Chapter 2

  The following morning, Isabeau sat on a stool in her room as Sir Tancred helped her with her hair. It surprised her that he offered to help, which he explained was no trouble for him as he had done the same for his late wife when they went to parties and important meetings during the Ringwolf Wars. Isabeau wondered if doing this was bittersweet for her mentor considering all the dirt they’d found on Colette in Doctor Giraud’s notes, but the task seemed to bother the former Black Knight very little.

  “Is this to your liking?” he asked Isabeau before passing her a small mirror. Isabeau saw her reddish blonde hair braided up tightly, cascading into a bun in back. It was kept together by a silver circlet and a small pin with a red flower from an arktree.

  “This is just how I wanted it, Sir Tancred! Thank you.”

  “It was no trouble,” he replied, stepping back and smoothing out his black jerkin. “You will be a sight to behold at the wedding.”

  “Thank you,” Isabeau replied, giving him a nod. She was a little afraid that he’d maybe lecture her on her dress being a little too low-cut, as he would sometimes suggest that she try to be more modest. When he saw her dress this time, he said nothing of the sort. That wasn’t to say that this red dress of hers was skimpy by any means; it flattered her figure just enough to impress, but not so much that she had the chance to be mistaken for someone’s courtesan.

  “Come along, now,” said Sir Tancred as he walked for the door, “Sir Blaise and his carriage shall be here any time now…and I would like a chance to say goodbye to Loren before we go.”

  “Yeah,” Isabeau sighed. Loren would be moving into one of the rooms above Sulpice’s shop tomorrow, while she, Blaise, and Sir Tancred would be either at the Baultain family’s castle or on their way home from it. After that, the wine harvest would begin, she’d be busy, and she and Loren wouldn’t get to see each other as often. His confession of love to her still echoed in Isabeau’s head, and she still felt a little guilty that she’d not done more to return his love. She’d hardly done much more than hug him a little more and sometimes hold his hand, though to be fair, they hadn’t told Sir Tancred yet and were a bit nervous as to what he’d think of them. To Isabeau’s luck, the young alchemist was at least patient and had no complaints at all about the pace they were going.

  As Isabeau and Sir Tancred descended the staircase, they found Loren setting a crate down by Tancred’s favorite chair in the main hall. The fact that he truly was packing up and leaving seemed even more a reality to Isabeau now, and she had to admit that it made her heart hurt.

  “Sir Tancred, Isabeau,” Loren greeted them, “you look—” Isabeau’s homunculus ears picked up on the sound of Loren stifling a gulp. His face started to turn red and she could tell that he was making the absolute most effort to only look her in the eyes. Sir Tancred walked up to the alchemist and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Loren, before we go, I would just like to tell you how much of an honor it was to have you as part of my household. You’ve grown into a fine knight and alchemist, and I will always appreciate the efforts you went through to help me with Isabeau.”

  “Of course, Sir Tancred, it was something I was always happy to do.”

  Sir Tancred chuckled.

  “And now, you leave this house as an official Rubidican alchemist and one who has earned his right to bear the title of Sir! I am so proud of you, my boy.”

  Loren laughed, too, and seemed to wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “The praise is good and all, Sir Tancred, but you’re talking as if I’m going forever. You’ll still see me every time you come down to Headsman Alley. I’ll only be a short ride away.”

  “Do promise to visit,” Sir Tancred told him.

  “Of course.”

  Isabeau could hear the hoof-beats coming from outside, the sign that Blaise and his entourage were due to arrive. Sir Tancred went for the door and gave Isabeau a nod.

  “I shall let you say your goodbyes to Loren, Isabeau, but please do not take so long that we run late.”

  Shutting the door behind him, Sir Tancred left Isabeau and Loren to themselves. Loren turned to her and cleared his throat.

  “So, uh, Isabeau…y-you look…,”

  “I look…?” Isabeau stepped closer, tilting her head at him.

  “God, I’m sorry. I know what I want to say, I just…I just don’t want to sound like my father, you know?”

  “Your dad would probably say something disgusting,” Isabeau gave him a smirk, “and I’d slap the fuck out of him for it. But you, though…”

  “Okay,” Loren relented, “I’ll say it. You look…beautiful.”

  “See? That wasn’t so hard” —Isabeau took a moment to spin around, letting Loren see her in her dress from every angle— “but thank you.”

  Loren scratched the back of his head. He let out a breath he seemed to be holding and motioned back to his crates.

  “Like I told Sir Tancred, even if we won’t be living in the same house anymore, or at least for now, it won’t be as if I’m gone. I’d be happy to see you any time.”

  “I’m still a little sad to see you go,” Isabeau replied, walking closer to Loren and taking his hands in hers. She hoped, just a little, that whatever he might have been handling wouldn’t stain her white gloves before the ceremony. Alchemy equipment could be like that.

