“Son, did you know? Nowadays everyone knows the names of the Kallistan special units but, back when I was a lad, we had different names for them; monsters of legend for every one. Like you’d probably expect, the van?tori were the jabberwocks. Horrific hunters, each and every one unique and specialised in tearing your heart and throat out but, just like jabberwocks, they rarely care for the smaller prey like you. What you really need to worry about are the ?nsangera?i and satara?i: bandersnatches and jubjub birds. Those are the ones that tear right through you like paper, bleed you dry, and leave without a single scratch. Don’t fear the biggest predators son, because most people’s true concerns are rarely so spectacular.”

  -Burkhard ‘Sun Eater’ Fleischer, retired marshal of the Dwergaz Republic’s Kallistan front

  Dahlia tried not to look too bewildered, even as she struggled to understand how she stumbled into her current situation. Dress ripped and stained, body scratched, bruised, and leaking just a little bit of blood; if it weren’t for the thick cloak draped over her then the girl would have almost looked like a faerie tale’s madwoman who dragged her way out of the woods in order to cavort amongst the true nobility. As things were, she marginally missed that mark and instead merely came across as a looney girl well and truly out of her depth.

  She suspected that the beauty and primness of her dancing partner only exacerbated how she looked through sheer contrast.

  And Bessie, as it turned out, was an excellent dancing partner, much to Dahlia’s embarrassment. Everything about the woman was distracting enough already and was in no doubt a cause for the girl to stumble over herself more than once, but the juxtaposition between the maid and herself left Dahlia more embarrassed than she cared to admit. It wasn’t until their dance was in full swing and the majority of curious eyes had left them that the woman finally spoke, her voice gentle but holding a harsher undercurrent all the while.

  “I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me what your intentions are with Her Grace now, would you?”

  The girl almost tripped then and there and could only thank her mother’s relentless training for preventing her from making even more of a fool of herself. “What? No! I mean, uhm, I imagine it’d be improper for me to share the contents of our conversation?”

  She cursed herself for making it sound like a question. Regardless of how much she’d been tutored, Dahlia just wasn’t suited to dealing with strangers this way, especially while tired and constantly on the back foot. She felt like a fish out of water, and no number of conversations with her plants would have prepared her for this. The polite scorn in her dance partner’s eyes seemed to indicate that the maid shared her opinion.

  “If I were asking for the details of your conversation then I’d tend to agree. I’m not though, so that should clear up that concern. What I am asking about is your intent. I know Her Grace. I know her better than anyone and I certainly know her better than you, so I couldn’t care less what your thoughts on her are. I don’t want to hear your platitudes about her or how magnificent you think she is. I’ve heard it all from people more important than you. What I want to know is what your intentions are.”

  Dahlia paused then — continuing to dance but otherwise staying quiet as she took the woman’s measure. Bessie was, as far as Dahlia could tell, putting active effort into acting proper and was just barely managing to maintain the facade of elegance she carried. Much like the Archduchess herself and far away from the typical nobility, the maid was remarkably emotive, with even her large bovine ears twitching and positioning as if to relay her mood. She was, Dahlia was gradually coming to realise, not performing this interrogation out of some sense of calculated duty or even as an attempt to politic behind her liege’s back, but was instead far more emotionally driven than Bessie cared to let on. That realisation alone had Dahlia lower her guard and release some of the tension that had bundled up within her.

  “I don’t really know.”

  An ear twitched: “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I don’t know what my intentions are.” She ignored the throbbing and stiffness throughout her body and smiled, “I know you said you didn’t want to hear platitudes, but Her Grace is wonderful. Originally I was looking for her, did you know? I was —maybe a tad recklessly— hoping to find her and find a way to convince her to help me. Make myself valuable to her or something, I don’t know. But she’s… good. She’s a better person than I thought she would be and I—”

  Dahlia cut herself off as she saw Bessie’s face scrunch in discomfort. There wasn’t any of the anger or scorn from earlier in that moment, but it seemed more like the woman desperately didn’t want to keep listening. After a moment’s hesitation though, Dahlia continued: slower and softer than before. “Your liege: she’s a good woman.”

