over a new Lothian Duchy and Blackwell County clashed with his cold words about seeing her dead rather than married to his brother, Loman. She thought she knew him, and maybe, maybe she really did know him. She knew how great he could be and she had felt his gentle touch, heard his reassuring whispered words of affection and adoration on countless occasions.


    For a brief, intense moment, her body rebelled against her mind¡¯s understanding, craving more of the soft touches that filled her stomach with butterflies and filled her most intimate regions with heat that craved an even deeper touch. Her heart lurching painfully at the thought of betraying him and losing those dreamy, happy moments when he made her feel like the most loved, most treasured, most desired woman in the entire world.


    Screwing her eyes shut, she pressed a trembling hand against her chest, feeling the fluttering, chaotic beat of her heart beneath her palm. How could she still feel this pull toward him after everything she now understood?


    But crashing behind that thought, like waves breaking on the shore, came a memory of her last conversation with Ashlynn, the night before Jocelynn¡¯s jealousy had condemned her sister to die.


    "Owain might not be the best man in the world," Ashlynn had said with a smile that felt more fragile and forced than Jocelynn had realized back then. At the time, she¡¯d thought that her sister didn¡¯t recognize how great of a man she was about to marry, that she didn¡¯t appreciate him. Now, however, she realized that her sister had seen the truth far too clearly.


    "He may not be the best man in the world," Ashlynn repeated. "But at least this way I won¡¯t be lonely in a tower for the rest of my days. And you, Jocey," her sister said, holding her hands and looking at her with shining, loving emerald eyes that Owain had closed forever. "You will be able to find a much better man of your own one day, one who loves my little sister as much as she loves him."


    Her sister had never once stopped wishing for the very best for Jocelynn. On the night of her wedding to a man she didn¡¯t love, she was filled with hope that her sister wouldn¡¯t share her fate and could instead find the kind of happiness that Ashlynn herself would never know. And when Jocelynn realized that, something hardened in her seafoam eyes, and the last lingering softness dissolved as she straightened her shoulders.


    "The right choice, the only choice, is to hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt me and..." her voice grew steadier with each word, "...and light his bones aflame to light Ash¡¯s way to the heavenly shores." Her determination solidified like ice forming over water, hardening what had moments before been fluid and uncertain.


    "But how?" she asked, growing uncertain again. "He has knights and soldiers, and more than a third of the March is loyal to him. He¡¯s the greatest swordsman in the whole March. I¡¯m just a girl... a foolish girl who thought he loved her. What can I do against someone like him?"


    "Even great men fall when they take danger close to their own breasts," Isabell said, heaving an inward sigh of relief that she¡¯d been able to get through to the young woman. It was clear that Jocelynn had turned a corner, but she still felt very unstable. Far too unstable to trust with the knowledge that her sister was still alive. But even if she couldn¡¯t yet be trusted with the truth, there were still other things she could do to prepare the way for her sister¡¯s return.


    "Now, listen carefully," Isabell said, looking directly into Jocelynn¡¯s red, puffy eyes that had only recently found a glimmer of the strength and determination they would need for the challenges to come. "Because everything from here on out will be very, very dangerous..."

 Chapter 613: Making Use of Men (Part One)

    Chapter 613: Making Use of Men (Part One)In the courtyard below Jocelynn¡¯s balcony, Sir Rian Aleese gulped heavily at a cup of water while relishing in the feeling of the cool autumn air and faint morning drizzle on his sweaty face. Leaning against a pillar opposite him, Lord Owain mopped lightly at his brow with a towel while Sir Hugo Hanrahan stood nearby holding another cup of cool water.


    Faint clouds of steam rose from both armored men as they caught their breath after an intense practice session. New dings and scratches marred both men¡¯s practice armor along with the cracked remains of a wooden shield that had buckled under Owain¡¯s rain of heavy blows. Other than the three men, however, the courtyard was completely empty.


    "It looks like you¡¯ve lost your audience today, my Lord," Sir Rian said as he threw his empty wooden cup at a distracted looking Sir Hugo, forcing the hawk-nosed bastard to scramble to catch it without dropping the cup that was waiting for Lord Owain. "I haven¡¯t seen Lady Jocelynn miss one of our sessions since you moved our morning practice outside her chambers."


    "Watch your tongue, Rian," Owain chastised, flinging a sweaty towel at the pot-bellied knight¡¯s flushed face. "I¡¯m sure Lady Jocelynn is only interested in learning how real men fight. The tournaments she¡¯s seen growing up are little more than games of tag, fought by men who have never put their life on the line to slay demons. Now that she¡¯s seen how real men wage war, she can¡¯t get enough," he said with a wide, cocky grin.


    "Clearly she¡¯s had enough of watching Sir Rian get beaten like a sand sack," Hugo teased, though he stood half behind Owain when he said it. "She rushed off her balcony as soon as you took the field. Maybe if you put your helm on instead of showing your face, she wouldn¡¯t have lost her appetite so quickly."


    "Bastard!" Rian snapped, though there was no venom in his words and his muscles were still shaking too much after his bout with Owain to chase the scholarly Steward down for a friendly punch with an armored fist.


    On horseback, with a lance in his hand or a spiked flail, Sir Rian had every confidence that he could fight Owain to a draw. The Aleese Barony bordered the Southern Steppe and the lands of the Horse Demons and even common soldiers in his father¡¯s lands learned to ride horses to fight against their incredibly mobile enemies. For all his bulk, Sir Rian had spent more years in the saddle than even Sir Owain and he¡¯d killed more than a few demons of the nomadic horde that plagued Lothian March¡¯s southern border.


    But on foot, wielding training weapons that were safe to use against the future Lothian Marquis, the heavy knight found himself struggling to keep up with the fleet footed young lord. He was constantly on the defense against Owain¡¯s powerful, two-handed sword strikes and by the end of the match, he¡¯d flung his helmet across the courtyard, just for the relief of feeling the fresh air cooling his overheated head.


    "You¡¯re spending too much time with that engineer," Rain chided, wishing he had something else he could throw at the dark-haired Steward. "Taking lessons in scolding like a woman."


    "All right, enough," Owain said, holding up a hand and silencing both men. "Lady Jocelynn has done us a favor today by keeping Master Isabell occupied. That woman has been a buzzing gnat in my ear ever since we returned home, asking when she can meet with my father to finalize their grants of lands."


    "So why don¡¯t you let her meet with Lord Bors?" Sir Rian asked. "He¡¯ll either give her what she wants or he won¡¯t. Why do you have to take the heat for it when you could just make it his problem?"


    "Because I don¡¯t want to live with the consequences of my father¡¯s decision if he gives in to her foolish demands," Owain snapped before lowering his voice and striding across the courtyard to put an gauntleted hand on Rian¡¯s armored shoulder. "Until we crack the Vale¡¯s curtain walls and tear down their fortress, I need that woman alive. Otherwise, I¡¯ll have to beg the Church to use their Inquisitors to do the work and you can imagine the price they¡¯ll extract for the service."


    "My Lord is worried that she won¡¯t survive the folly of trying to occupy the mouth of the Vale before it¡¯s been conquered," Sir Hugo said, holding out the cup of water for Owain to snatch from his hands. "Lord Bors might sign over the lands simply to secure the agreement with her guild, but it seems like Lord Owain has come to value Master Isabell¡¯s capabilities personally."


    "If a person is useful, then put them to use," Owain said simply after gulping down half the cup of water. "Master Isabell is more useful than I imagined so I intend to wring what use I can from her aging bones before finding a time to bring our relationship to its natural conclusion," he said with a dark grin. "Have we received word from the Black Merchant? I had hoped he would bring other relationships to their conclusion while we were out touring the countryside."


    It had already been weeks since he sent Hugo and Rian with a chest of gold and jewels to purchase Spider Demon venom to use against three people he wanted to see suffering before they died, but as of yet, there had been no news and he was beginning to suspect that even the famed Black Merchant had met his match this time.


    "There is news, my lord," Hugo said, reaching into a breast pocket and retrieving a small slip of paper that had arrived via carrier pigeon the night before. "Madame Pyre has sent a request to the temple asking if they can send a healer to see to her son. She didn¡¯t mention Sir Tommin in her request, but it¡¯s impossible that the Church isn¡¯t aware of their new Templar¡¯s former family." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I would have thought the bitch would succumb before the pup," Owain said with a low chuckle. "Either way, remind me to invite Loman and his traitorous lapdog to join Lady Jocelynn and I for dinner in the coming weeks. I want to see Tommin¡¯s face before his brat dies."


    "Of course, my lord," Hugo said, bowing deeply and swallowing in relief that he was able to deliver good news. Sir Tommin, as far as the Steward was aware, hadn¡¯t done anything more worse to Owain than leaving his service to answer the calling of his faith, and for this simple insult, Owain¡¯s former personal guard would watch his wife and child die slow, agonizing deaths as the Spider Demon venom tortured their bodies and their minds.


    Of course, if Hugo knew that Sir Tommin was one of the two knights that Owain had commanded to dispose of Ashlynn¡¯s body after beating her to death, he might have seen the Templar¡¯s sudden surge of devotion in a different light. As is, however, he was still unaware of the events that had transpired on Owain¡¯s wedding night or the conspiracies that had unfolded afterward, leaving him with a view of his lord as a man who would seek horrifying retribution for even the smallest of slights.


    The thought of what Owain would do to his Steward if he ever managed to fall into disfavor was enough to give even a brave man nightmares... and Sir Hugo was anything but a brave man.

 Chapter 614: Making Use of Men (Part Two)

    Chapter 614: Making Use of Men (Part Two)"Speaking of putting men to use," Owain said, turning back to Sir Rian and moving on to a topic that was objectively more important, even if he would prefer to hear more details about how the traitor¡¯s family was suffering under the effects of the Spider Demon venom. "How are those ship captains we brought back from Blackwell City? Have you managed to break their pride yet and show them the error of their ways?"


    "Those men have spines like the masts of their ships," Rian said, shaking his head slightly. "They won¡¯t break, but I¡¯ve taken the wind out of their sails and run them thoroughly aground. I¡¯d say they¡¯re almost ready, and the armorers have finished outfitting them as well."


    Jocelynn¡¯s idea to recruit seasoned commanders from the merchant fleet of Blackwell Harbor had seemed viable on the surface, and Owain was desperate enough to gain the support of potential knights who could actually fight that he¡¯d been willing to entertain Jocelynn¡¯s suggestion. While he was in Blackwell City, he¡¯d entertained dozens of applications from interested captains and he¡¯d personally dueled with several of them, selecting only the five best swordsmen to accompany them back to Lothian March.


    The problems had started as soon as he tried to prepare them to fight as knights against the demon hordes they would soon go to war against.


    All of the men were talented swordsmen, all of them were strong, fit, and capable, and every one of them had killed pirates and worse in the course of their storied careers. But none of them had ever fought in more than the lightest of armor. On the open sea, heavy armor could become a coffin, dragging a man to a watery grave if he was knocked overboard during a fierce battle, and these men avoided burdening themselves with as much fervor as they avoided reefs and shoals under the water¡¯s surface.


    In Lothian March, however, Owain had no need for men who could fight aboard ships. He needed knights who could ride into battle wearing armor thick enough to resist the claws and horns of demons, and these men moved with the grace of a farmer¡¯s scarecrow when they donned a suit of plate over chain and their padded gambesons. They¡¯d been so hopelessly incapable of fighting that Owain had handed them over to Sir Rian to break down until they were ready to be rebuilt in the form of proper knights.


    "We¡¯re running out of time to prepare them," Owain said, scratching at the faint stubble that had sprouted on his chin since the night before. Already, some of the Eastern Barons were beginning to arrive in Lothian City at his father¡¯s invitation. The fact that his father brought Loman along to receive them only made matters worse in Owain¡¯s eyes.


    Of course, it could have been excused as simple convenience. Two of those Barons had arrived to visit while Owain was still touring with Jocelynn and the Guild Masters in the countryside. But the most recent had arrived just last night, and still, Bors chose Loman to accompany him, telling Owain that he should focus on his own matters rather than becoming distracted by visits from vassals his father considered to be ¡¯old friends¡¯.


    "Turn the captains over to me," Owain said after musing for a few minutes. "From now on, I intend to train them personally for two hours every morning, here in this courtyard," he announced. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    With his father pulling in the older Barons, Owain felt an ever-growing pressure to demonstrate his dominance among the younger generation that would be the true leaders in the Holy War to come. By Midwinter¡¯s night, when the young knights of the march gathered in Lothian City to stand their ceremonial vigils, Owain wanted his batch of new recruits to stand equal to or greater than any of the old Baron¡¯s heirs in attendance.


    Besides, if he made a show of training the men that Jocelynn had asked him to recruit, he was certain that she¡¯d repay every hour he lavished on them with more of her own sweet indulgences. Lately, it had been all he could do to hold himself back from ravishing her when she sat in his lap during their meals or massaged his aching muscles after a strenuous workout, but the anticipation that their encounters built within him would only enhance the sense of victory when he finally conquered her body.


    "Only two hours, my lord?" Sir Rian asked, pulling Owain out of his musings and returning his attention to the present. "I¡¯ve been drilling them at least six hours a day. They won¡¯t wear out in just two hours, even if they have to wear full armor to train."


    "Two hours of my personal instruction is already a luxury few others can receive," Owain said, waving an armored hand dismissively as if he couldn¡¯t be bothered to spend more time with these former captains. "Besides, they have other work to do. They might be failures as heavy cavalry, at least at the moment, but they are all disciplined and capable commanders. It¡¯s time to assemble troops to fight under their command."


    "My lord," Hugo said, scratching his head in confusion. "The garrisons are already assigned to captains who have served your father for many years. Where, where would you like me to find the men to assign to these new captains?"


    "The harvest is over," Owain said simply. "Press one hundred able-bodied men between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five from the surrounding farms. Their strong backs aren¡¯t needed for harvest, and with the rest of autumn and all of winter to train, they can be proper soldiers by spring."


    "The local knights won¡¯t like you pressing their bondsmen," Sir Rian pointed out. "Especially not when they have to raise their own soldiers for the Holy War. They¡¯ll protest to your father if you don¡¯t send the men back to their farms for the spring planting."


    "It doesn¡¯t matter," Owain said confidently. "It¡¯s just one hundred men. But, if it will ease the burden on some of my father¡¯s most loyal knights, then take a third of the men you press into service from the lands overseen by the Pyre family," he said, as though he¡¯d just come up with something particularly clever.


    "After all," Owain added. "It¡¯s not like Tommin¡¯s brat will live long enough to inherit his father¡¯s lands... There won¡¯t be anyone left in charge of his village come spring to complain about the unfairness of it all."


    Finally, he thought as he watched his loyal retainers leaving to carry out his orders. Finally, things were starting to fall into place as he designed. Soon, the Black Merchant¡¯s assassin would strike at the Lothian family itself, and Owain would be able to set aside worries of his brother snatching his throne from him forever.


    Then, all he needed to do was tidy up matters at the Summer Villa with the imposter masquerading as Ashlyn,n and he would be able to move openly on her far more compliant younger sister.


    The road to get her hadn¡¯t been easy, but soon... soon, he would have everything he desired in the palm of his hand, and then nothing would stop his rise.

 Chapter 615: Promises Kept

    Chapter 615: Promises KeptIn a dream, Ashlynn floated in the blissfully cool waters of a pond near the river Luath, staring up through the canopy of cedar and hemlock leaves that blocked out most of the stars, leaving only bright slivers of silvery moonlight to illuminate the tranquil forest around her.


    "You see, my darling?" Nyrielle said from nearby as her lithe figure slid gracefully through the water with barely a ripple. "The hardest part is learning to relax, but once you do, you¡¯ll float as naturally as a leaf on the water."


    For their first day spent sleeping together, Ashlynn had asked that they have ¡¯nothing between them, in bed or in their dreams,¡¯ and Nyrielle had obliged when she pulled Ashlynn into a memory of her choosing to protect her lover¡¯s dreams.


    Their night had ended with hot kisses and a bite on Ashlynn¡¯s thigh that would be hidden from view no matter what she chose to wear during the festival the following evening. After that, Ashlynn had wrapped herself around Nyrielle like a large spoon cupping a smaller one, holding her for the first time as the sun rose outside the castle.


    At first, watching Nyrielle reminded Ashlynn of Jocelynn when she was very young and trying to stay up late for Midwinter¡¯s Night celebrations. No matter how much Nyrielle resisted the pull of sleep, her body betrayed her, slowly going still as sleep overwhelmed her as if she were a young child staying up past her bedtime.


    Moments later, however, she let out a slow, shaky breath as if her body had truly died, giving up its last breath of life. A cold chill crept over her and her flesh began to lose it¡¯s pale, alabaster luster as it became sunken, dull, and lifelessly gray. Even her glossy hair lost its softness and shine, turning brittle and straw-like where it brushed against Ashlynn¡¯s skin.


    The moment Ashlynn felt it, she also felt the echo of Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat within her chest grow quiet, until it became faint and distant, beating weakly less than once a minute. It was a sensation she¡¯d felt countless times before, but now, while she watched her lover wither away, the sudden loss of strength in Nyrielle¡¯s heartbeat felt like a knife twisting in her own heart.


    Nyrielle¡¯s greatest fear was that Ashlynn would be repulsed by what she became when the sun rose but Ashlynn realized there was something far more terrifying as she watched the transformation overcome Nyrielle. Her arms tightened instinctively as she refused to let go of the woman she loved and she had to fight every instinct she had to stop herself from reaching out to the forest beyond the fortress walls for the energy to save her lover¡¯s life.


    The next instant, a different fear gripped her as she forced herself to relax her hold on Nyrielle¡¯s sleeping figure, afraid that her tight grip would hurt her suddenly fragile-looking lover. For a moment, Ashlynn held her breath, afraid to move in any way that might harm the sleeping vampire. It wasn¡¯t until nearly a minute passed that Ashlynn was finally able to make her trembling muscles relax, pulling Nyrielle¡¯s emaciated figure into a soft, tender embrace.


    "I¡¯m not leaving you, my love," she whispered. "So don¡¯t you dare leave me," she added as she gently brushed Nyrielle¡¯s straw-like hair aside to bestow a tender kiss on her lover¡¯s leathery cheek. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    How long Ashlynn spent alone in the darkness, cradling Nyrielle¡¯s fragile body and listening for the slow, steady, barely audible beat of her lover¡¯s heart, she couldn¡¯t say, but eventually, the darkness of sleep overtook her and with it, the sound of vast feathered wings, beating softly in the night as they carried her away to pleasant dreams.


    "You¡¯re close, my darling," Nyrielle said when Ashlynn found herself standing beside a large pool under the silvery light of a full moon, underneath the canopy of soft green leaves and needles of the Vale¡¯s majestic trees. "I, I hope I didn¡¯t frighten you," she added softly as she stepped close to Ashlynn, wrapping her dark, feathered wings around her lover along with her arms and holding her close.


    Even though the Nyrielle before her was as vibrant, healthy and strong as she was during the nights they spent together, for a moment, Ashlynn couldn¡¯t help but overlap the vision of the drained, helpless, corpse-like woman her lover had become when the sun rose and her body shivered with an echo of the fear she felt when Nyrielle¡¯s presence faded to next to nothing right before her eyes.


