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Hans resisted the urge to pace around the room for the hundredth time. It was almost midnight, the moon illuminating the room with a pale glow as he waited for the sound of the church bell. This was it. Everything was ready. He’d been so careful gathering his materials and making his preparations.
Circle? Drawn with precise detail.
Candles? Lit and flickering.
Incense? Wafting around the room.
Hooded robe? Donned.
Dagger, just in case things got out of hand? Sheathed and ready.
There was no way this wouldn’t work. Grinning a little excitedly, Hans had to keep himself from becoming distracted and missing the midnight bell. As if waiting on that very thought, the peal of the church bell rang out, marking the hour, and Hans hurriedly looked down at the book he held in his shaking hands.
“Advoco te, o spiritus, in nomine sanctum domini nostri, appare prae me ab omne parte locoque mundi quo fortasse sis sine mora,” he began, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice as the room seemed to grow colder, the breeze from the window drawing the trailing smoke of the incense towards the center of the circle. “Et assona a preci mei in vocis linguaque familiaris.” Hans sucked in a breath as the smoke began to coil into amorphous shapes, growing thicker and more opaque. Excited, he continued, “Advoco te, o spiritus, et pete ut dejuramus nos, in nomine sanctissimum Jesu Christi, non nocere alter ante colloquium nostrum finitum est.”
As the incantation finished, Hans watched eagerly as the smoke seemed to draw in on itself before rushing out in a great burst, obscuring his vision and filling his nose with a cloying smell. Stumbling back, Hans coughed and waved a hand in front of his face, attempting to clear away the lingering smoke. When he could breathe a little more clearly again, he peered towards the circle, heartbeat picking up in anticipation of seeing what demon he had managed to summon.
But the circle was empty.
Hans felt his stomach drop, the bone-deep weight of disappointment already clawing its way through him. What had he done wrong? He’d said every word right, had done everything right! Raising the book again, he repeated the incantation and watched the smoke repeat the same process of gathering and dispersing with no other effect. By the time the candles had burned dangerously low and the scent of the incense had all but dissipated, Hans was fighting back the urge to scream. Instead, he slammed the book closed, doused each candle, and snuffed out the remaining incense. Smudging the circle with the toe of his shoe and tossing the stupid cloak aside, he marched out the door and down the short staircase to his rooms. Throwing himself on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut, curled in on himself, and urged himself to sleep.
--
Hans awoke to an insistent knocking on his door. Groaning, he peered over his shoulder, noting that the sky was still a muddled patchwork of pink and purple, the sun not yet properly risen. He’d likely only been asleep for a few hours, then. Who in God’s name would dare…? The knocking came again, this time followed by a nervous sounding, “My Lord? Sir Capon?”
Grumbling, Hans rolled off the bed, disregarding his disheveled appearance, and threw the door open with a bang. The guard on the other side jumped in alarm, his eyes wide as Hans growled, “What?”
“Um…m-my Lord. There’s a… There’s a young man here, at the gate. He says he needs to speak with you.”
Squinting at the guard for a long, tense moment, Hans said, “Who the fuck would need me at the arsecrack of dawn? Send him away and tell him to come back at a reasonable hour.”
“M-My Lord, I really think--”
“What?! Is it the fucking king? A lord of Hell? What?!”
“Sir, he is very insistent that he talk to you and he’s… well… he’s sort of terrifying, my lord. He said he’s a blacksmith, but I ain’t never seen a blacksmith who looks like he could tear through a dozen guards like it’s nothing.”
Letting out a long, beleaguered sigh, Hans turned on his heel and shuffled back into his room. With slow, drawn out movements, he fixed his hair and clothes, belted on his sword, and pushed past the guard at the door. Giving a lackluster wave, Hans drawled, “Well, lead on, I guess. Don’t want to keep the blacksmith waiting, now do we?”
“Right, sir! Of course, sir!”