  “And you just want to take advantage of that, don’t you? You see her as a wealthy mark who has a soft spot you can take advantage of, is that it?”

  The girl watched and— was she pouting? There was something absurd with it all; Bessie, for all her softer facial features, appeared to at the very least be in her thirties and yet in that moment there was something almost childish in her mannerisms. Between pouted lips, slightly drooping ears, and the way her eyes constantly averted themselves, she hardly looked the part of lady-in-waiting that she claimed. Yet Dahlia couldn’t bring herself to judge her, instead just sighing as she thoughtlessly followed the flow of the dance.

  “Do you do this with everyone Her Grace shows interest in?”

  “Wha— what do you mean?”

  “She told me about herself, at least a little bit. Seemed to imply I wasn’t the first girl she took a fancy to. You don’t go interrogating everyone do you? I’m getting the feeling this conversation isn’t something you’ve made a habit of.”

  The pout only seemed to grow and Dahlia tried to hide how endearing she was beginning to find it.

  “She doesn’t usually show the type of interest she did for you. I just… I wanted—,” the woman frowned, more at herself than anything else. “I needed to make sure that you’re not going to take advantage of her. It’s my job. My duty! I’m just doing my duty, that’s all… Her Grace doesn’t deserve having strangers stumbling into her life just to mess things up. Not after everything she’s gone through. And if I have to be a bit rude and offend you or something then… then that’s fine. So long as she’s ok, it’s worth it.”

  Dahlia continued to watch her, all those little micro-expressions growing more and more obvious as time went on and she just couldn’t bring herself to try to be dishonest — the maid was just a tad too genuine to deserve that.

  “You know, if things go well, it sounded like she was going to come back for me.” Bessie’s eyes widened but Dahlia continued, smiling at her as earnestly as she could. “I’m not certain it’ll actually happen, but I can hope. I’m not going to turn that opportunity down no matter what you say, but if it does happen then you and I… well, we’ll have to interact more, yeah? Makes me not want to get off on the wrong foot with you.”

  The maid chewed her lips and almost desperately avoided eye contact, eyes flitting about everywhere other than Dahlia’s own face. After a moment though, her pout from earlier returned and, almost sulking, acquiesced in tone if not in her words.

  “I still don’t trust you.”

  “Mhmm.” Dahlia’s lips curled and she tried to reign them in in case the maid took it the wrong way.

  “I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you, and you’re probably some gold digger or spy or something. The best case scenario is that you’re just some passing interest that’ll probably hurt Her Grace more than you’re worth. But…”

  “But?”

  Her scowl grew and somehow her lips became even poutier. “But you have a point. If she wants you then… fine. Whatever. But I’ll be watching you like a hawk! And if you take one step out of line —if you hurt her— I will make sure you regret it, got it?”

  Dahlia managed to fully stow her smile from before and properly met the woman in the eyes. “I promise. Don’t worry, if anyone should be worried, I’m fairly certain she’s far more likely to drag me out of my comfort zone than the alternative. Still… you have my word.”

  Bessie held her stare for a moment before clicking her tongue and looking away, though Dahlia got the impression she was at the very least satisfied. As the maid’s gaze shifted however, it landed on the girl’s hands and she stiffened.

  “You’re an absolute mess, I should have helped you clean up before dragging you off…” It was only a mumble, but the sincerity behind the concern seemed genuine enough, “if Her Grace didn’t do this to you like I thought, what the hell happened?”

  It was Dahlia’s turn to look away, a flush lighting up her cheeks as she tried not to admit to herself how embarrassing it was far a self-proclaimed magic savant to have been bested by a couple cantrips.

  “I… may have gotten carried away with my new casting? I wasn’t exactly prepared and things escalated more than intended.”

  “More than intended— girl, what are you talking about? Did you butcher your schema?! You look almost as rough as I did back in the day — maybe worse! Oh, if Rose were here she’d throw a fit…” She actually looked genuinely concerned then, all of her previous hostilities replaced with worry. “Gods, I don’t know how to treat wounds like yours; they look deeper than surface level… We can’t exactly trust the ducal staff here either, not after the stunt you pulled earlier, but I can at least try to find someone. Healing isn’t crazy common but there’s always people at these events that want a chance to show off. I’ll just—”

  The harsh sound of a man clearing his throat cut her off. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.”