    "You did frighten me," Ashlynn said softly as she rested her head on Nyrielle¡¯s chest, listening to her strong heartbeat and inhaling the familiar fragrance of lavender that clung to her, as if to reassure herself that the powerful vampire was still fine. "I felt you falling away and I was afraid that I would lose you," she said. "And then, you felt so fragile in my arms, I thought I might crush you if I clung to you too tightly."


    "I¡¯m sorry, my sweet," Nyrielle said, running her long, slender fingers through Ashlynn¡¯s soft, pale blonde hair. "Let me make it up to you. You wanted a night with nothing between us," she said, pulling back from Ashlynn to reveal her naked body, gleaming like a marble statue in the pale, silvery moonlight. "And I promised you once that I would teach you to swim. Isn¡¯t this the perfect way to honor both promises?"


    "It is," Ashlynn said, realizing for the first time that she was just as naked in this dream as Nyrielle was. Unlike most nights she¡¯d spent in the Vale of Mists, however, the night air was anything but cool against her skin, and the normally comforting mists of the Vale felt oppressive and warm, like a heavy, sodden blanket that reminded her of the hot summer nights in the Briar.


    "I didn¡¯t realize the Vale got so warm in summer," Ashlynn said as she waded into the shallow end of the natural pool, relishing in the instant feeling of cool relief that washed over her as her toes sank into the soft, silty soil at the bottom of the pond.


    "It rarely does," Nyrielle said as she joined Ashlynn in the pool, taking the young witch¡¯s hand in hers and guiding her out into water that was deep enough to lap gently at the swell of Ashlynn¡¯s full bosom.


    "I remember this year because the heat was so unbearable for the people of the Vale," Nyrielle said as her eyes grew distant while memories washed over her. "The river downstream from here was filled with people escaping the heat, even after the sun had set. The streams and river all ran full that year, and the High Pass opened earlier than ever before and stayed open later than usual."


    "Well, I think it¡¯s a perfect night for a swim," Ashlynn said, reaching down into the cool water to splash Nyrielle playfully and pull her lover out of her distant memories and back to the one she¡¯d decided to share tonight.


    For a moment, in a way that was likely only possible in dreams, countless drops of water hung suspended in the air while others glistened on Nyrielle¡¯s blemishless alabaster skin, making her look like a pale, dark-haired goddess of the night, bathed in moonlight reflected by jewel-like beads of water clinging to her soft, supple flesh.


    It only lasted for a moment, but the sight of it took Ashlynn¡¯s breath away, leaving her momentarily entranced and completely unprepared for Nyrielle¡¯s retaliatory splash that left her sputtering and momentarily off-balance in the chest-deep water.


    "I¡¯ve got you," Nyrielle said, appearing behind Ashlynn with her arms wrapped around her lover, supporting her gently in the water. "And I¡¯m never letting you go," she whispered as she nibbled gently on Ashlynn¡¯s tender ear lobe. "So relax, and let anything that troubles you drift away like leaves on the stream..."


    For the two women, hours slipped by as the cool waters of the pool washed away their worries. Whether it was the intensity of the meeting where they began to set their plans in motion or fears and uncertainties of the war to come, none of that mattered as they splashed and laughed beneath the light of the silvery moon.


    Soon, Ashlynn would wake, hours before Nyrielle would, to make her appearance among the people enjoying the festivities. She would transform herself once again into Lady Ashlynn, Seneschal of the Harbinger of Death and Mother of Trees, bearing half the weight of the Vale¡¯s struggle on her slender shoulders. But for now, she was simply Ashlynn, and the only challenge ahead of her was learning how to swim.

 Chapter 616: Inviting Important Guests

    Chapter 616: Inviting Important GuestsChange had swept across the fortress city in the Vale of Mists, and countless streets and buildings were in the early stages of construction. On any other day, the sounds of stonemasons¡¯ chisels, carts groaning under the weight of materials, and workmen shouting instructions to each other would fill the air, but today, the city outside the fortress walls felt all but deserted.


    Instead, it was the ancient fortress itself that bustled with energy as the courtyards and baileys of the fortress quickly filled with revelers from nearly every farm and village within the Vale, along with thousands more from lands across the mountains. Bright colorful tents lined the fields between the inner and outer walls of the fortress, and the air was filled with the sounds of children¡¯s laughter and bright, celebratory music.


    "Don¡¯t get distracted, Emmie," Kurtz told his daughter as her feet slowed to a near stop while her eyes followed the colorful balls and streamers flying through the air between two talented jugglers. It wasn¡¯t the first time the former gladiator found himself prodding his daughter along but he had a hard time blaming her for getting caught up in the excitement of the festivities.


    "You can come back and watch all you want when you¡¯ve finished your task," he said, prodding her toward the gates leading into the fortress town that was in the process of reinventing itself. "You don¡¯t want to disappoint Lady Heila, now do you?"


    "What? No, no, never," the young squire said, instantly turning a brilliant shade of crimson as she checked the pouch at her waist for at least the seventh time to ensure that the formally printed and sealed invitation was still there. "Let¡¯s go, Father," she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along as if she hadn¡¯t been the one dawdling just moments earlier.


    Ever since their arrival at the ancient fortress, Lady Heila had been completely occupied with the activities of Ashlynn¡¯s coven and had given her young squire only a handful of tasks to take care of while the Willow Witch watched over Sir Ollie¡¯s trial and tended to Lady Ashlynn¡¯s needs. Since that was the case, Emmie had spent countless hours exploring both the ancient fortress and the city around it.


    To the young squire who had only known the High Fen for most of her life, everything in the Vale of Mists was strange, new and exciting, especially when the constant fog that clung to the fortress town made it feel like an adventure just to explore the next block over. Now, she skipped happily over the cobblestones of familiar streets in search of a sprawling two-story cottage that was home to her lady¡¯s family.


    "This is it," a breathless Emmie announced when her cloven hooves finally came to a stop outside the ramshackle building in one of the oldest parts of town. Over the past hundred years, what had once been a simple cottage had been expanded several times, growing along with the family that dwelled there.


    Neat rows of a vegetable garden to one side of the house stood in sharp contrast to the more haphazard structure of the home, but combined with the well-maintained fence around the yard and the freshly swept walkway to the front door, the home looked more comfortably lived in and cared for than slovenly or disorganized.


    When Heila knocked on the door, a few minutes passed before it opened to reveal a gray-haired and gray-bearded man with horns grown so long with age that they looped completely back on themselves to point toward the sky.


    "Mister Kaisan?" Emmie said, blinking in surprise at how worn Heila¡¯s father appeared. He even walked with a cane!


    "Haha! Kaisan, rascal, you hear that?" the old man shouted into the house. "Your old man is still handsome enough for people to confuse the two of us!"


    "Stop preening, dear," an aged woman¡¯s voice called from within the home. "You¡¯ll embarrass your poor son with people thinking he¡¯s grown as old as you. Who¡¯s visiting on the festival day? Invite them in, invite them in!"


    "No, really, I don¡¯t need to visit," Emmie said, glancing briefly back toward the ancient fortress before returning her gaze to the old man in the doorway. "I, um, I have an invitation for Mister Kaisen and his family," she said, fumbling in the pouch at her waist to produce the thick, folded sheet of parchment bearing an impressive-looking wax seal.


    "Move aside old man," a deep, hearty voice said as a younger man clapped his gray-bearded father on the shoulder and pulled him back from the doorway. Unlike the old man who answered the door, this gentleman bore a striking resemblance to Lady Heila with the same grass-green eyes and brown hair that spilled from his head in loose curls. His face bore a number of creases and laugh lines around his eyes, but he still stood straight and proud when he came to the door to greet their unexpected guest.


    "You said you had an invitation for me, young lass?" Kaisen said, frowning when he saw the seal of the Castle Master on the folded piece of parchment. It had been years since he and his wife, Helga, had retired from service in the ancient fortress to care for their aging parents, but the glyph on the wax seal was one he would never mistake, even all these years later.


    "There¡¯s a feast being held tonight to announce Lady Nyrielle¡¯s betrothal," Emmie said, bowing deeply as she presented the invitation. "Present this when you reach the gates so the staff can bring you and your family to the table for honored guests."


    "Honored guests?" the gray-bearded man said, tugging on his beard in confusion. "Son, what nonsense have you been up to that you¡¯d be invited as an honored guest?"


    "Not me, da," Kaisen said, taking the parchment and prying it open with a neatly trimmed fingernail. "It looks like little Heila arranged a few seats for us. Poor thing is probably working herself to the bone during this celebration without even a minute to enjoy it," he said with a heavy sigh.


    "She¡¯s always been a good one about taking care of us, Kai honey," a mature woman¡¯s voice said as a woman who greatly resembled her daughter reached out to take the invitation from Kaisen¡¯s hands. Her hair was much darker than Heila¡¯s, and her figure held the softness that had come from giving birth to several children, but her eyes held the same gentleness that her daughters did whenever the Willow Witch called upon healing magic to mend wounds and ease suffering. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It must have cost her quite a few favors to find a place for us at this feast," Helga said. "Why don¡¯t we go, just the two of us, so we don¡¯t look like we¡¯re taking advantage. We shouldn¡¯t reject a gift like this, you know, dear," she said before her husband could make any sign of politely refusing.


    "It¡¯s fine even if you bring the entire family," Kurtz said, stepping up beside his daughter who was clearly at a loss for words in front of her hero¡¯s parents. "I¡¯m sure there won¡¯t be any problem, even if there are twenty of you."


    "Twenty! Merciful Lady, I could never," Helga said. "But, if you¡¯re sure it won¡¯t be too much trouble," she said, turning to look at the grey-bearded man. "Father-in-law, are you up to an evening out? It¡¯s little Heila¡¯s hard work that¡¯s earned us a chance to see Lady Nyrielle¡¯s betrothal announcement first hand."


    "Little lass," the old man said, looking past his son and daughter-in-law to the curiously dressed young girl who came with the invitation. The man behind her wore a broad-bladed short sword at his waist, balanced by a buckler on the opposite hip, and he moved in a way that suggested the weapons were as comfortable to him as well-worn boots.


    The young girl, on the other hand, was dressed in a fine dress with lace trim at her wrists that made her look more like the servant of one of the vampires than a common errand girl from the castle. The impression the pair made was odd to say the least and the old man had learned years ago to pay attention to things that looked odd.


    "Little lass," he repeated. "Do you have many of these invitations to deliver today?"


    "Huh? No, just this one," she said, scratching her head in confusion. "I¡¯m sorry," she added, flushing in sudden embarrassment. "I¡¯m also supposed to tell you that Lady Heila is very sorry that she couldn¡¯t visit you when she returned to the Vale but she really does hope to see you all at the feast tonight."


    "All right, all right," the gray-bearded old man said, placing a hand on his son¡¯s shoulders. "We¡¯ll have Pitar watch over the little ones tonight, he won¡¯t mind, and the rest of us will all come. That should be good, shouldn¡¯t it?"


    "You will?" Emmie said, perking up instantly. "That will be perfect! Then, since you¡¯re coming to the feast, I¡¯m sure Lady Heila will be very happy to see you all again," she said, dropping into a deep curtsey before saying her goodbyes and tugging on her father¡¯s hand so they could rush back to the festival. There were hours still before it grew dark and she would need to leave the fun and games to join Lady Heila at the banquet but she didn¡¯t want to waste any of them!


    Meanwhile, on the porch, the grey-bearded old man frowned at the strange young messenger girl as she scampered away with her even stranger protector.


    "Kaisen," he said after a minute. "You said that little Heila became the new Seneschal¡¯s personal maidservant, didn¡¯t you?"


    "Yes," Kaisen said, puffing out his chest in pride. "Helga and I told her how proud we were when she visited before leaving the Vale for the summer. She was a bit nervous," he admitted. "But her mother and I both believe that she¡¯ll do just fine."


    "Odd," the old man said, turning back toward the crackling warmth of the hearth in the cottage¡¯s great room. "Since when do they call maidservants ¡¯Lady?¡¯"

 Chapter 617: Atop The Tower

    Chapter 617: Atop The TowerAs midday approached, Ashlynn slipped quietly from Nyrielle¡¯s bed, dressing by the light of the crystal lantern before leaving her lover to sleep away the remaining hours of the day.


    "Sleep well, my love," she whispered from the door of the room before slipping out into the dark corridors beyond and returning to her own bedroom to freshen up and retrieve a small wooden box that clinked faintly when she picked it up.


    Ascending the well worn spiral stairs at the end of the hallway, Ashlynn entered the large, round room that occupied the entire top floor of the tower. Previously, there had been little here other than storage for the residents of the tower, but Ashlynn had ordered several changes to be made as part of converting the tower to her coven¡¯s use.


    Now, a large circular table dominated the center of the room, set low to the ground and surrounded by piles of pillows and soft blankets. The walls of the room were lined with simple bookshelves, many of them filled with texts taken from Nyrielle¡¯s collection but the amount of empty space on the shelves made it clear that Ashlynn expected to expand her coven¡¯s library over time.


    The side of the tower that overlooked the fortress now hosted a small wood stove that kept the room pleasantly warm despite the autumn chill in the air and a tea kettle had already been set atop the stove, adding the faint aroma of jasmine and rosehips to the scent of woodsmoke in the room.


    In time, Ashlynn intended to add overstuffed chairs along with a real hearth and several other simple comforts to the communal space she modeled after Amahle¡¯s home in the Briar. There would be dozens of differences, she was certain, she wanted her coven to make the space their own after all. But even though the work had only just begun, it already felt like she had come home when she entered the room atop the tower and found her coven waiting there for her.


    Heila looked the most comfortable, dressed in a simple tunic dress with a wide leather belt at her waist holding her Severing Knife and a coiled whip that never seemed to be far from her side these days. As soon as Ashlynn entered, the Willow Witch rose from the table to pour a fresh cup of tea, setting it on the table and gesturing for Ashlynn to join them. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Do you need me to fetch you something to eat, Mother Ashlynn?" Heila asked when she got a close look at Ashlynn¡¯s pale complexion. She¡¯d expected that Ashlynn would need a restorative meal after tending to Lady Nyrielle the night before and she¡¯d even prepared a snack for when Ashlynn returned to her chambers before dawn, but even when the sun broke above the horizon, Ashlynn still hadn¡¯t returned.


    "We¡¯ll get something soon enough," Ashlynn said as she set the wooden box down on the table with a heavy -CHINK- sound. "The tea will be more than enough for now, thank you."


    "Are, are you sure that you¡¯re fine?" Hauke said, shifting uncomfortably on a soft cushion as he tried to emulate the others present. At Ashlynn¡¯s request, he¡¯d dressed simply, draping himself in robes that were pale, icy blue and lacked any of the intricate patterns and embroidery that most of his wardrobe featured.


    It wasn¡¯t the simplicity of his outfit that caused his discomfort, however, but the softness of the room¡¯s furnishings. In the High Pass, the only thing that was ever ¡¯soft¡¯ was freshly fallen snow, and while it could be relaxing to lay on for idle moments, no one would suggest piling up snow in the great hall to use as a seat. He could have swept the cushions aside to sit directly on the stone floor if he wished, but as the only person present who wasn¡¯t a witch he felt uncomfortable doing anything that would make him stand out any further.


    "I can help, I can help," Talauia said, fluttering over to sit next to Ashlynn and placing a hand on her forehead. "It¡¯s not fever but if you¡¯re sick, if you¡¯re sick I and brew something for you in just minutes, you just watch," she said, looking anxiously at Ashlynn¡¯s pale complexion.


    Ever since the battle in the High Pass, there had been too many things that needed the help and care of a witch, including watching over Virve while the Oak Witch completed her transformation with the seed from the Ancient Oak and tending to Hauke¡¯s injured father, Ritchel. Now that she was finally getting to spend time with Ashlynn again, her heart ached to see her friend in such a worn out and exhausted looking state.


    "She¡¯s fine, she¡¯s tougher than you think," Virve said with a hearty laugh as she set down her delicate teacup. After years spent wearing armor and dressing mostly for fighting, very little of her wardrobe looked ¡¯feminine¡¯ but for today¡¯s festivities, she¡¯d made an exception, pulling out a patterned dress she¡¯d taken a fancy to during their last visit to High Fen City.


    The shimmering gray and silver tones of the dress were meant to invoke a sense of serpent scales, but to Virve, they reminded her of the deep, shifting fog of the Vale of Mists and the glitter of sunlight breaking through clouds after it rained. The cut was modest and even if the colors didn¡¯t exactly compliment the new russet and gold hue her fur had taken on, she liked it and that was all that mattered to her.


    "Lady, I mean, Mother Ashlynn always looks a bit pale after Lady Nyrielle feeds from her," Virve explained. "A hearty meal with plenty of meat and she¡¯ll be fine in no time."


    "I could go for a hearty meal," Ollie said as his stomach grumbled in agreement. Dressed in a loose fitting tunic and breeches tucked into soft leather boots, Ollie looked a little too well dressed to duck into the kitchens for a snack, even though he¡¯d avoided the finery set aside for later this evening. But even if he¡¯d been dressed as a kitchen boy again, he was certain that Georg would chase him out of the kitchens rather than let him have a preview of the evening¡¯s feast.


    "I feel like I¡¯ve been ravenous ever since my vigil," he added, looking slightly embarrassed at the sound his stomach had made. "Was it, was it like that for anyone else?"


    "I stuffed myself so much I felt like I¡¯d turned into a hog at a trough," Heila said, blushing faintly as she remembered how often she¡¯d handed Jacques or Talauia an empty bowl, looking at them with pleading eyes for yet another portion of whatever delectable dish they¡¯d prepared for the evening¡¯s communal meal. "I think it was half a moon before I felt back to normal."


    "Well, since it sounds like everyone is more than ready for a meal, I won¡¯t keep you all here any longer," Ashlynn said with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her emerald eyes. "The feast won¡¯t begin tonight until an hour after sunset. Between now and then, I¡¯ve brought a challenge for each of you," she said, tapping the wooden box firmly enough that it emitted another -CHINK- sound.


    "That is, if you¡¯re up to a challenge?" she asked with a wide smile as she looked around the table at some of the people who had become as close to her as her own blood kin. For a moment, she wished that Jocelynn could be here with them because the challenge she had in mind was exactly the sort of thing her younger sister would have adored. Since she wasn¡¯t, she would just have to do her best in her sister¡¯s place and make sure they had their own opportunity in the future to make up for missing this one...

 Chapter 618: Ashlynn’s Challenge

    Chapter 618: Ashlynn¡¯s Challenge"Ugh, no, no challenges," Ollie said, shaking his head and waving both hands in front of himself in response to Ashlynn¡¯s cryptic words. "I just finished one set of trials, I don¡¯t need another one! Wait, I mean," he stammered looking for the right words. "I learned a lot in the last challenge you gave me and I¡¯m still..."


    "Just stop before you dig any deeper," Virve said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Mother Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t torment you after you passed your trial, and Sir Thane isn¡¯t here to teach you any lessons that require letting him punch you to make sure you understand the lesson," she chided.


