The Last Witch

Dalvany Manor looked exactly how Asher had imagined it. A giant, ornate black gate creaked open as the carriage approached, and the fields gave way to the edges of the forest that bordered the territory. The Manor itself was old and elegant, a U shaped, boxy structure with dark tiling and iron balconies lining each shuttered window. A fountain sat still out the front of the sweeping balcony, its curving iron pillars twisting around the inside of the curve. The carriage came around the fountain and pulled to a stop by the front door. The driver opened the carriage door to let them both out, and Navarre swept his arm out in a fancy display. ‘How does this feel for accommodation?’

‘Like it’s going to be a long night,’ Asher mumbled. The reminder that he was about to see his very estranged aunt crashed into the front of his mind. Before Navarre could reply, he stepped up to the large mahogany doors and pulled them open. The inside was as grand as the outside, the foyer opening to a staircase that rolled around the outer walls up to a dark banister opening up to the second floor. Square pillars sat in each corner, each holding a vase full of blooming roses of various colours. Everything looked freshly clean and a little over polished, and voices echoed out from a side room. A maid approached and offered to take his cloak, but he waved her away. As long as he could fiddle with something and not look unprofessional, he was going to take it.

There were no signs of any others in the great house, servant or otherwise, and Asher opened his mouth to ask when glass shattered in the next room. 

Asher rushed through the door beside the staircase, with Navarre close on his heels. The dining hall was full, people sitting sporadically along the polished mahogany, while other handfuls of people stood to the side, deep in hushed conversation. The sky was painted a violent orange outside of the large windows that lined the wall, and the chandelier above the table threw dancing candlelight across the room. The table itself was covered in a feast that could feed double the people in the room; fresh meats freshly smoked, steaming vegetables and cocktail bowls of fish and fruit. Many of the wine bottles had been opened and were half-empty, the rest unevenly spread into glasses around the table. 

Standing at the head of the table was the Duchess Evelyn Tremboui.

She stood stiff, her shoulders hunched and her fists clenched red. The anger staining her neck and face stood out moreso against her white dress. Nothing about her had changed since Asher was a boy; the dress was wide at the waist and covered in frills and lace, with a low neckline and black satin gloves. Her face was painted white except for the mole above red puckered lips, and her black wig sat tall and ribboned, only a stray blonde lock on her neck betraying the true colour beneath. Standing with her was another man Asher recognised, though more recent in his memory and for different reasons. 

Lord Magnus Barque was not officially the ruling Duke of Dalvany, but since the man’s older brother had taken over from their father, Asher had only ever seen Lord Barque in an official setting. He was tall and square around the middle, his face covered in a peppered beard that sat short and even over a long face. His equally dark hair was parted and slicked back, drawing attention to thick eyebrows and narrow, hollowed, dark eyes. He too was dressed decadently, his suit a fine purple and adorned with a cravat puffing from his collar. His riding shoes had polished heels, and they clicked as he turned away from Evelyn and glanced over Navarre and Asher. 

Asher felt the training from his grunt days possess his body, forcing his limbs stiff and straight. The logical part of his mind knew that royals would be here, and these people in the same room as him would be the children and grandchildren of the King himself, born to the five princes that overtook the throne all sixty years ago. Still, Lord Barque told all of that with aura alone. The man had royalty hammered into every inch of his skin. Asher was not noble, or royal. He was a worm in comparison.

Navarre clapped him on the back hard enough to break him out of his momentary daze, then stepped around him and approached the Lord with a handshake. Evelyn fixed her attention on Asher, and the slimy feeling returned, but Asher realised with a start that she was crying. Not obviously, because she was too regal to show it openly, but her eyes were red and there was a pinch to her cheek that promised an outburst. The broken wine bottle and dark stain on the carpet at her feet told him it might have already started. 

Navarre cursed then, and glanced at Asher, then to Evelyn. A few heads turned to mimic the motion, and Asher felt himself shrink back. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked no-one in particular. 