  The voice alone was enough to leave Dahlia as stiff as a board but, as she turned to look, the hardly contained fury in her father’s eyes left the girl feeling a surge of dread worse than anything she had felt in recent memory. If looks could kill, she would have been dead a dozen times over already, and yet a part of her worried that Vincent’s fate for her may very well be even worse. Never before had she seen so much rage built up in him, and the fact that he spoke to Bessie almost choking on his anger left the girl only more concerned.

  “I would thank you for caring for my daughter, but there is no need for you to find aid. I will tend to her myself. Now. Girl. Into the carriage. Do not dawdle. Do not make another scene. You will enter the carriage and you will wait. Do I make myself clear?”

  Dahlia couldn’t look Bessie in the eyes, even as the maid gave her a confused and worried look. She couldn’t meet her father’s eyes, either. Hell, she could hardly even think. All she could comprehend in that moment was dread at the slow realisation that she would be facing the consequences of her actions, trapped in a carriage for hours with the man that had so often made her childhood a living hell.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t know how to refuse him — not anymore, after so many years having the resistance beaten out of her.

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  And so she listened and she obeyed. She didn’t so much as glance at Bessie, nor respond to the maid’s worried questions. She didn’t speak to a soul. She just left, made her way through the front doors of the hall, and entered the carriage like it would be her gallows.

