It could have been worse.
Fire danced in the fireplace, the dog was snoring on the rug, and Lily kept staring out the window. As she lay holding Jess's hand, she thought about the trials ahead. Still, no matter what happened, they would be together, wouldn't they?
She had promised to stay by his side, as well as Mirrie's and the children's.
Everything would work out. As long as they were together, they could handle anything.
***
Call it schmaltz, call it whatever you wish, but when Lily finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamed of His Majesty Edward. He was walking down the royal park with a pretty, young girl on his arm, dark-haired and blue-eyed, and a young man with the face of a cheerful rake followed them, his rapier hanging from his belt. All three looked shamelessly happy and content.
"Your Majesty," Lilian called out to him.
Edward noticed her and stopped.
"Lily?"
"Yes."
Lily automatically curtseyed.
"I'm glad to see you, Your Majesty."
"I'm... Oh, right! Lily, dear, tell the boys that I'll be watching them, absolutely."
Lily nodded.
She couldn’t help but blurt out,
"So, there is something over there, right?"
Edward's smile was very unkingly: cocky, self-assured, debonair, as he was just a boy next door who had just snuck an eel into the dress of a girl he liked, or maybe put a frog into her slipper.
"You would know, Lilian."
Then he left.
The young man behind him winked at her, mumbled something about his son being lucky, and followed suit, leaving Lily to stand alone in the middle of the park, gawking like a fool. Slowly, the park turned into a forest, which turned into a field, which turned into a heap of colorful images, and when she woke up in the morning...
Had something happened?
Not really.
There was nothing to talk about, period.
***
A dance, deadly and bloody!
The man was leading it as if he were inside a ballroom. Blood sprayed, and a scarlet flower bloomed on the white fabric of the shirt. Screams, pleas... It had been a long time since any of that touched his soul.
All he was doing was trying to feel warm, trying to find something for himself, catch hold of something on the edge of the precipice he was rolling into.
It was pointless.
A drop of blood fell on his lip. The man licked it clean and continued to dance.
A stab. A slash. A stab again. It was all so boring, his prey falling on its knees, begging him for mercy. How dreadfully dull! Why would that wretch ruin the thrill of his hunt? Resist, vermin!
The man gave the woman a hard punch, but she was unable to flee anymore, skulking into a corner and whimpering.
A fit of dismay came over him like an avalanche, blurring his bright eyes with a chalky haze.
Another punch. The body stayed lying in the corner. The man kicked it with the tip of his boot, cut off the pinky finger and a lock of hair, collected a few other mementos...
"You bitch!"
More and more often, he recalled the face of the only woman whose blood could sate him. She would have whined so sweetly under his dagger... But they kept dying, all of them. What if he killed himself together with her?
The man hadn't solved that riddle yet, but time was running out, as was his patience.
Avester.
His Majesty Entor smiled as he read the letter. It had been slow and gruesome, Edward's death. Finally, the king was no more.
Good riddance.
His Royal Majesty loathed the king of Ativerna. It wasn't fair, really. Everyone was gone: his father, Aunt Imogene, Edmund, but Edward kept idling his life away as if hoping to outlive everyone around him. No more, though. So what did it feel like?
Entor listened to his heart. Was it pleasure? Yes, absolutely. His enemy had died without even realizing that they were enemies.
Disappointment? Indeed. His enemy had never learned the truth.
So what else? Was it satisfaction, anticipation, thrill?
All of them. The game was beginning, only just, but Aldonai willing, Edward's children would see all of their father's undertakings crumble into dust. Now that would be a triumph.
In the end, what does death entail? Nothing! Less than nothing. After death, a man couldn't suffer or feel any pain. He just didn't exist. He couldn't be hurt.
There was only one way to destroy a man—to rid the world of his deeds. Kill what he had put his heart and soul into, leaving no memory of him or only bad memories. Only after that would revenge be complete.
Entor was taking his first step toward that vengeance. As he smiled, content, he envisioned a long game and an inevitable victory. There was no other way. He would win. Ativerna would fall at his feet; there was no doubt.
Still smiling, Entor sat and plotted in the throne room. Good thing that nobody could see him other than a curious sundog. But even the spring sun shivered as its ray touched the king's face twisted in a hateful grimace.
In the end, humans were scary.
Ativerna.
Hans Tremaine kicked the wall with the toe of his boot and cursed strong enough to wither the flowers in the planters.
The wall responded with a burst of pain in his foot.
Bastards, scum, swine... Oh, those vile rascals!
But who was it? If only he knew...
It was far from the first body, or even the tenth. The girl was lying in an alley, huddled like a baby in its mother's womb. Her knees were pressed to her chest, hiding the gash on her dress and the horrible wound on her stomach. She was pretty enough, fair-haired, seventeen, at first glance—barely older than a child with an entire life ahead of her.
Hans was furious at his inability to figure out who was doing it. He had nothing: no witnesses, no clues... The bodies were dumped out of a carriage, brought from somewhere else.
