Chapter 6
Ressurgir
BASTIEN
Claire was on my mind as I rode into the walled city that surrounded Chateau Rose with Natalia and Tyson. While I was loath to leave my wife alone, I had duties to attend to. And I wanted to hear about the werewolf firsthand.
The city of Roselyn looked peaceful beneath a blanket of snow.
Chimneys breathed thin ribbons of smoke into the gathering night, and lanterns glowed.
The homes of the wealthier citizens lived closest to the castle, their homes nestled within the inner ring wall—miners and merchants whose fortunes came from the mountains.
Beyond the outer ring wall sheltered the smaller homes of tradesmen and military leaders, cooks and gardeners, seamstresses and shopkeepers, and soldiers with their families.
Here, in the outer wall, beat the true heart and soul of the city.
This was a hardy town, its people as resilient as the mountains themselves.
I guided us past the greenhouses, their windows slick with condensation.
My thoughts returned to my wife, and how she looked with her hands in the soil, planting flowers, her laughter bright in the air.
I longed to give her more days like that.
The rumble of my army grew the closer we came to the outer ring wall. They had been amassing in the valley, ready to march into the Lawless Lands at my command. As we trotted through the gate, we were greeted by raucous cheers.
I lifted my hand, and the warriors answered. Shouting louder, chanting, “Duke, Duke, Duke!”
Winter wind whipped through my hair, and pride swelled in my chest. This was one of the reasons why I had no desire to live in the capital.
I was a warrior. A commander. I’d always been one of them, and I’d led generations into battle to protect the boundary between us and the witches who refused to set down their grudges and pursue peace under the Blood Treaty.
Over the centuries, their hatred of each other dwindled their numbers.
The bodies of mothers, fathers, and children filled the great graveyard just beyond the mountain pass.
I’d meet coven leaders throughout this time who had grown weary of fighting and wanted peace.
We’d done things like build a tunnel for peaceful travelers.
We’d set up independent villages for humans that were free from magick and that were protected from the war with spells.
These were small victories. But this new wave of leaders had given me hope. For those like Chastity and Hector, their mistrust of vampires was outweighed by the desire to see their children thrive. They wanted peace, and they saw the benefit of having an unbiased third party to ensure it held.
At least, that had been the sentiment before I received Hector’s head in a box, and this new coven leader, Shayla, had learned to harness moon magick to create werewolves.
I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the proof was growing. “Where is this soldier? The one who saw a werewolf?” I asked.
Natalia motioned to the largest tent, and we cut a slow path through rows and rows of men and women dressed in black-and-gold doublets.
“Is it strange that I’m hard right now?” Tyson quipped, running a hand through his jet-black hair. “Does that happen to you?” Both Natalia and I rolled our eyes. “What? I’m being serious. Surrounded by the army. All these people chanting. The bloodlust. It doesn’t make your cock hard?”
“No,” Natalia replied.
He leveled her with a look. “Come on! You have to feel something. Right in your cock. It’s more thrilling than—than,” he struggled for a word, then his dark eyes widened, “your first threesome.”
Natalia burst out in a sudden fit of laughter. “You wouldn’t know what to do with two lovers.”
He gestured to his crotch. “I’ve yet to meet a lover who complained about my cock.” Natalia only laughed harder. Tyson gaped at her. “What?”
“In my experience,” Natalia was saying, flicking her long braid off her shoulder, “a man who advertises as loudly as you rarely has much to offer.”
I leaned down to shake hands with a few warriors while my niece and nephew continued, and received well-wishes and warm words that, thankfully, had little to do with cocks. Tyson, who realized men wanted to shake his hand too, stopped talking.
Chuckling, Natalia muttered, “Do you think this is how they talk in the capital?”
We shared a smile, but hers quickly evaporated, and we both trained our attention forward. An unfamiliar awkwardness settling between us.
We tied our horses outside the command tent, where incense smoke mingled with the scent of roasting goat.
The Captain of the Watch greeted me with a bow, his doublet emblazoned with the sigil of House Allard and the Unified Territories: a moon, a blade, and a coiled serpent encircled by twelve small stars.
I tucked my cane under my arm, and we shook hands like old friends.
He did the same with Natalia. But stopped to leer at Tyson, who had stuck out his hand, waiting for the same warm welcome.