  For all Dahlia knew, it very well might be.

  ~~~~~

  “So, are ye really gaun'ae keep mopin aboot like this?”

  Valentina tried to ignore Esmé’s badgering, preferring to give the Grand Dowager Empress the silent treatment rather than provide the gratification of getting a rise out of her. Instead the Archduchess focussed on changing out of her suit and switching to something actually designed for her — something that Esmé unrepentantly watched despite her very-thankfully not being interested in the young vampiress.

  “Wear a fuckin jacket at the very least. I don’t care gin you’re a giant bloodsucker; we’re in Haugen’s March an the place is already fuckin infestit wi mosquitos. Cover up or somethin before ye get eaten alive.”

  The Archduchess snorted and rolled her eyes, “Thanks mom, I’m happy to see you care about me.” She shrugged on the rest of her top, the backless halter feeling far more comfortable even in the cold air of the surrounding wetlands, and ignored Esmé’s mumbled thanking of gods for not being her mother — the bitch. “I think I can manage a few bugs though, thank you. Now, are we getting a move on or not?”

  A pair of marbled blue and gold eyes stared at her, seeming to dissect everything they saw, before the Dowager Empress shrugged and waved Valentina along. “Sure, we can get movin. I’d like tae chat a bit along the way thouch gin ye don’t mind.”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question and Valentina cringed at how she had to physically restrain herself from giving some snarky response by default. She wasn’t some teenager or partying twenty-year-old anymore; at least some of the sass needed to be left behind, despite how naturally it still came to her.

  “Sounds like I don’t have much of a choice anyway, but why the delay? You didn’t transport us directly where we needed to go?”

  Slim pink shoulders shrugged, to the sound of clattering piercings and jewelry. “I wantit an excuse tae catch up. Besides, the way our targets were movin wis odd; I’d rather approach from a more controllit location in case they anticipatit teleportation.”

  The vampiress frowned at the implications of that, but began walking regardless, following in Esmé’s footsteps. “Their behaviour is that unusual?”

  “Meh, a little. I think they micht be catchin on thon I’m helpin oot an they’re tryin tae devise countermeasures, but it’s been marginally successful at best. Like I says, most o this can be chalkit up tae me juist wantin tae talk. An ye know, maybe get ye tae settle doun an stop actin like I juist interruptit somethin important.”

  “You kind of did though—”

  “Hah!” The laugh was a sharp and harsh thing, “Val, ye haven’t been serious since yer thin wi Aurora. E'en back wi Eleanor o aw fuckin people, ye weren’t serious; hou coud ye be serious aboot some random girl ye juist met?”

  “She’s different!” The vampiress refused to rise to the bait when that pair of eyes looked back at her with such derision. “Oh, fuck off, I’m actually being honest. I’m… just tired of how things are right now, ok Esmé? Don’t go mocking me just for finally getting out of my rut and finding someone I actually want to pursue.”

  There was a long moment of silence where the two continued to travel, feet kicking aside tall grass and sinking slightly into the ever-present mud. Esmé broke it first.

  “Gin ye wantit tae try somethin serious ye coud have given Eleanor another shot—”

  “Gods no, we spent one night together and I think we were each ready to kill each other by the end. I know what you’re trying to do but trust me, that is not the way you reforge Amarei and Vasiliev connections: it’d probably just start a civil war, knowing how much Aeneas pampers her.”

  “Fair point.” The maenad sighed, and the sound of the woman’s fatigue felt like a small win to Valentina’s petty soul. “But as for the new girl… I guess I’ll wish ye luck? She’s a pretty little thin at the very least, e'en gin ye haed tae gae an choose some nobody-baron’s dauchter. I’m sorry I haed tae tak ye away from her. Settin yer love life aside thouch…”

  She trailed off, gesturing to a spot of displaced grass and mud, and Valentina got started without any further instruction. Stride-long tendrils of blood, leech-like in shape and movement, if not in size, began to writhe out of thin cuts in the Archduchess’ skin and slither along the ground like horrific eldritch snakes. They stopped where the older footprints were, writhing on the spot like a dog collecting scent, and only moments later they began to slither off in a seemingly random direction to which both women followed.

  “As I wis sayin: I actually haed more tae talk tae ye aboot, despite hou enthrallin I find the romance o kids a millenia younger than me.”

  The vampiress grunted in acknowledgement and gestured forward, “It wouldn’t happen to do with what we’re working on right now would it? Because if you’ve figured something out then…”

  “Na. Na, I haven’t learnit anythin new, but I suppose that’s part o it an aw. I’ve been thinkin recently, Val. Whit exactly dae ye want tae dae? As a ruler I mean.”

  The vampiress didn’t look at the other woman, instead enjoying the comfort of watching her blood leeches slither along ahead like strange and all-to-eager hounds. It took her longer than she would have liked to come up with an answer and, even then, she wasn’t all too happy with what she came up with.