    "You let a vampire punch you?" Hauke said, blinking several times in surprise at the young human. He¡¯d learned just how tough Ashlynn was in her first visit to the High Pass but he assumed that it was because she was Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal. Were all humans actually so supernaturally strong, despite their smaller stature? "Was that, was that before, or after you became the Cypress Witch?"


    "Before," Ollie said, rubbing his chest as he remembered the power Sir Thane¡¯s punch held. Each time he¡¯d been hit, his vision swam and he felt like he was on the edge of losing consciousness until falling to the ground shocked him back to awareness. "He pulled his punches. It wasn¡¯t a contest of strength or anything. More like a lesson and a little pain to make sure I remembered it."


    "It¡¯s a thing that knights do to each other," Ashlynn said, still confused by the ritual but willing to accept it because both Thane and Ollie felt it was an important part of becoming a knight. "But this challenge, even though it¡¯s difficult, is much, much easier to manage. It¡¯s more fun too, though it¡¯s not hard to be more fun than letting the Lord General punch you," she teased.


    With a flick of her wrist, Ashlynn removed the lid from the box, revealing twelve bulging leather pouches roughly the size of a large plum and tied shut with a bright green silk ribbon. Reaching into the box, Ashlynn selected one of the pouches, bouncing it in her hand and producing a -CHINK- -CHINK- sound as she did.


    "Each of these pouches holds fifty silver tails," Ashlynn said, smiling at the people around the table. "You each get two pouches. We¡¯re going to go down to the festival and our goal is to spend every last tail you have."


    The money in the chest, six hundred silver tails in total, represented a sizeable portion of the money she¡¯d made for herself while in High Fen City, though at least half of it had come from placing wagers on Heila¡¯s fights in the arena. Most of the wealth that Ashlynn secured went into Nyrielle¡¯s treasury to finance the work being done in the Vale, but now that the festival had arrived, she was glad that she¡¯d kept some back for herself so that she could share it with the members of her coven.


    "Tails?" Ollie asked, frowning at the unfamiliar term.


    "Take a look," Ashlynn said, tossing the pouch in her hand. When he opened it, several large silver coins, stamped with the shape of a coiled serpent¡¯s tail. "The coins stamped in High Fen City are half again as heavy as the silver pennies used in the kingdom, and twice the weight of the ones used in the Vale so keep that in mind when you¡¯re spending them."


    "Half again as heavy?" Ollie said, staring at the volume of coins in mild amazement. "My parents each received twenty silver pennies a year in wages... I only got ten. You, you want me to spend three years worth of my entire family¡¯s wages, in single afternoon?" Ollie asked in a voice that had dropped to a low whisper by the time he was done.


    Since leaving the Summer Villa, he¡¯d had little reason to think about money, though Sir Thane had provided him with a small pouch of silver coins in case Ollie wanted to purchase anything for himself from the market in the fortress town.


    Since then, he¡¯d spent less than three silver pennies on a handful of trinkets in the market and even then he felt like it was a luxurious indulgence to spend half a penny just for a new cloak pin or a set of cooking knives with handles shaped for his hands. To spend this much money all at once was all but unthinkable!


    "I do," Ashlynn said gently as she began to pass two pouches to each person at the table. "First and most importantly, everyone here has been through a great deal recently. Whether it¡¯s been fleeing home, fighting deadly battles, facing trials and transformations," she said, meeting each of their eyes in turn.


    "So much has happened in such a short time that I think all of us would benefit from an afternoon of pure joy and relaxation," she said firmly. "That¡¯s why I asked you all to dress casually for today. You don¡¯t need to be the Cypress Witch or the Willow Whip or Young Lord Hauke or anything else while we go to the festival. Just be yourself. Be a family out to enjoy the festival and each other¡¯s company for the afternoon."


    "Even if you say that," Hauke said, shifting uncomfortably on the cushion. "We¡¯re all... distinct," he said, pointing at his iridescent horn. "People will know who we are." S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They¡¯ll know when we¡¯re up close," Virve corrected. "So a shopkeeper might recognize you, but the crowd won¡¯t swarm around us the way they would if we all dressed up and wore our fancy hats," she said with a toothy grin. "Still, we only have the afternoon to play. Isn¡¯t this a little much, Mother Ashlynn?"


    "That¡¯s why I said it was a challenge," Ashlynn said. "But also, it¡¯s important to spend money during this festival," she added in a more serious tone. "We invited dozens of merchants in High Fen City to join us for the winter, setting up shop, plying their trade and selling their wares. If they don¡¯t see a return on the investment they¡¯ve made by coming here, they¡¯ll leave when the pass clears in the spring."


    While Ashlynn wanted to put aside concerns of politics and strategy to give her coven an afternoon of pure joy, she couldn¡¯t deny that her actions were also calculated to accomplish important things during the festival. And if her plans succeeded, then the festival itself would only be the beginning...

 Chapter 619: The Wheel of Wealth

    Chapter 619: The Wheel of Wealth"Our people are too poor to buy many of the goods that the merchants from High Fen City brought with them," Heila said with a heavy sigh as she looked at the two pouches stuffed full of coins that Ashlynn had handed her.


    She hadn¡¯t realized how poor the Vale of Mists had truly become until she reached High Fen City and learned about the vast differences between the living standards of the people in the Vale of Mists and the people of the High Fen. While it was true that the most common folk, the farmers, woodsmen, and laborers all lived very similar lives no matter where they were, many people in High Fen City enjoyed things that simply weren¡¯t a part of life in the Vale of Mists.


    Heila¡¯s own wealth had grown exponentially after fighting in the arena in High Fen City, and the chest in her room contained just as many tails of silver as the pouches in her hands with several tails of gold as well, but the gift Ashlynn was giving her felt far heavier in her small hands than just the value of the coins.


    They were a reminder of a life and lifestyle that she had only briefly experienced on the far side of the mountains... and a style of life she wished she could share with her family and the other people of the Vale.


    "You want us to spend this money so the merchants see hope in the Vale," Heila said, looking into Ashlynn¡¯s soft, emerald green eyes and smiling as understanding dawned on her. "You¡¯re hoping that if they see success early on, they¡¯ll work harder over the winter to find ways to make their business work here."


    "That¡¯s part of it," Ashlynn agreed. "But I don¡¯t just want you to spend money on foreign merchants," she added. "Many of the merchants in the festival came from across the mountains, but the people running games and selling food, most of them are local to the Vale. The more you spend at their stalls, the more they have to spend elsewhere on the things they couldn¡¯t otherwise afford."


    "But then, but then doesn¡¯t all of the money go to the foreign merchants anyway?" Talauia asked as her wings fluttered in agitation. "Then what¡¯s the point of spreading it around if they get all the money in the end?"


    "Pride," Ollie said as he looked at Ashlynn in understanding. "Our people¡¯s pride has been ground down since Lady Nyrielle¡¯s army arrived. The merchants from across the mountains are wealthier, many of the warriors are mightier, and everyone knows that Lady Nyrielle had to go across the mountains for help because the Vale can¡¯t hope to win the next war fighting by itself." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Don¡¯t misunderstand," he added quickly. "Everyone is grateful for the rescue, but their pride is also suffering, the same way the refugees felt beaten down when they had to leave their villages behind and rely on handouts just to have a meal every day. But when the village harvested its first crops and finished its first homes... It did a lot for everyone¡¯s pride," he said, remembering the transformation that had come over the villagers with each new success.


    "Ollie has it right exactly," Ashlynn said as she stood up from the table. "Mistress Nyrielle has already asked the merchants from across the mountains to cut their prices in half for the festival," she said, surprising everyone in the room. "She¡¯s agreed to make up their losses personally from her own treasury so that her people have a chance to experience some of the goods from across the mountains that they¡¯d never have had the chance to own before. But even Mistress Nyrielle can¡¯t subsidize her people forever," she added.


    "But if our own people have more money in their pockets, money they earned with their own labor during the festival," Ashlynn said. "Even if they have no time to shop during the festival, they¡¯ll be able to visit those merchants afterward when they open their own shops in town. My sister called it the Wheel of Wealth¡¯," she said, wishing once again that her sister was here to help her return the Vale of Mists to the prosperity it once enjoyed.


    "According to Jocey," Ashlynn explained. "The more often money changes hands, the faster the ¡¯Wheel of Wealth¡¯ spins. The faster the wheel spins, the more prosperous people¡¯s lives are. Prosperity doesn¡¯t come from people acquiring vast amounts of silver and gold," she said. "It comes from having enough that you can part with it easily and receive things in return that enrich your life."


    Of course, Ashlynn had simplified Jocelynn¡¯s explanation greatly. When her sister mentioned learning about it she described complex mathematical formulae used to measure how fast the ¡¯Wheel of Wealth¡¯ was spinning, and ways that the merchant guilds would determine if the wheel was speeding up or slowing down. Bankers in Blackwell City might even adjust the rates at which they lent money based on the ¡¯speed of the wheel,¡¯ but all of it quickly became more complicated than Ashlynn could follow.


    While her father insisted that Ashlynn develop a lord¡¯s understanding of wealth and how a County or March managed it, the lessons she received focused far more on levying taxes and the management of a treasury than the lessons her sister received to understand the matters of merchants and how their use of wealth supported the rest of the County.


    At times like this, Ashlynn was grateful for every scrap of conversation with her sister that she could recall, but she also missed her presence badly and wished she had a reliable family member by her side when she met with the Eldritch merchants who would become spinners of the Vale¡¯s Wheel of Wealth.


    "So today, we¡¯re going to spend freely," Ollie said, now fully committed to Ashlynn¡¯s ¡¯challenge.¡¯ "To make the wheel spin faster and bring prosperity to the Vale."


    "It won¡¯t happen overnight," Ashlynn acknowledged as she saw everyone¡¯s enthusiasm rising more than it had at the simple idea of having a pouch full of silver to spend on having fun. Perhaps it shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise, after all, she¡¯d chosen people for her coven who wanted to nurture growth in others, but she was still grateful to see their excitement growing at the idea of joining the afternoon¡¯s festivities. "So tonight, I think we can give the wheel a helpful spin!"

 Chapter 620: A Final Day of Peace and Happiness Begins

    Chapter 620: A Final Day of Peace and Happiness BeginsOnce her coven had agreed to take up Ashlynn¡¯s challenge, they wasted no time in addressing the most immediate concern for almost every member of the coven. Something to eat! Of course, deciding to enter the festival in search of food was easy, but deciding what to eat was a different challenge altogether.


    Ropes with colorful streamers hanging from them sectioned off an area of the field between the inner and outer walls of the ancient fortress, clustering most of the people selling food into a single area where their cookfires could be more easily managed and any accidents could quickly be contained. On the grassy hillside beyond the ropes, people from all across the Vale and beyond sat on blankets or directly on the grass, sharing food they may have never eaten before and listening to music played by musicians with instruments that were as varied as the food.


    When Ashlynn and her companions finally arrived, an intoxicating medley of savory scents and sweet aromas washed over them even before they reached the first stall. Standing behind wooden tables that were sometimes little more than slabs of lumber placed atop wooden crates, cooks from the Scaled Clan or the Glass Eyed Clan called out to passers by, offering samples of their spiced meats accompanied by a dizzying array of colorful sauces.


    Elsewhere, a Golden Eyed hunter proudly proclaimed that his roasted meats had all come from game hunted within the past two days, promising a flavor still seeped in the thrill of the hunt. Across from him, a member of the Ancient Clan wore a blanket over his heavy cloak, huddling close to his cook fire as he plucked delicate, puffy pastries out of a giant pot filled with boiling oil.


    Evidently, the cool, wet climate of the Vale disagreed with the poor man so much that he had enlisted the aid of a pair of young women from the Horned Clan to drizzle honey over the finished confections before selling them to passersby. Clearly, whatever he had agreed to pay for their help was worth far less than the discomfort of leaving the warm area immediately adjacent to his cook fire.


    "So many choices, so many choices," Talauia said, fluttering up on her gossamer wings to survey the row after row of stalls selling food from what felt like half the clans of the Eldritch nations, even though she knew it was far less than that. "Look, look, they¡¯re making fish fritters, and, is that, is it, it is, it¡¯s boar¡¯s heart stew!" the Thistle Witch cried excitedly as she surveyed the offerings from across the mountains.


    "Big Sister Heila," Virve said as she surveyed the offerings with her advantage of height. "You weren¡¯t with us when we entered a nation ruled by the Dark Feathered Clan," she said, pointing at a stall with what looked like several sausages hanging in nets. "


    They are masters of fermenting meat and preserving sausage until the fat is sweet, succulent, and infused with spices. If you slice it thinly, it all but melts on your tongue," she said, licking her lips in memory at the flavorful delights she¡¯d sampled while Nyrielle led them from one Eldritch nation to the next in search of allies.


    "Is that mold?" Heila asked, pointing to some of the sausages that were covered by a powdery white substance. "I heard rumors that the Dark Feathered Clan ate carrion and rotting things..."


    "Fermented isn¡¯t rotten," Virve insisted. "And you wash or cut away the mold before you eat the sausage. The moldy cheese is different, though," she added, pointing to wheels of blue-veined cheese that the shopkeeper was slicing into small wedges for his customers to go with the sausages. "That one, you eat the mold."


    "Eat the mold?" Ollie said, blinking in surprise. "Don¡¯t you get sick doing that? I tried saving a bit of cheese that was moldy once," he added with an expression that said the memory was anything but pleasant. "Even after I cut away all the moldy bits, I still had the, um.... I had problems," he said awkwardly, realizing that mentioning the nature of his problems around a group of women probably wasn¡¯t polite, even if Ashlynn wanted him to treat them all like family. "For three days," he finished a bit lamely. "I never want to feel that way again."


    "One of the benefits of becoming a witch, Ollie," Ashlynn said with a warm smile. "Your constitution is much better than it once was. I expect my Cypress Witch has an unshakable stomach, just as he has an unshakeable heart," she teased gently. "And if you don¡¯t, your big sister, Heila, will be more than happy to soothe what ails you."


    "So, does that mean we¡¯re eating the moldy meat?" Hauke asked, looking at the shop with a furrowed brow. Frost Walkers were no strangers to fermented food, but mold was incredibly rare in the ice caves where they stored their food. If it would help him to fit in with the other members of the coven, he was willing to do almost anything, but somehow, the idea of eating food that had been left to grow mold sounded as appealing to him as it seemed to the young human.


    "It means that if Virve wants to choose some fermented sausages for us, she¡¯s welcome to," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. "Virve, one of these days, I¡¯m going to find something you won¡¯t eat, but I feel like that¡¯s going to be a challenge. Everyone else," Ashlynn continued as she turned to the rest of the witches. "Spread out and find something that you like. Bring back enough portions to share among six... make that nine people," she said as she considered the appetites of her recently transformed witches and the young Frost Walker Lord.


    "I¡¯ll find us a place to sit on the grass," she added as she looked around. "We can share everything and pick favorites. And Tala," Ashlynn said, calling out to the Thistle Witch who still hovered several feet above her head. "Where did you see someone selling fish fritters?"


    Looking down from above, Talauia smiled brilliantly, flashing her wickedly pointed teeth before she descended to show Ashlynn the way. If Amahle could have been here now, watching Ashlynn step out like a true mother to her coven, effortlessly gathering people from different clans and backgrounds into a cozy family eager to share a meal together, she was certain that the Mother of Thorns would be proud of how far Ashlynn had come. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The Thistle Witch knew that the days ahead would be hard, but as long as this was the path that Ashlynn wanted to follow for her coven, Talauia was willing to do whatever she needed in order to keep them all safe. She was certain that the day would come when many people needed to shelter beneath the boughs of the forest Ashlynn and her coven would plant, but for those trees to grow to maturity, they had to be guarded fiercely while they were saplings.


    When she had been little more than a sapling, even her father, the powerful High Lord, hadn¡¯t been able to protect her. Now that it was Talauia¡¯s turn to protect someone else, however, she would stop at nothing to make sure their enemies never survived threatening them!

 Chapter 621: A Culinary Adventure (Part One)

    Chapter 621: A Culinary Adventure (Part One)Several minutes later, Ashlynn was munching happily on a fish fritter that was still piping hot from the boiling lard it was cooked in. The exterior was perfectly crisp while the interior was soft and pillowy though she had to admit that each fritter seemed to contain more bread, herbs and vegetables than flakes of tender, flakey fish, and they contained far less of the spicy peppers that Jacques added to his, but they were still a nostalgic treat that reminded her of her time in the Briar and the unexpected family she¡¯d found there.


    Ollie was the first to return, awkwardly juggling a platter piled high with skewers of spiced, roasted meats and half a dozen small bowls of brightly colored sauces. The scents of sweet onions and fresh parsley mingled with fatty beef and pork to create a simple, welcoming aroma that all but cried out for one of the dark red, bright orange, or vibrant green sauces stacked around the edge of the platter.


    "That was fast," Ashlynn said as she blew on another hot fritter, waiting for it to cool slightly before she began to nibble again. "Why did you pick those?"


    "I wanted to try something new," Ollie admitted as he held a skewer and eyed the colorful sauces, trying to decide which one to try first. "I¡¯ve never seen minced meat roasted on a skewer over a fire like this, and there were so many different sauces to try, so I thought this would be a good time for a little food adventure," he said with a wide grin.


    For so long, his focus on food had been figuring out ways to turn the scraps he foraged in the Lothian kitchens into something palatable. From off-cuts of meat to slightly burned bits that couldn¡¯t be served on a lord¡¯s table or odd combinations of leftovers, he¡¯d tried just about everything to make an enjoyable meal out of the castoffs of the noblemen¡¯s tables.


    Ever since coming to the Vale of Mists, however, Georg had been slowly expanding Ollie¡¯s knowledge of food, adding not only to the young man¡¯s repertoire of techniques but enhancing his sense of flavor and what made food truly enjoyable. Now that he found himself confronted by so many different dishes cooked by people from so many different Eldritch Nations, he felt like he couldn¡¯t possibly taste everything he wanted before the end of the festival, so he set out to find something that offered as many different flavors as possible. S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The green one," Virve said, sitting down next to the young knight with a heavy -THUMP- as she set down a platter of her own, this one laden with thick sausages and crumbly blocks of pale cheese with blue veins of mold. "You want to slather the skewer with as much of the green sauce as you can, and then take a big bite so the juices of the meat mix with the sauce in your mouth," she said with a wide smile.


    "No, no, no, no, no! What are you doing?" Heila cried as she walked up in time to see Ollie spooning the chunky green sauce over a skewer. In her arms, she carried a basket filled with deep-fried pastries drizzled in honey that she nearly dropped in her haste to stop Ollie from following Virve¡¯s helpful ¡¯advice.¡¯ "That much spicy sauce and you won¡¯t be able to taste anything but pain," she said, giving Virve a pointed look.


    "It¡¯s fine," Virve countered, leaning forward to snatch the sauce-laden skewer from Ollie¡¯s hand, biting off nearly half the meat in a single large bite and smiling broadly as she savored the savory, spicy treat. "See?"


    "Don¡¯t trust her, Ollie," Heila said, stepping between the young knight and the bearish warrior like a comically small guardian. "I don¡¯t think Virve can taste anything unless it has so much seasoning that it burns your tongue."