Hans rolled his eyes, but followed, stifling one or two yawns as they made their way out into the early morning. Pirkstein wasn’t a particularly large castle, so he could catch a glimpse of the offending peasant as they made their way down the stairs to the courtyard. He certainly had the build of a blacksmith, the broad width of his shoulders becoming more evident the nearer Hans and the guard came. Seeing how disheveled the man’s appearance was, caked with dirt from the road (presumably) and dark hair wind-tousled, Hans felt his irritation growing at the impetuousness of this uppity commoner to demand to see him. Quickening his pace and marching right past the guard leading him, Hans came to a halt directly in front of the intruder, arms crossed and face twisted in snide disapproval.
“And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“I, the fuck, am Henry,” the peasant spat. This close, Hans could see the dark bags beneath his eyes, betraying his apparent exhaustion. “What the fuck do you want? Why’d you summon me?”
Taken aback, Hans spluttered in outrage, “I don’t recall ever requesting that some dirty, disrespectful peasant come and wake me at an ungodly hour!”
“Oh really?” The blacksmith shifted forward with a sneer, close enough that Hans noticed the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow brushed over his chin. Even though Hans was at least an inch or two taller than him, Henry still seemed to loom over the noble as he bit out, “You sounded pretty damn insistent last night, my lord.”
What the fuck…? Feeling caught off guard, Hans could do nothing but gape in response, eyes searching the blacksmith’s face for something, anything, that could indicate what he was talking about. The longer the silence stretched, the angrier Henry became, and Hans had to fight the urge to step back as the blacksmith bared his too sharp teeth in a snarl, the glow of his deep blue eyes intensifying. Wait a second…
Pointing accusingly at Henry, who Hans now realized was a demon, he shouted, “Wha-- you--! I thought the demon was supposed to appear instantly!?”
“Well, excuse me,” Henry bit out, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms petulantly, “I didn’t exactly inherit every demonic power so I had to get here the old fashioned way!”
What?
--
Henry wanted nothing more than to slam his fist into this pompous, annoying brat’s face, but every time he shifted to do so, a sharp pain radiated through his head. Fucking summoning rules, fucking stupid fucking noble! Gritting his teeth, he did his best to steady his breathing, letting the pain of the headache fade away. Instead, he took to glaring silently at the now rambling blond menace, mentally running through everything Father had told him before he set off for Rattay.
It wasn’t unusual for Henry to stay up late at the forge. Ma said he was a perfectionist and Pa just reminded him that sleep was as important as persistence. He was working on a sword, one similar to the magnificent piece Pa had made Father the previous year. Henry wanted to prove to himself that he could do it, could craft a masterwork worthy of his Pa’s teachings. He’d just set about a second round of heating when the pain sprang to life at his temple, so intense that for just a moment, his vision whited out. Gripping the tongs tightly, Henry cautiously removed the steel from the forge, settling it on the anvil and stepping back just in time for a second burst of pain to rip through him. This time, he couldn’t help but cry out, falling to his knees and only narrowly avoiding slamming his face into the still red-hot steel. His shout must have woken his parents because as the third wave forced him to the ground, eyes squeezed shut, he became aware of them calling out to him.
“Henry? Henry!”
“Son, what’s happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Trying in vain to rise to his knees, Henry grit out, “Something… My head, it… AGH!”
Pa was there in an instant, guiding Henry into a sitting position as Ma knelt beside him. Gently running her hands over his face and head, she searched for a wound, but found nothing. She frowned, expression growing more worried as another wave of pain sent Henry nearly whimpering into his Pa’s shoulder. The next moment, Henry felt the cool lip of a small phial being pressed to his lips and drank without question, recognizing the smell of his mother’s marigold decoction immediately. As the potion began its work, he gradually uncoiled from the tight ball he’d wrapped himself into, still wincing at each new pulse of pain, but at least able to move.
“Henry, what happened?” Ma’s eyes were still and serious, her hand steady around his.
Shaking his head weakly, Henry said, “I… I don’t know. I was at the forge and then, just, pain. All of a sudden. I couldn’t see. Barely got the sword set somewhere safe before I collapsed.”