  “I mean… I’m already doing it, aren’t I? I let local rulers govern their own territories because they know them better, meanwhile Yorick, Rose, and Avery help support me in the more bureaucratic aspects of things. I’ve already made a push for a few changes but, other than the occasional nudge, I delegate to people who are better than me: isn’t that what good rulers are supposed to do? And then when things get weird or exist on a larger scale, like smugglers from the north sneaking deep into my territory, I hunt them down and take initiative. Isn’t that a fine way to operate?”

  Again she was met by that damned silence and she could practically feel Esmé’s judgement. The Dowager Empress was fine —good, even, to her— but there were times where Valentina felt like the woman’s approval meant more than she cared to admit. It was at times like this where the vampiress wanted to just hide from the woman’s disappointment. She winced at Esmé’s sigh, even as her tone never strayed from being conversational.

  “Ye neit tae give it more thoucht, Val. I’m no tellin ye tae figure it oot i a wick, but really dedicate time an thoucht tae it. You’re young an we both know ye weren’t trainit properly for leadership sae I’ve mostly been keepin quiet as ye tread water these last three years but, at some point, things neit tae change. Ye neit tae move on an grow intae yer role.”

  “But allowing local rulers to govern feels right! Why do I need to get more involved?”

  “Because laissez-faire governance is a copout an ye know it.” She cast a scowl back to vampiress. “I’m no gaun'ae tell ye hou tae handle things an, gin ye really want power structures tae be less localizit then that’s fine, but you’re the gods damnit archduchess o this grand duchy an you’re no actin like it. Amareic bonds tae the Phoenakis are weakenin. The Starukovian nobility are becomin more overt i their greit an power grabs. The western counties are scrambling, tryin tae fill power vacuums left behind from three years ago an Haugen is runnin the fuckin war effort while you’ve hardly e'en shown yer face ower thare!

  “Dae ye get it Val? Are ye startin tae see the writin on the wall? the Amareis rulit throuch a balance o power, fear, an respect an, for better or worse, ye lack thon. An thon means, unless ye want this aw fallin apart on ye, ye neit tae tak the initiative before it’s ower late. Ye want tae spread power structures? Fuckin gae for it. But dae it i a way where you’re whit binds thaim together intae somethin greater than a cluster o feudin nobles. As far as I’m concerned, ye can rule however ye like, but I neit ye tae be the glue thon holds awthing together because I refuse tae juist stand an watch as the nation I built crumbles back intae the warrin kingdoms it startit as.”

  She paused, only then realising that her voice had been raised but after taking a moment to breathe, Esmé continued in a gentler tone.

  “If I’m bein honest, I don’t want tae see ye be the ane thon it collapses on either. There’s na kynd fate tae rulers wha fail an thon wad be especially true considerin hou ye still shoulder yer family’s legacy. You’re a guid kid Val, I know thon an hopefully ane day the rest o the Empire will see thon tae, but as things are? They’ll eat ye alive gin ye give thaim sae much as a knuckle, sae dinnae let thaim e'en consider it, dae ye hear me?”

  “Yeah…” The vampiress sighed but didn’t argue. She was well aware that Esmé meant well and, even if she didn’t want to admit it, the woman wasn’t wrong. “I’ll do my best Esmé. Can’t promise more than that though. Filling in the gaps to prevent it all from crumbling is bullshit though, I hope you know that.”

  The maenad grunted, “Sure is. Doesn’t stop it from bein true thouch. That’s juist hou life works: ye roll wi aw the bullshit until ye escape from it aw or stop moving, an you’re ower young for either.”

  The vampiress let out another sigh, longer and more tired than before. “And let me guess, you think these outings of ours are distracting me from my actual job?”

  Esmé grimaced but didn’t refute her: “I wis hopin tae approach it wi more tact than thon, but you’re no wrong. We’re rubbin a wooden leg here Val; I’ve been helpin ye for the last three years an we still don’t have a single lead. We’ve juist narrowit it doun ower an ower again but thon doesn’t mean anythin. There’s nothin actionable tae it. Whit happenit tae yer family wis a tragedy, e'en gin ye weren’t close tae thaim, but the best we can dae is move forward; whit else is thare? Ye know na ane i yer grand duchy is responsible an there’s na sign o the war effort or smugglers knowin whit the hell happened, sae hou are ye supposit tae proceed? Are ye gaun'ae hunt doun Aeneas or Camille because the other archdukes would’ve haed enouch power tae pull it aff? Ma great fuckin granddauchter? Are ye gaun'ae harass her more than ye already have? Or are ye gaun'ae launch an inquisition intae ivery other nation juist i hopes o figurin this oot?

  “I get it Val, I’m no tellin ye tae forgive an forget, but gin ye keep focussin on a mystery thon micht niver be solvit then yer absence i yer actual role will juist spark more unrest an, na matter hou callous ye like tae act, we both know ye don’t want thon. I’ve seen hou ye leuk at people i the streets o Via???oara; ye care for yer people e'en gin you’ve only juist begun tae find yer place i it aw. Aw ye neit is a little push an I fuckin know you’ll remake the Grand Duchy intae somethin better than yer parents iver coud have dreamit — ye juist neit tae dedicate yourself, yeah? It’s aboot time tae stop stallin.”