Navarre sighed, and gave another sideways glance to Evelyn, who huffed. ‘Now that my nephew is here, this is over, right? I won’t listen to any more of this. Ashy will be perfect to fill in.’

Here we go. ‘I’m sure I’m unqualified and don’t have an interest in whatever it is,’ he said. 

Evelyn’s lip curled. Usually it took a couple of hours for her fuse to blow, but it had been years. Maybe it burned a lot shorter these days. 

‘Asher,’ Navarre’s voice was low. ‘Lord Tremboui was in the Palace. He left over two weeks ago.’

‘Oh.’ Asher said. Then, silently, shit. 

The scene in front of him made sense now, and he forced himself to pull back the usual defenses he saved for his aunt. He’d never even met his Uncle Henri in person, but the Duke of Dalvany being missing with everyone in Valenda... The situation was already worse than he thought. He glanced over at Evelyn, who suddenly wasn’t meeting his eye. 

‘While I understand your thought process, it won’t work,’ Lord Barque said. ‘You are more than welcome to stand in for Lord Tremboui, but you’ve already made a case against it. Asher is your bloodline, not Henri’s. He’s invalid.’

‘That means there isn’t someone to take the--’ Asher snapped his mouth shut as Evelyn threw him an angry look. It wasn’t wrong to point it out; neither of them had kids. Was it really still a sore subject after all these years? A few of the royals around the table shifted uncomfortably, and Asher fought the urge to curl his lip. He didn’t know anyone here apart from Navarre, but they all seemed to know about him and his complicated relationship with this woman. 

Keep it professional.

‘Perhaps the Lieutenant and I can take the madam into the next ro--’

‘I am not going anywhere,’ Evelyn growled. ‘Asher is capable of doing the work. I will not have some Euthrian brat coming in and taking everything over.’

‘Easy,’ Asher warned. He stole a glance to Navarre, who glanced at Lord Barque, equally confused. Asher risked a step forward. 

‘Asher is family. He’s the nephew of the Lord of Dalvany,’ Evelyn said. ‘That has to mean something!’

‘Not really,’ Asher said. She knew that though. They’d had this conversation before, and it always ended the same way. Hopefully now he was old enough she wouldn’t slap him. ‘I’m not a Lord, Evelyn,’ he said. ‘You know that. There are people ranked higher than me back in Ralkauda. I’m not even a resident of this province.’

‘Neither is this little bitch,’ Evelyn snapped. 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Asher said. ‘But we need to take a deep breath here.’

One of the royal men turned in his seat to say something, but Asher held his hand up to silence him. Whatever the story was, he wasn’t about to hear it from a stranger. He eased towards Evelyn, and when he was close she reached out and gripped his arms tight. It took effort not to flinch away. 

‘Can’t you do this, Ashy?’ she asked. ‘Please? There’s no need for any fuss if you’d just step in for your uncle and I.’

‘Evelyn, I’m not going to run the province,’ Asher pressed. ‘Who are they bringing in instead?’

Evelyn’s lip curled. She didn’t bother to hide her disdain, nor did she stop the tear from spilling onto her cheek. ‘None of it is true,’ she whispered. ‘They’re lying to me. This woman is lying. It’s not true.’

‘Lying about what?’ Asher asked. ‘Tell me and we can sort it out.’

‘They’re saying that Henri had a kid. The same time you were born.’ Evelyn’s voice was a whisper. ‘Henri couldn’t have children. You know that. I know that. Tell them it’s not possible. This whore in Euthria is lying.’

Asher glanced over at Lord Barque, who gave a small nod, his gaze sharp. Asher felt his stomach churn. ‘Did Uncle Henri fight in the war?’ he asked. 

Evelyn recoiled. ‘Of course he did. What kind of question is that?’

A man who would have been in Euthria around the time this mystery child was born. Another single nod from Lord Barque confirmed it. Even though Evelyn had married Lord Tremboui four years before the war started. 

‘Shit,’ he hissed. 

‘Don’t use that word,’ Evelyn snapped. ‘It’s not true. None of this is. And I don’t want to hear that excuse of you not being good enough. She’s not even part of this Kingdom.’