Rolling her eyes, Ma muttered, “Of course you’re more worried about the damn sword.”
“And you’re sure nothing hit you? You’re not wounded?” Pa asked, concern audibly laced through his voice.
Henry chuckled softly, followed by a wince. “I’m sure, Pa. I think I woulda noticed a rogue hammer flying across the room.”
Silence settled between the three for a long moment, Henry focusing on his breathing while his parents seemed to have an entire conversation in glances. Finally, Pa spoke. “You don’t think… I mean, could it be…?”
Ma’s frown deepened and she stood, stepping back to allow Pa to help Henry to his feet. “I think we need to speak with your Father, Henry.”
The walk from the forge to the castle was slow, but the gate guard recognized them immediately and ushered them in without question, calling for someone to fetch Sir Radzig. Henry and his parents were led to a large, comfortably furnished drawing room, part of the quarters Father insisted on keeping well maintained for Ma and Pa. When asked about it, Ma would always roll her eyes and joke about Father being a shameless romantic and Pa would grumble something too low to hear and fervently deny the way his cheeks flushed a bright red. There was a bedroom in the castle for Henry as well, and though he rarely used it, he always felt a rush of warmth at the thought of Father carefully directing a fresco artist as he painted one wall with a stunning scene of the countryside around Skalitz.
As if the thought had summoned him, Sir Radzig chose that moment to stride purposefully through the door, brows drawn tight in concern. “Anna, Martin, Janek said Henry wasn’t well?”
“We’re not entirely sure what it is,” Ma began, as Father crouched before Henry who was still wincing with each passing stab of pain in his temple. “He said it came on all of a sudden. It seems to be a pain in his head, just there.”
“Hmm…” Father carefully brushed his fingers along Henry’s brow leaving a warm tingle of magic that was as familiar as the rough touch of Pa’s forge callused hands. “Son, can you look up for a moment? I just need to look at your eyes. Yes, there we go, that’s it.”
Henry blinked, meeting his Father’s searching gaze, taking comfort in the familiar soft green glow. “Do you-- agh! Do you know what’s causing it?”
After another few moments of studying Henry’s face, Father suddenly stood with a proud, somewhat excited grin. “I think I do! Son, I think this is your first summoning!”
“A… what? But I’m only--”
“It’s not unheard of for half-demons to receive a summoning.” Father beamed at him. “It’s not especially common, I’ll admit, but as you’re the son of a higher demon, it would stand to reason that a random summoning might be more likely for you than for others.”
“Is there a way to make it stop?” Henry grit out, rubbing fruitlessly at his temple.
“Hmm,” Father tilted his head, tapping his chin as he considered the question. “Normally, you’ll get a little tingle and then can just teleport to wherever the person is who’s summoning you. Since you can’t teleport… Huh, whoever it is must be repeating the summoning. That’s likely why the pain is coming in waves!”
“Okay, so how do I stop them from repeating the fucking summoning?”
“Henry, language.”
“Sorry, Ma.”
Father and Pa shared a glance and Pa just shrugged. “I know fuck all about this, Radzig.”
“Martin!”
“Sorry, Anna.”
As Henry focused on breathing through the admittedly lessening pain, Father paced, mumbling to himself. “I’d be surprised if they’re more than twenty miles out… but how to orient… mmm, no that’s not precise, what if…”
“Darling,” Ma tried, her expression exasperated, but fond.
Father kept pacing, too caught up in his thoughts. “Could try divining… no, that takes too long…”
“Love,” Ma said, more insistently. This time, when Father didn’t react, she turned to look pointedly at Pa who sighed and stood. If Henry’s head weren’t trying to split itself in half, he would laugh at the way Father startled when he ran face first into Pa.
“Martin, I--”
“Radzig, darling,” Pa said gently, gently guiding Father over to an open chair. “Take a breath and let’s work it out together, hm?”