He had learned about that carriage, even: it was black, its windows nailed shut. If there was a coat-of-arms, nobody could see it. Aldonai, please let me find the culprits! I will pray for a fortnight and donate a fortune in the temple, just help me...
Hans thought about talking to the parents of the latest victim, and his heart ached. He was no snotty child, but he felt sorry for the girls. That was just wrong.
What if something like that had happened to his daughter? For that, he would do more than just kill.
His fists clenched on their own accord. No, that deserved more. If Hans got his hands on that bastard, he would beg for death for a long time and never get it.
Fine. It wasn't the time for rage, not yet.
Hans forced himself to calm down and started to examine the body. He needed to take note of its position, the clothes...it was only a body, that's it. The hands, the stains on the fingers, the pockets...
Sooner or later, the wretch would make a mistake, and then, Hans would have him.
He absolutely would.
***
Whether kings and countries were friends or not, ambassadors were a necessity—a dire one, in fact.
How else would you learn the news? Where would you send your spies? How would you harm your opponents? An embassy was the only way. It was also a handy opportunity to send away those you didn't wish to see at court. Hopefully, they would make a mistake grave enough to be put to death. Well, there was a chance of that, at least.
Any embassy was a nest of vipers, yet diplomacy required one, so all countries had to make use of them. Ativerna had an embassy in Avester and vice versa. The ambassador of Avester was Count Horatio Alden: a tall blond man in his forties, rather handsome, even if somewhat balding, which was a cause of his slight embarrassment. Horatio avoided combing his hair back, instead styling it in various ways, using special treatments, and wearing wigs, but whatever he tried, his hairline kept receding. Nothing worked.
For this reason, Horatio wasn't exactly thrilled by the appearance
of one Anthony Lofrayne. So, this dandy just waltzed in to steal the show? But there was no arguing with a letter written by His Majesty.
"Baron—"
"Count," Anthony replied in tune.
The two men looked like two cats that crossed paths in a dump: needing to fight for the territory but unable to actually go through with it, as the owner of the dump would throw them both out. The only option left was to resolve the dispute peacefully.
In a situation like that, cats usually stared each other off and shrieked. The count and the baron weren't going to do the latter, but they were pretty good at the former.
"His Majesty requested I deliver this letter to you," Anthony spoke up first.
"Any command of His Majesty is law for his subjects," Horatio retorted.
Yes, the king's will is law, but who says that it makes you any smarter?
"I am tasked with a rather difficult mission, the success of which also depends on you."
Just like failure. If you don't help, Entor will learn everything, and he won't forgive that.
"You have one mission, and I represent the whole of Avester in Ativerna," Horatio countered.
It's your mission, so do it yourself. I have my plate full as it is.
"Hmm." Anthony's tone clearly indicated derision. "Unfortunately, over the last ten years, the relationship between our countries didn't seem to improve."
What kind of plate do you have here? All you're doing is taking up space and living off the royal salary!
The count narrowed his eyes.
"It's hard to improve that which doesn't exist, but at least I can deliver reliable information to my liege. Trust me, Baron, even collecting it is hard as it is."
Definitely harder than partying and carousing.
Tony winced.
"In part, it was that information that sparked my visit here."
"In part?"
"What do you know about the Eartons, Your Grace?"
Horatio sighed, nervously adjusted his lacy Mariella ruffle, and looked out of the window.
"It's hard to tell for sure, Baron."
"For sure?"
"I'd break the history of the Earton family into two parts, maybe three."
"Really?" Tony asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes. I was just starting my service in Ativerna when Count Earton decided to marry. I didn't attend the wedding, but there were certain rumors about the count's property being combined with the fleet of his father-in-law, Baron Brocklend."
"The shipwright."
It sounded like a nickname. Actually, in a way, it was a nickname. How else would one call August Brocklend?
A shipwright, both in mind and in body.
"Anyway. Count Earton was a common socialite and womanizer, and his wife, an ordinary girl who was promptly sent away by him to his estate, so she wouldn't prevent him from socializing. He didn't even produce an heir...or maybe he did, it's hard to say. The countess was rumored to be pregnant, but she lost the baby."
"I see."
"Yes. That was the first part. The second...the second started when the count left with His Highness to make calls, and the countess arrived at court. I can say that everyone was shocked."
"By what exactly?"
Horatio smiled with the corners of his lips.
"Young man, you will understand when you see the countess."
"Still, I would like to hear something right now."
"The countess is a rare kind of woman: smart, pretty, confident, but the most interesting thing about her is that she never makes you want to get rid of her. Do you know how obnoxious are those women who get their hands on even a little bit of power?"
Tony shrugged. He didn't, and he genuinely thought that a woman's place was in his bed. At least so far, that's where they had ended up, all of them. As for their feelings, hopes, claims, and self-esteem...they were women. Really, the khangans knew the best way to treat them, seeing any woman as a beautiful flower created to grace our lives and make them brighter. That was it. They weren't supposed to dictate anything or order anybody around. Who would obey the commands of a rose in a vase? Nobody would, rightly so.
