Chapter 65
LXV
I returned to Chateau d’Ocerne only once.
I walked back that same day, to collect my belongings, knowing I wouldn’t have the chance again.
There were bodies everywhere—the rebels had been fast and thorough—and a few looters did their best to hide when they saw me.
Much of the building was ruined by fire or explosion, but I managed to recover my wagon, my horse and my trunk (still undamaged and unopened thanks to my exceptional Wards).
In the Arcane spectrum, Michael’s Contract of Obligation burned brightly on my palm the whole time; the Archangel was not going to let me forget my debts anytime soon.
I found Jacques sleeping in the noble family’s private quarters.
He had somehow made his way back to his own bed. I watched him as he lay there, naked and covered in blood like a newborn. He had managed to survive, in spite of his many wounds, thanks to the number of hearts he had eaten.
Sebastian. You know what I’m going to say.
I should kill him. I know.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“Jacques, wake up.” I sat on the side of the bed, shaking him gently.
“Professor?” He was groggy. And then he sat upright in a shot, his eyes wild. “They are coming! The villagers have come for us!”
I placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Slowly, slowly. We are safe for now.”
His confusion was clear as he took in the familiar surrounds of his bedroom and then his own nakedness, and the sticky film of blood and plasma that covered him. Realization came faster this time.
“Again?” he asked with resignation.
“I’m afraid so. There is much to explain, but right now we must leave, Jacques.”
“Leave?”
“Can you stand? Here, I can help you.”
He glared at me with familiar fire. It was oddly comforting. “I will manage alone, or not at all.”
“As you will. But make haste. I do not know how much you remember, but it would be best for us to be gone from Chateau d’Ocerne—and Gévaudan—as quickly as possible. Have no fear, there is still room in my wagon to hide an ill-tempered Occitan nobleman.”
“But what of my family? What of Eloise?” he insisted.
“They are . . . gone, Jacques. I am sorry. The rebels left none alive. There will be time to mourn them once we are away from here, I promise, but we must leave.”
Jacques said nothing; he only closed his eyes and nodded. He packed very little, but he pocketed the little cameo, Lorette’s likeness in amber and ivory, with its jet-studded silver setting.
And what exactly are we supposed to do with him? Am I to have any say in this at all? demanded Sarmodel.
Not this time.
I ensured Jacques did not see inside the parlor as I helped him make his painful way out into the courtyard.
I spoke the Pyric Word as soon as we were over the threshold, knowing the looters would certainly not be taking the trouble to bury anyone.
The flames kindled in the closest bodies and then quickly began to spread.
“Do not look back, Jacques.”
We met nobody on the high road. I decided to bypass Saint-Julien-by-the-Stream, now terribly quiet. I do not know how many of the villagers were lost in the attack, but I doubted that those remaining would be amenable to hungry travelers looking to shop.
“Where are we going, Professor?” asked Jacques despondently from the wagon as we turned along the eastward road.
“We must address each other more familiarly now, Jacques. There can be no young Lord Ocerne and Professor Grave traveling through France, not for a time.”
“What am I to call you then?”
“Call me Sebastian. Pretend that we are friends.”
“I would rather pretend that we had never met. But very well. Sebastian—where are we going?”
“We are going back to Corvano, that I may find a proper cure for your a?iction. I promised your father I would, and I owe it to him. I owe it to you.” I ran my fingers across the glimmering mark on my palm. “And I have other debts to pay. In the meantime, stay away from my horse.”
We said little else for the rest of the day, and Jacques slept for most of it. I passed the time by making a mental list of the things he would need; the beginnings of a new regime of care for his unique condition. The first item was a long bath.
It was close to sundown when I saw the bird.
A beautiful white goose came gliding along the breeze. I watched it warily, noticing as it drew closer the striking black markings around its throat and wings.
Oh, by the Rift, what now? groaned Sarmodel.
I raised my arm as the goose approached, and it alighted on my wrist without a sound.
In spite of its size, it had barely any weight at all.
In my Arcane sight, it was a winged serpent with a wicked hooked beak and a frighteningly vacant stare.
Its feathers were singed, as though it had escaped from a fire.
Full of trepidation, I spoke the word of command.
“Meatbag! I trust you are well!” said Livia’s voice from its beak.
There was a worrying level of tension in her tone, not alleviated by the trill of forced laughter that followed.
“Where are you, I wonder? I understand you’re busy, but you may want to—” The goose made a dreadful sound as something inhuman roared over Livia’s voice.
“You may want to consider returning as soon as you can. There have been some . . . developments here at home and I—”
I reached up and broke the creature’s neck with a sharp twist. The follit discorporated into a mist of anima without a sound of protest.
I was so very tired and it had been quite a trying day. I indulged in a tiny sob.
“Professor—Sebastian? Who was that?” asked Jacques drowsily from the cart. “Did I hear a woman just now?”
“It was my housekeeper,” I answered automatically, wiping my eyes.
“Mademoiselle Livia?”
“The very same.”
He was groggy and still half asleep. “I am sorry, I did not see her. Please convey my regards.”
“I will, Jacques. Go back to sleep.”
My draft horse farted in mild surprise as I jostled her into a canter.
I told you, said Sarmodel, as he settled his coils within my mind. Sebastian, I told you this was a bad idea, from the very beginning! One day, perhaps you will listen.
Yes, my love, I answered wearily. Perhaps one day.