FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CHAPTER 9

“The Concourse is lost, even now with the pathways into the keep secure they harry our defenses. They pile atop each other like beasts, more animal then men."

The dimly lit cabinet chamber was silent a moment, all of the faces were drawn, haggard and stern. Blood was in the air, the scent, the taste. It had been ever-present for days, weeks now. Naima, Rashid, Maxos and Gram sat nearby, Lidia and Nazir in attendence as well — less for the tactical updates, and more for… other news. The soldier continued after a moment, he was young, they were all young — barely the age of Lidia it felt, the older men by and large officers… and they were dwindling as the siege intensified.

“There are more raids, the undercrofts and basements are being reinforced and shored up, but the eyeless beasts find new cracks to crawl out of every few days, we lost two more officers this morning before we repelled the incursion in the Eastern Citadel, Sergents-at-Arms Danes and Moros."

“Good men," Gram said quietly.

“Friends," Maxos answered in a tired tone.

“What o' Bart?" Lidia's small voice ventured from her corner, the solider looked up with startled, haunted eyes.

“We sent scouts over the rear wall, our best men. They surveyed the Ser's last location…" he swallowed and turned his gaze to Maxos worriedly, as if asking for permission. Lidia bared her teeth, those slitted eyes intense as she leaned forward.

“And?" she prompted, the young soldier unsure if to answer her or Maxos, the commander simply inclined his head. The young trooper swallowed.

“… All we found was blood and rent earth at the edge of where we dare, so much blood. Too much. Long smears proceeding into the darkness, pools deep enough to make mud," the soldier looked away from her, down at the floor; “There's… no way anyone lived losing that much, we presume the Ser is dead."

“Horseshit," came the fierce response — but not from Lidia, instead Nazir stood forward from his place against the wall, eyes wild, mustache bristling, “Not by half. I have seen that lunk survive things that would have rendered me to a fine paste, I have seen him level a ghul with his bare fist." He spat, putting the soldier on his back foot, “You tell me he is dead and I say show me a body!"

The young man was bewildered by it, and Nazir worked his mouth around unsaid words as he looked to the rest of them, his ire seeming to rise.

“Good sir…" he seemed to hedge, and Nazir cut him off.

“Do you all not agree?! Have you not seen as I have? The brawls, the wounds — you sister, you plucked a veritable forest of glass from his flesh, you've seen how hardy he is!" he challenged, and Naima met his gaze evenly… but she as well turned away, unable to answer him. Nazir's jaw set and he looked to the assembled group.

“You would give up on him, he never gave up on us. Not once." he said, pushing away and snarling as he passed, “Bart lives, I know it in my heart. He would not let himself die while he was still needed."

“Nazir…" Rashid rumbled, and the smaller man slashed the words from the air with a viscous chop of his hand, ignoring the bigger man he stormed from the room, the door banging shut behind him.

Silence reigned a long moment in the wake of that, the reporting soldier seeming more shaken by the emotional outburst than he had raw, bloody combat. Lidia caught his attention with a tap on the table.

“Ye 'ave nae found a body?"

“Lidia…" Naima began, “You know our lessons… Bart is mighty but… if it is as he says, Bart is — was — still but a mortal man…"

Lidia felt tears sting her eyes, and her gorge rose along with her anger. Bitterly she shook her head, dashing the tears from her face. No way. Not a chance in the deepest, darkest pit of the Queen's hell. Bart promised.

“He promised…" she echoed the thought out loud, Gram turned his attention to her especially as she drew her chin up, lips in a hard, tight line as she turned away from them. The scout continued.

“Sir… perhaps I should deliver the rest of the report in private?"

“Nae, nae… 'tis fine, yer fine lad…" Lidia said, meeting her friend's gazes — everyone in the room nearabouts she counted as such, included the bald, stoic Commander Maxos and his stern gaze. They all had the same look, the same sad, pitying gaze. All except Gram, the tall man had kept close to her since the siege began — he had weathered her anger and her sadness, and had an ugly scar or two for memory of such valor. Gram's face was concerned, in those eyes lurked an intimate worry she found invasive in this moment, she shied away from his gaze, feeling naked and vulnerable beneath it. “'Tis fine lad… Nazir… th' dandy won't wanna be alone too long, I'll see tae him…" she said with a nod. Turning quickly to hide her renewed tears as she pushed from the cabinet chamber, the heavy doors shutting behind her with a boom, leaving her alone in the corridor. She managed to get mostly down the hall before the sobbing broke through her built-up willpower, and she leaned heavily onto the wall as she felt the grief pour out of her, quietly sobbing into the cool, unyielding stone as tears pattered down cheeks and granite alike.

A fresh boom of the doors came to her, and she ignored it, wiping her eyes and trying to huddle around the nearby corner out of sight, but the sound of plate and boots marched unyielding up behind her, she stiffened as she listened. Her ears were good as her nose, and she'd learned early how to listen for people's gaits, everyone carried themselves different, wore their gear different. The jingles and clanks were as unique as a signature to each person with enough attention.

Gram. Gram had come.

“I know what yer gonna say," she prompted without looking, the jingling stride stopped a respectful distance, and while she couldn't see it, she could feel the incline of his head. She drew in a breath, “Yer gonna tell me my faith is noble, an' that its good an' just but Bart's dead." There was a long pause, the silence filled only by the sound of her own, haggard breathing.

“Actually, I came to say I agreed with you."

Lidia jerked her head up, turning to look at the man, still in armor marked from battle. Gram had been at the forefront of the crush for days when he hadn't been tending to her and other younger, greener soldiers pressed into this fight. The Ivory Spears were the fastest, most agile unit they could field and until the final fall of the concourse, he and his had been riding out as harriers, doing damage and sabotage to the enemy's forces on their edges, slowing and stymieing their efforts where they could. He even still had his helmet on, visor merely raised.

“Really?" she asked in small voice, the tall man merely shrugged.

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting him face to face, but I have heard the stories and witnessed his drive through the heart of the enemy forces. I would bet on such a stalwart soul until I as well, see his body cold and still."

Lidia smiled at that, reflexively, it came unbidden through tears and grief… and in response as did Gram, smears and dirt, dents and all.

“Why are ye so nice tae me?" she asked quietly as he moved closer, “I near took ye fingers off, an' I do nothin' but task ye with me screechin' and hollerin' an' clumsy swordplay."

“Perhaps I simply do not know better," he ventured as she looked up at him so close. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't think him handsome. Tall, well-built, not like Bart, not all slabs and bulk — but put together like the statues she saw back in the Cathedral Ward, statuesque and lean.

“Nae, that ain't it," she said softly, her heart hurt still… but he had a way of making the ache lessen, he looked off into the distance of the hall in an exaggerated expression of contemplation.

“Perhaps I feel it is my duty to minister to lost and wounded souls," he ventured, and she smiled up at him… aye, he did that. She had never really prayed before, not properly… but he'd shown her, as part of their time together when she raged and wailed and shook post-battle. There had been much battle still, even for the little changeling… they, they came at night. In the dark. She had been useful so far, her nose an early warning of the Ghul's approach. Still, she looked up at him again with narrowed eyes.

“There's nae shortage o' lost and mournful souls hereabouts, what makes me special?" The challenge in her voice warmed her insides… Lady's Teats, how was he so good at this? She had been fit to bawl her eyes clean from her skull… and now she wanted to smile. The tall man nodded solemnly.

“Many. But only one lost Little Redcap. The chaplains can handle my fellows… but I can't say the same for you," he said, finally turning those bright eyes on her, “You bite."

She laughed, tears still stained her face but she laughed. His smile was small, but it always was, the two alone in the hallway as she wiped her tears from her eyes, looking up at him. Feeling her heart quicken a bit.

“Aye… true enough, I am quick wit' th' teeth when pressed…" she said, her voice falling off as she looked up at him. Things… started to click into place as she felt the familiar wiggle and hollowness in her belly. Weeks, nearly a month together… and yet he never failed to calm her, to understand her. To listen when she screamed, to comfort her when she cried — and to kick her into the dirt when she made a mistake. Somehow, she liked the last part most of all — he took her seriously in all respects, he did not look down to her he… He cared for her.

Did she fancy him? She'd never considered it, but the thought made her heart beat faster and her belly tighten. She'd fancied a few men over the years, from a distance usually, after a few… poor attempts at romance. The teeth and eyes turned them away before long… but not Gram. Never Gram.