    "I can eat spicy food you know," Ollie said, reaching out for another skewer and preparing to scoop even more of the fiery green sauce on it. When he noticed a subtle headshake from Ashlynn, however, he significantly reduced the amount of sauce he added before taking a bite. The instant he did, he felt like his tongue had been stabbed by hundreds of needles, as if he¡¯d unleashed the cypress needle magic he¡¯d learned during his trial, only in his own mouth and set on fire.


    The rich, fatty meat didn¡¯t do anything to make the flavor milder, in fact, the juices of the meat only made things worse, carrying the intense spice to every corner of his mouth and throat as he swallowed, gasping for air.


    "Drink this, drink this," Talauia said, descending from the air with several large tankards of cider that smelled of sweet apples with faint notes of clove and citrus. "The bubbles help to get the spices off your tongue," she explained as she passed over a large, frothy tankard of chilled cider.


    "It¡¯s not that bad," Virve said with a hearty chuckle as she began using a sharp claw to slice the sausages into smaller pieces. "You just have to eat enough of them that you don¡¯t notice the burning anymore."


    After chugging down nearly half the tankard of cider, Ollie shot Virve a look that said he wondered if the Oak Witch really deserved the moniker of ¡¯demon¡¯ for encouraging him to use even more of the potent, painfully spicy sauce... or if she was a demon because the torture-food apparently had no effect on her.


    "I like the thick red sauce," Ashlynn said, leaning over and retrieving a skewer before spooning a bit of the sauce on it. "They use sweeter peppers to make this one, along with tomatoes dried in the sun and crushed nuts. It has a little spice, but it¡¯s mostly sweet and earthy," she said between bites as she savored the rich, meaty skewer.


    Before Ollie could respond or consider choosing his next ¡¯food adventure¡¯ a sudden flurry of snow swept over the group as Hauke arrived at last, carrying several large bowls made of ice holding something that looked soft and creamy in an assortment of colors.


    "Sorry I took so long," the Frost Walker rumbled as he sat down on the grass. His iridescent horn glowed a pale, icy blue, and the mist around him froze into a small flurry of snow as he joined the group. "I didn¡¯t think the line would be so long," he said sheepishly.


    In truth, while the line had been long, the length of the line alone didn¡¯t entirely account for how long it had taken him to return. Seeing the long line of children, eagerly looking forward to tasting one of the sweet treats of the High Pass filled Hauke¡¯s heart so full with pride and joy that he¡¯d let several of the children cut ahead of him in line, relishing in the musical laughter and eagerness as people from across the Vale and beyond devoured the flavorful, frozen cream.


    "You¡¯re using sorcery to keep the food cold?" Heila said, looking at Hauke in mild concern. "Won¡¯t that tire you out without the cold of the mountains around you?"


    "This much is no big deal," Hauke said proudly as he sat up straighter. While it was true that his powers had diminished once they left the bitter, frozen lands of the High Pass, he could easily have covered the entire festival with snow and kept it cold for children to play in without feeling too much strain. Something like chilling a few bowls of ice cream was no big deal, but for the witches who were used to drawing on the energy of the world to fuel their magic, perhaps they didn¡¯t realize how much power he still carried all on his own.


    "Besides," Hauke added with a wide smile. "Ice cream should be enjoyed last, after everything else, so I¡¯ll just keep it cold until everyone is ready for it."


    "Well, don¡¯t hold back, dig in," Ashlynn encouraged, trying to draw the awkwardly distant Frost Walker more into the group. "Just don¡¯t take Virve¡¯s advice on spicy things and help yourself to a skewer."


    "No, no, I tried it and it seems like everyone else has tried it," Ollie said, spotting a chance to share his misery with someone else. "Hauke, you can try a spoonful of the green sauce on a skewer too!"

 Chapter 622: A Culinary Adventure (Part Two)

    Chapter 622: A Culinary Adventure (Part Two)"That¡¯s even worse, that¡¯s so much worse," Talauia said, looking at Ollie in shock as he suggested inflicting the terrifyingly spicy sauce on the group¡¯s youngest member. "You know that it hurts and Frost Walkers eat most of their food raw! He doesn¡¯t eat spicy things at all, why would you do this to him?"


    "Is this like the knight¡¯s ritual where you bond through pain and suffering?" Hauke asked, looking sideways at the strange dish. "I¡¯m supposed to do something that hurts so we become closer?"


    "You don¡¯t have to," Ashlynn said as she moved on from the skewers to one of the rich, smokey sausages Virve had brought over. "Ollie wanted a ¡¯food adventure¡¯ and he found one," she teased. "He just didn¡¯t expect that his first adventure would be quite so painful."


    "I¡¯m sorry, Hauke," Ollie added quickly. "I don¡¯t want to pressure you..."


    "It¡¯s fine, I¡¯ll try it," the young Frost Walker lord said, his horn glittering a faintly embarrassed shade of lavender as he served himself a large spoonful of the ¡¯painful¡¯ sauce. "I¡¯m farther away from home than most of my clansmen go in their entire lives. I should try adventures or what¡¯s the point of coming all this way to be Lady Ashlynn¡¯s apprentice?"


    Moments later, however, as he steadily chewed on a large bite of spicy beef, slathered in the chunky green sauce, he failed to show any sign of discomfort or displeasure at the taste. In fact, he seemed more confused than anything else.


    "Did I pick the wrong one?" Hauke asked, blinking in surprise. "It¡¯s a little bitter but... it isn¡¯t painful."


    "Aaah! That is so unfair," Ollie cried. "It doesn¡¯t feel hot at all? Like your mouth is on fire?"


    "No, not at all," Hauke said as he sniffed the sauce, but unlike Ollie and the others, he seemed completely unbothered by it. "But I think the sausages Virve has smell better," he said, turning to look at her expectantly.


    "I got a big one, just for you," Virve said, passing over a thick sausage thicker than her thumb and as long as her large paw. "The meat is raw when they start fermenting it so I thought it might suit you more. If you like it, I got two," she added.


    "Now I¡¯m jealous," Heila said from the side as she meticulously sliced through one of the smaller sausages, preparing a stack of bread, sausage and the crumbly blue cheese before nibbling on the rich, salty, creamy, savory and slightly funky combination of intense flavors. "I can¡¯t eat as much as everyone else, so how am I going to try everything?"


    "Just eat like Nyri and the other vampires do," Ashlynn offered helpfully. "One bite of this, one bite of that, and keep going until you¡¯ve run out of things before you start over. Practice for when you take Sir Ignatious out to dinner," she added with a wink.


    "Really, really?" Talauia said, looking at Heila with shining amethyst eyes as her wings hummed in the air behind her. "So you really like Sir Ignatious? And not just because, not just because you let him feed on you in the High Pass?"


    "What, what¡¯s not to like?" Heila stammered, her face heating all the way to the tips of her ears. "Sir Ignatious is a gentleman, and he¡¯s really sweet and warm. All that fire and fury that the Inquisition burned into him... it wasn¡¯t really ever his to begin with. So, now that he¡¯s free and he can just be who he always should have been... He¡¯s nice," she said quietly, hiding behind the tankard of cider as she took several large gulps.


    "I want to find something for him at the festival," Heila said after she put down her tankard. "He, he doesn¡¯t really have many things in his chambers. Mistress Nyrielle never gave him a chance to collect his belongings after she brought him to the Vale so the only keepsakes he has of his old life are things that came from the Church," she explained.


    "And then, when he was with High Lord Hamdi... things were, were really hard for him," she said, shuddering at the memory of the things she¡¯d glimpsed in his memories when she healed him during the battle in the High Pass. "That¡¯s why, I want to help him to collect a few things that he can treasure, so that he always has a reminder that someone treasures him."


    "Heila, you really are growing sweet on him, aren¡¯t you?" Virve said with a strange look in her eyes. The former Inquisitor made many people in the Vale uncomfortable but after seeing him fighting so hard for Ashlynn and Heila in the High Pass, it was hard for Virve to cling to the same hatred that filled her heart whenever she thought of the human¡¯s Church in general and their Templars and Inquisitors specifically.


    The closest she¡¯d come to reconciling her feelings was to put Ignatious in the same box she put Ollie in, Ignatious wasn¡¯t truly a member of the Inquisition after becoming a vampire any more than Ollie was a human after becoming a witch.


    "So," Virve asked without waiting for the diminutive Willow Witch to answer. "Are you just going to buy him a few things? Or are you going to try to win him prizes by playing the games at the festival?"


    "Oh, I¡¯ll buy things for him," Heila said as a faintly competitive light began to shine in her eyes. "But I don¡¯t just want to give him things that come from me. I want to show him that there are many more people who care enough about him to give him something that couldn¡¯t just be bought."


    Ashlynn smiled, recognizing the look of determination on Heila¡¯s face. She¡¯d seen it before in the arena when Heila faced opponents more than four times her size in the arena, but it was tempered by a gentle affection that had only really blossomed in the Willow Witch in the days since the battle in the High Pass.


    "I saw some game booths near the northern section of the festival," Ashlynn said as she wiped oil and crumbs from her delicate fingers. "Ring tosses, pin bowling, all sorts of things. I¡¯m sure they have prizes that can only be won by people who are very skilled," she said with a wink at her coven.


    "I saw them too!" Talauia said as her wings hummed with excitement. Technically, she was the oldest person here, but today, she had given herself completely over to childish fun that she¡¯d lost the opportunity to enjoy years ago, embracing Ashlynn¡¯s family as an extension of her own to join in the revels. "And there was one where you throw knives at painted targets, and another with little bottles you have to knock over with cloth balls!"


    "Half of those games are always rigged, you know," Virve chuckled, licking a few drops of spicy sauce from her claws. "The bottles are weighted, the rings barely fit over the pegs..."


    "That¡¯s why I need all of you," Heila said, pointing at everyone in the group with a hand that held a sticky, honey pastry. "Between all of us, I¡¯m sure we can collect plenty of prizes, and even if they aren¡¯t the biggest ones, just knowing that we did it for him will mean more than the most expensive treasures for sale at the festival," she said firmly. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "In that case," Ashlynn said, standing up and brushing grass from her skirt. "Let¡¯s see what we can win for Si

 Chapter 623: Hauke’s Puzzle (Part One)

    Chapter 623: Hauke¡¯s Puzzle (Part One)"Come up, come up and try your luck! Three tries to a tail, bloodstone bracelets and charm necklaces for your lady or your man!"


    "Test your mind and your body, solve the puzzle to free the scarf and keep your prize, just a tail to try!"


    "Hunters, archers, warriors bold, take up this bow and..."


    The northern fields between the fortress walls had become a sprawling, boisterous, and chaotic free-for-all where shopkeepers pitched tents and set up stalls to present all manner of games for prizes large and small. Children raced from booth to booth, some dragging parents with them while others carefully counted the handful of coins in their purses with conflicted expressions as they tried to decide which game they should play next.


    Kneeling on the ground at one such booth, Hauke did his best to drown out the noise of the crowd as he put all of his attention on the bits of twisted metal arranged on the table in front of him.


    Blacksmith¡¯s puzzles like this one were uncommon in the High Pass but the challenge presented by this shopkeeper looked deceptively simple. Take three twisted iron rods and arrange them in a manner that they could support themselves without falling over. Anyone who could do so would win a small silk purse in a bright color of their choice.


    Hauke had initially intended to win a crimson or gold colored purse for Sir Ignatious, feeling like it would compliment the former Inquisitor¡¯s wardrobe and that a new purse would represent a new opportunity to fill it with treasures as he began a new life after returning from exile.


    What Hauke hadn¡¯t expected, however, was that after solving the first puzzle, the shopkeeper immediately presented a second one, this time with four twisted iron rods, and the chance to select a better purse with a fine brass clasp as long as Hauke was willing to pay another silver tail for the right to keep playing. And if he kept winning, there were even greater prizes to be won. Of course, if he failed, then he lost anything he might have won before, and he would have to start over from the beginning if he still wanted the best prize.


    Now, frost covered his horn as he focused all of his attention on the seven twisted rods as he struggled to recall everything he had learned from Eraric about stable structures and mutual reinforcement. The Frost Walker Architect might have been the person who forged the chains that made Hauke a prisoner in his own mind, but he was also one of the greatest architects of his era and perhaps the greatest in the history of the Frost Walker clan, and the lessons he¡¯d given Hauke over the summer were still priceless treasures to the young lord.


    Standing next to him, Heila and Talauia held hands and all but held their breath, not daring to make the slightest movement that would disturb Hauke as he carefully threaded an iron rod through a gap between three others that he held loosely in place with one hand while the other manipulated the rod.


    Further back, Virve looked at Ollie with a slight grin before elbowing him in the ribs and leaning over to whisper in his ear.


    "I¡¯ll bet you ten tails that he fails on the fifth rod," Virve said as she watched Hauke struggle to make the fourth rod lock into place. "This one is much, much harder than the last one."


    "I won¡¯t bet against my friends," Ollie said, frowning at Virve¡¯s suggestion. "So my bet is ten tails that he succeeds on this one, just like he did on the last one."


    "It¡¯s okay to bet against your fellows, you know," Virve said with a laugh. "Soldiers gamble on everything, just to pass the time. Nine days out of ten are spent marching somewhere that we might fight, maintaining our weapons and armor in case we fight, or sleeping and recovering because we just fought. It¡¯s a lot of idle time to fill, and even cards and dice get boring after a while."


    "But knights aren¡¯t common soldiers," Ollie insisted. "We have to set an example for the people who follow us and we should lift each other up instead of cheering to see one of our own fall. Look at Heila and Talauia," he said. "They¡¯d be cheering him on if they weren¡¯t so worried about distracting him."


    "You don¡¯t get it," Virve said, shaking her head at the young knight. "I¡¯m not cheering for Hauke to fail, I¡¯m creating a reason to cheer no matter what the outcome is," Virve said, surprising both Ollie and Ashlynn standing beside them. "If I win because he loses, then I at least owe him an ale to celebrate my good fortune. He¡¯ll also see that you believed in him enough to wager coin of your own on his success, and that¡¯s a good thing too."


    "This is why I knew I picked the right person to become the Captain of my guard," Ashlynn said proudly. "I never thought that gambling among soldiers was so meaningful."


    "I¡¯m just repeating the lesson I got from Captain, I mean, from Sir Lennart, when I told him that I thought the gambling was getting out of hand years ago," Virve said, her ears twitching slightly as Ashlynn praised her. "Really, I was just bitter about losing so often. I barely had enough of my wages left at the end of the journey to buy a nice dinner and an expensive bottle of wine to drown my sorrows in, and some of the others had made what felt like a small fortune betting on fights in High Fen City¡¯s arena."


    "Wisdom is wisdom, wherever it comes from," Ashlynn said with a wide smile. "And I¡¯ll join Ollie," she added as she watched Hauke successfully set the fourth rod. "I think Hauke can¡¯t lose at this game."


    "What?" Virve asked, blinking in surprise. "Is he really that skilled with these sorts of puzzles?"


    "He¡¯s very clever," Ashlynn said, nodding in pride as she watched Hauke¡¯s confidence grow when he quickly set the fifth rod. "I can¡¯t wait to introduce him to my friend Isabell when she arrives in the Vale. Marcel sent a message that he¡¯s arranging to bring her to the edge of the Vale tomorrow night."


    "Ollie," Ashlynn added, as if a thought had just struck her. "Master Isabell may not be able to escape Lothian City without an escort of Owain¡¯s guards. It might be best if we could limit our party to just humans to receive them. We can handle any trouble that arrives with her ourselves, but if her escort notices Eldritch folk around, they may try to run away before we can stop them, and we can¡¯t risk word getting out. Are there any of the men we captured from the Summer Villa that you trust enough to act as our ¡¯guards¡¯ and escort when we meet with Master Isabell?"


    "I can think of a few who were very helpful in building the village, and hunting for food to feed the refugees in the early days of the crisis after Lord Owain attacked the Heartwood Clan," Ollie said with a firm nod. "


    "Eamon might be a bit... eager," Ollie said, choosing his words with care as he thought about the woodsman who had become an increasingly devout believer that Lady Ashlynn was a divine messenger blessed by the Holy Lord of Light. "He¡¯s a good man, though, and he and Darragh were both helpful this summer. Daithi too," he added after a slight pause. "I think you met his wife and daughter when you visited the village."


    "Good," Ashlynn said with a genuine smile. "I¡¯m glad to know that we didn¡¯t destroy their lives when we took them prisoner. I was worried when I left that they would cause all manner of trouble but it seems like you¡¯ve helped them to integrate well into life in the Vale. Well done, Ollie," she praised.


    "Six, that¡¯s six rods!" the shopkeeper shouted loudly, startling several of the people who had gathered to watch Hauke attempt to complete the most difficult puzzle he offered for a chance to win the greatest prize. "But the last one is the hardest. What do you say, young lord Hauke?" the shopkeeper said warmly.


    "If you stop here," the shopkeeper offered loudly, pitching his voice to be heard by Ashlynn and anyone around her. "I¡¯ll still give you your choice of silk satchels. You said your friend was a scholar, right? Nothing better for a scholar than a good satchel to carry around their precious books. I¡¯ll even add a basic coin purse for each of the ladies in your party since you¡¯ve made it this far." S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It¡¯s a good deal, isn¡¯t it, friend?" the shopkeeper asked. "Why don¡¯t you just quit while you¡¯re ahead?"

 Chapter 624: Hauke’s Puzzle (Part Two)

    Chapter 624: Hauke¡¯s Puzzle (Part Two)"Quit while I¡¯m ahead?" Hauke said, frowning at the shopkeeper¡¯s underhanded seeming offer.


    Looking at the puzzle in front of him, placing the seventh rod would certainly be a challenge. The puzzle already looked complete with just six pieces, and it seemed like the whole thing would collapse under the weight of the seventh no matter where he added it. Whoever had designed the puzzle was clearly a master of their craft, and Hauke had nothing but respect for the distant master who had produced the puzzle.


    For a moment, Hauke paused, wondering if the shopkeeper was actually trying to do him a kindness instead of encouraging him to stop short. He still had plenty of silver in the purse that Ashlynn had given him, but there were only so many hours left before they would need to leave the festival to attend the evening¡¯s banquet.


    If he spent all of his time here, holding everyone else back while they watched him, then too much of their limited time would slip away because he was too proud to recognize when a puzzle couldn¡¯t be beaten. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Hauke had listened with complete focus when Ollie recounted his experiences in the trial to become the Cypress Witch. The young Frost Walker might not face exactly the same lessons or tests in his own trial when Lady Ashlynn received the seed she was waiting for, but Hauke would take any information he could in order to prepare himself for his own trial when the time came and Ollie¡¯s lesson about recognizing his limits had struck a note with the young Frost Walker.


    But, looking at the puzzle in front of him, he wasn¡¯t entirely convinced that it couldn¡¯t be beaten. He¡¯d studied each of the pieces carefully before beginning, visualizing the completed structure just the way Eraric had taught him and working backwards from the conclusion before he picked up the first piece of metal. He might not have perfect confidence that he could hold all the pieces still enough to place the final rod, but as long as he went slowly, he felt like his odds were very good.


