Chapter 61: Stop It, Get Some Help (Patreon)

After arriving at Baptiste’s estate in the capital, Eleanor had led him up to the study. She stood in the room, but was removed from the conversation, watching off to the side. Baptiste stood behind his desk, and Willem sat in a chair in front of it.

“How well do you know your history? Specifically, that of Lazzaro the Twin-Soul,” Baptiste asked Willem.

“I internalize the lessons but forget the facts,” Willem said. “What does that have to do with the Eye of Sovereigns?”

Baptiste began pacing around his desk as he explained. “The Eye… is a fragment of history—a piece of time suspended for eternity. Lazzaro gave his own soul in its making.”

“Only one? Then he still had one left over. Smart guy,” Willem said, tapping his temple.

“…no,” Baptiste said with a shake of his head, unamused. “He gave his life to impart the experiences in his life to future generations. Granted he was eighty-three when he did this, but the principle is the same. The Eye of the Sovereigns is a vessel meant to impart lessons upon those who touch it.”

“Could’ve just written a book. Bit melodramatic.” Willem tilted his head. “Alright. What does it do, exactly? Is it a little bit like this ring?” He held his hand up, where the artifact Suzanne gave him shone in the light. “This allows me to retreat into a mental space to visualize combat.”

“It’s a little insulting to compare the two, but you’re right fundamentally,” Baptiste confirmed, sitting down at his desk. “The Eye of the Sovereign forces you into the shoes of Lazzaro on a grand stage of war. You have his most steadfast allies at your side… but you also have to contend with his greatest rivals. Given that His Majesty is intent on hosting so many at once, I suspect you will face several other competitors concurrently alongside those rivals.”

Willem processed that. “So… this is a war reenactment?”

“In a manner of speaking. But it’s more,” Baptiste insisted, leaning deeply into the desk. “You live a lifetime in a moment. You are tested by the same people that once tested Lazzaro himself. And in the event of victory, you gain some of the same insight that the man who propelled House Ravenveld to its height possessed.”

Willem leaned back into the chair that he sat at. This didn’t sound like something he was well-equipped for. Sure, he knew some military tactics, but most of that was applicable to fights with guns and artillery, not with swords and shields. He could yell commands really loud, but soldiers needed to be drilled to respond to those sorts of orders.

Well, whatever. If I fail, I fail. Not much of value will be lost, Willem thought.

“If you fail, there’s some measure of mental backlash that you receive,” Baptiste continued. “It’s meant to discourage the reprisal of people that failed the test.”

“…backlash?” Willem repeated.

“It depends on the severity of your failure, but…” Baptiste rubbed his hands together. “One of the Ravenveld family was said to have been stricken insane, such was his failure.”

Willem swallowed.

“But you’ve led troops on the battlefield,” Baptiste said. “And from what I hear of you, you’ve had some great success on that front.”

Willem wondered if he’d be able to rely on Junior for the whole battlefield part. Whatever the case, this was seeming a great deal more troubling than it had been before this meeting.

”I have to insist that you visit to study the history around that time period,” Baptiste said. “The accounts are… less than stellar, I’ll admit. But they should prepare you sufficiently.”

“Just give me the books,” Willem said, holding his hand out. “I’ll read them on my own time.”

Baptiste put his hands on his desk solemnly. “And I have a more personal request.”

“I’m afraid I don’t swing that way,” Willem refused.

“No,” Baptiste said, his eye almost twitching. “The soap. Please stop.”

“What soap?” Willem raised a brow.

“You know what soap,” Baptiste insisted.

“If that’s a euphemism, I already gave you my answer,” Willem said, rising to his feet. “Now, I have to go. Have those books delivered to the Verdant Spring Guesthouse. I’ll look over them.”

Baptiste stared hard as Willem left the room.

***

The king laid out in his bed. Even this late at night, there were countless documents strewn out all over the covers. Arnoud read one document in particular—a report given by Galahad.

“Hmm. Rats have shown up, as expected,” Arnoud mused, then turned his gaze up toward Galahad. “Give me your dossier on the shapeshifter you believe to be the possible culprit of the espionage network here in the capital.”

“No one knows her true name, but she’s known as the Red Raven,” Galahad said.

Arnoud looked back at the report. “Even I know that name. She’s crossed with Baron Tielman before, before and even during the Grand Crusade. As I recall, their bout was a draw. It’s the same person spying, is it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Galahad confirmed. “It’s the very same. She’s a trueborn chimera, and alongside her incredible combat ability, she’s also a master of magic inferior only to myself and a few others within the Cabinet. I believe that she was the one that Willem protected. It would explain why she was able to elude my detection during her retreat. I believe my people documented a visit between the two of them in the cathedral, but they never caught her retreat.”

“Quite the extraordinary figure,” Arnoud noted.

“There’s documentation on her for at least the past fifty years,” Galahad continued. “She’s been a part of every major war between Avaria and Ravenveld for that time. She’s killed many great warriors, both in assassinations and in open combat—her most prominent victory was against the former Duke of Villamar, who she slayed in single combat before you were born. More than a few prominent Cabinet members died at her hands as well. It would be no exaggeration to say that she’s one of their best slaves of war, second only to one I can think of—commonly known as Beast.”