She made a decision then, an insane, snap decision in the moment. There was a scrabbling of boots and she simply launched herself at the taller man, the clatter of plates as he, wild-eyed and off-balance, caught her up in his arms as she quite literally climbed him, springing up him in two quick movements until her legs were about his waist and her hands furiously fumbled at his helmet straps, the two wobbled slightly but with a gasp he set his feet — she she found the clasps, familiar from helping Bart with his harness. The helmet fell away, and her fingers dug into his hair.

Then her mouth found his.

Worry and fear rushed through her as his hands grasped her arms, seemed ready to push and shove, but she kissed him more earnestly, dragging him forward and wrapping her legs tightly about him… and then she realized he wasn't pushing her away, he squeezed her biceps and turned, pushing her up against the wall. His tongue slid past her lips and she moaned into his mouth. A shiver ran through her and she dug her fingers deeper into his hair, the clatter as his helmet rolled to one side ignored, squeezing around his middle with her thighs until his cuirass creaked.

Oh to Hell with it. She fancied him. Had for a while. She'd fought it, rationalized it as being afraid, being alone… but no, no in her heart now as he kissed her back she knew. She'd become truly enamored of the tall, stoic soldier and his gentle soul. His kind heart, and his indefatigable courage.

She'd fallen in love proper, like a girl should.

She couldn't breathe and she didn't care, the sensation, the smell, the taste. She didn't care he smelled like sweat, blood, and steel. She didn't care she could taste the small beer from the waiting room on his lips, she didn't care that his hair was wet with sudor from the rigors of battle. All of these things immersed her in all that was Gram. All of their clashes and struggle fell into place in her mind, her refusal to see her attraction… and now? Now… she reveled in it. With a gasp, she finally broke the kiss desperately, almost dizzy from how long it had lasted, leaning back against the stone wall as he panted in time with her, ice-blue eyes on slitted green as she stared back at him.

“That… was unexpected…" he panted, cheeks flushed and eyes full of desire.

“That… was amazin'…" she answered, and he smiled as he colored a bit deeper, turning to look away under the pretense of checking their surroundings when she stopped his chin with a finger, turning his face back to hers.

“Do it again."

~ ~ ~

“… -e's concussed and beaten, it is no small blessing the Rezarians like you so well."

The voice that woke her was unfamiliar to her, a soft, warm voice with the edge of a Steppefolk accent. Groggily she stirred, making a soft sound of discomfort.

A warm mouth silenced her, a shiver ran down her body from crown to toes as she recognized the owner of the soft lips immediately. Gram. The hazy dreams blended together with reality, and with a giddy little moan she deepened the chaste kiss with a reflexive motion… and got a quiet titter from the unfamiliar voice.

“Now, now lad… let her breathe, she has been through much."

She blinked her eyes open — both of them, to her shock — and saw Gram hovering over her, his eyes hopeful, and to her side sat a spare man of indiscernibly late years. He wore little but the simple black cassock of clergy and a humble insignia of the Horn about his neck. His hair was long, straight and white as snow with a matching beard, and thin spectacles perched on a long, hooked nose. His limbs were thin and slight, not the body of a brute or warrior. Ink stained his fingertips, and a book sat nearby with a marker sticking from its pages. He smiled at her and it transformed his face, already kind into a bastion of warmth that did much to make her feel at ease.

“How are you feeling, little one?" he asked her, and Gram quietly spoke beside her.

“This is Father Denisov Apostol, our chaplain," Gram said by way of introduction, getting a laugh and humble bow of the old man's head.

“Chaplain, Scribe and sometimes-healer, as I am to you little one. Please, call me Father Denis, two surnames are quite cumbersome, no?"

“Why'd they give ye two last names?" she asked weakly, her head still spinning and throat dry, her voice cracked halfway through and the old man smiled and gestured to the pitcher nearby, Gram dutifully pouring her a cool glass of water — with chips of actual ice in it! She sipped it in wonder, the frosty liquid soothing her throat.

“Refreshing isn't it?" Denis said, still smiling, “When the mountains freeze in winter, we haul blocks of ice into the caves where we've made icehouses in the limestone, it is quite nice on a hot day — as to my names?" he grinned and adjusted his spectacles.

“My father was a man who believed in the power of Names, he gave me two surnames because he believed it would make me more respected, I like to think he's happy with how it worked out."

Lidia smiled at that, finding the older man immediately welcoming, like so much of this place had been to her. Richart's people were genuine, true souls. It spoke well of Gram's father… she liked this place, she decided then. Early as it was, she liked it… and would like to call it home one day. That settled into her mind like words written in stone, and put her firmly on course: Karnov had to go. He did not belong in such a doughty place with equally doughty souls.

Sipping her water in silence a moment, she blinked the last of the dizziness from her eyes, touching gently around the tender spot over her left eye. It was sore but… alarmingly well-healed, she looked to Father Denis curiously and he chuckled.

“Oh do not look to me, I am skilled in medicine but that is the doing of our Rezarian brethren," he said, reaching to his effects on the nearby table and producing a small… and very, very familiar pot of salve, glimmering with it's equally familiar golden sheen… and a very, very familiar block of script across it's label. “Some of my brothers traveled to Lachheim before the troubles," he paused there and gently made the familiar benediction of The White God and Lady, a circle before his brow and a slash down to his heart — the Eye and Horn in genuflection, “When they returned, they had a small stock of this marvelous concoction and as good friends, they sent some my way."

Lidia looked up to Gram with a knowing little grin, and the tall man smiled back. Naima's hands cared for them, even here so far from her gentle ministrations.

“Aye, I'm… familiar wit' th' maker, nae wonder Ah'm not swole-up like a bee-stung hound nae more," she said, tenderly touching around it, Denis gently took her hand and pulled it away, patting softly.

“Now, now, don't prod at it. The bones around your eye were actually quite fractured, the blow you took was tremendous. It will heal in a few days, but that blackened eye will likely be there for a day at least," he said, offering her a small mirror.

Shaken by that, she took the mirror in hand, raising it to her face her eyes widened a bit. She was a fright, even after the healing, her entire cheekbone and eye-socket was a black mask of bruising, rapidly fading thanks to the salve — even now she could see the purple and black mottling fading away hairsbreadth at a time. Yet and still… the idea, he'd broken her face in that blow. A shiver coursed through her and she set the mirror aside, a single tear running down her cheek from the still-stinging eyelid. Gram gently reached down and wiped it away. She smiled. Gods, he really was too good for her.

She looked around a moment, and realized after a start that she was in Gram's chambers in the tower, she furrowed her brow at that and Denis made a small 'ah' sound and nodded.

“Of course, you were unconscious, Gram was very firm about not bringing you to the keep infirmary — I cannot say in good conscience that he was wrong in that assessment," the older man explained, frowning pointedly — it did not look good on him, the old priest's face wasn't made to glower, “Louis and Lord Karnov's intentions are not… wholly genuine."

“He's an abusive interloper, call a spade a spade, Chaplain," Gram interjected coolly, folding his arms across his chest. Father Denis' expression was pinched, but he nodded.

“The lad is strident, but not incorrect. Lord Karnov's presence has been with intent from the start, he has little value for the Church or the Lady, and has therefor had little in way of kind words for me," the priest agreed, sitting back heavily, feeling his age acutely it seemed. “He looks through me with eyes like a dead man. Empty and flat."

Lidia shuddered involuntarily, hugging herself in spite of the comfortable down blanket over her. She'd seen that look, the flat, lightless eyes of a predator when he'd turned them on Avalov. Lidia realized then, in a rare instance of such a feeling — she was genuinely afraid of Karnov. He frightened her, like she was a little girl again. It defied her understanding, having stared down horrors and dark fey and a host of other ugly toughs and abusive cads in her life, but she had rarely been truly afraid of any of them. Fear in the moment, of course… but she did not want to be alone with Karnov. She did not want to be near him. Something about the man, the sheer… conviction in which he behaved. The lack of hesitation, the cold merciless execution of violence — and all without the looming shadow of a monster, fairy or the Empty Queen's influence. He was just a man, who had become this way with intent.

He scared her. He scared her like nothing else had.

“Oh, crumbs!"