  “Even if we see each other less,” he said, “the times we do, we’ll just have to make the most of it.” He gave her a smile that made her heart race. Now she was the one who felt nervous and didn’t know what to say.

  If I do love him, she thought, maybe this is the time to…should I? I’m so confused…

  Isabeau looked up at Loren, biting her lip. He looked back at her with a similarly unsteady expression on his face, which created a bit of a pause. This pause, Isabeau realized, might lead to Sir Tancred barging in and telling her it was time to go. If she waited too long, she’d botch her goodbye and feel regretful.

  “Loren,” she said, “for everything you’ve done for me, helping me with my medicine, comforting me through some of the hardest days of my life…thank you.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Loren exclaimed. He reached into one of the crates and retrieved a small vial of red juice, which he lovingly set into her hand. “Your medicine. I, uh, I perfected the formula. I guarantee that you’ll only have to take it by season now.”

  “Thank you, Loren,” Isabeau replied as she received the vial and put it away in the satchel at her waist. “Before I go…can I give you something?”

  “Oh, uh, well, yes. Of course.”

  Isabeau smiled up at her stuttering alchemist. She put her hands over either side of his face, pulling him down towards her as she leaned up. She closed her eyes and gently placed a kiss upon his lips. She didn’t know what to expect, but it tasted a little bit like the pears they’d eaten this morning. Loren seemed unsure of what to do at first, but she felt him begin to respond and take her lips in his. She had no idea it would feel so incredible and nearly forgot that she had a wedding to go to. When they reluctantly parted, Isabeau saw a dumbfounded look in Loren’s eyes that made her giggle.

  “Th-that was…” He mumbled, breath caught up in his throat.

  “Be good while I’m away, Loren,” she told him. She walked away to get the door before adding, “I love you.”

  She laughed to herself as she stepped outside, still tasting him on her lips.

  ***

  When Isabeau stepped out into the vineyard’s front yard, she saw an ornate carriage drawn by specially bred draft homunculi parked along the dirt road by the stone walls that marked Tancred’s property. The draft homunculi were leaner than the typical breed, hooved, and capable of taking a journey and back without a drink or rest. The carriage was flanked by bannermen of the House of Dragoul on horseback on either side and was emblazoned with the house’s coat of arms: A golden dragon flying over flames on a dark field. Underneath the shield was the Dragoul family’s motto, painted in shimmering gold: GLORIA PERPETUA. Isabeau saw Sir Blaise, dressed in his wide-brimmed black hat and yellow houppelande lined with fur, standing in front of the carriage and talking to Sir Tancred until he noticed her making her way over.

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  “A blessed morn, my dear homunculus,” Blaise greeted her, tipping his hat. “I do hope you’re ready for the celebrations this evening.”

  “Celebrations?” asked Isabeau. “Last time we talked, you were acting like we were coming along to put a damper on things.”

  “That is true,” Blaise replied, scuffing his silver-buckled boot along the ground. “When I make my effort to reject the marriage being forced upon me, my parents and the Duchess of Urgonde shall be most disappointed. Then we shall party until we either pass out or all the casks run empty. Whichever comes first.” He winked.

  “I remember you saying something about rumors you’d heard about your fiancée’s grandmother,” said Isabeau. “Did you already give up on those?”

  “Do you take me for a forgetful man, Isabeau?” Blaise replied, pointing at her with his other hand on his hip. “I still remember word-for-word what my household staff told me, and I—”

  “Let us save this talk for the trip, Sir Blaise,” Tancred chided him. “If we keep the Duchess waiting much longer, we shall not arrive at Castle Baultain in time.”

  “Please, Sir Tancred,” Blaise retorted with a roll of his eyes. “If I intended to show up any less than at least an hour late, I’d have had you and Isabeau come to me rather than take a tour halfway around the county to get here.”

  “You are a nobleman, Sir Blaise,” Sir Tancred reminded him. “You should act like one, even if these circumstances are not to your liking.”

  Blaise gave an awkward nod and went to the door of the carriage.

  “Onward, my trusted guests. After you.”

  Isabeau and Sir Tancred stepped into the carriage and took seats beside each other on the velvet-lined bench on one side. Blaise stepped in and took the bench on the other side, and the carriage began moving shortly after his entry. As the vineyard disappeared behind them on the horizon, the Executioner-Knights resumed their conversation.

  “As I said,” Blaise began, “the Duchess and Martha stopped at Castle Dragoul one afternoon while I was refusing to stay there. Both my father’s letter and what some of the castle staff said seem to confirm that Martha is indeed not as ugly as her portrait implied.”