    "Didn¡¯t you say that the prize for this puzzle is a silk rug that the Ancient Clan uses to bask in the sun¡¯s warmth?" Hauke asked, glancing briefly at the beautifully embroidered yellow and green rug hanging in the back of the shopkeeper¡¯s stall. The pattern was simple, resembling the ripples of sand on a beach after the tide receded, and it looked very soft and comfortable to lie on.


    "That¡¯s right," the shopkeeper said, looking at the gathered crowd who were eagerly waiting to see if Hauke could win the grand prize. "Properly, rugs like this sell for at least twenty-five silver tails, but you¡¯ll get it for just seven if you can complete this puzzle. This one was woven in Crystal Lake City, where the summers are so miserably hot that the people of the Ancient Clan spend half their days lazing about and doing nothing because it¡¯s too hot to even move," he explained. "But friend," the man added in a quieter voice. "I have only seen three people beat the puzzle of seven rods in the past ten years, and I¡¯ve traveled to more than a dozen great cities west of the mountains. The satchel is still a good prize for your friend, isn¡¯t it?"


    "The satchel is a good prize," Hauke agreed as he renewed his focus on the puzzle in front of him. "But the rug is better for my friend," he added. "Sir Ignatious worships the light of the sun and its warmth, but he can never bask in its rays again. He¡¯s trapped, unable to see the beauty of a sunrise or its warmth on his skin," he said in a voice that grew quiet.


    "So, to give him a rug like this, that he could rest on during the day, feeling the warmth it was made to feel... I think it would mean more to him than a satchel for books," he said in a firm, determined voice.


    Working carefully, with all of his focus on the puzzle in front of him and aura of frost around him so thick that his white fur started to shimmer with tiny ice crystals, Hauke carefully threaded the final rod through a tiny gap in the structure, twisting the rod ever so slightly as he went to prevent it from disturbing the other pieces until it finally locked into place.


    "There," Hauke said, sighing in relief as he backed away from the table, standing up from his kneeling posture for the first time since he attempted the simplest puzzle and holding his hands up to indicate that he was no longer supporting the structure of twisted metal. "That makes me the fourth person, doesn¡¯t it?" Hauke said proudly as he grinned at the shopkeeper.


    "You did it, you did it," Talauia said, fluttering up on wings that hummed in the damp, misty air, wrapping her arms around one of Hauke¡¯s thick, muscular arms and hugging him tightly. "I knew you could do it! Didn¡¯t you know, didn¡¯t you know he could do it, Heila?"


    "Of course I knew he could do it," Heila beamed, blotting away the moisture in her eyes that gathered when Hauke explained why he wanted to have the rug for Ignatious so badly. It was exactly that kind of thought that had inspired her to turn to the coven for help in welcoming Ignatious back to the Vale, but even she had been surprised to hear that the person in their group most aligned with the bitter cold of ice could understand someone who craved the sun¡¯s warmth so well.


    All around the young Frost Walker lord, the crowd of onlookers cheered and pressed inward with many of them hoping to catch a glimpse of the completed puzzle.


    "Did you hear?" one young man from the Horned Clan said to another. "That rug is worth twenty-five silver tails, but he¡¯ll get it for just seven! What do you think, do you think I can do it too?"


    "You don¡¯t have his talent, Berg," his friend said, instantly quashing his hopes. "But you might be able to win one of those purses with the bronze clasps, and aren¡¯t they supposed to be worth at least four or five silver tails? Get one of those and I¡¯m sure Sara will spend a night with you!"


    "Hey you," the first man said, shaking his fist at his friend. "Sara¡¯s not that kind of woman. She¡¯s sweet and kind, like that Miss Heila over there," he said, pointing at the Willow Witch as she lavished praise on Hauke for winning the prize. "But, it would be nice if I could catch her eye... Shopkeeper," he called, digging in his coin purse for a silver coin. "Let me give it a try...."


    "That¡¯s ten tails I owe each of you," Virve said loudly to be heard over the crowd¡¯s cheering, and opening a pouch filled with silver coins before counting them out carefully. "Hauke! You owe me an ale for costing me so much money," she called, startling the young Frost Walker lord with her sudden declaration. "I bet that you would fail, but Mother Ashlynn and Ollie wouldn¡¯t hear of it. They never doubted that you¡¯d succeed for a second!"


    "I always believe in my friends," Ollie said, walking over to give Hauke a congratulatory pat on the back, even though he had to stretch onto his tip-toes just to give the towering Frost Walker a thump on the shoulder. "But even I had my doubts when he said that only three people had ever finished it. Well done, Hauke!"


    "You never doubted, did you, Mother Ashlynn?" Virve said quietly as everyone else gathered around Hauke to celebrate. "What did you see that I didn¡¯t?"


    "It¡¯s a secret," Ashlynn said, placing a finger across her lips as she smiled at her Oak Witch. "But mostly, it¡¯s because I know Hauke better than I should, and he knows Ignatious the same way, even though they¡¯ve only met once or twice since we returned to the Vale," she said a touch wistfully.


    "My lady?" Virve said, raising an eyebrow at Ashlynn¡¯s cryptic comment.


    "Hauke wasn¡¯t imprisoned as long as I was kept on what amounted to house arrest by my parents," Ashlynn said. "And his torment wasn¡¯t nearly as severe as what Sir Ignatious faced at High Lord Hamdi¡¯s hands. But he was trapped in a way that could be considered every bit as horrifying as what Hamdi did to Ignatious."


    "When Hauke heard that the rugs were for basking in the sun, he made up his mind right then that he was going to give one to Sir Ignatious," Ashlynn said. "Because Hauke understands that even brief moments of escape from the chains that bind you can mean more to a prisoner than an outsider might ever understand," she said quietly.


    For a moment, memories of late nights spent creeping through the tall grasses outside Blackwell Manor, guiding Jocelynn to the top of the cliffs to share a pilfered breakfast of bread and cheese that even a commoner would find plain filtered through her mind.


    The food she snuck from the kitchens wasn¡¯t fancy, but it tasted better than anything because she felt free when she ate it, and she felt the most loved when her sister ate it with her, especially after Jocey grew old enough to have more refined tastes.


    Jocelynn had complained once or twice that they should at least get a few honey cakes that had been baked the night before, or another more luxurious treat but when Ashlynn explained that they would get caught and lose their freedom if they took anything too fancy, her sister had never broken Ashlynn¡¯s arbitrary seeming rule about the simple breakfasts.


    After all, the precious thing wasn¡¯t the meal itself... It was the time they spent together that mattered the most.

 Chapter 625: Real Places, Lost & Found

    Chapter 625: Real Places, Lost & FoundFollowing Hauke¡¯s success at the iron puzzle, Ashlynn¡¯s coven moved on from one stall to the next, competing in everything from ring tosses to knife throwing and puzzles that challenged their ability to find matches among rows of face down cards.


    There were dozens of games and hundreds of people clustered around cheering for successes and crying out in frustration at failures, but Ashlynn¡¯s group seemed to consistently fair better than most. Though their talents differed, everyone played the games together, quickly accumulating enough prizes and treasures that Heila had to fetch a sack to carry it all, though Hauke insisted on being the one to do the heavy lifting as the bag began to bulge with their winnings.


    "Thank you, everyone," Heila said, bowing deeply in gratitude to the other members of the coven. "I can¡¯t wait to see Ignatious¡¯s face when we surprise him with all of this. Do you think, do you think we could invite him up to the tower in a few days to surprise him?" Heila asked, turning to Ashlynn for permission to invite an outsider into their private tower.


    "I think it¡¯s fine to invite him in," Ashlynn giggled. "We¡¯ll have to cook something special that night to help you sweep him off his feet."


    "But, he¡¯s the one sweeping me off mine," Heila said, blushing furiously. "And I¡¯m too little to carry him," she said, looking dejected before her face broke into a wide grin at the expressions of the other witches.


    "Joker," Virve said, giving Heila a playful shove. "I didn¡¯t know you had it in you to be so coy."


    "She¡¯s using us to practice for Ignatious," Ashlynn teased. "But truly, I¡¯m happy to see everyone having so much fun while doing something to help a friend. But we only have a few hours of daylight left," she said, noting the gathering gloom and the thickening mists rising up from the forest around the ancient fortress. "So, I think it¡¯s time to head for the inner wall."


    When Nyrielle rebuilt the defenses of the ancient fortress after the Vale of Mists fell to Cellach Lothian, she¡¯d opted to build human-style defensive walls instead of the simpler walls that had been intended mostly to keep wandering beasts from entering the city and grazing on the resident¡¯s gardens.


    Each wall in the Vale of Mists stood at least thirty feet high and they were wide enough for soldiers to fight atop with small defensive towers spaced every hundred paces along the wall. During the festival, however, the tops of the walls became home to two distinct markets, each one bustling with people moving from shop to shop exploring wares that were both locally produced and carried from across the mountains.


    The outer wall held shops that were suitable for most residents of the Vale of Mists. The prices were much lower with very little costing more than four or five silver tails and most items selling for half a tail or less. It was the inner wall, however, that Ashlynn led her coven to where the most prosperous of merchants sold goods that would fetch a high price no matter which Eldritch nation they were sold in.


    "Everyone," Ashlynn said when they arrived at a shop selling intricate tapestries that depicted scenes that varied from majestic mountains to tranquil lakes, bustling cities or mighty fortresses standing guard over nations that no one in her coven had ever visited. "Take this as a gift from me," she said, handing one of her pouches of silver coins over to the shopkeeper. "You all have new rooms to decorate and make your own, so choose something that makes you happy and I¡¯ll have it hung for you."


    "Mother Ashlynn," Ollie said, his eyes growing wide in shock when he saw the slate board with carefully written prices displayed based on the size of the individual tapestries. The cheapest of them was twelve silver tails, and some cost as much as twenty! "Isn¡¯t this a bit too much just to hang in our rooms? These are finer than the ones hanging in the great-hall at Lothian Manor," he said as he reached out gently to touch one of the intricate tapestries depicting a vast marsh filled with cypress trees and hanging moss.


    "Good sir," a well dressed shopkeeper wearing an elegantly embroidered tunic said when he saw Ollie¡¯s reaction. "These are all woven by great masters from the Night Weaver Clan. Each one of them is a faithful reproduction of a real place, representing the most beautiful views from across the whole world, and they¡¯re treasures that will last for a hundred years or more if you care for them well. I promise, they¡¯re worth the price."


    "These are real places?" Ollie said, blinking in surprise as he returned his gaze to the tapestry depicting the grove of Cypress trees. "Then, Mother Ashlynn, is this the Briar you told me about?"


    "No it¡¯s not, no it¡¯s not," Talauia said, standing almost perfectly still and unable to take her eyes off the tapestry. "That¡¯s my," she started, only to correct herself almost immediately. "That¡¯s the Endless Marsh. My father was, he was the High Lord of the Endless Marsh before he, before..." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry," Ollie said, turning away from the tapestry to gather the Thistle Witch into a tender embrace. Ashlynn hadn¡¯t given him many details about Talauia¡¯s personal history but she had mentioned that the Thistle Witch was lucky to have escaped the destruction of her clan and the pursuit of Shubnalu, the covetous Fangs of Death who sought to turn Talauia into a vampire assassin.


    "You should take this one then," Ollie offered in a quiet, soothing tone. "Since it¡¯s a depiction of your home..."


    "No it¡¯s not, no it¡¯s not my home," Talauia said, shaking her head fiercely as she pulled back from Ollie¡¯s tender embrace. "Not anymore, it isn¡¯t. It hasn¡¯t been in a long time," she said as she wiped tears away from her multi-faceted amethyst eyes. "It just surprised me, that¡¯s all. My home is in the Briar with Mother Amahle and my coven. So, if you like this because of the trees, then, you should have it, you should have something that speaks to you."


    "Are you certain?" Ollie asked, looking from the Thistle Witch to the tapestry and back again. "That was just the first one that caught my eye. There are others I would like just as much," he offered.


    "It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine," Talauia said, pointing at a different tapestry entirely, one that depicted a majestic golden waterfall spilling over a cliff into a cloud of mist below. "I want that one," she said, looking to Ashlynn to confirm that it was all right to select such an expensive tapestry that made extensive use of gold thread.


    "I remember that waterfall," Ashlynn said, standing next to the tapestry and thinking back to the day she¡¯d been so entranced by it that Nyrielle had to rescue her before she stepped off the edge of the cliff to immerse herself in the powerful energy that surged along with the waters of the White River as they spilled over the cliff above the Briar. "I think it will look beautiful in your room," Ashlynn added, hoping that it would also provide some comfort to their coven¡¯s guest witch.


    The news that Shubnalu had ordered High Lord Hamdi to capture Nyrielle for him had shaken several people in Ashlynn¡¯s small but growing family, but only Talauia had a reason to feel a deep, personal fear at the news. If the Fangs of Death was willing to make a move against one of his peers, attacking another True Vampire because he wanted to possess her, what would happen when he learned of the power that could be gained by taking a witch as his Seneschal?


    For decades, Talauia had taken a certain amount of comfort in the knowledge that becoming a witch meant she was ¡¯spoiled¡¯ as a candidate to become one of Shubnalu¡¯s progeny. Turning her into a vampire would destroy the powers she gained as a witch and even if she gained a different power as his progeny, she would still be damaged in ways that she wouldn¡¯t have been if she never became a witch.


    Now, however, Ashlynn was living proof that there was a different way for the powerful Great Lord of the Dark Forest to make use of one of the greatest assassins to ever live, and if he wanted to come for Talauia, even the Briar might not be able to keep her safe.


    Escaping across the mountains and taking shelter under Nyrielle¡¯s dark wings was the best idea that Ashlynn and Lady Amahle had been able to come up with to keep Talauia safe from the possessive vampire lord, but it wouldn¡¯t keep her safe forever. Eventually, they would have to confront the Fangs of Death and put an end to his covetousness, one way or another or it would be too dangerous for the Thistle Witch to rejoin her coven in the Briar.


    But for now, if a tapestry depicting the waterfall that fed the waterways of the Briar could help reduce the feeling of pain and separation that haunted the Thistle Witch, even just a little bit, then Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t begrudge a single silver tail, even if it took all she had planned to spend today and more.


    It wasn¡¯t the freedom from fear that she wanted to give the winged witch who had made her feel so welcome in the Briar, but at the moment, it was something concrete that she could do to make her friend¡¯s life just a little bit better... and that would have to do until she and Nyrielle could do more.

 Chapter 626: Investing in the Coven (Part One)

    Chapter 626: Investing in the Coven (Part One)Ashlynn¡¯s gesture of purchasing a fine tapestry for each member of her coven subtly transformed the dynamics within the group as her companions reevaluated their goals for this shopping excursion.


    "Mother Ashlynn," Ollie said as he watched the shopkeeper rolling up the tapestries, carefully tying them with thick cords and promising that they would be sent to the witch¡¯s tower by the end of the evening. "You said that you wanted us to cook together for at least one meal a day in the tower, didn¡¯t you?"


    "I do," Ashlynn said. "It¡¯s something I learned from Big Sister Amahle. Everyone cooks a dish of their choosing and brings it to share with the coven. I also learned about eating at tables that are low to the ground from the Mother of Thorns. She says it stops gatherings of the coven from ever feeling stiff, formal, and hierarchical." Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If we need to meet to plan a war or govern the Vale," Ashlynn added. "Then, Mistress Nyrielle has places that function far better for those purposes. The coven gathers as a family, and sitting on cushions on the floor helps us remember that. Why? What brought that to mind?"


    "Will you let me take charge of equipping our kitchen?" Ollie asked before he turned to the others in the group to explain his idea. "Some things in a kitchen are common. We¡¯ll want hooks for hanging roasting meat, pots for stewing, pans for searing, and all of those things. But some dishes may need tools that are less common. If everyone can tell me the sort of food you want to cook, I¡¯ll make sure we have the tools for it. That way, everyone has what they need in order to make the dishes they want to share with the coven."


    "You don¡¯t need to spend your festival money on this," Ashlynn pointed out. "I had planned to let Georg make recommendations for our supplies once we have a proper hearth built in the room atop the tower..."


    "I¡¯m sure Georg would be happy to help," Ollie said, smiling at the notion of the unexpectedly wise friend he¡¯d made in the castle¡¯s kitchens helping them to set up a kitchen of their own at the top of the tower. "But I¡¯ve learned recently that good tools can make cooking... joyous, I guess. Or at least less of a chore. Georg has tools for stuffing sausages that I wish we¡¯d had when we were in the Summer Villa...."


    "Ugh, don¡¯t remind me," Ashlynn said, rubbing her fingers together as if to rid them of the memory of handling the slimy venison while the fat seemed to melt all over her fingers as she tried to stuff the minced meat into a length of freshly washed intestine. "I couldn¡¯t eat sausage for a week after that."


    "I want a short table," Heila said, stepping up next to Ollie and looking at him with shining eyes. "I don¡¯t like using sharp knives when I have to stand on a stool so I want a table I can cut and prepare things on that¡¯s my height. And I want some of the rolling pins that put patterns on your dough when you roll it out so my pastries can look as pretty as Georg¡¯s do," she said firmly.


    "All right," Ollie said, reaching out to ruffle Heila¡¯s curly hair. "A short table and some carved rolling pins. What else?"


    "A long knife, for cutting delicate fish," Hauke said, drawing surprised looks from several people. "When you eat fish raw, it shouldn¡¯t be hacked up or sawed at," he explained. "You need a long knife to cut delicate pieces, especially on a big fish."


    "You know the fish in the river aren¡¯t as big as the monster fish in your mountain lakes," Virve pointed out. "You might not need such a big knife."


    "But, we aren¡¯t that far from my home," Hauke protested. "I can go visit long enough to fish from time to time, can¡¯t I? And if I freeze the fish before I bring it back, it will last long enough to enjoy, even if I have to use sorcery to keep it frozen in mid-summer."


    "Officially, you¡¯re an exile," Ashlynn reminded the young Frost Walker lord, though her tone was light when she said it. "But, as the Eldritch Lady of the High Pass, I hereby grant you permission to visit your homeland to fish as often as you want, so long as you aren¡¯t socializing with anyone while you¡¯re there. Is that fair enough, Hauke?"


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t want the young Frost Walker to suffer for his exile, and she knew just how much a taste of home could mean while you were living in strange lands. At the same time, she was afraid that if he returned too early, the elders among the Frost Walkers would seek to bring him under their sway, using him as a pawn in an attempt to reclaim power.


    It felt like a fine line to walk, between friendship, family, and the duties of a ruler, but she felt like the compromise she offered was reasonable. For a moment, she wondered what her father would have done before giggling at the absurdity of it. Her father would never have found himself named the lord of a neighboring nation at the end of a single battle, and she doubted he¡¯d choose to act as a lord for the Eldritch even if he was presented the opportunity.


    Or at least, he wouldn¡¯t now. Soon, she would ¡¯return from the dead¡¯ and one of the first things she intended to do was reach out to her parents in Blackwell County. Whether they could accept her and the woman she¡¯d become was yet another nightmare that plagued her from time to time, but since she couldn¡¯t do anything about it at the moment, she pushed those worries firmly to the back of her mind and focused on the important things.