A clatter near the door broke her from the dismal reverie, all eyes going towards the doorway. Alphonse stood in the entry, a mess of scrolls, books, and pens scattered before him and a platter balanced precariously on one arm, the smaller boy's face a mess of blushing embarrassment. Father Denis smiled and turned to him.

“Alphonse dear boy, you should have had Louis help you with that, or Colette," he chided him in a good-natured tone as Gram crossed the distance in sleek strides — that gave Lidia a nice momentary glimpse at his arse. Busted up or not, she was still devilishly attracted to the man, and the warmth of the dream's memories was still fresh. She allowed herself a long, lurid look before turning to see Father Denis staring at her with a knowing little smile. It was her turn then to blush with quiet embarrassment, just a bit.

“Louis is in a state, and Colette…" he paused as Gram took the platter from him, stooping to gather the dropped writing materials, “… Colette doesn't want to talk to Lidia right now."

“Why?" Lidia asked… that hurt more than she expected, but the young man frowned a bit.

“She's mad at you for hurting her brother, and Lord Karnov," he explained giving her a sheepish expression, “Karnov dotes on her with father frequently, she's somewhat infatuated with him like young girls will be."

That stung both her and Gram, she didn't need to be close to see the way the tall Darrowmite's expression soured, but he kept his tongue behind his teeth as he brought the platter around — the scent of sizzling meat and sweet honey catching her nose, and her mouth watered. Her guts gurgled audibly and she winced, a hollow nausea striking her and causing her to fold over a bit.

“Careful, little one. You emptied your stomach three times before we got you here, in a sort of comatose daze. It's not uncommon with head wounds," Father Denis explained, gently putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “There is some lighter fare there for you, if you're still feeling delicate."

“I'll put on some tea!" Alphonse chimed in brightly, walking over to the fire to turn the kettle on its arm over the flame. Lidia grinned and pushed herself up from the blankets,

“Aye, a bit o' tea and some vittles sounds lovely," she said, sitting up with a long stretch — and blinking as Alphonse looked at her wide-eyed, the young man's face bright as a beat, a new clatter coming as Gram turned and dropped a handful of silverware he'd been holding. She blinked at them, “What's th' matter? Am I bleedin'?"

Gram pointedly covered his eyes and turned, pointedly indicating his own chest. Lidia looked down.

“Oh, shite."

She was naked. Quite naked, and the motion of sitting up fully had exposed her from hips to crown, bare as a newborn babe, her small breasts on full display. With a little squeak, she pulled the blankets back up about her neck, burrowing down in them with a red-faced embarrassment. Father Denis cleared his throat.

“Ah, when you vomited the first time, you did it quite messily all down your front… and then second time as well."

“The third time you hit me instead, Little Redcap," Gram added, back still towards her, plucking at his own new shirt, “No loss, the shirt was already cut and bloodied."

“Oh Lady's Teats… this ain't' how I wanted tae show Loverboy me goodies," she moaned miserably into her hands. A giggle — an honest-to-God giggle — escaped Father Denis' lips as he gently stood and drew the curtain around the bed for her.

“Phrasing dear child, phrasing," he said, turning his gaze to Alphonse and Gram, the former of which was looking pointedly away and busying himself with his parchments and pens, “How about we make busy with setting the table while the little lady dresses herself, and then we'll speak further over hot tea and cakes, yes?"

“No need to be embarrassed!" Alphonse said with a bit of a tremor in his voice, “You're beautiful, it wasn't upsetting or ugly and… oh, that's… that's not helping at all is it?" he added with a small voice, putting his face in his hands as both he and Lidia turned a deeper shade of red. Father Denis and Gram both echoing a quiet chuckle.

“N-nae, jus'… give me a spell an' I'll be out, s'ok Alphy, you mean well," she said with a smile, and his ears only turned pinker.

“Alphy?" Gram mouthed at her with an incredulous expression as she closed the last bit of the curtain around the bed, she shrugged with a smile.

“What? He's cute, deserves a cute nickname."

Alphonse only turned ever pinker.

~ ~ ~

A short spell later, Lidia was clothed in a simple sundress — one of the green ones with the white sash that Gram was oh-so-fond of — and seated more or less in the tall man's lap as they ate. The chill of fear still querulously present as butterflies in her belly now and again, and his presence was a ward against it.

“Father showed me the sketches in his books he made of you," Alphonse said quietly after a long moment, the fare he'd brought along was as everything had been, rich and savory. Creamy soft-rind cheeses and crusty, light bread seemed to be the companion of nearly every meal, drizzled in oil and garlic and baked in an oven until the inside cheeses was soft, creamy and buttery delicious. She eagerly helped herself to that and hot nettle tea to help ease her stomach into the rest of the meal, which steamed before them — a thick and savory stew floating with a medley of celery, onion, and carrots, with chunks of venison thick with wine-red marbled flesh peeking up from the steaming, golden-brown broth in tandem with thick, swollen barley-corns.

“O-oh, aye?" she asked a bit shocked by that at first, but it clicked well-enough into place after a moment. Alphonse was so like his father, probably the most of the three boys. Almost a tiny little copy with the pale hair and bright, coffee-colored eyes. He nodded.

“Indeed! Father shares his sketches with me always, it is how I learned my own work!" he said, and opened the book he'd been carrying, a partially-bound tome that was clearly a work in progress. Lidia's eyebrows raised as he turned it to face her.

An illumination was the front-facing section, the beginning of a chapter. She recognized the Words of White from when Bart read it along their journey and when Gram taught her scripture — but this was wondrous. The Lady in White was resplendent in the middle of a tall, narrow block adjacent to the text, sitting upright in crisp, authoritative poise. She had been rendered in painstaking detail in the same block-and-angles style common to the Darrowmite texts she'd spied in Kull's office now and again. Surrounding her were a row of armored Paladins, blades held aloft, forming the border of the illustration's block with their straight edges and swirling white surcoats — a blazing starburst above them all positioned directly in line with her horn, within it a stenciled, unblinking eye. It was unfinished, the linework was done but inking and colors had yet to be applied to much of it, and only The Lady's merciful eyes and glittering horn bore the glittering golden gilt-leaf that would soon edge the whole of her image.

“Lady's Teats…" she breathed looking at it, and two voices in unison by sheer reflex responded:

“Language."

She glowered a bit up at Gram, his and Father Denis' chagrin merely surface level, but he only smiled. Alphonse however grinned wide.

“You've seen the Lady, they told me so. How well does it compare?" he asked, and there was an earnestness about him, he practically was vibrating as she looked over it.

“Oh… Oh laddie yer art is fantastic, but iffin' ye think tae capture somethin' o' her like on paper I cannae say it's possible…" she hedged, not wanting to bruise the boy's ego, and yet… “… But aye, she looks proper as she should. Gentle and firm… more real than real."

“Is it true that flowers bloom around her?" he asked in a hushed voice, and she laughed a bit.

“Aye, and grass grows 'neath her hooves and birds sing in her passin', 'tis quite the sight."

Alphonse's eyes gleamed at the words, wonder playing across his face as he took back the book, looking down at it then back at her, practically vibrating with the praise.

“It's surreal really, I have learned about Her and things like Her all my life, spend my time with Her image and images of things-" he paused and met Lidia's eyes, and in that moment she say that sparkle of fascination she'd seen in Richart's before he amended that, “-People, like you. But I've never seen one for real, never seen the Lady or the Learned one…" he hugged the tome to his chest, looking at her with winsome eyes.

“Magic is real, Fairies are real, My brother brought one home."

Lidia fell silent at that, struck by the earnest emotion from the boy. Father Denis adjusted his glasses, stirring a cup of tea for himself.

“We of Darrowmere are often quite isolated from the world, the Baronies and Cities are far from the Aspect's places of rest, and the Black Forest for many is a distant myth," he mused as he looked at Lidia, her inhuman features under his attentive eye. “For many here, the Triune and Sidhe are just this side of being mythical, it has been centuries since the Lady has walked openly among her children."

“I know th' feelin'," Lidia said softly, leaning her head idly against Gram's shoulder as he ate, herself having cleaned her plate in spite of her still queasy stomach. “'Fore I met Bart, I ne'er thought I'd see the Lady or anythin' like me. Some cruel joke o' God's tae make me a wee, lonely creature in the world o' men."

“You never met any other sidheborn?" Alphonse asked, she shook her head slowly, closing her eyes.

