Chapter Text
I know these ruins. Of course; how could I not have recognized them before? I'm at Tesham Mutna. I spot a discarded ribbon on the ground. I look up. There are two figures a hundred paces away. I recognize the standing one: it's Themis. Hello, Themis, I say in my mind, how statuesque you look tonight. She is holding her scales, she is holding her sword aloft, she is blindfolded. The figure at her feet, thankfully, I do not immediately recognize.
I approach Themis and the other figure. I should know better than to approach Themis when she is holding her sword and expecting me, but I approach anyway.
The figure on the ground is a woman. She is frozen in an attitude of fear, with one hand shielding her face from Themis's blind stare and her body curled up like a hedgehog to protect her vital organs from the threatening sword. Neither moves; both remain perfectly statue-like and still as I circle around them and draw near.
When I peer more closely at the woman's face I realize, with a twinge of displeasure deep in my gut, that it is Syanna.
I remember how well Themis's sword fit my hand before. Perhaps it still does. I take it from her hand; she doesn't resist. I position myself over Syanna, sword held aloft just like Themis was holding it before. Syanna does not react at all, nor does Themis. She remains in the cringing position that I do not feel sorry to see her in.
The palm of my sword hand is slick with sweat.
Regis hit the back of his head against the tree trunk as he woke up from his dream with a start. The tree responded to the unprovoked assault by dumping its last autumnal leaves on Regis. He firmly told himself to stop falling asleep while leaning against trees. The sky was darkening and a strong and cold breeze was blowing. He got up, walked over to the opening of a small cave nearby, and peered inside. Then he stooped and entered, taking off his black woollen cloak as he did so. He gently laid the cloak over Syanna.
He crouched down and observed her closely. She was lying on a makeshift raised platform built out of sticks and covered with anything soft that Regis had been able to find on the forest floor. The fresh bandages on her upper chest, which were just visible under the three open buttons on her doublet, were dry. Her cheeks had lost their feverish tinge. He put a hand on her wrist to check her pulse. Her eyes opened.
She wrenched her wrist from his grip. Her hand immediately went to her bandaged chest. "You touched me," she said. Her voice was hoarse from dryness and lack of recent use, but it was still fully capable of expressing indignation and anger.
"I did not," Regis said. His voice was also capable of expressing a full range of emotion, but he was careful to not let it express anything at this moment.
"Bandages," she rasped. "How did you put these bandages on me?"
"Dispassionately. Mechanically." He rose from her side and looked down his aquiline nose at her. "Exactly how I've bandaged a thousand wounds before yours."
She returned his impassive stare. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"
Regis had ducked into the small cave as soon as he had heard the thundering of horses' hooves in the distance. He wanted to avoid any unnecessary trouble on his journey south to relative safety in Vicovaro. He listened. There was one horse; no, two. The rapid beating of hooves was punctuated by an occasional loud oath in a gruff male voice. As the sounds grew louder and closer, a woman's voice rendering curses for curses became clearly audible.
The woman's voice drew Regis out of the cave. He saw a man in hunting attire pursuing the woman. The silhouettes of more horses and their riders in the distance grew ever larger and more distinct.
The man was nearly upon the woman. Regis saw her face. It was Sylvia Anna, the sister of the duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta, whom she had once plotted to kill. It was Rhenawedd, the one-time lover of Dettlaff, whom she had turned into the Beast of Beauclair. The man swung a blade at her; the blade, more flat-on than edge-on, struck her across the shoulders. Her spaulders clanked as they caught the brunt of the blow. She slipped off her saddle.
I swear that not a hair on her head will come to harm, Regis dimly recalled saying once. His blood seemed to boil in his veins and he leapt into the fray like one possessed. When he came to himself again, all that was left were two dead horses, a trail of blood mingled with a mess of hoofmarks leading away from the cave, and Syanna's unconscious body.
So much for avoiding unnecessary trouble, Regis thought to himself.
"So how long have I been here?" Syanna said.
"A week."