As much as I liked watching him squirm, Tyson was my heir.
So I cleared my throat and made introductions.
“This is my nephew, Lord Tyson Allard, the newly minted Viscount of Aurenne. And my heir.”
“Heir?” The Captain of the Watch grunted before shooting a sidelong glance at Lady Natalia. “Your brothers sure are busy in the capital, aren’t they, Your Grace? Drinking wine and having parties and making babies while we do the hard work of the land.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about making babies, as he put it.
“The viscount does love a good party,” Natalia said with a laugh. She pointed the butt of her dagger at his chest. “By the way he’s dressed, you’d think one was about to start.”
Tyson glanced down at his double-breasted coat, confused. “This isn’t what you’d wear to a party, cousin. It’s distinctly military.”
While he’d traded midnight blue for the black and gold of Roselyn, his attire was still much less practical than mine or Natalia’s. Gold buttons. A black silk damask with gold filigree. The tassels. Not to mention the mink cloak hanging around his shoulders.
Tyson caught the way we were all looking at him, and the defensiveness melted into a crooked grin. “What can I say? I’m a rare breed. I like to fight and fuck and look good doing it.”
Natalia scoffed, but the captain chuckled. “The maids do love a pretty lad. Maybe I should get a fancy cloak. I’d probably have better luck.”
I shot a warning look at my niece and nephew, hoping to inspire a little decorum. They both snapped to attention, and I returned to the matter at hand. “You have an urgent report to give?”
The humor drained from his face. “Yes, Your Grace.”
The Captain’s shift in mood was enough to cause concern. The three of us took seats around the large trestle table. A page brought out golden goblets of wine while a young, beefy man who looked no more than twenty entered. He knelt before us, a dented helmet tucked beneath his arm.
The Captain announced that the young soldier had been in my service for four years, and had been through the pass to the Lawless Lands once before. I thanked him for his service and bid him start from the beginning.
“I was walking the tree line, Your Grace,” the soldier began.
“Near the old watch stones. I stopped to warm me hands by the fire. It’s been brutally cold, Your Grace.
And that’s when I heard a sound. Twigs snapping.
Leaves rustling. I could tell by the sound that it was too big to be a squirrel.
So I pulled out my bow and crept a little closer.
I saw a flash of tan. At first, I thought it was a big doe, and I got real excited, I did.
Venison would’ve made a nice meal.” The smile on his face fell.
“But then it stood. On two legs, Your Grace. And I realized it was no deer.”
“What did you think it was?” Natalia asked.
The man swallowed hard. “A were.”
I steepled my fingers under my chin, contemplating the man’s story. He was young, but he wasn’t a green boy.
Tyson leaned closer to me and whispered in Sanguisi.
Once upon a time, most witches spoke Sanguisi, but the language had long since died out, replaced by the Common Tongue.
Now, vampires were the only ones who kept the old language alive.
“Look at the crescent moon brand on his right hand. He’s a follower of Diana. ”
Sure enough, there was a mottled pink brand on the back of his hand. Not all of my human fighters bore these marks, only those who kept the ways of one god or the other. It passed as a way to tell what kind of burial rites they’d prefer.
Tyson continued. “He’s probably heard the tales, maybe even seen pictures of weres in storybooks growing up. It makes his story more plausible.”
This assertion was surprising, coming from my nephew. I’d thrown him out of my tent when he’d laughed at Alec’s story about being scratched by one. “I thought you didn’t believe such things were possible?”
He raised his brows. “People change, Uncle.”
I nodded, not agreeing with him, but rather impressed that he was demonstrating some growth. And that he’d caught the brand on the back of the soldier's hand. That kind of attention to detail was important.
Maybe he wasn’t as useless as I feared.
Not to be outdone, Natalia chimed in. “If Tyson had been visiting the army instead of spending time with his tailor, he’d know that rumors have been circulating around camp. The men know we’re going to the Lawless Lands to fight werewolves. He could be projecting.”
She also made a good point. It wouldn’t be the first time rumors like this flew around camp before we left for the Lawless Lands.
If this had happened a year ago, I would’ve written it off as nothing more than fear.
But things were different now. “The scratch marks on Hector’s severed head are reason enough to believe this man might’ve seen a werewolf. ”