Chuckling as he patted Pa’s hand, Father apologized. “Of course, dear. I was getting ahead of myself with all the excitement.” Turning back to Henry, he continued, “Alright, Henry. The biggest challenge I can see is locating the individual conducting the summoning. It’s not an issue when the demon can simply teleport to them, but that doesn’t mean it will be impossible. How is the pain now? If it’s too overwhelming, we can try later.”
Shaking his head, Henry grit his teeth. “It’s better after Ma’s decoction. I’m good enough to try anything. I’d rather deal with this now.”
Unable to hide his pride, Father smiled, shifting to the edge of his seat. “Very well. I need you to find a comfortable seat and then close your eyes. I will try to guide you through a mental exercise which might be able to help us trace the magic back to the caster.” Once Henry got himself settled, focusing on his breathing and letting his hands rest on his knees, Father continued, “Let’s begin. Focus on the point where the pain is most intense. Imagine it as a flame and find the brightest part. Can you see it?”
Furrowing his brow, Henry tried to visualize what his Father was describing without getting distracted by the pain itself. After a minute or two, he felt confident enough to give a tight nod. “I’ve got it.”
“Good. Reach out and pick it up, we’re going to let it guide us towards the caster. Do you have it in hand?”
Henry imagined himself scooping up the little flame, cradling it like a candle in his palm. As he watched, it shifted colors, turning from a normal flickering yellow-orange to what appeared to be individual tongues of yellow and black flame. “Is it supposed to change colors?”
“What color is it now?”
“Yellow and black.”
“Those are the Leipa colors…” Father trailed off.
Henry focused on the warm flame in his hands, imagining feeding it and watching as it grew larger and brighter. The fire licked at his skin, but didn’t burn, almost seeming to coil around him in the shadow of a hand grasping his own. Then, suddenly, that grip tightened, pulling at him urgently and making him stumble forward. Around him, the empty void that had made up most of his mental space began to brighten as a familiar landscape bled into focus. It was Skalitz, but rendered in the style of the painting in his room. The dirt track he stumbled along twisted out ahead of him, disappearing between a pair of wooded hills, all seeming to appear with the flick of a paintbrush as he drew closer.
“F-Father? It’s pulling me somewhere?”
“Oh, wonderful! Follow it! What do you see? Where are you?”
Henry felt like each of his steps was covering dozens of feet at a time, the painted world whipping by as the flame hand led him through the valley toward Talmberg. “It’s… towards Talmberg. And now… south, we turned south. I don’t recognize this area.”
“That’s alright, just keep telling me anything that stands out and what direction you’re going.”
In Henry’s mind’s eye, he was led along as if in flight, racing through forest, then farmland, then forest again. Eventually, they reached a small town that straddled a lazily winding river which Father guessed was a place called Ledechko. The flame hand guided Henry across the river and through wide swathes of tilled fields until they reached what must be another bend of the river. On the other bank, a nearly sheer cliff rose above a mill and baths, the walls of a city crowning the top. In just another second, Henry was rushed up a curving path to the city gate and into a small keep. Trying to take in as much as he could, Henry made note of the pair of towers, and the coat of arms emblazoned on the pennants. Finally, after a disorienting whirl up a wooden staircase, Henry was pulled into a bedroom on the keep’s third floor. There, a young man lay curled on one of the beds, golden hair lightly tousled and face soft in sleep.
And as suddenly as it began, Henry felt his awareness thrown back into his physical body.
“Whoa there, son!”
Two strong pairs of hands steadied Henry as he attempted to get his bearings, noticing how his thin shirt clung to his sweaty skin. “There was a… a walled city and a keep. Coat of arms…”
Father peered at him curiously, “What did it look like?”
“Yellow, or gold? With crossed arrows.”
“Crossed branches? In black?”
Henry nodded. “You know it?”
Father grinned, “But of course I do. I’ve a contract with one of the Lords of Leipa, after all. And now, it seems perhaps another is interested in a contract with you! I suppose it makes sense. So,” he stood, clapping his hands together, “you’d best make your way to Rattay and find out who’s calling! C’mon, son, you’ll need a horse.”