And that's what Tony did. Women graced his bed and his life, but giving him orders? No broad was capable of that!
Horatio smiled.
"The countess is learning healing arts under the guidance of a famous healer from the Khanganat, Tahir Djiaman din Dashar, and she's quite adept at them, too."
“A woman?"
"A very unconventional woman, honorable Lofrayne. Trust me, when she returned from Earton, nobody was able to recognize her. She was a changed woman with a very different family and a different attitude to people."
Tony shrugged, not noticing the malicious spark in the diplomat's eyes. Horatio Alden was already imagining the countess making short work of the arrogant boy. Lilian truly was one of a kind. She never flirted, she wasn't interested in other men, she didn't emphasize her looks...all she did was offer her friendship or accept the others'.
The results were...interesting. Horatio wasn't her enemy or her friend, simply one of the faceless mass of courtiers, but he liked watching her from the sidelines. With strangers, Lilian Earton was sweet and calm, with her friends, she radiated charm and charisma, and with her enemies... She didn't really have them. People here envied her. Still, lately, the courtiers had decided that the countess wasn't to be crossed. The royal family valued her too highly.
As he looked at Lofrayne, Horatio suspected that the arrogant fool would charge blindly at the fortress walls, inevitably running into trouble. It would be curious to watch it, really.
In any case, Horatio had warned him; the rest wasn't his business.
"What exactly do you want from me, Lofrayne?"
"Introduce me to the countess, Alden. I'll take care of the rest."
"Fine. Tomorrow is His Majesty Edward's funeral and the coronation. I can get you an invitation."
"And also for my companion, Lady Seinel."
"Of course."
"All right, then. And Alden...where can I find a good tailor? I see that in Ativerna, style is different. I don't want to look old-fashioned. Not to mention that I’m not prepared for such large-scale events as mourning and a coronation."
Horatio shrugged.
"I'll call up my dressmaker. You'll have a suit by morning."
"Great. I'll be waiting."
"Then by your leave... Oh, and one more thing, Lofrayne."
"Yes?"
"My advice: take a bath but don't use scented oils."
"Excuse me, Count?"
"If you want to talk to Countess Earton, then listen to me. She doesn't like the smell of an unwashed body."
"What does she like? Or whom?"
"Her husband. Her children."
"Count, you know what I mean."
"Honorable Lofrayne..."
"Just Tony."
The two cats were tired from hissing, had gotten used to each other's smell, and the youngest offered to share the dump between them.
"Fine, Tony." Horatio decided to show his good will as well—it's not like he had a choice, really. "His Majesty says I should assist you. In what? Seducing Lilian Earton?"
"That, too."
"It's a bad idea, Tony."
“Really?”
"She's impossible to seduce."
Anthony shrugged as if saying, I haven't tried yet, but I'm sure that there are no faithful wives, only unskilled seducers.
Horatio mirrored his gesture. Talking sense into cocksure brats wasn't his job.
"Have it your way, Baron, but I wouldn't recommend it."
"I will try."
"Are you hoping to seduce Her Grace and get access to Mariella's secrets?" Horatio guessed.
"Yes," Tony said, not bothering to hide the truth.
"It's a waste of time."
"I understand that she cannot know too much..."
"Oh, no, Baron. Only Lilian Earton knows everything. Mariella Trading House is
her creation, and she's the one in charge. But it won't help you."
"We’ll see."
"We will."
The men parted ways, each unconvinced. Tony had to wait for the tailor, while Horatio went into his study and poured a glass of wine.
He wasn't lying; he remembered the past and knew Lilian Earton pretty well. He had concluded that it was she who was behind Mariella's business and gave that information to the king. But for His Majesty to enter the game in such a way? Introduce that pretty boy and hope that the lady would melt?
All Horatio could do was shrug. He didn't believe in the success of that project. But whatever; he wasn't the one in charge of it. Lofrayne was, and he would get what he deserved. That is, of course, if the countess didn't add anything on top of that. Served him right.
The count hated self-assured brats. But really, who didn't?
***
The aforementioned brat was currently lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.
Lilian Earton. So what was she like? His Majesty had shown him a miniature painting, but a portrait was hardly enough to understand anything, especially since painters usually flattered their customers.
The countess was blonde and green-eyed, that was clear. She also seemed good-looking enough. Still, what was she interested in? What did she like and dislike? How was he to approach her? What did she dream of?
All women were different, but at the same time, all of them wanted the same thing—a strong man whose back they could hide behind. Tony had used that many times before. Would it work with Lilian Earton? He didn't know.
Some ladies wanted poems and ayres, some roses and diamonds, others aggression and force, others yet, games and secrets. Only one thing was the same: sooner or later, all of them ended up in Anthony's bed. Lilian Earton wasn't going to become an exception. And afterward, he could figure something out.
He might convince her to elope, blackmail her, or... He would see. Time would sort things out.
A New World Page 5