“Nae, not a one. I asked Kull… me uh, caretaker fer the time 'bout it. He told me most o' my kin die when they're babes, bad bodies, bad spirits, somethin'."

“They were unloved," Gram said between bites, casually meeting her gaze as he said it, “You were not."

“Aye," she said in a small voice, a little catch in her throat as she took his meaning, “That could be it."

“Father's sketches were so… vital, real. He's done them his whole life, but seeing your… features," he hedged a bit, groping for the right words, “So alive and crisp, it was magical. Real magic, not the storybooks and tricks that they do at tourneys to entertain the children." The young man's face was a mask of scholarly zeal and Lidia envied he and his father both now, there was something proper about their fascination. Wholesome. She liked this family, and her fingers found Gram's beneath the table, lacing them together. Not 'this' family, no. Her family.

“Lidia uhm…" Alphonse was blushing again. She raised a friendly eyebrow at him.

“What is it?"

“Could I…" the young man looked to Gram apologetically, and he managed in a small voice. “… Could I see your fangs?"

Gram snorted a bit, and Father Denis let out a little sigh — Lidia giggled, oh he was a tiny little copy of Richart down to his toes!

“Oh I suppose, ye've seen quite a bit o' me already anyways," she said with a wink, leaning in and grinning at him broadly, pulling her lip back from the fierce, sharp canines that were always tucked just behind her smile. Blushing even more furiously, Alphonse all the same leaned forward over the table, and she parted her teeth for him to have a better look, she should feel gawked at… but he and Richart's interest was so genuine that she instead honestly, felt a bit flattered.

“Lady's White Mane… they're real…" he said to nobody, and she grinned a bit wider before leaning back, snuggling up against Gram's arm again.

“Aye, teeth, eyes an' all my bendiness, I'm a wee bit sore still or I'd tumble and twist fer ye, but I think if I stood on me 'ead right now I'd puke." Alphonse shook his head, holding up his hands.

“N-no, don't do that on my account. I was just… curious, we hardly got to speak before Karnov inter-"

A knock came to the door, quick, sharp and impossible to ignore. Alphonse paled as everyone at the table turned to look at him. He swallowed a bit.

“That's an ill omen… I'll get it."

The young scholar stood and pulled at the doorframe, and he jerked back unconsciously from the severe figure on the other side.

Mister Koval stood immediately on the other side of the door, his tall, thin frame uncomfortably straight and crisp. Those eyes, dead and flat like Karnov's had been. Fear rose unbidden, feral and wild in her heart — which itself began to pound in her chest as he immediately turned those dead, doll's eyes upon her. Unlike Karnov, he gained no life, no light when he stared at her. Nothing human lurked beyond that gaze.

“Miss Shaw," he said in that mellifluous tone, deeply bowing his head for a moment, “Your presence is required."

“Who's askin'?" she challenged, even though a sinking feeling in her stomach let her know for sure already, the bleak man smiled without a hint of warmth.

“Lord Karnov, Miss Shaw."

The men around the table bristled in a variety of ways at that, Gram most obvious of all sitting more upright, going so far as to stand himself, crossing the distance to the smaller man — whom did not flinch back from the clearly angry soldier.

“Unacceptable, this is not his home, he cannot simply order my bride around as if he were lord of this estate," he hissed with ice in his tone. Koval's emotionless face twisted upwards in a smile.

“He has done as such, Captain Baudelaire. It was not a request."

Gram's temper flared, his eyes flat and hard — to Lidia's sudden, grisly realization, the same way Karnov's had lost light and joy. A shiver went through her at that, too close to home. Gram's mustache bristled and he did not back down. “I will not allow it."

“I am afraid I must insist, Captain Baudelaire," Koval said in a tone of such absolute, frank neutrality that even Gram was given pause. The rawboned man did not flinch. He did not appear to be armed, no blade visible, no armor bulking his mundane, unremarkable clothing… but there was a radiating sensation of danger. “The Baron was very clear."

“I will take it up with him myself," Gram said, reaching to move past Koval — only to have the man seem to simply slip effortlessly in his path.

“No, Captain — only Miss Shaw may attend, he made that also, very clear," he answered in that lifelessly cordial tone, his cadence odd. Unnerving.

“If I refuse?" Gram said, and Koval's eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly.

“I will be left but to insist more forcefully."

The two men stood off there, the threat was delivered with such icy surety Lidia felt terror rise in her guts fresh from her meeting in the halls with him. It was no threat, but a mere observation. Lidia would bet on Gram in a straight fight… but she did not imagine Koval would do anything so kind as meet the soldier with a naked blade on even ground. Koval drew himself up with a resigned sigh.

“Lord Karnov will meet with Miss Shaw, please come along Miss, The Baron is waiting."

Silence ruled, Alphonse pale and silent, cowed by the strange… pressure of the man's presence. Father Denis looked at him with open contempt, a sadness in the old man's eyes and disdain on his lips. Gram was practically vibrating with contained violence, clenching his bandaged fingers into fists. Koval's eyes tracked to that, and then back to Gram… and he leaned in close.

Something passed between them, Koval's lips moving in a whisper so faint, so targeted for naught but Gram's ears that even Lidia's sharp hearing did not detect it, the gaunt man's eyes never leaving Lidia's a moment… but Gram paled, and his fingers clenched all the harder for a moment… then he relented.

“Animal," was all he spat, and turned away to her, anguish and fury in that cold blue gaze she loved so. She had no words, and neither did he — what was there to say? She knew he had said something vile, unknowably so… and she knew she couldn't ask that Gram face whatever brutal consequence he'd laid at his feet — she knew Gram. He would spill blood, die for her, this she knew… so to cause him to relent as such… no, she couldn't bear it. She stood from the table, still in naught but her simple sundress and soft slippers, but she stood tall as she could, the green linen worn like armor.

“I'll go, nae need tae worry," she said, meeting Koval's gaze with wide, quavering eyes. “I've handled me fair share o' monsters, what's one more?" she said, and Koval inclined his head in a genial fashion.

“Of course, this way, Miss Shaw," he said, gesturing out past her. She reached for her weapons by the door and Koval once again raised a finger, “Please, I must ask that you leave your armaments here, Miss." he added.

“I don't care tae be unarmed around ye," she stated bluntly, and he once more dipped his head in agreement.

“I do not question that, however — I have been dispatched to bring you to Lord Karnov, whole and hale. I am a man of my word in all things, and I will see you to him in safety no matter the cost, even at cost of my own life in your defense," he said, folding his arms behind his back with yet another incline of his head.

“Please, this way."

She didn't like it… but she believed him, strange, wooden man that he was — she set her blade back on the hook by the door, casting a glimpse at Gram who was a stormcloud of brooding fury, she winked at him.

“Lead th' way."

~ ~ ~

The journey was done in mostly silence. Koval's eyes seemed lazy, almost unfocused as he easily matched her pace despite his much longer legs, staying an almost polite distance from her… which only served to make him all the more unnerving. His gentility was silk over the edge of a blade, sweetbreads around a core of poison.

“Miss Shaw, may I ask you a question?" Came that placid tone, she almost tripped for the sudden sound in the stillness, but turned her head back to him.

“If I say nae tae ye, will ye accept it?"

“Quite so, but I will be disappointed."

She felt her guts get a little watery at the dull tone in which he said it, a million terrible things lurking behind those dead eyes and lifeless smile she was sure, instead she nodded to him. He pursed his lips for a moment.

“When you drank of Captain Baudelaire's essence, was it pleasurable?"

She stopped dead still at that. Her bowels turned from water to ice in seconds, and she slowly turned to him with a haunted look in her eyes.

“How did ye know about that?" She asked in a quiet, harsh voice that shook, just a little. He simply smiled at her, that thin-lipped, hollow smile.

“Please, answer the question."

She stared at him, and in that moment she immediately wished she had her blade, to cut those dead eyes from his skull and those slack lips from his face, drive it into his black heart. The hall they stood in was abandoned, as if the very soldiers had subconsciously detected the predator in their midst and chosen to be elsewhere. She was alone with him as he stood, unmoving, barely breathing, waiting.

“I… why d'ye want tae know that?" she whispered, stepping back from him. He moved forward an equal step.

“We have both taken lives, Miss Shaw," he answered conversationally, “In the traditional way, with blade and main force. It is a mechanical transaction, the blade enters, the garrote tightens, the heart stops," he tilted his head at her almost imperceptibly.