‘Actually,’ Lord Barque leaned over. ‘She was born in Telkesi, so yes she is.’

Evelyn’s face twisted further, and Asher felt a stone in his stomach drop. The last thing he needed was an upset Evelyn given the chance to talk about the island. 

‘Well that tracks,’ her voice was low. ‘A tekksie rat manipulating her way up the ranks. These people are shameless.’

‘Hey.’ Asher bit the word at her, but Evelyn only glowered at him. 

‘Oh, I’ll say it,’ she snapped. ‘Your mother was the same. A dirty little thing who ruined your fathers reputation, and now they’re trying to do the same thing to my Henri!’

‘No,’ Asher said. When she opened her mouth again, he held up his hand to silence her. ‘No. Don’t you start with this. There’s no reputation being destroyed. There’s no secret conspiracy. You need to calm down.’

‘I will not allow this little brat to--’

‘Stop it.’ Asher glared at her, and she finally clapped her lips shut. ‘I know you’re upset, okay? I know. But don’t drag my mother into this, and don’t blame this new kid either. They have nothing to do with this.’

‘She’s about to walk in here and--’

‘And she’s either been told the same story you have, or she’s being pulled to the other side of the Kingdom to take on a very big role. She isn’t to blame here. She’s going to need help.’ Asher held his aunt’s gaze, unblinking, and another tear slid down her cheek. ‘Will you at least help her?’

‘I owe nothing to this girl,’ Evelyn growled. 

‘If you don’t want her coming in and changing everything around you, you could at least show her how it all works,’ Asher pointed out. 

Evelyn opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again. She then sighed and raised a gloved hand to Asher’s face. ‘Why couldn’t you stay with us and be heir instead. Why did you stay with that dock woman like a commoner?’

Asher pulled her hand away from his face and squeezed her fingers. ‘We’re not talking about this now.’

‘Your father would be disappointed in you.’

‘My father is dead,’ Asher pressed. When Evelyn recoiled again, he squeezed her fingers harder. ‘You both started out as farmers, remember? Father earned his position.’ And you married into royalty so you didn’t have to. ‘Don’t worry about me. Can you promise to be nice?’

Evelyn stared at him for a long beat, then sighed and gave a resigned nod. 

‘Do you want to lie down?’

She nodded again. Asher couldn’t bring himself to be mad about the comments on his mother. He only felt waves of pity as she gripped his arms tight, not moving and not allowing him to move either. He didn’t know much about Henri Tremboui - he barely knew the woman in front of him - but the man had messed up, and Evelyn was paying for it now. Her anger wasn’t her fault, and he didn’t blame her. 

Lord Barque cleared his throat, and Asher snapped to attention, thankful for the excuse to break away from Evelyn’s grip. He pressed his fist into his chest in salute, and Lord Barque nodded in acknowledgment. ‘Perhaps we should have a quick word, you and I.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Asher batted away Evelyn’s pawing at his arm, and stepped around the table, following the duke back out into the foyer. The click of footsteps behind him told him that Navarre was also following. When they broke into the privacy at the front of the house, Navarre dropped down onto the bottom stairs, stretching out his legs and falling back. Lord Barque made a noise of disdain, but Navarre ignored him. Asher tried not to squirm. Navarre might have worked directly for the King, but even he didn’t hold authority over a Duke. If the Captain of the Royal Guard was able to show such casualness, there had to be far more serious topics at play, and anything that serious wasn’t a good thing.

‘We should meet officially,’ Lord Barque said. He held out his hand, which Asher slowly shook. ‘I’m leading this investigation into the King’s disappearance. Magnus. Barque. Though just Magnus is fine in these quiet parts. All I know about you is that Navarre gave an... enthusiastic introduction.’

Navarre gave a sheepish shrug. 