Ma and Pa looked between themselves and then at Father a little disbelievingly. “You want him to leave right now? Radzig, it’s the middle of the night!”
“Not ideal, to be sure, my dearest Anna, but Henry can handle himself and the sooner he deals with this, the sooner the headaches will stop.”
Pa frowned, turning to Henry. “What do you think, son? Do you feel up to it? You could go in the morning just as easily. Radzig or I could even go with you.”
“I… I think I should probably go now,” Henry replied, rubbing at his temple.
“If you’re sure, Hal,” Ma soothed, giving him an encouraging smile despite her obvious concern.
Pulling her into a hug, Henry assured, “I’ll be safe, Ma. I promise. No stopping for strangers or straying from the road. I saw the route, and you know I can see well in the dark, so I shouldn’t have trouble.”
Chuckling, she released him from the embrace, ruffling his hair. “You truly are your father’s son. I have to say, I’m surprised it’s taken this long for you to go galavanting off on some adventure.”
“Gallivanting?” Father pouted, accepting a consoling pat on the shoulder from Pa. “I’d hardly call my travels ‘gallivanting.’”
The next half hour or so was a blur of Ma finding him suitable travel clothes and good boots, Father and Pa squabbling over what sword to send him with, and getting familiar with the horse Father had picked out for him. She was nothing special: a slightly older mare with a dappled grey coat that reminded Henry of stone worn smooth by the river. When the stable hand told him her name was Pebbles, he couldn’t help but think that it suited her. Soon enough, Henry was ready, outfitted to his parents’ satisfaction and mounted on the easy-going mare.
“Remember to let them know you’re from Skalitz and my son,” Father urged. “I’m a familiar enough face that they shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
“I will,” Henry assured him, shifting a bit to get more comfortable in the saddle. Looking at his Ma and Pa, Henry called, “I’ll be home soon. No more than a few days, I promise.”
An hour or so steady ride through the moonlit night, Henry found himself trotting into the town of Ledechko, making sure his torch was lit as he passed by the patrolling guards. They paid him little mind, though, and soon enough, he was crossing the shallow ford to the opposite bank. Once he was past the last of the blacksmith’s buildings, Henry clicked his tongue, urging Pebbles into a canter as they passed through the rolling farmland. By the time Henry could just see the tops of the city walls, the eastern horizon was beginning to blush.
“There it is, girl,” he murmured, taking a moment to pat her neck as he looked out over the small city. “We’ll be there just in time to give that pompous lordling an early wake up, eh?”
Pebbles snorted and Henry took that as agreement, nudging her into a gentle trot.
“So you’re a half-breed?”
The blacksmith, Henry, practically growled at him, mesmerizing blue eyes flashing with that unnatural brightness. “Yes. You see, when a demon and a human love each other very much--”
Hans bristled at the sardonic tone. “I’m not a child, nor am I an idiot. What I am, however, is a lord, and you’d do well to remember that when speaking to me.”
They were sitting in Hans’ room, Hans at the small table, elbows on his knees as his hands supported his chin, and Henry draped distractingly across the window seat. From his perch, the blacksmith tilted his head, scoffing at Hans’ scolding. “Oh, of course, my lord. How impudent of me.”
Biting back the cutting remark he wanted to make, Hans struggled to keep his anger in check. It was one of the things his uncle had pointed out would not earn him any respect from his subjects. Taking a few steadying breaths, Hans fixed on a tight smile, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Now, let me see if I have this right. When I performed my ritual last night--”
“Rituals. Plural.”
“Don’t interrupt me. When I performed the rituals, you received the summons in the form of a pain in your head. For normal demons--”
“Full demons.”
Hans grit his teeth. “Full demons. They can simply teleport immediately using the ritual’s magic as a guide to the summoner. But you can’t teleport, which is why it seemed like my ritual didn’t work.”
“Yep.”
A silence fell between them for a moment, each eyeing the other from across the room. “So,” Hans drew out. “What do we do now?”