She propped herself up on her elbows. "A week? It can't be."
Regis exhaled through his nose. "It can. It has been."
"I must get back to Toussaint." She carefully got off the raised platform and looked around the small cave to try and locate her possessions, not grasping that they had been lost with her horse and her pursuers a week ago. All she had left were the clothes on her back. There was nothing else in the cave except for a skin of water, some foraged nuts and berries, and a small metal pot that smelled strongly of herbs.
Regis stared at her, as if expecting her to say something else.
She noticed. She swallowed. "Thank you."
"Hm," he allowed himself to grunt in response.
"Surely Her Grace will ask the Honorable Fringilla Vigo to take up the role of Second Beauty alongside her at this year's Festival of the Vat," said one middle-aged lady in a green dress to another. They were each secretly horrified that the other was wearing the exact same shade of green, and so they were endeavoring to cover their embarrassment by engaging in small talk in the hall, which was chock-full of courtiers waiting for the duchess to arrive.
The second lady fanned herself coquettishly with a folding fan made of paper and wood strips with elaborate cut-out patterns. "I would be the last to dispute that Madam Vigo is a beauty of a, hem-hem, very unique and particular sort, but after her involvement with the Lodge of Sorceresses and... hem-hem, surely it would appear less than seemly to Nilfgaard if the duchess were to give such an honor to Madam Vigo after the Imperator had, after all—" her voice dropped to a whisper— "imprisoned her, though he did release her in the end."
"His Imperial Majesty has more on his mind than Madam Vigo at the moment, I am sure," the first lady responded. "The hearts of kings are not always occupied with ladies. They are often occupied overwhelmingly with matters of state, which, strange though it may seem to us Toussaintois, probably does not include who gets to be one of the Beauties at our Festival of the Vat. In any case, what other contender could there be to fulfill the duties of the second Beauty?"
The fan-wielding lady hid her mouth behind her fan. "The one whom, hem-hem, the duchess herself has proposed, of course."
"Her sister?" The fanless lady pursed her lips. "Surely Her Grace was not serious about that proposal. She must know how we feel about Sylvia Anna."
"How should she know, when all you do is whisper secretly behind her back about Lady Sylvia Anna?" A third woman in a green dress joined the pair. This one had a magnificent ruby necklace adorning her neckline, but since she was gravitating towards the pair, it was evident that she was also secretly horrified that her dress color was not one of a kind. "Pardon me, but you were not there at the duchess's reconciliation with her sister; I was. It was a sight to behold. There is nothing more beautiful in this world than reconciliation. How they forgave each other! Oh! There was nary a dry eye..."
"Reconciliation, indeed, but at what cost?" the fanless and rubyless lady said. "Since the terrible events of the Night of Long Fangs, which Sylvia Anna precipitated, she has merely suffered, or rather enjoyed, a year of house arrest and is now gone on some hunting expedition. It has become increasingly clear to the court that Her Grace's heart is with her sister and not with the people of Toussaint."
The lady with the fan fanned herself furiously.
"Clear to the court? You may speak for yourself," the bejeweled lady sniffed.
"I think Vivienne de Tabris may be a contender for the role of Second Beauty," the lady with the fan said, in an effort to make the talk smaller.
"Vivienne de Tabris, whose fiance is Guillaume de Launfal, the nephew of Baron Palmerin de Launfal? You seem to have forgotten that the baron is not currently in favor with Her Grace, since he has dared to try to warn her about the danger of keeping her sister close to her like a viper in her bosom. All our brave knights love Her Enlightened Ladyship to a fault, and no one more than Palmerin, but you see how she treats him now." The first lady turned to the lady with the necklace. "So, you see, I speak not just for myself, but also for the baron, as well as for many other courtiers who are also concerned for the welfare of the duchess herself as much as for the duchy."
The fan snapped shut and flared open and danced in the other lady's hand. "Might not these, hem-hem, matters be something more suitable for the ministers to discuss? After all, they have the authority... hem... Minister Tremblay, for instance, is the Minister for Justice and could surely unearth some ancient law about what could be done with Her Grace's sister, but he does nothing. So perhaps there is nothing to be done."