  “Well that’s not so awful for you, Blaise,” said Isabeau, leaning against the side of the carriage and holding onto the rail beside her. “She looked like an old granny in that painting.”

  “Indeed!” Blaise replied, pointing at her. “She looked quite elderly, and stern. Perhaps a bit mean. My father’s steward told me that Martha was none of those things. She barely said a word beyond greetings, and as he put it, it seemed like she lived in the Duchess’s shadow and possibly didn’t even breathe unless her grandmother allowed it.”

  “Hmph!” Tancred let out a small exclamation.

  “Did you have something to say, Sir Tancred?” asked Isabeau.

  “I do not,” he said, “I shall see if you will come to realize what is in common between what the two of you just said.”

  “She looked old in the painting,” said Isabeau, narrowing her eyes as she tried to think.

  “Indeed,” Blaise added, “and from what I understand, Lady Martha can hardly breathe without her grandmother’s explicit permission.”

  Isabeau muttered to herself and rubbed the sides of her forehead with her fingers as she tried to put it all together. Martha’s self-portrait wasn’t accurate, and the Duchess of Urgonde seemed to be doing all the talking and decision-making for her granddaughter. The painting depicted someone with at least the face of somebody much older, and it hadn’t taken long at all for Tancred to realize some important detail that seemed to be eluding Isabeau. A domineering old matriarch, a marriage portrait, and the granddaughter intended to be married having no say in anything.

  The woman in the portrait didn’t look to be around Blaise’s age, but looked more like a mean old-

  “Hold on,” Isabeau spoke up, “I think…I’m getting somewhere. What if…Martha didn’t send a real portrait of herself, but one of the Duchess instead? A way to tell Blaise that he wasn’t just marrying her, but also into her family.”

  “Now you are using the information you have in the way an Executioner-Knight always should,” Sir Tancred praised her.

  “Well,” Blaise mumbled, looking off to the side, “if that is the case, I feel a bit guilty now that I threw darts at a portrait of Martha’s beloved grandmother.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the Duchess is all that ‘beloved’ by Martha,” said Isabeau. She looked to Tancred, keeping in mind some of his and the other knights’ lessons. “We just don’t know if this is just an old grandma wanting the best for her granddaughter, either. I have to say, when I joined the Executioner-Knights I wasn’t expecting that helping people with their personal problems would be part of the job.”

  “If we called ourselves the Confessional-Knights,” Sir Tancred remarked, “I doubt we would have the same reputation…”

  As the carriage made its way across the county, it took a couple of stops so Blaise’s bannermen could exchange for fresh horses. The sun became lower in the sky, and Isabeau could see the distant Mount Albedo from the window beside her in the carriage. Her greatest test so far had taken place there, and passing it again still made her feel anxious. The carriage took the path through the valley between Mount Albedo and some of the county’s other peaks, but the terrain, for the most part, remained unchallenging. It wasn’t long before they crossed the border into the mainland of Gelova.

  Before them on the road sat a pair of towers on either side, connected by a bridge. The towers bore banners with a white feather on a blue field, and a knight in a tabard of matching colors rode his horse in front of the carriage to meet it. He lifted his visor, revealing a hardened face with neat, dark mutton chops connecting into a mustache.

  “Is this Sir Blaise’s carriage?” the knight asked.

  “Yes,” Blaise replied, “it is mine, good knight.”

  “The Duchess will be delighted to know that you have decided to attend your wedding after all. I am Sir Geoffroi, a guardian of the bride.” Isabeau noted the seemingly rehearsed delivery of the knight’s introductions, which made her wonder how much he may have been paid to say some of that.

  Sir Geoffroi rode his stallion around the side of the carriage, seeing Isabeau and Sir Tancred inside. “And who are these friends of yours?”

  “I am Sir Tancred, an acquaintance of Sir Blaise among the Executioner-Knights.”

  “The Sir Tancred?” Sir Geoffroi exclaimed, “Of the Ringwolf Wars? Goodness, if my Duchess had known that you would be among her future grandson-in-law’s invited guests…”

  “Your Duchess needs not to prepare any special recognition or favors for me. This is Sir Blaise’s and Lady Martha’s occasion, after all.”

  “Ah,” the knight replied, giving a short nod. “Forgive me, Sir Tancred, I just know that my liege will be most excited to see you. Who is the young lady seated beside you?”

  “…I’m Isabeau, sir,” she introduced herself. “I’ve been Sir Blaise’s guardian for most of the way here.” Isabeau felt a little less nervous as the knight chuckled and seemed to take amusement in her joke. If she could at least charm him, maybe talking to the Duchess and Martha wouldn’t be so bad.

  “In that case,” said Sir Geoffroi, “I do hope that the ones we’re guarding can see the merit in uniting their two families. If you don’t mind me asking…am I seeing right? In the light, your eyes look so red…”

  “I’m a homunculus,” Isabeau admitted. “I hope that’s alright with the Duchess and her guests.”