‘Lieutenant Asher Wulverman, sir,’ Asher said. ‘I’m usually stationed in Ralk--’

‘Wulverman?’ Magnus echoed. His brow creased. ‘You’re Wilhelm’s boy?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘He was a good man,’ Magnus said. ‘We stood together in leadership back during Telkesi Gap. Wouldn’t have fought any war with any other man. I was sorry to hear about his loss.’

‘Uh... thanks,’ Asher said. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t remember much about him.’

‘No, of course not,’ Magnus said. ‘Though he spoke of you. And Tasa. He loved you both dearly. It looks to me like they raised a fine young gentleman. You went to Beau Jordeaux as well?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Asher said. ‘Though I left early. I had an opportunity to join the City Watch, and I took it.’

Magnus stared, not saying anything. 

‘He left the same time I did,’ Navarre said. ‘Only missed a year or two.’

Magnus cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, despite all that, we need to deal with the situation at hand.’

‘Captain Chavereau told me I was here for public response,’ Asher said. ‘I intend to speak to the Lieutenant in Dalvany tomorrow.’

‘Not that,’ Magnus said. ‘We now have a scandal to deal with.’

‘Sir?’ Asher didn’t want to believe he hated nobility. He didn’t see himself a hateful person. Yet, he could never understand the focus they put on relationships and heirs and bloodlines. Just the word on its own, scandal, seemed so tactless and unimportant. Especially in the context of one Lord having an illegitimate child nearly thirty years ago. The King was missing. An entire city had vanished. A new heir was not on top of the priority list.

‘You seem confused.’ Magnus didn’t pose it like a question. 

‘I’m only trying to see the full picture,’ Asher said. ‘My aunt won’t impede in the investigation, I’m sure. She’s just upset.’

‘Yes.’ The word slipped out with a curling disdain. ‘I have no doubt that the Lady Tremboui will be controlled. Though the ramifications will be damaging. In the event that much of the ruling class has disappeared, Dalvany needs to stand as a pillar of stability. A continuation of the status quo for people to lean on. To discover that Dalvany’s leadership has also been weakened, it will cause a panic. For a stranger to come in now would only make things more messy.’

The man did have a point, Asher had to admit. ‘Are you worried that this mystery heir won’t be able to meet the expectation?’

‘I know she won’t,’ Magnus said. ‘No-one could. The best we can hope for is that it’s contained.’

‘Could make a good cover,’ Navarre said. ‘Distract people from the doom and gloom. Have them talking about how their leader is a scoundrel.’

Asher shook his head. ‘That won’t work. People won’t turn away from this so easily.’

‘He’s right,’ Magnus said. ‘Any event that would distract from a missing city and a missing king would need to be so big that none of us would have a chance to mend it.’ He tilted his head, studying Asher up and down. ‘I see the recommendation didn’t come from nothing. You’ve both handled Evelyn well, and you are displaying a surprising intelligence. I suppose I no longer have as many misgivings about bringing you on board.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Asher hoped it was a compliment. It wouldn’t have surprised him if that was the closest this man ever came to giving one. 

Magnus turned back towards the dining hall, his boots clicking against the tiles. He then stopped. ‘Did I hear right in your conversation with the madam? You’re a Telkite.’

Asher flinched. ‘No, sir. My mother was, but she left when she was young.’

‘I see.’ Magnus stared for a moment longer, then turned and disappeared into the dining hall once more. Asher felt that slimy coat cover him all over. So far it was fine. Everything was fine. He could ignore how his merit was being judged by his lineage, by other people’s success, by everything except his actions. Tomorrow things would fall into place more, and he would actually get to work figuring this out. 

‘You can say it,’ Navarre said. ‘I’m not going to say anything.’

Asher turned to the man still sprawled across the stairs. ‘Say what?’

‘What you think of Lord Barque,’ Navarre said. ‘He’s old fashioned, but he’s harmless, I promise. He doesn’t mean most of the stuff he says.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Asher wasn’t sure he cared that much. He didn’t expect to be instant friends with a man like Magnus Barque, and the man seemed open to Asher doing his job, which was enough. As long as they didn’t clash in the coming days, Asher saw no problem with the man.