“Life ends."

The man's sallow features seemed to almost develop a moment's warmth for the scantest second before he continued, that dull-eyed gaze never wavering, “But you were able to taste the life you took from him, a death by fingersbreadths, that is something I have never experienced. I have only felt the life ebb into nothing from a kill, I have never tasted it."

She shuddered as he all but forced her to think of the times she'd lain with Gram in the ardor of her mother's curse, the way she had been so… hungry, dying of thirst with a cool quenching pool just past his flesh, where his heart beat… she felt a pitiful, miserable sense of disgust as the memory flushed her nethers with a moment of arousal at the memory of how Gram had yielded to her his very soul…

“Yes," The word came out of her unbidden, a misery of its own to admit it, a second misery unique to itself to say it out loud, and a final misery to say such to such a creature as this. Koval smiled at that.

“How very interesting," he said, inclining his head to her again, those dead eyes almost seeming to warm a moment before he stood straight again, “Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Miss Shaw — shall we continue?"

She said nothing to him, turning her eyes away and simply continuing on. Koval seemed content with that.

He lead her in silence to a different set of doors, soon she found herself surrounded more and more by red-and-black uniformed men, the wolf motif visible on their surcoats. They seemed to occupy a certain section of the keep as they proceeded, until she saw naught hide nor hair of any of the house staff nor blue surcoats of the Baudelaire men. She realized she had been walking upwards a bit, and after a fashion of turns and steps, she'd ascended one of the opposite structures across from the one Gram and she slept in — this one though, rather than being out hanging from the walls like a tower, was deep inside of the natural stone. As they ascended, more and more spurs and outcrops of the cavern's own limestone showed, one section practically being an unworked tunnel with masonry floors. She felt the air grow cool and moist as they rounded the last bend to a long hallway.

Much like Gram's room, it was a gently curving hallway that ended in a dead-end door — this one flanked by two guards. They stood at attention as Koval approached, and with an almost imperceptible motion, he gestured to them both. They clashed their fists in a salute, and filed out away from the door, disappearing around the corner.

“Lord Karnov wishes to speak to you in private, I will remain outside," he said in that same solicitous tone, gently opening the door and gesturing inside, “I will be right outside if anything transpires."

She shuddered, the veiled threat not lost upon her. She screwed up her courage in spite of her heart pounding in her chest, C'mon Lil' Redcap, yer a predator too, not some rabbit to run scared. She set her teeth. She said it to herself, but the meaning felt hollow. The door shut behind her, giving her a brief start as she turned to the room at large.

It was a dim place, much like the halls leading — this was one of the deepest structures in the keep, and it was almost half rough stone, hewn and shaped at a minimum to preserve the natural curve and randomness of the living stone — there were even small stalactites that had been carved and set with chains from which large caged lanterns hung, casting flickering shadows over the chamber. A large hearth not unlike Gram's stood directly across from the door, a merry fire blazing in it, chasing the coolness of the cavernous walls away, itself built and cut into a natural channel in the stone that whisked the smoke away with a faint, hollow sound of wind into some air gap deeper in the chasm beneath.

Before it, sat low in a high-backed chair as if it were a throne, was Matevi Karnov, the Red Wolf of the Steppe.

He stared at her with those ice-blue eyes, so pale as to be nearly gray, the glimmer of interest once more giving them a vital, feral light. He wore little in way of his usual finery, the Wolf-headed stole hung off the top of the tall chair, his own shirt open to the waist, hands folded in a steeple before his face. She once again felt a guilty thrum of attraction for the man, no matter how despicable she found him the likeness to Gram and the sheer raw power of his body stirred her arousal against her will. She understood grimly how terrible it must have been for Gram's mother. In spite of that, she drew herself up defiant, chin up.

“Ye asked for me, here I am."

Karnov raised an eyebrow at that, his face was cast in shadow but a new series of thin black stitches ran up the right side of his face, an ugly, scabbed-over wound visible in a long, curving line. Gram's slash, simply stitched and laden with styptic. He'd clearly not been given the same benefit of Naima's healing salve as she had.

“You will address me as 'Lord' or 'Baron'," he said, and the authority in his tone brooked no argument. “I will stomach your provincial disrespect to a point, but you will respect the titles given unto man by God and shed blood."

A kneejerk response was to argue, to spit and be spiteful… but of all voices, Naima's consoled her in her memories: Small sacrifices will often yield greater rewards, do not be afraid to spend minor ingredients for a better result. She nodded, and he nodded in return, he raised a hand to her.

“You have healed well, that is good. I had a concern you were not hardy enough to weather our ways," he said in a conversational tone, and she felt that bile surge back up again and this time she wasn't so cordial.

“Ye were tryin' tae kill me, Milord. Beggin' yer pardon but I dinnae give a five-penny fook for yer worries," she snapped, folding her arms over her chest — fear forgotten for anger in the moment, an ember of courage she fanned eagerly. To her surprise, Karnov smiled at her.

“I was not, in fact," he said, and her eyes widened with outrage, but he stayed her words with a raised hand, “The duel was to first blood from the torso, and that is precisely as far as I would have taken it. I pressured you as I would have any one of my own sons," he said — and the last word was spoken quite pointedly — the man raising a finger to his newly-slashed face.

“You saw as much from the floor."

“How kind o' ye, milord," she growled, offering him nothing in response. The burly man's shoulders rocked in a silent chuckle and he studied her a moment, he raised a hand to the stole above him on the chair.

“Do you know what this is?"

She shook her head, biting back more venom as she continued to build up her courage with the flames of anger, it was not the best method, but it was keeping her from cowering as she was alone with this dreadful man.

“The Red Wolf is my heraldry, yet it is also a mantle of office. When I wear that stole, I speak and act for my People, the People of the Steppe," he explained to her, returning his hands to their steepled posture beneath his chin, “When I remove it, I speak for myself and my personal holdings."

It dawned on her then, the importance of his disrobing in the duel, he was challenging her — and more specifically, Gram — as an equal rather than as a Lord of the Steppe.

“It is a symbolic gesture, both physically and metaphorically," he continued, “It is heavy, and it binds me, weighs me down, requires I square my shoulders and straighten my back to bear the burden — and honor — it represents," he said and his eyes flashed with frosty blue intensity, “It restrains me, in many ways."

“… An' yer speakin' tae me now, with it hangin' off yer chair like a housecoat…" she trailed off as she pondered the meaning, but Karnov nodded.

“I speak to you now personally, with only authority I have earned by my own hand, unrestrained by the mantle of my people," he elaborated, “Note that the wolf's fangs are ever at my own throat, a reminder to all who would declare themselves Lord of the Steppe that the fangs of their people are poised at their lifesblood, ready to clamp down upon a tyrant."

“Pretty words for th' man invadin' another's home," she said and then stiffly added, “Milord." The Baron smiled at her again, this time without a shred of warmth.

“Your tongue is quick as your blade, and similarly as rough-honed and rude," he stated, leaning back in his chair, raising his chin and looking down the length of his nose at her quite literally, “Little wonder Gram finds you so intoxicating… that, and your obvious…" he flicked his eyes down to her bare legs beneath the green dress she'd chosen specifically for the man in question, “… talents."

“Milord," she said in a low tone, “Iffin' one more o' ye and yours suggest I'm some fancy whore, I dinnae care what rank ye 'ave, I'll be cross in a way not seen outside th' Black Forest," she hissed, her green eyes wide and intense, her fear gone in another flash of anger, Karnov seemed mostly amused by it regardless.

“We've nae made love, iffin' ye must know. Gram is a good man, an' wants tae make a proper woman o' me," she continued, smoothing her skirts, glaring daggers back at him, “Unlike many Milord, he knows what 'nae' means."

Karnov's eyes flashed again at her obvious barbs, and she wondered momentarily why she was so gleefully provoking this man as such, she was unarmed, alone — and Koval was there to keep all things quiet. She was quite at Karnov's mercy here, and… she didn't care. She was slowly growing to hate this man, and his presence only riled her further. There was a creak of the chair as he stood.

Karnov towered over her, of a size with Gram in height and moreso in bulk, his steps were measured and slow, eyes never wavering from hers as he advanced on her lazily, no hurry. Inevitable.

“You threaten, spit, and scratch. You befoul this place with your cursed blood, and you yoke a strong man of the Steppe with your fell magicks — do not think of me as ignorant of who and what you are," he said as he continued to walk towards her. Lidia found herself falling back a step as he drew closer.