Henry released a deep, exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes with a little more drama than Hans thought was warranted. “You summoned a demon for a reason, right? I’m assuming you want to make a contract? So, tell me what you want.”
“Well, I…” Hans trailed off. What did he want? For all intents and purposes, he had really just wanted to prove that he could successfully summon a demon. Beyond that, Hans hadn’t really considered what he would ask of said demon. Sweeping his gaze over Henry, Hans frowned. “Can you even make a contract? Being all…”
Brows drawing together, Henry met Hans’ eyes, mouth twisted in a frustrated pout. “Honestly? I don’t know. I can do some magic, mostly elemental. I work at my Pa’s forge as an apprentice and use my magic to keep the heat consistent, ensure the tempering’s good, that sort of thing. Help my Ma keep an even heat for her alchemy, too.”
“So… you could, what? Make sure my room’s kept at an even temperature, even in the winter?”
The blacksmith’s eyes flashed. “I’m not gonna be your fucking house servant.”
“Fine, fine! Wouldn’t want to put anyone out of a job anyway. We’ve already got excellent servants at Pirkstein.” Hans preened.
Unimpressed, Henry drawled, “Right. I’m sure you treat them so much better than every other lord in the kingdom. Well done.” Henry seemed to have grown restless, standing up to pace from door to window. “Does a contract have to involve something magic? Can’t I just do a favor or something? I mean, technically, I don’t even have to accept the contract…”
Hans felt his stomach drop a bit. He hadn’t thought about that, how the demon could turn him down and just poof back off to whatever they were doing before. Suddenly worried that all his hard work would be for naught, Hans shot to his feet. “Well, we don’t have to figure it all out right now. You must be tired, riding all night. Rest for a bit and we can discuss it over dinner.”
Fixing the lord with a perplexed look, Henry raised an eyebrow. “That’s awfully generous of you, my lord.”
Rolling his eyes, Hans began pushing Henry towards the door. “You don’t have to be such an arse about it. Come on, I’ll have a room made up--”
The door swung open suddenly, nearly smashing directly into Henry’s face and forcing the blacksmith back into Hans who completely lost his balance. With uncannily quick reflexes, Henry reached out, catching the young lord and pulling him sharply up and into his arms. For a brief moment, Hans struggled to process what was happening, disoriented by the feeling of strong arms wrapped around him and a firm chest beneath his hands.
“Hans? What’s going on here?”
Uncle Hanush’s voice was like a bucket of cold water, shocking Hans back into the moment. Hurriedly pushing himself away from Henry and taking a few quick steps back, Hans prayed his face wasn’t too red. “Uncle! Why didn’t you knock? You might have smashed poor Henry’s face in!”
“Henry?” Hanush turned to peer curiously at the blacksmith who quickly offered a small bow.
“I’m Henry, sir,” he said with a tone of deference that Hans didn’t think he was capable of. “Of Skalitz.”
“Skalitz, eh? Your lord is Sir Radzig, then?”
“That’s right, sir. I’m an apprentice at the lord’s forge.”
Suddenly, to both Hans and Henry’s surprise, Hanush broke into a wide grin, stepping closer to yank Henry forward and clap him firmly on the back. “Henry! Of course! You’re Radzig’s boy! He’s mentioned you before. Quite a lot, actually. Very proud of your blacksmithing skill. Will hardly shut up about you."
“Wait, your father is Sir Radzig?” Hans pointed somewhat accusingly at Henry, then his uncle. “And you know Henry?”
“I’ve never met the boy before, but you try spending some twenty odd years around Radzig and escaping his endless prattling about his son.” Turning towards Henry, Hanush grinned again, shaking him good-naturedly by the shoulder. “You inherit any of your father’s more interesting skills, eh?”
“I, um…Apologies, sir. I don’t--”
“This is Lord Hanush of Leipa, my uncle and regent,” Hans offered, noting Henry’s look of gratitude.
“Well met, sir. Father has spoken a bit about you.”