    "That¡¯s more than fair," Hauke said as his horn turned a faint shade of lavender. In truth, he¡¯d forgotten his status as an exile as he got caught up in the Vale¡¯s preparations for war. He¡¯d thought it would be a simple thing to hike back up into the mountains any time he felt a little homesick but ¡¯home¡¯, it seemed, would remain a distant place that he could only briefly visit for the next five years until his exile ended.


    "Thank you for your kindness, my lady," he said, lowering his horn formally as he realized that Ashlynn had worded her ¡¯proclamation¡¯ very carefully. He was forbidden from socializing with his clansmen while visiting the High Pass for fishing... but she never said he was forbidden from socializing with them outside of the High Pass.


    He doubted that many people would make the long hike down into the Vale of Mists just to visit him, but if his mother or father wanted to see their son, Ashlynn wouldn¡¯t force them to shun him during his exile. A crueler ruler, especially one in Ashlynn¡¯s circumstances who was cut off from their own family, might choose to enforce a harsher exile. But Lady Ashlynn was different, Hauke realized. When she suffered, no matter what she suffered, she worked hard to prevent others from experiencing the same pain.


    She was a very different kind of leader from Ansgar, the Lord of the Seven Peaks, who had ridden roughshod over Hauke to attack Heila and otherwise attempt to restore the Frost Walkers to their days of glory under his rule but... Compared to the tyrannical force he¡¯d seen from his own ancestor, Hauke much preferred to learn from Lady Ashlynn¡¯s example.

 Chapter 627: Investing in the Coven (Part Two)

    Chapter 627: Investing in the Coven (Part Two)"So, a short work table and rolling pins," Ollie said, hoping to lighten the conversation back up rather than dwelling on the topic of Hauke¡¯s exile. "A long knife for cutting fish, and what else do we need. Virve?"


    "I don¡¯t know how to cook much of anything," the veteran soldier admitted. "I can manage to roast meat over a campfire, and I can mix flour and water for travel bread, but don¡¯t expect much from me." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I wonder if I can find someone selling books then," Ollie said as he rubbed his chin in thought. "You¡¯ve traveled more places than most of us. If someone is selling recipes for things you¡¯ve eaten elsewhere that you like, I can help you learn how to make them. That way we can both learn things together," he offered.


    "I¡¯d like that," Virve said, reaching out with a heavy paw to clap the young knight on the back. Lately, it had seemed like the two of them were on opposite sides of everything and they clashed frequently, but Virve had a hard time disliking the flame-haired human. He was trying to do his best, each and every day and even when they disagreed, he¡¯d never once tried to distance himself from her.


    "But Ollie," she warned with a teasing grin on her face. "I might want to make spicy things. Are you sure you¡¯re up to learning the recipes together with me?"


    "Oh, that¡¯s fine," Ollie said with an answering grin of his own, finally seeing a way of getting back at the witch with the iron stomach. "I¡¯ll learn to eat spicy things, but you have to taste your failures to learn from them," he added, thinking of a few of the horrible failures concocted by the head cook in Lothian Manor.


    Growing up, Ollie had been too poor to see any food go to waste, even if it was extraordinarily sour, salty or otherwise off. Knowing Virve, she would likely eat anything that was properly cooked, but what about the things that weren¡¯t? Would her iron stomach hold up even then?


    "All right you two, that¡¯s enough," Ashlynn said, clapping her hands lightly before they fell into another round of teasing, though this one seemed friendlier than a few of their recent arguments had. "Virve, Ollie is planning to shop for our kitchens, what are you going to shop for?"


    "Well," the veteran soldier said, pausing for a moment in thought. "You said that one of the hats we need is a Hedge Hat for foraging in the wilderness and I¡¯ve seen Big Sister Heila¡¯s hat," Virve mentioned. "But the Briar is a different kind of wilderness than the Vale of Mists. We¡¯ll want good cloaks to keep the water off and even better socks and boots to keep your feet dry in the woods," she mused.


    "Let me help make sure everyone is well outfitted for the days and nights we need to spend in the wild," she said, thumping her chest as she realized just how many things they would need to spend several nights in the wilderness if they needed to trek to where different trees or herbs could be found. "And Sir Ollie can help me pick out the tools we need to cook together in the wilderness," she added with a wide smile.


    "Oh, I can help, I can help too," Talauia said, fluttering up and looking out over the market. "Bottles and jars for potions and cauldrons for concocting. Oils for infusing and sharp, sharp, sharp scissors for trimming delicate plants and all the things, all the things you need for witchcraft. I helped set up Auntie Ashlynn and Cousin Heila¡¯s huts in the Briar with all the things they needed, so I can help here too," she promised.


    "I, I want to help too," Hauke said, looking at the group as he furrowed his brows in thought. "But I think I need everyone¡¯s help because I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ll like."


    "Just say it, Hauke," Ashlynn said. "And remember, you don¡¯t have to spend your money on the coven if you don¡¯t want to. I know you¡¯re far from home, so if there are things that will make you more comfortable then you should take care of yourself while we¡¯re here."


    "No, it¡¯s fine," Hauke insisted with a shake of his head that caused a brief flurry of snow to form in the misty air around him. "I might make my room extra cold. I learned how to make Eternal Ice from the ancestors and I can place blocks of it in my room to make it colder instead of lighting a fire in the hearth. We don¡¯t have many fancy things in the High Pass and I don¡¯t need much to be comfortable."


    "But, looking around," he said, pointing out several of the finely dressed festival goers who were wandering through the expensive marketplace on the inner wall. "I see many people wearing silver, gold and cut jewels. But Lady Ashlynn, I rarely see you wearing many ornaments, and even fewer on sisters Heila and Virve or brother Ollie. So, I thought, since there is a banquet tonight and many more fancy events to follow, maybe I could help purchase some ornaments for everyone?"


    "Hauke, men don¡¯t really wear jewelry like women do," Ollie started, only for Ashlynn to cut him off with a sharp look.


    "You¡¯re a knight now, Sir Ollie," she reminded. "When have you seen Owain or his knights without a heavy ring or two on their fingers, a cuff around their wrists or a necklace hanging across their chests? Or cloak pins, hat pins, belts with carved and gilded buckles," she said, ticking things off on her fingers as she thought about all of the things that not only Owain but her own father had worn for formal occasions or even more casual meetings with other lords.


    "We¡¯re returning to human lands soon, Ollie," Ashlynn promised. "Hauke wants to help you equip yourself as a knight for the battles that are fought with words over banquet tables. Don¡¯t you think it would be good to accept his gift?"


    "When you put it like that," Ollie said, blushing slightly. "I guess it¡¯s hard to refuse."


    "Let me fill the cupboards," Heila offered, having finally arrived at a conclusion. "There are many different kinds of teas in the Eldritch nations, so please taste things with me and let me know what you all like. And everyone needs their own tea-cup too," she added. "I saw someone with hand painted porcelain so please, pick out what you like so I can make tea for everyone in their cups," she said, looking very serious about tea.


    Of course, she intended to go far beyond just tea when she took charge of the cupboards. Plates, bowels, goblets for wine and a dozen other things flickered through her mind as she thought of the places she could help make meals an experience that belonged to the coven instead of just a time to fill their bellies.


    Overlooking the group, Ashlynn wore a broad smile as each member of her coven looked for ways to put their mark on the newly forming group. She would have been just as happy to see them indulging themselves, or shopping for gifts to give their friends and loved ones. So long as they were enjoying the afternoon and their time together, she would have been completely content.


    But seeing them each putting time and thought into how they could use their unique knowledge and experience to help build the coven¡¯s foundation... it filled her heart with warmth and pride. The days ahead would be hard, but as long as they had the memories they built today and many others like it, then the coven that emerged from the coming crisis would grow into something much greater than a trained squad of warrior witches.


    This was the path to nurturing a coven that was a family, and Ashlynn was determined to ensure they never lost their way, no matter what storms shook them in the days to come.

 Chapter 628: Restored Glory

    Chapter 628: Restored GloryThe great hall of the ancient fortress had seen almost no use in more than a century since the Vale of Mists fell to Cellach Lothian. Even when Nyrielle returned to the Vale, staining the waters of the River Luath red with blood as she and her forty-seven prodigy purged every human conqueror and settler from their lands, there had been no feasts or grand celebrations in honor of their victory, only the long, bitter years of reconstruction as a trickle of Nyrielle¡¯s people returned to the lands of their birth.


    For decades, the great hall had been carefully maintained along with other unused areas of the ancient fortress, awaiting a day when the Vale of Mists returned to its former glory... or faded at last into the oblivion of history.


    Now, however, while the entire fortress had undergone tremendous changes to accommodate the sudden arrival of an army more than a thousand soldiers strong along with more than twice that number in family members, merchants and allies recruited to Nyrielle¡¯s cause, the great hall seemed to have become the center of all of that change, shining in a way it hadn¡¯t for over a century.


    The stone walls had all been freshly washed, then painted a soft, subtle grey reminiscent of the Vale¡¯s mists before skilled artisans added harlequin patterns of alternating midnight blue and emerald green to sections of the wall that stretched from floor to ceiling. Where the walls weren¡¯t painted with bright colors, they displayed tapestries pulled from storage rooms and carefully cleaned so they could be displayed in all their glory.


    Some said that the tapestries had been woven by Madame Zedya herself, and they depicted scenes from around the Vale of Mists and far beyond. Notably, one tapestry depicted a dark, foreboding swamp, filled with trees covered in thorns, supporting vibrant vines with even sharper thorns. Another tapestry prominently displayed something that seemed to be the exact opposite, presenting the frozen vista of a Frost Walker fortress, though the bright whites and icy blues of the tapestry conveyed a feeling that was every bit as dangerous and foreboding as the dark swamp of the Briar.


    High above, more than a dozen gilded chandeliers had been polished until they gleamed, each one filled with enough oil to burn for an entire night and hung with more than a hundred crystals to reflect and refract the lamps¡¯ soft, golden light. On the floor below, fresh cedar boughs covered the cold stone floor, filling the room with their sweet, earthy scent and muffling the footfalls of hundreds of people moving about to find their places.


    At the entrance of the great hall, Kaisen stared in open-mouthed awe at how much the ancient fortress had transformed since his own days serving in its halls. Next to him, Helga fidgeted nervously with her simple blue dress, adjusting the polished amethyst pendant hanging from her neck while her eyes darted around the great hall for anyone dressed as plainly as they were.


    They had already spent several minutes standing in line, waiting for one of the servants to guide them to their assigned seats, and Helga was already feeling incredibly underdressed after seeing the glamorous dresses and elaborate jewels worn by a trio of women from the scaled clan, to say nothing of the palpably mysterious aura that radiated from a group of sorcerers whose robes were embroidered with cryptic runes in thread of silver and gold.


    In fact, ever since their arrival at the Ancient Fortress, she hadn¡¯t seen a single person attending who wasn¡¯t at least the Village Elder of a village or a proud warrior carrying weapons that looked impressive enough to be the work of master smiths from far across the mountains. Her eyes searched the crowds constantly, hoping to find a sign of some other common folk who had entered the prestigious banquet because of a family connection, likely seated at a table far to the back of the great hall, but she had yet to see a single person who fit that description.


    "Relax," a gruff voice said from behind her as her father-in-law cast his own gaze around the hall. "You saw how the guardsmen at the front gate reacted to our invitation. No one will look down on us for how we¡¯re dressed tonight. We aren¡¯t here to impress these people anyway," he added pointedly as he tugged on his gray beard.


    "Most likely," the old man concluded. "Little Heila just wants a moment to introduce us to the Seneschal. We¡¯ll have a few minutes of polite hellos and then she¡¯ll be too busy tending to her mistress to bother with us."


    "You say that, Father," Kaisen said, frowning as he inspected his father¡¯s unexpectedly refined appearance. The midnight blue tunic had faded a bit with the passage of years, but the silver buttons running down his chest were bright and freshly polished, and the small sword he wore at his waist gleamed with matching silver adornments. "But you look like you actually belong here. Where did you even get that sword anyway?"


    "This? It¡¯s just a ceremonial sword, it¡¯s not even sharp," he said, tapping the hilt of the sword as though it were a simple fashion accessory. "It was a gift from a friend when I retired from Lady Nyrielle¡¯s service. It¡¯s been collecting dust under my bed since you were in diapers," he said with a warm laugh.


    Standing next to him, a white haired woman with horns grown heavy and dull with age smiled brightly at her husband¡¯s dashing appearance, seeing once again the handsome rogue who had stolen her heart and convinced her to leave the outlying villages behind to return to life in the Vale of Mists.


    For all he said that the sword had been collecting dust, she knew very well that he pulled it out at least once a year, carefully maintaining the treasured weapon... just as she knew that it wasn¡¯t the dull, ceremonial accessory he pretended that it was.


    Kaisen was about to press his father for a better explanation, wanting to know how a simple trader who wandered the outlying villages before settling down in the Vale of Mists had come to be gifted such an expensive looking weapon but the arrival of a breathless and flustered young servant interrupted them before he could ask any more questions.


    "I¡¯m sorry for the wait," the young man with short horns said as he bowed deeply to Kaisen and his family. "May I have your names?" he asked as he glanced at the slate he carried in one arm, covered with a diagram of the great hall and dense notations.


    "Kaisen," Heila¡¯s father said, feeling a bit awkward at the young man¡¯s excessive courtesy. "This is my wife, Helga, and my parents as well. The invitation that my daughter, Heila, sent mentioned we could bring other family members, so I hope it¡¯s no trouble that there are four of us," he said nervously.


    "L-lady Heila is your daughter?" the young man stammered, color instantly draining from his face as he realized that such a venerable personage had been left to wait in the same line as Village Elders and wealthy merchants. "Honored guests, I¡¯m so sorry, so sorry for the mixup. I¡¯ll take you to your seats right away, right away," he gulped, bowing so deeply that he nearly overbalanced, and he would have fallen to the floor if Kaisen¡¯s father hadn¡¯t caught him.


    "Don¡¯t worry yourself over us, young man," the gray-bearded senior said, helping the young man to stand upright. "These bones aren¡¯t so old that I can¡¯t stand in line for a bit," he said, holding his cane up as if to imply that it was mostly for show and not something he needed just to move around. "Now, why don¡¯t you show us to our seats?"


    "Of course, of course," the young man stammered. "If you¡¯ll follow me down the center aisle, your seats are on the left side of the hall at the table in the front with the other Honored Guests. Please, if you¡¯ll follow me," he said with sweat dripping down his brow.


    "There¡¯s another Honored Guest at your table who is very eager to meet you," the young man added as he guided the surprised-looking couple toward one of the tables at the front of the great hall, just beneath the high table on the dias that overlooked the entire hall.


    Inwardly, the young man hoped that the other guest had exaggerated when he described Lady Heila¡¯s prowess with whips. Or, failing that, that the ¡¯Willow Whip¡¯ wouldn¡¯t take offense that her family had been left waiting in line instead of receiving the courtesy they should. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Behind him, Kaisen and his father exchanged puzzled looks as they walked toward the table at the front of the hall. Who among the ¡¯honored guests¡¯ could possibly be interested in meeting them?

 Chapter 629: Honored Guests (Part One)

    Chapter 629: Honored Guests (Part One)The tables in the great hall had been arranged like stacked Vs split down the middle by a central aisle. Guests were only seated on one side of the narrow tables, ensuring that every guest was angled to face toward the high table at the head of the hall.


    Kaisen¡¯s cloven hooves unconsciously slowed when he began to recognize some of the figures sitting on the right hand table opposite the one the young servant was leading his family to. Commander Bassinger¡¯s presence was difficult to miss, but both he and Marshal Jakob seemed oddly diminished compared to the men sitting beside them.


    It was only after he looked closely that Kaisen realized that both the white-furred warrior from the Golden Eyed Clan and the hulking, misshapen Clanless man sitting next to him were vampires! Even more strangely, both men wore the same blood red and silver sashes across their chests as Commander Bassinger, implying that they held the same status in the Vale of Mists as the man in charge of Nyrielle¡¯s army.


    "Mister Kaisen," the young servant said, interrupting Kaisen¡¯s thoughts as he gestured to a set of seats at the table on the left hand side. "May I introduce you to your companions for the evening?" he asked, pausing for only a moment before he continued.


    "To your left, I present Commander Aspakos of the Fourth Army," he said, gesturing to a Dark Feathered man with a broken beak that had been pieced back together with what looked like molten gold rather than any sort of glue. When his dark eyes fell on Kaisen and his family, they were struck by a momentary feeling that he wasn¡¯t looking at them as much as he was somehow looking into them, seeing their deepest, darkest secrets, hopes and fears as easily as ordinary people might read a book.


    The feeling passed quickly however, leaving them wondering if it had been real or something they imagined because of his disconcerting, slightly menacing aura. But as striking as his appearance was, it was the title ¡¯Commander of the Fourth Army¡¯ and the presence of yet another blood red and silver sash worn over his intricately embroidered robes that deeply shocked Kaisen and his family.


    "This is Artificer Erkembalt," the servant continued, gesturing to a smartly dressed man in a tail-coat whose pockets bulged with a number of small tools even at this formal occasion. Hearing his name, the distracted looking artificer looked up briefly from the polished piece of wood he¡¯d been examining to offer the briefest of nods before returning to the object that occupied his attention.


    "He¡¯s the crafter of Snow Fang," the servant added, placing emphasis on the weapon¡¯s name as if it held deep significance. "And finally, Ritchel of the High Pass," he said gesturing to a slender, nearly emaciated looking Frost Walker who seemed much more fail than someone of his height and apparent age should be. Hearing his name mentioned without any sort of honorific, a wry smile tugged at the corner of the Frost Walker¡¯s lips as he lowered his horn in polite greeting to the Willow Witch¡¯s family.


    "To your right, Elder Nan, Milo and his wife Juni of the Heartwood Clan," he added, showing them the same level of respect he gave to the group on the left, despite the fact that the trio from the Heartwood Clan were the first people that Helga had seen who were also dressed simply.


    Both Milo and his wife Juni smiled broadly, their tails lightly thumping the ground in excited greeting as they welcomed the latest arrivals. Old Nan¡¯s eyes, however, narrowed as she surveyed the gathered members of Heila¡¯s family, lingering on the figure of the gray-bearded man wearing a distinctive sword at his waist for several moments before turning her gaze to the old man¡¯s son and comparing him to her memories of a strikingly similar, handsome individual who she hadn¡¯t seen in many years. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Combined with the lack of impressive titles, Kaisen¡¯s family quickly assumed that they had finally found kindred spirits, people who were here at the invitation of someone who used their connections to secure an invitation. Helga offered a warm smile and was about to speak up to greet their fellow tag-alongs when the servant turned to someone so massive that Heila¡¯s diminutive family had mistaken him for a pile of fur cloaks sitting at the end of the table.


    "And finally, at the end of the table," the servant said, swallowing deeply and gesturing to the wooly Tuscan, wrapped in layers of furs as though he had descended from a snowy mountain just to attend this banquet and towering over everyone present despite sitting directly on the ground. "This is Captain Ipiktok of the Second Army. Captain and honored guests, may I present Mister Kaisel, father of Lady Heila, along with his wife and family," he said bowing deeply to everyone present.