“My reach is long, my ears sharp. I know things. I know of your consorting with the Triune's powers, of your supposed heroism witnessed by none but those under the golden yoke of the Church. I know of your whirlwind romance with Gram, I have seen you wind the men of this household around your finger with pleasant words and exotic features," his boots were loud as he continued to close the distance, Lidia's heart hammered her chest as he loomed over her, the shadows of the fire casting all of his visage but one of his piercing eyes in darkness, a gleaming point of icy blue malice.

“All these things, so neat and tidy for one little half-breed waif, a storybook ending for a forgotten scion of a cursed lineage. It begs many questions, and I know many of the answers."

“Oh aye?" She whispered, shaking but defiant, “Tell me then, o' Lord Karnov, tell me what my plan is."

His gaze flashed anew, and his nostrils flared as he loomed over her anew, pinning her between the door and his powerful, insurmountable bulk.

“I am many things, but I am not a fool. No, little half-breed — I will not feed you information upon which to act, I will not facilitate your little gambit. That is not why you are here."

“Why then?" She challenged, baring her fae fangs in a snarl of anger, “Ye wanna intimidate me? Aye, ye scare me, like any creature half o' yer size should be. Ye laid hands upon me, beat me, an' God-knows what ye've done tae Louis tae make him so full o' hate in ways Gram 'n Alphonse aren't, so ye — I'm scared o' ye, so what else is there? Ye jus' puttin' on a show?"

She braced at that, she could smell the aggression in the air — she expected him to strike her again, and she prepared to roll with it, find a weapon — there was a fireplace poker at hand. He was unarmed, her eyes flicked back to the chair, his saber hung there along with the stole. She could slip past him, grab it or the poker, be armed. Indeed, his hand did lash out for her and she tried her best to slip past — but he was too fast, too strong for her. A gasp left her throat as his hand wrapped around it, thumb and forefinger framing the base of her skull in a vice-like v-shape of his calloused fingers.

He did not strike her. She struggled but he simply held her in place, pushing her back up against the wall adjacent the door, his body blocking out the light, her feet kicking a bit as he bodily lifted her from the floor, hanging painfully but harmlessly from his grip.

“I do not need to put on efforts to frighten my lessers, even you already know your place — struggle against it as you wish, run from it, deny it — but your body and soul know where you belong," he said to her — it was not a growl or a snarl, his voice was pleasant. Soft and silken, he lowered his face to hers. She gasped and could not speak, her jaw taut from the grip… but she couldn't help but feel strangely compelled to listen even so. The presence of the man was overwhelming, the scent of him raw and musky, an animal scent her nose in particular picked up… it was not just aggression in the air, now that she was neck deep in the midst of the man — but desire.

“Yours need not be a painful instruction, your body already yields to me — first on the sands, and now at my bare hands wont," he said to her in a tone more reserved for a lover… or a pet, “You drive a wedge between mine efforts here, and I am both cross… and intrigued. You have snared the attention of my erstwhile progeny," he said and his eyes flashed close to hers, his breath smelled of crushed mint and the faint sweet sting of cider, and despite herself she did not find it unpleasant.

“I am a man of many flaws, and I admit one of them is a coveting of that which other, powerful men have. Those with the strength to protect what they have do, and those without…" he leaned forwards towards her and she felt herself freeze.

“…Are eaten."

It was then, that he kissed her. It was not a gentle thing, it was a domination the same as any of his other motions. Against which, she struggled, bringing her hands up to try and tear and gouge at his face, but his fingers tightened and suddenly her vision hazed as the bloodflow to her brain was arrested. Weakness took her fingers and she moaned piteously as his mouth took its fill of her own before she found the wherewithal to gnash her teeth — biting down hard into his lip with desperate fury.

To her horror… he simply kissed her harder, forcing her mouth apart with his tongue and simply, utterly violating her with the efforts. Shame washed through her as nausea and fear warred with the sudden renewed insistence of her sidhe-cursed instincts. Arousal like before the ritual at Baba Yaga's hut flared inside of her, the powerful hungers, the lustful desire to devour Karnov tangled with her hatred of the man to fill her with a confusing, alien tangle of sensations. Lust and loathing warred as she tried again to bite down, lashing her nails again. Once more he squeezed, and her vision blurred.

She gave in. Not to Karnov, but to the thrumming within her. Her hands came up, and she grasped him by the ears — and returned the kiss with sudden gusto. She felt it then, the feeling she'd not known how to pick apart from the lusts and lures of her time with Gram, not until Greatmother Winter had isolated it so keenly. The vital flow of his life past her lips, into her mouth and down her gullet, she drank a draught of Karnov's life force with intent and abandon. With a smooth motion however, Karnov pushed her firmly away back against the wall — his face a righteous mask of superiority. Blood ran from his mouth, her fangs had sliced open his lip in several places but he bore it as little mind as he held here there but inches from his face, the scent of arousal filling the air in tandem with the coppery sting of blood.

“Cornered, all things revert to their nature, even half-breed slatterns with delusions of grandeur," he said… licking the blood from his lips, “Your mouth is sweet despite the bile you spit forth, I understand my son's enjoyment of you now, chaste or no." He purred to her and she snarled at him, unable to draw enough breath to scream, she instead spat blood at him.

“Come back fer another taste, ye weren't tae bad yerself," she hissed caustically, baring her teeth at him, eyes flashing like a hunting cat.

“A little leech seeking another meal, alluring for sure, I wonder if I could endure your bite…" he said and pointedly pressed his hands to her belly — her womb.

“The prize for such fortitude is tempting, as it was with Simone, so wasted on such a weak man."

“S-stronger th-then ye…" she gasped, her eyes spotting again, “G-Gram is h-his son tae his teeth n-nae yers… an' that j-jus' twists yer cock in a k-knot don't it?" She stammered out around thin air and crushing fingers, defiance in her gaze. Karnov drew back from her then, but his smile did not leave his face.

“He shares his false father's weakness, unable to protect what is his, where is he now?"

“A-ask Koval…" she snarled, eyes flashing. Karnov's head tilted suddenly, interest glimmering in his eyes, he loosened his grip as if to bid her to continue, “Loverboy was s-set tae rip off yer bollocks and stuff 'em up yer arse… then Koval w-whispers somethin' tae him… an' he… an' he stops." she said, meeting Karnov's gaze.

“'Had tae be vile, Gram's nae afraid tae die — so w-what could that creature s-say tae stop him?"

Karnov seemed to consider that, and for once in this encounter she saw actual anger in his eyes. Koval had overstepped his bounds somewhere, Karnov knew Gram well enough to understand her own doubts. This was all a power play, she realized… he'd thought to win her over, subvert her like he had Simone. Her mind raced as she put it all together —intimidate her and violate her in secret, if she kept quiet surely the child would match up to their wedding night — Karnov might even have come out in favor, blessing the union. Urging the wedding forward… and he looked so much like Gram, the child would pass all inspection, unlike Gram himself. It was hideous… and effective. Put his hooks in her, in Gram. Break down his only rival.

She could kill him, she realized. All it would cost was her maidenhood, and as weird and beaten as her body was, would Gram notice? She had felt the draw of his lifeforce, just a lick off him that would do little but give him a chill — but it meant that her hungers were still there, only Gram was safe from her deadly sidheborn lusts. She gasped for breath as Karnov continued to ponder — a small cost, give him what he wanted, let him bed her… and suck the marrow from his bones, rid this land of this… this animal.

All it would cost was her maidenhood. Her pride. Her purity. Her love.

No. No, she could not do that. Not to Gram. Not now. Not with him. No matter what she could achieve killing him… she'd kill Gram too, at least a piece of him. She didn't have a chance to war with herself on it, as Karnov pulled away first, his expression no longer smug — but rather irritated.

“An unforeseen wrinkle, an unfair manipulation, I will speak to Koval on this, he has forgotten his place before, and seems to have again," he said, and to her surprise he let her down gently, even going as far as wiping the smudge of his own blood from her cheek with a thumb.

“An ill contest, the prize is only sweet if won fairly," he said, drawing himself up and gesturing to a basin near the fireplace, “Wash yourself, it would be unseemly to leave here as such."