“Ha! He better have! We’ve been friends for years, it’s honestly rude that he hasn’t brought you to Rattay before.” Hanush looked at Henry curiously. “Speaking of, is your father here with you, boy?”
“Ah, no. I… This was a bit of an unplanned visit.” Henry’s eyes slid to Hans, his gaze questioning.
“Oh? Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it!” Hanush placed his hand on Henry’s back, steering the overwhelmed blacksmith out into the hall and leaving Hans to trail behind. “Come now! You must be hungry! Let’s break our fast and talk.”
Briefly, Henry glanced back at Hans, expression pleading. Resigned, Hans simply shrugged. At least it would be an entertaining breakfast.
--
By the time Henry managed to escape Hanush’s clutches, he was about ready to keel over right there at the table. Called away by other responsibilities, Hanush had placed Henry in Hans’ care, ordering the young lord to give Henry every courtesy he would a visiting noble. The sour look on Hans’ face had almost been enough to set Henry laughing, but a yawn forced its way out instead. Casting Henry a pitying look, Hans said, “You must be exhausted. My uncle can be… a lot. Come, there should be a room ready for you.”
Henry let himself be led to a small, but surprisingly lavish, guest room tucked into a corner of the second floor. As Henry looked around, the young lord hovered a little uncertainly by the door. “I’ll make sure your horse is tended to.”
For the first time since arriving, Henry actually smiled. “I appreciate it, sir. Pebbles is a hardy horse, but she’s getting on in years. I know Father likes to spoil her when he can.”
“Right, I’ll just…” Hans gestured to the door and turned, only to pause at the threshold. “Why didn’t you mention your father was Sir Radzig? Your mother may be lowborn, but the rules of status are a little more… complicated when demons are involved. You’re technically demonic nobility, so… why did you lie about who your father was?”
Henry shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed to begin removing his boots. “I didn’t lie. Sir Radzig is my father, but for the most part, my Ma and Pa have raised me. Father has a lot of responsibilities and, well, my parents have a sort of… unique relationship. The three of them.”
“Wait, the three of them? As in…” Hans’ face twisted in confusion, visibly attempting to make sense of Henry’s words. “How does that even work?”
From the bed, Henry huffed as he shed his coat. “They love each other and they make it work. I don’t really fancy trying to think too much further than that, if you know what I mean. Them being my parents and all.”
“Oh Christ! That’s… yeah, no. Pretend I never asked.” The young lord shook his head as if trying to rid himself of some horrifying mental image. “Ugh, I’m never going to be able to speak to my uncle ever again…” A low chuckle slipped out as Henry stood, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and began to fold his clothes, politely ignoring the way Hans swallowed thickly and made a point of absolutely not looking at the now exposed muscles of the blacksmith’s forearms. “Anyway!” Hans said hurriedly, “I can, uh, send a servant around. To wash your clothes and bring you a spare set. And then we can, er, discuss business? That sounds so uncouth… We’ll talk over dinner.”
Henry didn’t respond right away, taking a moment to study the lord’s face. “Sure. We’ll talk then.”
Clearly feeling uncomfortable, Hans nodded, hovering for just a second more before slipping out the door and closing it with a soft click behind him. Henry stared after him for a moment, mind attempting to wrap around the stark difference between Hans’ behavior at the gate and what he’d just witnessed. Perhaps there was more to this lordling than met the eye, Henry mused before all but throwing himself onto the bed and immediately sinking into a deep sleep.
--
Hans was quite proud of the way he choked down a shriek of alarm when he stepped through his bedroom door a few hours later to find the demon--half-demon--blacksmith sitting on his bed, inspecting one of Hans’ swords. “Holy Mother of God, Henry! What the hell are you doing?!”
Henry paused, fixing those unnerving blue eyes on Hans, his head tilted like a curious puppy. “I’m looking at this sword.”
Gritting his teeth, Hans firmly shut the door behind him, resisting the urge to stomp over and snatch the blade out of the annoying peasant’s hands. “I can see that, but why?”