  “And what about what we’re doing here? The people slipping through the border. The smugglers and foreign agents that keep popping up: do I just give up on them as well?” Valentina’s defeated tone was obvious, but she couldn’t bring herself to hide it. This conversation was long overdue, she knew, but it hurt to tear off old bandages all-the-same.

  “Ye an I can still dae these little hunts o ours —honestly, I quite like the bondin time— but we both know most o the people we chase doun aren’t worth our time. Ye were sae proud o delegatin earlier, richt? Then dae it for this. The northern front eats up our available troops, but it also provides plenty o experiencit veterans lookin for jobs. Call on retirit slujitori, offer guid pay, an they’ll be champin at the bit tae dae the job. Add the occasional van?tori an you’ll already be on the fast-track tae developin somethin genuinely impressive. You’ve got options Val; aw I’m askin is thon ye start takin the first steps.”

  The vampiress stopped then, breathing deep, taking in the heavy scent of grass and peat, and trying to centre herself and actually listen to what Esmé was saying. The woman was right —of course she was, the insufferable old bat— but it was more than that. What Esmé was suggesting wasn’t just moving on like so many people had told her before; how would that even work? How could she just move on? How could she trust events wouldn’t just repeat? How could she feel safe? No, moving on was never going to be a real option. But there was a difference between that and stagnating and the maenad was right in that regard: Valentina was stagnating and she wasn’t the only one suffering for it.

  She thought back to her staff back at the castle — those who aided her every day and led bureaucratically in the ways she just couldn’t match. She recalled how concerned they looked. How worried they always seemed, and couldn’t help but cringe at the belated realization that she wasn’t doing enough. They deserved better; all of them did. And even if she still had no idea how she wanted to approach it, Valentina knew that she needed to do more. For them, for her citizens and, hell, maybe even for herself if she could bring herself to care a bit more. The thought of a girl came to mind and the vampiress was grinning before even realising it.

  It wasn’t much —not a clear motivation, let alone a plan— but it was something. A change of pace. A step away from who she’d become in recent years. And, with the right push, Valentina figured that maybe —just maybe— she was ready to finally start moving forward again.

  The vampiress felt a tug then as one of her blood leeches finally uncovered a more recent trail and she followed the pull, her pace growing quicker and quicker as she felt a weight begin to lift. For the first time in months, maybe even years, she was excited, and that realization alone had a laugh slip out without thought — a rolling and joyous thing.

  “Come on you naggy old bitch, I caught their trail and I’m hoping to speed things up. There’s a girl you took me away from and if I’m not able to get back to her soon then there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  A spark of amusement flitted over the Dowager Empress’ face but underlying that, there was pride. “Gin I knew aw ye needit wis a quick kick i the ass tae get ye oot o yer funk then I wad have done it ages ago, but sure, lead on. Let’s get this ower an done wi before the sun rises; we were overdue for a quick hunt anyway.”

  They shared a grin, and rushed deeper into the wetlands. The night was still young: they had plenty of time.

  Rather than etymology today, I wanted to address the elephant in the room: Esmé has one hell of an accent. I had a couple people in the mention it in the last chapter she was in and I feel like there's value to talking about it.

  Frankly, first and foremost, the accent is probably not particularly accurate if we're being honest? See, most of this novel's characters would speak Limp?d (Romanian) or Desrois (French) and would have accents to go along with those. However, we get to read in English so that... confuses things? I can't write an extra thick Wallachian accent (as may have been my wont) because I am neither familiar with it, nor would it necessarily track into English that I write with. So what then? Well, Esmé's accent originates from two things: being ancient and pre-dating modern accents, and being lazy and refusing to conform to modern expectations or using 'proper pronunciation'. With that in mind and adapted to English sensibilities, I ended up giving her a Scots accent. Now, it's not perfect. I'm not overly familiar with Scots and use a "translator" to help me a lot with it. Additionally, in some cases I simplify it as well to make certain things a tad easier for the reader. Even still though, I imagine many will struggle with reading the typed accent and I offer some apologies for that. I remember back in the day when I tried to read Redwall as a kid and just couldn't make heads or tails of the written accents. However I still hope you enjoy and, if you do struggle, don't worry too much; Esmé isn't gone but she isn't going to be part of the primary cast either.

  If you're enjoying what you see and want to read ahead, I do have a Patreon that will maintain eight chapters in advance of what is public. If that interests you, you can find a link to it

  And if you're interested in talking to me about the novel or if you'd like to join a community of other delightful readers, I'd be happy to see you over at my Discord. You can find the link

  And as always, I hope you're having a wonderful day!