“Ye… fookin'"…" she spat, having crumpled to her knees panting for breath as her head swam, her fingers and toes tingling as blood flowed properly back into her vitals, “Ye… ye know I'll tell Gram what ye did tae me…"

“I know, and now I know he will seek proper restitution," Karnov said, back to her as he uncorked a nearby bottle of brandy, turning his head to her slightly, “It promises to be a very interesting conversation," he added as he lifted the glass of golden liquid, his frosty eyes glimmering with renewed interest.

“I look forward to it."

Lidia gaped at that, the simply way he… dismissed the previous engagement, as if forcing himself upon her was merely another move on the board… and to her horror, she realized it was. He cared not for how it looked, and how she looked at him now — his gaze said back to her the worst of her fears.

Tell them, tell them all. Those who believe you will do nothing, and those who don't will shun you.

Lidia drew herself up in silence, opting to wash her face free of the blood and tears, shaking a bit as she dried her face. Misery filled her, but also a burning, primordial rage. She couldn't let him win like this… she couldn't let this stand.

“Did ye really invite me here, busted up at ye own hands, tae attempt bedding me?" She whispered to him in a low, dangerous tone. The man paused a moment, sipping his brandy before setting the glass down with an authoritative clack.

“No."

“Ye violated me fer fun?" She hissed in outrage, Karnov's lip turned up in a slight smile.

“You had to be shown your place."

She snarled at him, clenching her fists and for a moment — she cast her gaze to his saber. She could take it, cut him to ribbons… or could she, as she eyed it, so did she catch his gaze again. He turned to her fully, taking his brandy snifter up anew, swirling it in his palm.

“Take it," he challenged her, “If you believe yourself worthy, take it and strike me down," he took a long sip of his brandy, making no move to stop her.

“Do not miss, for my response shall not."

Fear boiled up in her again, and she steeled herself. She was in no shape to fight him, he was just… better than her. Stronger, more skilled, he was a match for Gram… and she wagered even Bart would have been hard-pressed to meet him in battle, Mantle or no. Karnov was made for the fight he offered her, and it was a clear, obvious trap.

Raising her chin defiantly, she spat at his feet. He nodded.

“As I thought."

He turned again and opened a book on the table, turning the pages haphazardly, the motion caught her attention — as did the book itself. Familiar binding and hashed pencil marks.

Richart's sketchbook.

“You have an effect on the men of this household, I have seen it in their eyes, and their works," He said, raising the sketchbook to the page covered in illustrations of her. Pride and anger writhed in her guts as he looked at them… Richart's artwork seemed in many ways beyond Karnov, his gaze lingered on them quizzically.

“Lord Richart is a fine artist, an' I was honored tae be drawn as such," she said honestly. Karnov had no answer.

“A frivolity, but one that does require diligence, of what little I respect of the man, it is that diligence," he said, turning his gaze to her again, “It would be a shame to deprive the world of it merely for a disagreement of title."

“Speak plainly, I 'ave 'ad enough o' yer tongue for a full day," She snarled, and saw anger flare in his eyes as she pointedly dropped the honorific, she smirked at him. She was terrified of the man, and as with all things — she wrapped it in a ball of spite, and served it back to him hot.

“Louis is a… volatile youth," Karnov stated, turning the book around to peer down at another sketch of her teeth, as if he hadn't gotten an intimate enough experience with the sidheborn fangs, “I have spent much time molding that fiery streak into something useful, he has tasted the crucible's flames and come back at a poor temper, cracked and warped with anger and insecurities vast," he continued and turned his gaze to her.

“Plainly, I would have him take his father's title and lands, and add them by alliance to my own. I have many daughters, plenty who are fine and proper Steppefolk women who know their place and their duty…" he said and his eyes met her.

“Unlike you, they would become Baroness with proper submission, secure this border for my people as it was in the time of the Old Kingdom, when the Steppefolk were Darrowmere's sword, shield, and striking arm." He turned fully to her again, holding up the sketches.

“You are a distraction. You spite him, task him, break his focus from the efforts at hand. Even now all have forgotten the marriage I am here to broker because you are here, Gram's new half-blood bride. It is an irritant."

“Well sorry fer bein' prettier than ye are, milord," she said, folding her arms across her chest, his own swelled again and he shook his head.

“I see why Gram finds you so… intoxicating," he said, running his tongue over his cut lip again, “I would take enjoyment in bending you to my will, but such pleasures are immaterial now. You are to cease your interference, be still, be silent, and I will grant you all else you desire."\

Her eyes widened at that, and she reeled back a bit, he continued.

“Gram's hand, a place here, even at my own table. All the riches that follow, all the status, my errant son may get as many children on you as your half-breed frame can bear, and I will care not a whit," he said, snapping the book closed with a slam.

“Simply cease your interference."

“Why tell me this?" She all but whispered, the crackle of the fire almost drowning out her quiet tone, he gave her a level gaze.

“Because there is nothing you can do to stop me, merely delay me," he said plainly, without heat nor contempt, “Such delays are unacceptable, Louis will be Baron, Richart will be put aside somewhere safe and secure to pursue whatever frippery he wishes…" he paused a moment, and a cruel smile spread across his lips.

“Perhaps I will place him in that monastery north of us with his wife."

“Ye know Gram trusts me, as does The Lady an' her champion, why even talk tae me? Yer daft." She hissed and to her surprise, Karnov nodded, taking his brandy and walking to stand near her by the fire, staring into it's smoldering blaze. Lidia found herself drawn to stay again… despite it all, Karnov was a magnetic being, hatred boiled in her but she couldn't help but listen as he began to speak.

“It is a risk, a silly one… but my heart is a romantic thing, I am a man of many flaws," he stated before a mouthful of brandy and a thoughtful swallow, long, mechanic, almost ritualistic.

“You may find it hard to believe but I am not wholly misleading with my intent. I task Louis for his betterment, I do enjoy my time reading great stories of adventure to Colette, I enjoy the spirited debates between Alphonse and myself. I am not a monster."

“Could 'ave fooled me a spell ago," she spat — quite literally, wiping her mouth anew. His gaze turned to her, cold as ice.

“Those are merely the actions of men, not monsters. We can be more terrible than any misbegotten spawn of the dark, for we choose it — it does not come to us naturally," he said and raised his hand, clenching it in a fist so firm she heard his knuckles pop.

“Man is an innocent creature, War is our birthright but it ill-fits us as babes. We must mold ourselves to the purpose, we are greater than that which lurks in the dark because our nature is pure — and we choose to sully ourselves for the greater good."

“Ye think that justifies what ye've done? Tae me? Tae Gram?" she spat, and once again he surprised her with a cold shake of his head.

“Justify? No, there is no justification for my actions, they are merely what must be done. The essential is often ugly and foul, and done all the same," He said, staring into the fire and swirling his brandy anew, “It is the divine right of kings to take what we must, and what we wish."

“Ye dare talk o' divine rights tae me? I've put me arms around divinity, she's kissed me brow and soothed me tears, and ye dare think tae spin such tripe at me?!" The outrage in her voice was hot and quiet, like a fierce candle's flame in the cold. Karnov's face twisted into a frown.

“You have touched a facsimile of divinity, a cut and rent, flawed thing pretending at godhood, ruined the same way we are by this cursed, befouled earth," he countered, meeting her gaze, “Your Lady bleeds, lies, and takes lovers like a mortal and you dare to call her divine as our Creator is?" he asked, taking a long swig of his drink, swallowing pointedly with a display of his own straight, fierce teeth.

“Pitiful."

Lidia's eyes were wide as he spoke, blasphemy of blasphemies, he set the glass aside as he turned on her again, eyes flashing with zeal.

“Your Lady has molded good men into tools, wasted them, as have all the Triune, cursed as we all are by the taint of mortality, they are no different than you," he spat, actual vitriol entering his tone for the first time truthfully. “A mockery of human form and thought, they look down upon us, manipulate us like pawns, violate us and pervert us away from our true nature. They may have begun as God's Messengers but they now rule as petty tyrants of the soul."

“Yer mad as a shitehouse rat, Milord an' I dinnae say that lightly," she responded with wide eyes, and he smiled at her with a malevolent edge of ferocity that danced just along the edge of genuine madness with its fervor.

“Great men are often declared mad, I will wear that badge with pride as I break the thrones of cravens and usurpers."

Silence reigned in that loaded pause, and he reached out to her — she flinched but his hand was not to be resisted, he stroked a final smear of blood from her cheek and cupped it gently.