Shrugging, Henry re-sheathed the weapon and stood to return it to the rack in the corner of the room. “I got bored. You know that thing’s pretty shoddy workmanship, right?”
“‘Bored’?” Hans echoed, watching incredulously as Henry walked towards him with intent. Suddenly alarmed, Hans took an instinctual step backwards, shoulders meeting the wood of the door just as the blacksmith stopped before him. From this close, Hans could see the soft glow of his eyes. “What--?”
“Can I have a look at this one?” Henry said softly, hand reaching towards Hans’ belt.
Face immediately heating, mind reeling, Hans stuttered, “Wh-what? What are you--?” The hiss of a blade leaving its sheath split the air and the next moment, Henry stepped back, carefully handling the long sword that had been hanging at Hans’ hip. What the actual fuck…
“This one’s better, but there’s a weak spot just here.” The blacksmith pointed to a spot along the blade that looked exactly the same as the rest of it, seemingly completely unaware of Hans’ plight. “I’d be careful parrying with the edge of the blade. Or just get something better.”
“Oh? ‘Just get something better,’ should I?” Hans almost laughed, feeling a little hysterical. “That was commissioned from the best blacksmith in Rattay and it’s served perfectly well for the past three years!” Marching over, Hans snatched the sword back, sheathing it and glaring at the completely unrepentant peasant. “But I’m sure you could do so much better.”
Henry’s gaze grew heavy and pointed, head tilting again and where he’d previously looked like a puppy, he now more closely resembled a wolf considering its next meal. “I can,” he said slowly. “Make a better sword, that is. Armor and horseshoes, too. Would you like that?”
“Would I…?” Hans was struggling to follow Henry’s line of thought, staring with utter confusion as the blacksmith raised his brow pointedly.
“Would you,” Henry repeated slowly, as if explaining something to a child, “like for me to forge arms and armor for you?”
“We’ve already got a smi-- Oh.” Realization came suddenly and it was Hans’ turn to tilt his head consideringly at the blacksmith. Henry had mentioned that the magic he could use he mostly employed in his smithing. “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”
A small smile crossed Henry’s face and Hans fought the blush rising in his cheeks. “Then let’s make a contract.”
--
Hanush found Radzig leaning against the railing of the walkway, watching the two young men bickering back and forth in the training yard below. Hans was gesturing to the blacksmith’s arm, arguing about proper form, to which Henry replied in kind. Captain Bernard stood just outside the wooden fencing, arms crossed and looking as if he needed a drink. As he watched, Radzig chuckled, straightening at the sound of Hanush’s approach and flashing a pleased smile.
“They make quite the pair, don’t they, my friend?”
“Hmpf, you’re not the one who has to try and keep them from getting their fool arses tossed in the stocks every other day,” Hanush grumbled, glancing down as the young men began their sparring once more. Voice softening, Hanush continued, “But you’re not wrong. I think that boy of yours is good for Hans. The lad’s got a lot on his shoulders, and I’m not saying he should slack off, but it’s… good. To have an actual friend.”
Smile tilting into a smirk, Radzig nudged the taller lord. “Seems you’ve grown soft in your old age, eh? What’s next? Giving Bernard a month off?”
“Hah! Don’t even joke about that,” Hanush grinned. “You know as well as I that the only reason this city is still standing is because Bernard is the only thing keeping the guards in line. Poor man looks like he could use the time off, though, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Radzig mused, “He seems to be having at least a little fun.”
The sound of the captain’s irritated shouting floated up to them, and they watched as he gave Hans and Henry a good whack with the flat of a practice blade. Punishment dealt out, he directed the young men to begin again, barking orders to adjust their stances. Both Hans and Henry, despite the bickering, launched back into the fray and crashed together with matching grins.
“They’re shaping up to be serviceable swordsmen, aren’t they?” Hanush observed, a trace of pride seeping into his tone.
“Yes,” Radzig mused, clapping his friend on the shoulder, “They really are.”