Chapter 74: Afflicted With the Affections (Patreon)

Willem bore witness to the boring scene of Baron Tielman being raised to the title of Count. There was a lot of talking, ceremony, and symbolism, and none of that suited him well at all. His eyes wandered around the throne room, and eventually settled on Hans. The man was staring up at the seat beside the king’s with a dumb grin on his face. That seat was reserved for his heir. Princess Clara occasionally returned that glance. He couldn’t tell if she was bashful or unnerved by Hans staring.

“You do realize that she was just helping you out, right?” Willem said to Hans. “Chances are, she isn’t going to be willing to devote any time or attention to you further.”

Hans looked over. “Her Highness Clara is the best person that’s ever lived, perhaps ever.”

Willem marveled at the consequences of a pretty woman being nice to a man once. If Petronella had approached Hans instead of him, things would’ve gone far differently.

Willem sighed. “If you become a stalker, I will personally ensure that your life turns to misery.”

“She’s going to beat you incredibly easily,” Hans insisted, and then looked back. “She’s going to beat all of you, because she’s amazing.”

“And presumably you’ll think that once she wins, she chooses you for some reason,” Willem said, then gave a long, weary sigh. “I suppose delusion runs in our family.”

“I don’t have any delusions. I went to a betting parlor and put all my money on her winning.” Hans looked over. “That’ll be reward enough for me.”

“Good lord, you’re stupid. Still… not like you have much money.” Willem looked on the bright side, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t have gotten evicted if you had any.”

“You’re right,” Hans conceded. “But I took out loans using the turnip farm and the pension that the king bestowed upon me,” Hans said.

Willem facepalmed, then went silent for a long time. He eventually looked at Hans with a stern glare. “Do you have any tricks or tips for being one handed, Hans? Because it seems like I’m going to join you soon enough.”

“You’re wrong,” Hans said, putting his hand on Willem’s shoulder. “Brother, all your work has already been done. I have reformed, and Her Highness is responsible. I’m going to see to it that she beats your pathetic, sorry, delusional ass into the ground.”

“Delusional,” Willem repeated, staring at Hans. “I see. Yes. Delusional…”

***

After the event, the newly titled count came to the Verdant Spring Guesthouse, where Willem and Viviene received him. All of the other members of the Brugh household were also in attendance, making it something of a family reunion. The only absence was Catharina. Even Sybrand was here, but he seemed to be nursing a major headache, and laid off to the side in the corner of the room dead quiet.

“So, I can claim that I’m the daughter of a count now,” Suzanne said, raising up a glass in toast. “A shame that it had to come on the back of something so tragic.” She looked over to Hans sadly. “I’m sorry to hear what happened to you, Hans. It’s… a tragedy.”

“I’m glad it happened,” Hans said. “Wouldn’t be a chance in hell I’d feeling the vigor than I am now. I feel alive.”

“What in the name of the goddess are you talking about?” Viviene demanded.

“He got one kiss on the cheek and he’s ready to pen sonnets until his ink runs dry,” Willem summarized. “A lady offered him a ride home, and now he’s naming stars after her. Saw her face but once, and now he speaks in verse and wistful sighs.” Willem took a long drink of water. “I’ve seen it all before.”

“It’s more than that,” Hans said with fire in his eyes. “She’s got her father’s mind—sharp as a dagger’s point and twice as quick. You can see it in her eyes—always measuring, always knowing more than she lets on. But she has none of his coldness, none of that stone-hearted pride he wears like armor. The king speaks like every word’s a lesson and every silence a punishment. But her? Her wit’s the same steel, sure—but wrapped in velvet. She listens. She laughs. When she speaks, it’s not to rule the room, but to light it. The old man cuts—she kindles. It’s like someone took his cunning and left out all the cruelty. She was born to rule. It’s my job to make sure of that.”

Everyone in the room stared at him blankly, flabbergasted by his impassioned rant.

“I think I understand what you people were dealing with when I was with Dorothea.” Godfried crossed his arms in reflection. “I’d like to apologize.”

“No, no. None of you understand.” Hans leaned in intensely. “Think of the faith. It’s said that the God of Death wreaked havoc across this land, wiping the slate clean. Thereafter, the Goddess of Life came, tending the wounds that he’d wrought and bringing life springing forth where once there was nothing. She couldn’t have done such great work without death. Analogously, her father, Arnoud, was the god of death. Now, Princess Clara is the goddess life that must sweep over this kingdom and bring it to greatness.”

Willem grimaced. “Good lord. You’re already calling her your goddess.”

“I think it’d be neat for Hans to be king,” Lennard said innocently.

Hans shook his head vehemently. “That’s not even on the table. I’m not worthy. I would only drag her down. But I will see to it that she has every advantage in her unjustified dispute for the throne. If you think about it, the king is truly a horrid man, forcing his daughter to endure something like this. Could you imagine the prospect of marrying Willem?” Hans shook his head. “That’s frightening. I would rather marry a swamp hag with 47 children, all of whom are named Kevin.”