    "So, this is the family that gave birth to the whip cracking terror who humiliated my men and shamed me into surrender," Ipiktok said, using his flexible trunk to set down an oversized tankard of ale and leaning forward to peer at the new arrivals. "You know she didn¡¯t even leave me with a scar to boast of when I tell people how close I came to death that day! How utterly humiliating," he said with a powerful snort of air from his long, flexible trunk


    From his position sitting on the floor, Ipiktok¡¯s long, curved tusks crashed through the cedar boughs on the floor, scraping along the cold stone underneath, giving the feeling that only the awkwardness of his position prevented him from descending lower to devour the diminutive members of the Horned Clan beneath him.


    The instant the Tuscan spoke, Kaisen¡¯s gray-haired father moved, almost without thinking as he placed himself between his son and daughter-in-law and the tusked giant at the far end of the table. His hand dropped to the hilt of his ¡¯ceremonial¡¯ sword, though it only rested lightly on the pommel as the gray-bearded man¡¯s eyes inspected the looming giant.


    All around them, even at the adjacent tables, conversation stilled as everyone looked at the strange scene of a diminutive man from the horned clan facing down a powerful Tuscan warrior. But the instant whispers spread through the crowd that the old man was Lady Heila¡¯s grandfather, the mood of the entire crowd shifted, becoming almost... eager? As if they couldn¡¯t wait to see if the old man would bring down the powerful Tuscan in an even more humiliating defeat.


    Hearing the whispers of the crowd, Kaisen began to look around in panic. His father was just an old man! A simple trader who retired years ago to help Kaisen and Helga raise their own children. So where did all these people get the idea that his father could somehow defeat a mighty Tuscan Captain?

 Chapter 630: Honored Guests (Part Two)

    Chapter 630: Honored Guests (Part Two)The whispers of the crowd grew louder as they watched the standoff between the short, grey-bearded man from the Horned Clan and the giant Tuscan warrior. A few tables away, a few veteran soldiers even began to place bets with many favoring the old man.


    Looking down at the cluster of diminutive figures and hearing the whispers of the crowd, Ipiktok couldn¡¯t help but laugh at himself for the position he found himself in. If he wanted to, he could easily crush all four members of Heila¡¯s family with a single swat of his massive hand, and even if the old man was one of the greatest swordsmen to ever live, he had little reason to fear for his life. But in truth, he bore no hostility toward the Willow Whip¡¯s family.


    He¡¯d given his word to follow her after she spared him and his men in the arena and in the days that followed, he¡¯d never once regretted that decision. Even though she had passed command of his soldiers over to Commander Savis for the duration of the upcoming war, he could only respect her for choosing to place him and his men where they could do the most good, rather than clinging to them and using them as some kind of ostentatious personal guard.


    Now that he saw the Willow Witch¡¯s grandfather staring him down with nothing but a sword that was no longer than the palm of his hand, Ipiktok felt like he finally understood a piece of where his mistress¡¯s strength came from.


    "Ha!" Ipiktok laughed loudly. "Blood runs true indeed," he thundered, retrieving his tankard with his long, flexible trunk and raising it as though he were offering a toast. "Sit, sit. Be welcome," he said warmly, much to the disappointment of the members of the crowd who had begun to wager on the outcome of a confrontation between the two men. "My men and I are still alive because of your granddaughter¡¯s mercy, mister...?" Ipiktok asked, trailing off and raising an eyebrow at the grey-bearded man.


    "His name is Achim," Old Nan said warmly from the opposite side of the family. "And whatever you do, Captain Ipiktok," she warned, shaking a finger at the looming Tuscan before pointing her finger at Heila¡¯s grandfather. "Don¡¯t praise this fool. He¡¯ll take every compliment like it¡¯s a solemn truth carved in oak, and he¡¯ll have you believing it¡¯s all true before you finish your second cup of wine."


    "Nan, you wound me," Achim said, giving the old woman a deep bow. "I¡¯m an old man now. All I have left are old stories. You wouldn¡¯t begrudge me even those, would you?"


    "You know, I thought you were dead," Nan said, giving the distinguished-looking man an evaluating look. "You could have visited when the war ended," she said sourly, even though her face wore a gentle smile.


    "I didn¡¯t die," Achim said, pulling out a chair for his wife to take a seat next to Old Nan. "I retired. My little ones had little ones! How could I keep traipsing around the outlying villages when I had my very own grandchildren to watch running about? My darling Lorena would never have forgiven me for leaving them all to her, and family always comes first. It¡¯s the same for you, isn¡¯t it, Nan?"


    "Smooth talker," Old Nan chuckled. "You haven¡¯t changed a bit."


    "Mister Achim, Mister Kaisen," Ritchel said in a voice that was pure and strong despite his apparent frailty. "You have my deepest gratitude for teaching Lady Heila to prioritize family and value mercy. If not for her friendship with my son, I doubt she¡¯d have ordered the Thistle Witch to spare my life."


    "Spare your life?" Kaisen said, blinking furiously at the emaciated Frost Walker before his eyes widened in shock. "Lord Ritchel of the High Pass! You, you..."


    "It¡¯s just ¡¯Ritchel¡¯ now," the former Eldritch Lord of the High Pass said, raising his hand in a gesture that was a little helpless while his expression was bittersweet. "My son will take up my throne in a few years¡¯ time. For now, I¡¯m just a ¡¯guest¡¯ of the Vale of Mists while I recover from the Thistle Witch¡¯s poison."


    "You should be more than a guest," Ipiktok said, giving the former Frost Walker lord an appraising look. "I¡¯ve seen the powers of flame that Sir Ignatious commands. This ¡¯Inquisition¡¯ is said to possess flames that are even more terrifying. If you brought five or ten of your men and led them under Commander Aspakos¡¯s banner, I¡¯m sure you would make a difference in the battles to come."


    "There¡¯s no need to pressure him," Aspakos said, holding up a taloned hand. "Let him heal from his wounds and watch over his son for a time. A parent or grandparent should have a chance to see their child rise instead of clinging to what little glory they can still find on the field of battle. Isn¡¯t that right, Mister Achim? Miss Nan?"


    "I never cared for battles and nonsense," Old Nan said. "I¡¯ve seen the only one I ever intend to, and that one was almost the death of me. But my Milo here," she said, placing the tips of her claws lightly on Milo¡¯s shoulder as her tail drooped slightly before firming back up. "Milo¡¯s heart is of a different color, and he will follow Sir Ollie wherever he goes, into any battle he fights for as long as he can."


    "Mother," Milo started, only for his mother to grip his shoulder firmly to interrupt him.


    "Did I say it was a bad thing?" Old Nan teased. "You¡¯re much like Sir Ollie, and Lady Heila too," she said proudly. "Even if I tease this old goat," she said, shooting a brief, knowing look at Achim. "He helped raise a good granddaughter, and I¡¯m proud that you¡¯ll have her watching over you when you go to war with Sir Ollie. Knowing she¡¯s on your side... it puts an old woman¡¯s heart at ease."


    Sitting in the middle of the table, Kaisen and Helga exchanged deeply puzzled looks as the conversation flowed around them. Heila had done something to humiliate the giant Tuscan warrior and his men, forcing them to surrender?


    As one of his youngest daughters, Kaisen still remembered the days when he had to watch over her playing in streams. She¡¯d taken an extra year or two to grow out of the clumsiness that came with her horns growing in, and she had a tendency to get her horns caught on things in the water where she might not be able to breathe. It didn¡¯t feel like enough time had passed for her to do something that would reduce such a powerful warrior to surrendering... in shame and humiliation, no less!


    Helga wore a similarly stunned expression on her face. Her daughter had ordered a powerful witch to spare Lord Ritchel¡¯s life? The same daughter who struggled to raise her voice in arguments with her siblings, who backed down from conflicts instead of hurting another person¡¯s feelings, had become someone who could command the life or death of an Eldritch Lord?


    For a moment, both parents began to wonder if there had been some kind of mistake. If there was another Heila from another village who had done all of these things, and the wrong family had received the invitation. But Kaisen¡¯s father had personally said that the seal on the invitation was legitimate and the handwriting on the outside of the parchment had clearly been their daughter¡¯s, so there shouldn¡¯t be any mistake. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Somehow, their darling daughter, who had only left the Vale of Mists for six short months, had transformed into... into what? Hearing the way everyone at the table spoke about her, as if they not only respected her, but placed their faith in her to keep their own loved ones safe, left her befuddled parents wondering. Just what had happened to her while she¡¯d been gone?

 Chapter 631: The Harbinger of Death Introduces Her Seneschal (Part One)

    Chapter 631: The Harbinger of Death Introduces Her Seneschal (Part One)As the last attendees of the grand banquet were guided to their seats, the hall began to grow darker. Attendees could easily be forgiven for feeling that the slight fading in the light accompanied the setting of the sun, but the sun had set over an hour ago, turning the windows of the great hall into pools of inky blackness that offered only occasional glimpses of the brightly lit festival below as the celebration continued into the night.


    The darkness collecting in the great hall crept in from the corners of the ceiling, slowly descending as it enveloped the gilded chandeliers. The light from above wasn¡¯t swallowed completely by the growing darkness, but the brilliant flames were reduced to tiny pinpricks of light, reflected by the dangling crystals like stars in the night sky.


    By now, everyone in the hall could feel the cloak of darkness descending on them, and with it, a chill feeling that crept along their necks, whispering in their ears so faintly that it was hard to be certain if there had been a sound at all. Conversation stilled at every table, and all eyes slowly turned to the long table on a raised dais at the head of the hall.


    The darkness spread further, creeping in from the walls and turning the great hearths into pools of golden firelight that felt like the last refuge of warmth in a world that had grown dark, silent and cold. In the darkness, every sound was muffled, leaving the guests with nothing to hear but the sound of their own heartbeats thundering in their ears.


    "I have returned," Nyrielle said simply, though her voice echoed off the walls, rippling with power and carrying with it the feeling that she both shouted from the impossibly distant depths of the void and whispered into each person¡¯s ears at the very same time.


    Sitting at tables across the hall, natives of the Vale of Mists swallowed heavily, freezing in their seats as they felt the power of the Eldritch Lady of the Vale for the first time in their lives. There were very few guests who had lived their lives in the Vale who hadn¡¯t seen Lady Nyrielle before, but none of them had ever seen such an overwhelming display of power from their ruler.


    Most knew her from her visits to the villages when she needed to feed. During those visits, she was often gentle, showing respect to the people who offered themselves up to sustain her life and the lives of her progeny. She treated her people as treasures to be protected and thanked them for their contributions to the rest of the Vale.


    Now, for the first time in their lives, they were feeling a hint of their lady¡¯s terrifying power and hearing a voice that could never be mistaken for one belonging to a woman who was merely mortal.


    "The Vale of Mists welcomes the return of the Harbinger of Death," Commander Bassinger¡¯s deep, rumbling voice echoed across the hall once the bearish commander had collected himself enough to stand. "May her reign be eternal!"


    "May her reign be eternal!"


    The imperious shout echoed from the throats of more than fifty warriors and soldiers sitting at tables throughout the great hall, including the giant Tuscan, Ipiktok, startling many of the common folk as the strength of the cry shook their hearts. Some clutched at their clothing, looking about as if they were afraid that an invading army had descended on them in the darkness, while others blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar title. Harbinger of Death?


    Only those who had come across the mountains with Nyrielle, or the few who had worked closely with her progeny, recognized the title she took up the moment she made her formal return to the Vale of Mists. Fewer still recognized the message behind her use of the honorific, but to those people, the meaning couldn¡¯t be more clear.


    Lady Nyrielle was done keeping to herself as a mere Eldritch Lady of a small territory. For what felt like the first time in living memory, she stood among her people not as their simple local lord, but as one of the most powerful vampires in the whole of the Eldritch world.


    "Be at ease," Nyrielle said, slowly withdrawing the darkness that shrouded the great hall to reveal herself standing before her throne at the high table.


    For tonight¡¯s gathering, she wore a stunning dress of midnight blue silk with a plunging, v-shaped neckline that reached almost to her navel, before clinging to her narrow hips. Dark lace spilled across her hips and draped from her delicate wrists like shadows come to life, swaying gently with her every subtle move.


    Most striking of all, however, were the dark feathered wings that she so rarely revealed to her own people. Only those who had seen her take to the field of battle during the last war had glimpsed the raven wings that matched the soft waves of dark hair, and no enemy who had seen those wings had ever lived to spread tales of them unless she wished for them to live.


    For a moment, as she stood at the high table in the great hall, ghosts danced across Nyrielle¡¯s vision. Memories of a time when she had occupied the seat next to the heavy throne and it had been her grandsire Torbin who occupied the position of greatest honor.


    As she looked across the familiar faces gathered in the hall, her eyes lingered briefly on Torbin¡¯s siblings, Savis and Tausau, sitting at the right-hand table of honor, and she wondered if her grandsire would be proud to see them sitting here now. They had come to assist the Vale of Mists and the woman he chose as his heir in what she hoped would be their final act of vengeance against the family that had claimed Torbin¡¯s life and destroyed the Vale of Mists that he had spent centuries building into a power that could rival High Fen City or the Tangled Wood.


    But Nyrielle¡¯s vengeance would do far more than restore the Vale of Mists to what it had been in the days when her grandsire ruled. With Ashlynn at her side, she intended to welcome the very humans who had once hunted them into her nation. Already, a few humans from young Ollie¡¯s village of refugees occupied positions at tables scattered across the hall, and they were just the first of many who would come to live in the Vale of Mists.


    So would Torbin be proud to see his heir returning the Vale of Mists to its position of might and power? Or would he have exploded in one of his rare moments of rage, feeling that Nyrielle had betrayed their vengeance over the love of a woman and the people she wanted to protect?


    Two other ghosts flickered through her memories as her eyes fell on the many couples scattered across the hall. More than two hundred years ago, Nyrielle¡¯s parents had attempted to rule their barony in peace and harmony with the Eldritch peoples they called neighbors rather than enemies until their lands were seized in the First Crusade, and they were forced to flee to the Vale of Mists to escape persecution for their heresy.


    Would they have approved of the choice their daughter made? Would they have been proud to see their vision of cooperation between the humans and the Eldritch coming to life at last, or would they have dismissed the attempt as folly, doomed to be consumed by the Holy Flames of the humans¡¯ powerful Church?


    In the end, it didn¡¯t matter what the ghosts of the dead thought, and Nyrielle shook off thoughts of her long departed loved ones as she focused on the echo of Ashlynn¡¯s heartbeat within her chest. Tonight belonged to the living, not the dead, and whether her fallen loved ones would approve of her intentions or not mattered far less to her than creating a future for herself and Ashlynn that protected both of their peoples. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Seven months ago," Nyrielle said after taking a deep breath. "The world changed..."

 Chapter 632: The Harbinger of Death Introduces Her Seneschal (Part Two)

    Chapter 632: The Harbinger of Death Introduces Her Seneschal (Part Two)"Seven months ago, the world changed," Nyrielle said, surprising the gathered guests as she remained standing rather than taking her seat at the high table. "Seven months ago, our enemies, the Lothians, cemented an alliance with a marriage, securing the support of a powerful human family on the eastern shores."


    "The Lothian¡¯s new allies hold considerable influence and wealth in the Kingdom of Gaal," Nyrielle explained, slowly revealing a scheme that could spell doom for the people of the Vale. "But their influence in the Kingdom of Gaal pales in comparison to their ability to send their fleets of ships across the seas, returning with holds filled with soldiers from the humans¡¯ old kingdoms, all eager to fight in a new Holy War."


    At the front table, Kaisen reached for Helga¡¯s hand and held it tightly, as if to reassure her that they were still safe behind the walls of the Vale of Mists even as he trembled at the idea of an invading army from across the sea.


    Even his father, Achim, wasn¡¯t old enough to have lived through the Crusade that shattered the Vale of Mists more than a century ago, but every child of the Vale had heard the stories of the powerful Church and their Miracle Workers from across the sea. Suddenly, the army Lady Nyrielle had raised began to make much, much more sense as a new fear began to take hold in Kaisen¡¯s heart. If the enemy from across the sea was returning, would Lady Nyrielle¡¯s new army be enough?


    "Owain Lothian gained something far more dangerous than an alliance with another of the human¡¯s noble families," Nyrielle continued as if she were oblivious to the growing sense of dread in the great hall. "Because the woman he married bore the mark of the witch."


    "It is fortunate for all of us that Owain Lothian is a cruel man, easily blinded by the hatred he ingested along with his mother¡¯s milk," Nyrielle said with a dark smile on her pert lips. "Any Eldritch Lord would gladly offer up half of their domain to secure a marriage to a powerful witch, but on the night of his wedding, seven months ago, Owain Lothian beat his bride to the brink of death and sent his knights to bury her in the wilderness between the Vale and the March."


    This time, it was the people who had come across the mountains who exchanged startled looks with each other. Many of them had witnessed the power of the Mother of Trees when she stood in the arena of High Fen City, nurturing a willow grove from saplings and healing the innocent spectators injured by the cultists from the Cauldron of Flame, but none of them knew how it had come to pass that she joined forces with the Harbinger of Death.


    At the table of honored guests, dark, furious looks appeared on the faces of Milo, Achim, and Kaisen as they imagined the scene Nyrielle only briefly described. The notion of a man, any man, who was ruthless enough to beat his own wife to death on the very night of their wedding offended something deeply sacred within them that transcended race or clan.


    Achim had given up a proud life of service because Lorena captured his heart, and he could no longer bear the thought of spending so much time away from the joy she brought into his world. Milo had rushed into battle against Owain Lothian and the Church¡¯s Inquisitors in order to buy the time for Juni and the other people of their village to escape and if he had died that day along with his brother, he would have been content with his death as long he knew that his Juni had escaped.


    For any of these men, and several more throughout the hall, the day they stood in solemn or boisterous ceremonies and pledged to share their lives together with the women who captured their hearts was the day that their lives gained a new kind of richness and purpose as they took up the title of husband, and for many of them, the title of father soon after.


    Hearing that Owain Lothian attempted to murder his bride on the night of their wedding transformed the young lord in the minds of everyone present from a despised enemy into a reviled monster. A monster so ambitious and ruthless that he held nothing sacred and would destroy anything to achieve his goals. And if he would beat his own bride to death... just what would he do to them when he led his armies against the people who had been his family¡¯s enemies for more than a hundred years?


    "I was fortunate beyond belief to discover her that night," Nyrielle said as her smile softened. "Not buried and forgotten, but having clawed her way out of the grave they left her in, fighting to overcome her wounds and reach the Vale of Mists. That night, I promised her vengeance, and she promised to serve as my Seneschal, but even I underestimated the strength of the witch I found that night."


    "People of the Vale of Mists," Nyrielle said, filling her voice once more with a hint of power that stilled every whispering tongue in the great hall. "You may have heard rumors of her, but today, the time for rumors is over, and I present to you the truth."