“Do you accept my bargain? There is a place for you, even with your fouled blood. Believe me or do not, but I care for Gram as I do all of my progeny, and if he wishes to have you — I would secure that."

“Aye, wit' yer cock," she hissed in defiance, and he smirked at her.

“It is the right of the Wolf to sample all females of his pack."

“I ain't yours tae sample," she hissed and the hand on her cheek instead pushed its way into her hair, gripping it firmly, making her gasp.

“That is a matter of time and little else, how say you little leech?"

She wanted to lash out, to draw a blade and cut him to ribbons, but she was in no position to do so… no point in pressing her defiance… she had information, she had leverage. He believed her harmless as but a distraction.

She was about to become the most distracting God-damned thing he ever met.

“… Aye, let me consider it, Milord," she answered with gritted teeth. “I cannae say I like it, but I care about the wee peoples here, they've been kind tae me… but ye'll unhand me now or I'll bite off yer fookin' fingers." The last delivered with a toothy smile gleaming with promise. Karnov smiled back.

“I would have it no other way, my errant son deserves a mate with teeth."

To his credit, he did as she requested, unhanding her and passing her a snifter, pouring brandy into it and his as well.

“To the futures we desire," he said with that glimmer of intense interest bright as the fires beside them in his eyes. She took the drink from him, and emptied the entire thing in one gulp.

“Dinnae be sour when it ain't the future ye want."

Karnov only smiled.

~ ~ ~

Koval was waiting for her as she exited the chamber, she gave him a smug smile as she passed and his eye raised at that.

“Mister Koval, attend me please. We have something to discuss." Baron Karnov's voice boomed out from behind her, strident and demanding but cool, lacking anger. Koval's eyes widened a little bit as she turned in passing to show him her teeth.

“Someone's been tellin' tales… I wonder who?" she taunted him, the gaunt man's dead eyes tracking hers without a shred of emotion, and he tipped his head to her almost like a duelist acknowledging a touch before turning to meet his Lord's request. The door closed behind him with a sort of finality she found gratifying.

Quickly, she made her way back to Gram's room, her knack for caves and buildings helping her all but run, as she did she felt the buried fear and anguish boiling up inside of her, her legs shook a bit as she remembered Karnov's face so close to hers, his mouth on hers, she clenched her teeth against a gush of bile in her throat. No… she could not let that linger in her mind, she had weathered such unwanted attentions before, and as always left those who accosted her bloody and unsatisfied, she could not let him taint what she had finally won.

But… what if it lingered? What if she could not separate Karnov from Gram? Truly… that had been the real horror he'd inflicted on her, he'd planted that experience in her mind, to linger, to fester. A tear rolled down her cheek as she rounded the hallway towards her shared room with her beloved.

Bastard.

The door opened under her hands and she found Gram and the others still there, the room smelled of pipesmoke and liquor and the three men looked up, hard-eyed and worried as she entered, even Father Denis' gentle face was drawn in a stoic mask of concern.

“Beloved…" Gram breathed, she could feel his eyes on her, she began to shake a little as she felt them trace her disheveled clothing, her mussed hair, and the marks on her neck. Red and fading, but still quite present. She had fought monsters, slain demons, and in all of that she'd never been afraid… but now, as the man she loved looked at the mess of her body… now she was afraid, she turned her gaze to his, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Gram… Loverboy…" she gasped, and he came up from the chair with such force that it clattered over, closing the distance like a loosed arrow she fell into his arms as he hugged her close.

“What did he do?" he demanded softly, and she could not help herself, she began to weep silently, tears pouring down her face even as she pushed her fingers into his lovely hair, feeling his face and pressing against him as hard as she could — blotting out the memory of Karnov's body against hers with the feeling of Gram's, clinging tight as though she might press herself through his chest and hide inside his heart from the pain.

“He… he hurt me…" she whispered, eyes blinking away what tears they could, yet they flowed unabated, “He hurt me… bad…" she managed in a hoarse voice, swallowing and closing her eyes as he wrapped her tightly in his arms. She felt his jaw tense and his body shake with fury.

“I am going to kill him," he snarled, turning his gaze to his brother, “Alphonse, my spear."

The young man moved to where the bec-de-corbin rested near their saddlebags, and Lidia pushed away from him, grasping Gram's ears and turning him to her face.

“Nae, nae loverboy, don't… I'm… I'm ok, hurt. Nae broken, jus' hurt…" she whispered, stroking his cheek, “We 'ave tae talk tae Richart, there's more at stake than me bruises and bumps, an' killin' Karnov will jus' lock it in place."

“My boy, listen to her. You are a titan but Karnov is well-protected, do not play his games. He wants you to fight him, he wants you to act as he does." Father Denis said in soft consolation, his gaze suddenly made of stone, his wizened frame poured iron as he stood, “He has long-planned this. To slay him as such would shatter this household and shed much blood, by design."

“Dinnae worry, loverboy," she breathed, “If he'd done more than leave marks, I'd… I'd let ye… God and Lady… Gram…" she broke down then.

And she told them what happened. All of it.

“… Monstrous." was all that Father Denis had as answer as she concluded, sitting in Gram's arms now on the lounge near the tables, feeling all at once like a tiny girl again, clinging to him as she wept out the last of her hurts.

“I can hardly believe it… I knew Karnov was ruthless and stern… but I never imagined…" Alphonse sat back, shocked as he looked to Gram, “I… feel blind and dumb, to never had put two and two together."

“Father kept it from you on purpose, by mother's request. Only Louis knows." Gram answered, and Alphonse put his head in his hands.

“All these years he told us you resembled a great-uncle, and I believed it. How could I be so naive?"

“You loved me, and you loved father. It was an easy lie to believe, and I encouraged it." Gram answered with conviction, “No need to divide our house, as was Karnov's desire," Gram said and sighed, cradling Lidia closer to him, “It seems he has decided to be more direct with his designs."

“Father must know," Alphonse said with fervor, an almost religious zeal in his eyes, “There must be something we can do, Louis has been misled for years now!"

“Years?" Gram echoed with a raise of his eyebrows, Alphonse nodded.

“Yes, it's been some… perhaps five summers that Karnov began to mentor Louis, ostensibly in ways of warfare and combat, father isn't much of a soldier."

“Avalov is still a peerless swordsman, what possessed him to accept that?" Gram challenged, and Alphonse sighed.

“I would wager that he holds similar leverage over Father as he does you… what did his man whisper to you that so stayed your hand?"

“Numbers, and places," Gram said in a voice so cold it actually made Lidia shiver, she looked up at him.

“Jus' numbers and places?"

“Of when Colette slept, ate, played. Bathed. The meaning was clear."

Everyone in the room stopped at that. Silence reigned as Gram and Alphonse both seemed to smolder in place. A line had been crossed, a dire one.

“Monstrous," Alphonse echoed Father Denis, and there was a white-hot look of betrayal on his face. “I cannot believe Karnov would bring such… filth into our home."

“Ye dinnae know, lad," Lidia said, drawing herself up and stepping from Gram's lap to her effects, she drew the shade around the sleeping area and began hurriedly stripping out of her clothes, even obscured she noted the men turned their gazes from her… good men, these. “Ye are tae bright-eyed and noble fer men o' his sort, 'tis nae yer fault."

She tossed her dress aside, and hugged herself for a moment before she shook off the last vestiges of Karnov's haunting presence. He had hurt her, but she would hurt him back. She would take from him his son, his works, his machinations. She dressed again quickly, trousers, shirt and breeches, soft boots and her familiar, ever-present red hood. Pulling it about her shoulders she felt a renewed flow of warmth into her limbs — her Father's love still poured into that slip of red fabric, and with Gram's stolid presence they joined together in her heart to remind her Karnov's words were bitter as gall, but hollow.

“Karnov's a predator, I knew a man like him once… a better man, but just as brutal," she said, memories of Kull dancing through her mind.

“Ye cannae go straight at them, they bet on it. Plan fer it. Nae," she said and thrust the curtains aside, throwing her hood about her neck with a flair as she met the eyes of the three men with a fierce gleam in her own.

“Ye hit 'em low, ye strike at their hands an' fingers. Let's go find Lord Richart," she said as her eyes sparkled. Remembering something Karnov had let slip about a monastery up north.

“I 'ave a plan."