“A slave, hmm…?” Arnoud started gathering up documents, and then set them on his nightstand so he could stretch out. “And what was the Red Raven’s relationship with Willem?”

“By rumor, romantic, but that was likely a cover,” Galahad said. “She attended events as his partner. I’m not told they interacted much outside of that, but there may have been secret meetings that occurred before I arrived. Willem’s close friend Dirk attests that he never saw her visit, but he’s a layman, and might’ve missed things.”

“And what leads do you have for her new identity here?” Arnoud pressed.

“…none, I’m afraid,” Galahad admitted. “But the fact that I have a lead at all suggests it’s quite a significantly sized organization here.”

Arnoud laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, thinking. “And what could be their objective?”

“Assassination is always the simple answer,” Galahad said. “But it’s too soon to say. Perhaps they smell an opportunity to cause dissent. All of the grand dukes are now in the city. If something drastic were to happen, they might induce a large revolt.”

Arnoud went silent for a long time, closing his eyes. Even though an ordinary person might assume he was asleep, Galahad stood there silently, waiting.

“Speak to Willem once more,” Arnoud said. “Not in the Iron Stomach. Openly. Ask him about the Red Raven. Consult him.”

“Consult him?” Galahad looked around, then joked, “Are you unwell? Do you want me to call a healer?”

Arnoud went silent again, then eventually turned his head toward Galahad.

“He claimed that I have a lot to learn.” Arnoud turned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Not long after I removed his brother’s hand, at that.”

Galahad shifted on his feet uneasily. “He seems to be like Suzanne, in some respects.”

“He reminds me most of his uncle,” Arnoud said. “But as far as I know, he’s not once visited the man since arriving.”

“His uncle…” Galahad repeated, looking a little distressed. “So, you’re taking his words seriously?”

Arnoud didn’t respond immediately, then changed the subject. “You need to put some monitors on a candidate named Raphael.”

“Done,” Galahad said with conviction. “What am I looking for?”

“He’s the most promising candidate,” Arnoud said. “But he has no backing, and the Villamar family has marked him for death because he’s an unacknowledged bastard.”

Galahad raised his head up, a little off-balance. “Why do you judge him so highly?”

“That’ll be clear,” Arnoud promised. “That’ll be very clear.”

***

“I honestly thought you’d surprise me,” Viviene said, walking through the streets with Willem as night nearly fell. “Hans is my boy, but… I was at a loss as to what I could actually do for him. Some men need women in their life. I think Hans is one of those people.”

“I don’t know about that. But I need a woman in Hans’ life, because I don’t see another route for that boy,” Willem said. “I thought that I’d consult you, seeing as you’d mentioned the idea in passing.”

Viviene adjusted the rapier on her belt. “I have been looking into the available matches. There’s a very, very long list of daughters for counts, for barons… and a lot of them are a viable match, I’ll admit it. But knowing you, I’m quite sure you want to hear about the pie in the sky.”

“Shoot for the stars, you might just hit the moon,” Willem agreed. “Hit me with the most delectable fish in the ocean.”

“Gabriele Sturmbann is the twelfth daughter of the current Duke of Sturmbann, Pascal,” Viviene began. “She’s a magic artifact maker, and—”

“Hold on. Twelfth?” Willem interrupted.

“Mmhmm.” Viviene nodded. “He only has daughters. Women are inherently more talented at magic, and thus he employed some complex magic to only have daughters. Succession of the Sturmbann house was made matrilineal on his authority. That’s why I called it pie in the sky, though. I can’t imagine he’ll permit his daughter to marry someone without magical talent.”

“Maybe, maybe not. When you’ve got twelve of them, I imagine our Duke of Daughters might be a little less discerning.”

“You don’t know Pascal,” Viviene said with a shake of her head. “Other than her, there’s Yasmine Usman. That’s more feasible. Her father is searching for someone willing to abandon their family name, allowing the Usman name to live on. Still, I’m under the impression he wants to consolidate his territory with another house’s by marrying her to the heir of a wealthy family.”

Viviene stopped in the streets, and Willem did so as well a second later. “What’s up?”

“This is the spot I wanted to take you to,” Viviene gestured toward the grand church with the gargantuan tree growing out of it.

Willem walked up to her, then studied the building. “You said we were meeting someone who could help us.”

“I did,” Viviene confirmed. “Your uncle, Sybrand.”

“Oh. All that I know about him was that Suzanne was staying with him. He’s in the church?” Willem narrowed his eyes. “Is he as awful a person as your uncle?”

“He’s… overwhelming, and self-centered. He’s much like you,” Viviene admitted. “Sybrand tends to steamroll over people in conversation, not caring about what they think of him. But there are very few people I’d like on my side more than him, especially in a fight. Much like you.”

“You’re selling him to me,” Willem admitted. “Alright. I have to admit, I’m interested. So, what, he runs the church here?”

“He’s the head of an order of monks,” Viviene said. “The Sybrandian Order.”

“Humble,” Willem noted. “So… is his order monastic, scholastic, mendicant, what?”

“I’ll let him explain it,” Viviene said, then walked forth. “Come on.”

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