  “It is no issue at all,” replied Sir Geoffroi. “My Duchess has some homunculi in her employment. I would even say that she is a friend to your kind. I shall escort you all to the castle grounds so that Her Grace is not kept waiting. There is also something along the way that I wish for you all to see.”

  The carriage passed under the toll towers and followed Sir Geoffroi into the rolling hills and open fields of Gelova’s Duchy of Urgonde. Even under the dim light of the world’s ring, Isabeau could see pillars of waning smoke clawing up into the darkening scarlet and orange sky. The wagon passed by the immolated corpses of olive trees, and a demolished and plundered cottage. Isabeau held her breath as she noticed a child’s slippers and a splatter of crimson in the road. Had the Markozian Cult’s kidnappings been going on here, as well?

  “Stop the carriage here a moment,” said Sir Geoffroi. He dismounted his horse and gestured to those in the carriage to come out. Blaise, Sir Tancred, and Isabeau all stepped out of the carriage to look at the burnt village ahead.

  “How terrible,” Sir Tancred muttered, putting a hand over his brow as he looked out into the distant carnage. He knelt before the abandoned shoes, taking them in his hands and giving them a keen examination.

  “This,” said Sir Geoffroi, gesturing out to the remains of the town, “Is why my Duchess believes the alliance between her house and the Dragouls must be cemented as quickly as possible. I do not intend to sound demanding when I say this, but every time Sir Blaise hesitated to give his proposal to my Lady’s granddaughter, another village was ransacked by lowlifes. Danior of the Wagon Folk came through a village not far from here about a fortnight or so ago, and it was only by the aid of some courageous mercenaries that he was brought down.”

  “Danior is dead?” asked Isabeau.

  “Indeed, Homunculus,” Sir Geoffroi replied. “Did you…know him?”

  “I ran into him once. Had a bit of an…altercation.”

  I’m sure Loren will sleep better knowing his uncle’s gone, she thought. Isabeau looked towards Blaise, who appeared to have an expression of genuine regret upon his face. He removed his hat and ran a hand over his forehead, pushing back his golden hair.

  “I can only pray that God delivers these innocent souls to a place without this kind of pain,” he said quietly. “If that was what was at stake all of this time, I suppose I shouldn’t have been so selfish to try to avoid the arrangement.”

  “I assure you that none of this is directly your fault, Sir Blaise,” said Sir Geoffroi, extending a hand to place upon the younger knight’s shoulder. “So long as you give your apologies to the Duchess and give her granddaughter your hand in marriage, I do think she will understand.”

  Sir Geoffroi turned and walked back to his charger. “That was what I wished for all of you to see. Follow me, the ceremony awaits.”

  As the carriage resumed on its path towards Castle Baultain, Isabeau took some time to think about what she had just seen more clearly. The way Sir Geoffroi insisted they all see the destroyed town, the way he made it seem as if Blaise could end the threat to these lands by going forward in his betrothal…something wasn’t right. She saw how guilty and morose Blaise looked sitting across from her; he seemed to be taking everything that was being set before him at face value. Sir Tancred’s face, however, was harder to read.

  “…Sir Tancred?” she asked, lowering her voice in case anyone outside the carriage heard her. “Don’t you think something was off about what Sir Geoffroi showed us?”

  “Mm,” The knight grunted. “The village being right along our path, the child’s shoes with the blood splatter right in the middle of the road as if presented for us to see?”

  “Do you think,” Blaise finally spoke up after his uncharacteristic quiet spell, “that the burnt town was fake?”

  “Do you think it was real?” Isabeau began to snap at him, but she stopped as Sir Tancred nudged her and presented the circumstances to Blaise a bit more clearly.

  “Think about this, Sir Blaise. We are on our way to your wedding, which you have been knowingly avoiding for some time, and it just so happens that along the way, we are brought before the aftermath of supposed banditry. The wreckage is sitting there pristinely for us, with blood and a child’s shoes set out in the road where we will be certain to be looking. The blood splatter has no clear source, with no trails to suggest the body was moved, and the shoes have not even a speck of dust upon them, let alone blood.”

  Blaise muttered to himself and slouched forward, resting his elbows over his knees and grasping his hat tightly in his fists. He sighed, gritted his teeth, and then changed his position to lean against the back of his seat. Then the carriage stopped.

  “We have arrived, my friends,” announced Sir Geoffroi from the front of the line. “I welcome you all to Castle Baultain!”

  Isabeau stepped out of the carriage and saw it, the great alabaster fortress that the Baultain family called home. It stood upon a great hill, glowing an incredible white in the light of the ring.