"You've not noticed the young Tristan du Chemin, then? He's been very active in this regard," replied the lady who spoke for Palmerin and, apparently, half the court. "He was the one who quite creatively attempted to matchmake Her Grace's sister with that nobleman from Nilfgaard in the hope that she would be whisked away to the Empire. Who knew that Sylvia Anna would be so insulted—and insulting?"
"He was behind that disaster? Oh my. The things newcomers will do for attention," sighed the fan-lady. The bejeweled lady just glared.
At this moment the hall fell silent. "Her Enlightened Ladyship Duchess Anna Henrietta," a voice announced. The duchess descended to the hall upon marble steps, resplendent in a dress elaborately dotted with small pearls and embroidered with a pattern of lilies. The dress was just the right shade to set off her painstakingly coiffed chestnut hair: it was green.
Anna Henrietta regally waved a hand to stop the waves of bowing and deferent murmurs of "Long live Your Enlightened Ladyship!" from the courtiers. She spoke: "It is our pleasure to announce today that the role of Second Beauty at the upcoming Festival of the Vat will be played by our lady-in-waiting, Lady Vivienne de Tabris."
A suppressed buzz of confused excitement enlivened the hall. Vivienne, a young lady with bright blonde hair cascading far past her shoulders, did not smile—she was too perfectly schooled in courtly manners and was also of somber mien by nature—but simply curtseyed to acknowledge the great honor that had befallen her. Her fiance, Guillaume, a young knight errant with blond hair that just reached his shoulders, beamed radiantly at her from across the hall.
"We have the highest confidence that Lady Vivienne will execute her duties well and bring joy to the hearts of the people of Toussaint on the day of this happy festival," the duchess continued. "Though our heart is pained that our sister, Lady Sylvia Anna, has been delayed in her return from her expedition..."
"Delayed in her return, eh? You know what I think, Tristan: Sylvia Anna must have taken the opportunity to escape," murmured one courtier to a handsome young man in his twenties. The young man, Tristan du Chemin, wore his black hair in the fashionable "queen's pageboy" cut, but otherwise looked very serious in his dark blue doublet. He looked even more serious upon hearing the other courtier's comment.
"She won't escape," Tristan quietly replied. He stepped forward to seek an audience with the duchess. The duchess gestured to permit him to speak. "Your Enlightened Ladyship," he said, loudly this time, "I have unfortunate news for Your Grace and, indeed, for all of Toussaint. Just before I arrived at court, the hunting company that Lady Sylvia Anna set out with returned."
"That is not unfortunate news, our dear Sir Tristan," Anna Henrietta interrupted. "We have long awaited her return."
"They returned without her, Your Enlightened Ladyship." Tristan hurried to continue before Anna Henrietta could get a word of surprise or anger in: "One of them was half dead by the time he arrived and has been sent to the hospital. Two of them were less severely wounded and are recuperating in the infirmary."
The duchess clasped her hands together and twisted them. "Sir Tristan! What are you saying? Has our sister fallen prey to some misfortune?"
"Your Enlightened Ladyship, it pains me to say this, but the expedition's members swear that Lady Sylvia Anna set a vicious vampire on them in broad daylight unprovoked..."
The buzz in the hall burst into an uproar punctuated with hysterical screams. "She seeks to harm our beloved duchess!" "'Pon my word, the Curse of the Black Sun has manifested yet again!" "I swear on the heron!..." "Vampires! Oh, Beauclair! Vampires!!"
The duchess turned red, then white, then somewhat green, like her dress. She gripped the balustrade of the marble steps with one hand to steady herself. Vivienne, seeing this, silently went out of the hall and came back with the captain of the Ducal Guard, Damien de la Tour. He barked some words that got the hall of courtiers to quiet down, but the duchess did not hear what he said. Neither did she hear the soothing whispers of Vivienne and Damien as they conveyed her back to her private chambers.