    This time, the ripple of power in Nyrielle¡¯s voice seemed to provoke something outside the room. A whisper of wind, like a breeze dancing through the thinning branches of an autumn forest, swept through the hall. The faint wind brought with it a scent that was slightly damp and earthy, reminding everyone in the room of the Vale of Mists at night when the fog was thick and the world felt like it had shrunk to just the few feet they could see through the dense fog. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When Nyrielle spoke, the heavy, iron-bound wooden doors to the great hall swung open, revealing a lone woman with pale blond hair wearing an emerald green dress and matching witch¡¯s hat. Pale golden lace framed the deep valley of cleavage above a corset that emphasized her slender waist, and patterns like falling golden leaves were embroidered across her verdant green skirts.


    Her face was fresh and youthful, but the presence that emanated from her felt as ancient as the fortress itself, with roots that sank deep into the earth. With each step she took into the great hall, the cedar boughs at her feet seemed to perk up, releasing more of their rich, sweet scent as if even fallen trees insisted on paying their respects to her passage.


    "People of the Vale of Mists," Nyrielle said formally. "I present to you the woman who became my Seneschal. Lady Ashlynn Blackwell, daughter of Count Rhys Blackwell and former wife of Owain Lothian. She comes before you as the Eldritch Lady of the High Pass after defeating their greatest champion in single combat."


    "Tonight, we welcome her as the Mother of Trees," Nyrielle said as Ashlynn came to stand beside her at the high table. "And together, with her coven, we will rewrite the destiny of the Vale of Mists!"

 Chapter 633: A Shared Cup

    Chapter 633: A Shared CupA storm of applause welcomed Ashlynn as she took her place beside Nyrielle. Starting from the front of the hall, people rose from their chairs, clapping and stomping in approval to welcome one of the most powerful witches in the world to the Vale of Mists.


    At the table for honored guests, Kaisen and Helga stared at each other in open-mouthed shock as they numbly rose to their feet, joining in the applause to welcome the Mother of Trees.


    "Husband," Helga said softly. "Did little Heila ever tell you that the woman she had become a maidservant for was a great witch? I, I thought she was just a human lady who had become Lady Nyrielle¡¯s Seneschal the way Sir Thane and Madame Zedya became vampires..."


    "If she didn¡¯t tell you, why would I know?" Kaisen said as he clapped his hands. "She tells you everything, but me? I only know if I hear it from you," he protested.


    "Some things can¡¯t easily be shared, son," Achim said from his opposite side. "Look," he added, pointing around the room. "Commander Bassinger and Marshal Jakob don¡¯t seem the least surprised, but look at the village elders. None of them seem to have known until this moment. Perhaps little Heila was given orders to keep her lady¡¯s secret. It should be expected for her to say nothing if she wants to maintain Lady Ashlynn¡¯s confidence."


    "And are you the one who taught her how to keep secrets, Father?" Kaisen asked, giving the grey-bearded man a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.


    "Oh, hush now," the old man said when he saw Ashlynn raising her hand for quiet. "We can speak of these things later."


    Ashlynn didn¡¯t use any of her power in order to regain quiet in the great hall, but she didn¡¯t need to. With all eyes on her, a simple raised hand was enough for the people gathered in the great hall to still their hands and quiet their cheers, allowing her to address the leaders of the Vale of Mists for the first time.


    "Please, be seated," Ashlynn said with a warm, gentle smile. "Tonight, we have many stories to tell and many things to celebrate. I¡¯ve asked Georg to help me bestow a welcoming gift on everyone here tonight," she said as the doors opened to reveal the bearish chef and a small army of servants carrying trays laden with food and wooden cups, which they began to distribute throughout the hall.


    "When I arrived in the Vale of Mists, I had nothing," Ashlynn said solemnly. "Owain stripped me of the rings on my fingers and the clothing on my back. He beat me until my bones cracked and my flesh split before his knights buried me in a shallow grave with only a tattered bedsheet to serve as my burial shroud."


    Sitting at a table far to the back, Daithi shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he listened to Lady Ashlynn speak. As a soldier in Lord Owain¡¯s personal guard, he was well aware of his lord¡¯s tendency to lash out at common soldiers and servants alike, and he¡¯d counted himself fortunate to have never been the subject of his lord¡¯s ire.


    But never in his wildest dreams had the former soldier imagined that the man he served was capable of being so cruel to the woman he married. Still, even if he had known, he doubted it would have changed anything for him. His expression was complicated when he gave his wife¡¯s hand a comforting squeeze, and she nodded back in silent understanding.


    Even if Daithi had been the one ordered to bury Ashlynn in the forest that night, he wouldn¡¯t have dared to defy Lord Owain. Doing so would only have doomed him, his wife and their daughter. But now, because Lady Ashlynn was a kinder woman than her former husband would ever be, they had the choice to live as they pleased among neighbors that might look different from them but who had had a surprising amount in common with them, despite all of their differences.


    "When I had nothing, Mistress Nyrielle was the first person to give me anything," Ashlynn said. "More than a promise of vengeance and a place to live and grow, she gave me the strength I needed to survive my wounds and the power to start taking control of my own life," she explained. "She gave me those things with a cup filled with her blood and mine, and I drank deeply of the power that cup contained."


    "Tonight, I greet all of you with a cup," she said, taking a wooden cup from a silver tray that Georg knelt to present to her. "Drink deeply, and share in the strength of the forest with me."


    The contents of the cup appeared as simple and ordinary as the cup itself. Fresh-squeezed apple cider blended with honey to create a drink that was both sweet and tart, crisp and refreshing after a day that many of the guests had spent reveling in the festival outside the castle. But as they drank, the people gathered in the hall quickly realized that it was no ordinary beverage. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Old Nan and Achim exchanged wide-eyed looks as the crisp, sweet flavor of the juice washed away more than just fatigue. Joints that had long ago begun to ache with age and the cold, damp weather of the Vale in Autumn no longer complained of the pressure on their bodies that came from an active day or simply sitting on a firm, wooden chair. Their breathing, even if it hadn¡¯t been labored, felt stronger and easier, and their vision seemed to sharpen, allowing them to see the world as clearly as they had in their youth.


    Younger men like Milo and Daithi found themselves feeling a sudden surge of strength and energy, as if they¡¯d enjoyed the best night¡¯s sleep of their lives, untroubled by the pain of war wounds or dreams of battlefields they wished they could forget.


    The potion that Ashlynn had prepared for this evening was remarkably potent and powerful, but once it had been diluted enough to serve to more than two hundred guests in the great hall, the effects were greatly reduced. The healing and relief it brought were very much real, and the effects would last for several months before the millstone of time ground them away again. Unlike Nyrielle¡¯s Blood Vitality Crystals, the magic contained within the crisp, refreshing juice was much too weak to turn back time for anyone who consumed it.


    Despite that, everyone in the hall looked at Ashlynn with eyes that shone with renewed health, vigor, and the faintest glimmer of hope that hadn¡¯t been present in the eyes of the Vale¡¯s people for far too long. If this was the power of the Mother of Trees ¡¯greeting gift¡¯, handed out so casually to the people attending the banquet, then... then how much more was this powerful witch capable of?


    "Of course, Mistress Nyrielle wasn¡¯t the only person to care for me when I arrived in the Vale of Mists," Ashlynn continued when she realized her gift was achieving what she intended for it to do. "I was battered, lost, and more than a little frightened of the people of the Vale who I¡¯d heard so many nightmarish tales about. Thanks to two people, however, I came to see the Vale as more than a place to hide from my enemies and plan my revenge against Owain Lothian. They transformed it into a place I could truly consider home," she said with a warm smile as she turned her gaze toward the heavy, iron-bound doors.


    Once again, the doors opened, this time to reveal a dashing gentleman clad in a loose, flowing white tunic with laces only half done up across his broad, muscular chest. Even now, at a time when honored guests dressed their very best, Thane refused to assume the same air of pomp and circumstance as others gathered in the hall.


    The only concessions he made to the formality of the occasion were the dark, crimson half cloak he wore draped across his left side and the intricately engraved sword at his hip, resting in an ornate and clearly ceremonial sheath. Otherwise, everything about him, from the soft turned-down leather boots to the short spills of white lace at his wrists that obscured his hands, spoke of comfort, ease of movement, and the deadly grace of a man who had dedicated his life to violence.


    His amber eyes, however, were warmer than they had ever been in living memory when he looked down the length of the great hall at Lady Nyrielle and Lady Ashlynn. Already, the two of them had come so far, and they¡¯d found happiness that would be the envy of almost any man. Now, as he strode down the length of the hall to join them, there was no envy in his heart, only a deep-seated desire to see just how much further the two women¡¯s love would take them... And a fierce resolve to destroy anything that threatened love.

 Chapter 634: The Brother She Needed

    Chapter 634: The Brother She Needed Ashlynn smiled warmly as Thane took his place on the opposite side of Nyrielle before she returned her attention to the people gathered in the great hall. "When I arrived, Mistress Nyrielle entrusted my training to Sir Thane, trusting that his years of experience could help me to draw out the greatest benefit from the gift she¡¯d bestowed on me," Ashlynn explained. "But Sir Thane refused to be a simple tutor to me," she said, startling some in the crowd who wondered how one of Lady Nyrielle¡¯s progeny would dare to defy her will.


    "I have lived my whole life in the company of knights," Ashlynn continued. "Whether they were my father¡¯s vassals, or the vassals of his vassals, there were always men of virtue and valor gathered under the Blackwell banner, ready to fight and die to protect my father and his family if the need should ever arise," she said with eyes that grew briefly distant as she remembered the members of her father¡¯s court that she¡¯d left behind when she moved to Lothian March.


    The distance between the young Ashlynn Blackwell and her father¡¯s knights was much greater than the distance between her sister Jocelynn and those very same knights, but that didn¡¯t mean that Ashlynn was unaware of the men who defended her family¡¯s lands and her very own home. She had always respected and admired the gallant nobility of her father¡¯s knights, and she found them to be gentlemen worthy of that respect in almost every instance.


    It wasn¡¯t until she began interacting with Owain¡¯s knights that she realized that not every knight was cut from the same cloth. The frontier prized martial prowess over courtly conduct, and the men under Owain¡¯s command were sometimes little better than brutes in expensive armor with fancy titles. They were mighty and commanded a different form of respect than she was accustomed to, one based on the number of ¡¯demons¡¯ they¡¯d slain rather than their acts of kindness and generosity or their more courtly virtues of dispensing justice in their villages or protecting the peace in their domains.


    "I have known knights of every sort you can imagine," Ashlynn continued as she turned her gaze back to Thane¡¯s handsome figure. "But I can think of no man who better exemplifies the virtues of Duty, Courage, and Honor than Sir Thane," she praised without the slightest bit of exaggeration in her tone. "But when I arrived in the Vale of Mists, battered and alone, frightened beyond words and without even the clothes on my back to call my own, it was his other virtues that I needed the most."


    "Sir Thane is a man of unquestionable Loyalty," she explained. "And more importantly, he possesses a heart filled with Compassion. The night he took me under his wing, he refused to be my tutor and instead offered to be my elder brother. He helped me to find my strength while he helped me to find my way, and for that, he has my everlasting gratitude," she said, offering a deep curtsy to the charming vampire.


    When she arrived in the Vale of Mists, she was more than just lost and confused. Her entire world had been shattered in Owain¡¯s brutal beating, and while Nyrielle offered her strength and power, she didn¡¯t yet know how to offer her a feeling of safety and security.


    Thane listened to her for hours as she poured out a lifetime of grievances, and he did it without passing judgment or making her feel like any of it was trivial. Whether it was her fear of being exploited as a pawn in Nyrielle¡¯s larger war against humanity or her jealousy over the greater freedoms her younger sister, Jocelynn, enjoyed, Thane listened to all of it. And when he was done listening, he helped her find ways to work through her inner turmoil instead of telling her to forget it or suppress it as others had.


    In some ways, Ashlynn felt that Nyrielle had saved her life the night they met, but Thane had saved her heart, preventing her from becoming a bitter woman who lived only for vengeance.


    "Thane is not the first of my progeny," Nyrielle said, stepping forward to address the gathered crowd. "But he is, without a doubt, the greatest among them. He has been at my side longer than any other, and he has fought more of the Vale¡¯s enemies than almost anyone else alive or dead. He has trained generations of captains and commanders, ensuring that the soldiers of the Vale are led by warriors who are not only strong, but capable as well."


    "Years ago, I left the Vale of Mists in search of powerful champions who could help me reclaim what Cellach Lothian had stolen from us," Nyrielle said. "But champions are not enough to rewrite the destiny of the Vale of Mists. So this time, we will rely on more than just strong champions. We have built an army that is larger and more powerful than any Eldritch Army the Kingdom of Gaal or the Church have faced since the days of the Second Crusade."


    Perhaps if the Vale of Mists, the Southern Steppe, Airgead Mountain, and so many other nations had banded together to form a single army, they could have driven the Lothians from their lands and stopped the human advance on the other side of what had once been called the Verdant Hills.


    By standing alone, many smaller nations had fallen, leaving behind only scattered villages buried deep enough in rugged terrain or dense forests that were too difficult for the humans to dig out and exterminate.


    Further north, several Eldritch nations had banded together, forming a mighty host that defied the King of Gaal and the mighty Church of the Holy Lord of Light for years after the Vale of Mists fell. Eventually, however, even that mighty army had fallen to the constant stream of reinforcements from across the sea.


    Looking back, it was easy to wonder what might have happened if the Vale had responded differently. If the Eldritch Nations had been able to reinforce each other instead of making individual, isolated stands against the unending tide of crusaders yearning for conquest. It was impossible to say for certain whether anything would have changed in the end or not, but this time, Nyrielle didn¡¯t intend to repeat the mistakes of the past.


    "Such a powerful army requires more than just a Commander at its head," Nyrielle said as she placed a hand gently on Thane¡¯s shoulder. "So from today forward, we have appointed Sir Thane as the Lord General of the Vale of Mists," she announced. "And we trust that he will lead our forces to victory!"


    S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 635: Our Real Enemy

    Chapter 635: Our Real EnemyAnother round of thunderous applause filled the great hall along with scattered shouts of "Lord General Thane!" and "Victory!" Toward the back of the great hall, a few even took up a bolder chant, shouting "Death to the humans!" as the flames of vengeance stirred in their hearts.


    Sitting next to his wife and surrounded by Eldritch men and women from clans he¡¯d never even seen before, Daithi shifted awkwardly in his chair, shifting to position himself protectively close to his wife as his hand dropped to the dagger at his waist. The scaled men and women closest to him didn¡¯t seem to have become caught up in the rising tide of hostility that followed Lady Nyrielle¡¯s latest announcement, but he¡¯d seen how quickly crowds could turn before, and he wasn¡¯t about to be caught unprepared now.


    "Silence," Thane said, filling the single word with the power of the Voice of Command as he looked out over the people gathered in the great hall. The discipline of the soldiers had held for the most part, but far too many of the common folk bore scars of battles in the past. Some of those scars were still fresh and tender, covering wounds only beginning to heal after Owain Lothian and Liam Dunn¡¯s summer offensive had ended.


    Others bore long nurtured grudges for fathers, grandfathers, uncles, siblings and husbands lost in conflicts dating back to the War of Inches and even longer ago. Their hurts and their hatred were well justified, but Nyrielle had chosen her words carefully when she spoke about their enemies in the Kingdom of Gaal and within the Church without claiming that all of humanity were their enemies. Now, Thane stepped forward to ensure that the people gathered here understood the difference.


    "I understand the people who shouted ¡¯Death to humans, ¡¯" Thane began. "But please, listen to a few words from a man who was once human himself," he said, subtly reminding the people in the room that not only were Nyrielle¡¯s progeny human, even Lady Nyrielle¡¯s parents had once been human, and so had the Mother of Trees. They might all be counted among the Eldritch now, but that didn¡¯t mean that they had forgotten their roots.


    "Most humans are weak," Thane began. "They must gather together in vast armies or don heavy armor before they can threaten the Eldritch people. But the right to don such armor or to command those armies is restricted to a very few humans, mostly those born as descendants of their powerful lords. Humans are not like the Eldritch. It is all but impossible for a person born of humble origins to gain strength and power sufficient to issue a challenge for the right to rule."


    "Our enemies are, and always have been, the powerful lords and priests who command the humans¡¯ armies," Thane explained. "There are some things that we can learn from our enemies, and the methods for raising and commanding vast armies who can retake lands long lost to our people is one of them, but make no mistake," he said as he infused his voice with power and his half cloak seemed to grow into a great cloak formed of both fabric and inky black shadows.


    "There is one thing we will not learn from our enemies," Thane commanded. "When we defeat them, we will defeat them as Eldritch lords. We will claim their lands and their people, and we will welcome the defeated into our nation as our brothers and our sisters. It is the way of the Church and the Kingdom of Gall to slaughter the innocent and the helpless, purging the land of all who once lived there, but we will not resort to their savagery."


    "Make no mistake," Thane said. "There are already humans among us who are our most valued friends and neighbors, and they are but the first of many thousands who will follow. So prepare your hearts well and think not only of the day we claim our victory, but the days of peace we will build afterward and who you will build that peace with."


    Whispers broke out across the hall, and a few people who lived in Ollie¡¯s village began to speak favorably of the humans who lived in their community. A few of them pointed to the figure of Daithi and his wife at the table where they sat alongside merchants from the Scaled Clan and officers from the Black Wolf Brigade, but increasingly, as the whispers spread, one name came up again and again until finally, Daithi couldn¡¯t bear it any more, standing up to ask the question that was on so many lips.


    "Lord General Thane," the former Lothian soldier asked, swallowing heavily as he stood. "Where is Sir Ollie? If there is anyone who represents the very best of us, who has taught many of us to live alongside our Eldritch neighbors in peace, it¡¯s him, but... why isn¡¯t he present at the tables for Honored Guests? Surely Sir Ollie is worthy of such an honor after everything he¡¯s done!"


    "Ha ha ha ha ha," Thane chuckled warmly, smiling broadly as he looked at the nervous soldier. "Ollie was right about you, Daithi," Thane said. "Your sense of justice and fairness, combined with the courage to speak up in this gathering, make you worthy of the trust he¡¯s placed in you. Your village is lucky to have such a man as their constable."


    "I don¡¯t know that I deserve that praise," Daithi said, bowing deeply in the Lord General¡¯s direction. "But if I do, then Sir Ollie deserves it more. Is he joining us, my lord? I think it would be good for the people here to hear his tale."


    "You aren¡¯t wrong, Constable Daithi," Ashlynn said lightly as a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You¡¯re just impatient. It wasn¡¯t yet Sir Ollie¡¯s turn. But I agree with you, it¡¯s important that everyone present hears his story. So, as long as Mistress Nyrielle is willing, I would not mind calling Ollie before us now." S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "When have I ever failed to indulge your willfulness?" Nyrielle asked lightly with a twinkle in her midnight eyes. "I¡¯m sure the lovebirds won¡¯t mind waiting their turn, and I agree that everyone here must understand that we have much more to gain by uniting our disparate peoples than exterminating our foes. So call him forth," she said with a dazzling smile.


    "And let the people see what happens when a human is untainted by the ambition and greed that drives the rulers of the Kingdom and the Church."