“If you keep this up and the king takes umbrage, a swamp hag might be the only option that you have,” his mother said insistently. “Yes, the princess did you a favor. Accept it, and move on, son. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“For once, I know what I want to do,” Hans said. “Are you going to stop me, all of you?”

Tielman had been silent all of that time, staring at his brother Sybrand as the monk nursed his hangover. Upon his son’s declaration, however, he looked his boy in the eye and said simply, “I’m glad for you, son.”

And then, it was as though the matter was settled.

***

A few days after the event, Willem had gone to the estate of Duke Baptiste. Now, he sat in the duke’s study. Eleanor was the only other in the room with them. Willem, after having gone through the Eye of Sovereigns and more specifically the tutelage from Junior, was more attuned to the supernatural forces than he had been. He could feel a vague aura coming from Baptiste. It was probably stronger than Viviene’s, weaker than his own, and weaker than Tielman’s. At this point, however, it was nothing more than a passing curiosity to him. The only aura techniques that interested him even slightly was the aura bows that he had seen in the memories of Lazzaro, but he couldn’t learn that. The technique was dead, after all, and he was no martial genius.

“I’ve been considering the proposition that you made at the event that my uncle hosted a few days ago,” Willem began. “And on that front… I wanted to test your sincerity. Though to put it like that would be somewhat inaccurate.” Willem pointed. “I want to see how committed you are.”

Baptiste shifted in his chair, evidently uncomfortable with being referred to so casually. “Please, ask,” he said, not betraying a hint of that unease.

“I think that the only way we’re going to be able to lure Petronella—excuse me, the Red Raven—is going to be using live bait,” Willem said, leaning in intensely. “I can say from personal experience that she’s a meat eater. She won’t be easy to unearth unless we have something seriously enticing to draw her out. Between your resources and my personal ties, I definitely think that we can make something happen.”

“Be more specific,” Baptiste said. “Personal ties? Live bait?”

“For live bait, I mean that you’re going to have to genuinely consort with Avaria if you want to have any chance of drawing them to the surface.” Willem spread his arm down “That’s what I did, and I had great success with it. At the end of the road, I was granted amnesty by the king himself, and given the right to participate in this contest.”

Baptiste clearly looked skeptical. Perhaps sensing his unrest, Eleanor spoke up, saying, “I can say from personal experience that Avaria can spot traps from miles away. If we don’t take some risk, we won’t be able to get even a hint of their presence. Given the scope of this competition, I’m confident that the king would be willing to overlook some transgressions.”

Baptiste still didn’t look entirely convinced, and Willem added, “Naturally, I’d be taking the bulk of the risk. The fact is the Red Raven has always had a unique fixation on me. She’s obsessed, really. I have little doubt she spends more time thinking about me than she does her own well-being.”

Eleanor’s jaw tightened. “What could’ve possibly given you that impression? She may simply want you to think that. She is, after all, very good at what she does, and could doubtlessly play you like a fool.”

“No, it’s more than that,” Willem said decisively. “It started out like that, but she couldn’t help but fall for my immense charms.”

“You’re saying that she’s infatuated with you?” Baptiste asked.

“Helplessly so,” Willem said confidently.

Eleanor raged silently. “Exaggerating doesn’t help anyone.”

“How could I be exaggerating?” Willem said, holding his arms out. “She would invite me to her cathedral, where she would then expose her nude form. Then, she would bare her heart, telling me how concerned she was for my safety. She betrayed her own agents of Avaria for me without a moment’s thought. If you doubt anything I say, I’d be willing to confirm the veracity of those statements under lie detection, if need be.”

Eleanor’s knuckles grew white as she tightly clenched her hands into a fist, and her lips were pressed together so firmly that it seemed no air could possibly escape them.

“Fascinating,” Baptiste said. “How could you possibly have enticed a trueborn chimera?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Willem said, and Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you’ll have a chance to ask her yourself.”

Baptiste looked back at Eleanor. “You work in information gathering. What do you think?” he asked.

“I think that he’s right in saying that the only way we’re going to be able to draw them out with live bait,” Eleanor said, remarkably quick at regaining her composure. “They don’t take undue risks—I can say that having worked with some of them myself. I think that I’d be willing to take some small leap… but only if you’re brave enough to try yourself, Your Grace,” she baited.

The duke rubbed his clean-shaven chin for a few moments. “How would you propose getting started, Willem?” Baptiste asked.

“Well… it would probably have to start with something real. You have robust olive plantations, and I have the most efficient soap manufactory in the world. I think that the two are a match made in heaven, don’t you?” Willem spread his arms out. “And on the bright side, you would be granted the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a massive enterprise. The Society of Assured Prosperity.”

Baptiste leaned back in his chair. “I need to confer,” he said. “Give us a moment.”

At that, Willem stood up and left the room briefly, pacing around the duke’s estate. Eventually, Eleanor came out to greet him and bring him back. When he saw the smile on her face, he realized that things were going very, very well.

“I need to think about it,” the duke said, but just from the tone of his voice, Willem could tell that this deal was as good as signed.

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