The Vampire & Her Witch

It took nearly a minute before either guild master was able to speak after the shocking revelation that Owain had tried and failed to kill Lady Ashlynn Blackwell on the night of their wedding. For Tiernan, the struggle he faced played out across his face as hot anger warred with wisdom that said hasty responses would only lead to shoddy work in the end.

Master Isabell faced an entirely different struggle. Her methodical mind drew all the way back to the beginning and the letter she’d received from Lady Ashlynn with its cryptic warning and heartfelt plea to watch over Lady Jocelynn if she was able to. When viewed in light of what Marcel had just told them many things made more sense but there were still too many pieces missing for her to assemble a clear view of the puzzle.

”Mister Marcel,” Isabell said carefully as she set aside her plate of fish. The dish smelled wonderful, but the conversation made it difficult to maintain any interest in the sumptuous feast the dark-haired youth had laid out before them.

”Do you have any proof to offer us? To accuse the heir to the Lothian March of attempted murder and a grand conspiracy to conceal that murder, you must have some proof to support your claims.”

Though she asked for proof, Isabell didn’t expect anything grand or even conclusive. If such wicked plots were easily exposed then they would have unraveled months ago. The fact that they hadn’t was a sign that things were complex, murky, or that people with information ’disappeared’ with enough frequency that those who held evidence of wrongdoing were reluctant to share it.

No, Isabell wasn’t looking for proof, but she was looking for more information that would help her see the complete puzzle.

”You aren’t ready for proof,” Marcel said, shaking his head at the cautious engineer. ”I’ve already given you a loan. The knowledge that Lord Owain attempted to murder Lady Ashlynn and that she has been living in hiding while he keeps an imposter in the Summer Villa to maintain appearances should already demonstrate the amount of trust I’m willing to extend to you on Lady Ashlynn’s endorsement of your character alone,” he said.

”Deeper secrets that would prove my words will cost you,” the dark-eyed vampire said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he gestured at the pair with a blunt butter knife. ”My bank of trust has limits on loans until you make deposits that demonstrate you can be trusted further. As guild masters, you should understand this well.”

”You’re treating this like you’re making a loan on ore shipments,” Tiernan said after taking a large swig of wine that drained half his goblet at once. ”But you said Lady Ashlynn intends to seize Lothian March, like she’s coming to collect on a lien against a mine. But these things aren’t the same at all! If you’re going to ask us to wade into something like this, the amount of trust you need to extend is much, much greater.”

”Well, you’re right about that,” Marcel said, setting his knife down after buttering a soft roll that he began to tear into several small, bite-sized pieces. ”But you’re also very wrong. You’re untested, untempered, and at least to me, largely unknown. The damage you can do if I’ve placed my trust wrongly is greater than you can imagine.”

”So, instead of arguing about what you should and shouldn’t be told,” Marcel proposed. ”Why don’t we move on to what you can do to help Lady Ashlynn? Once you’ve made a few deposits in my bank of trust, I’m happy to reveal more to you.”

”No, I want to know at least one thing more before we talk about any kind of cooperation,” Master Isabell said, removing her silver rimmed spectacles to give the strange young man a very direct look. ”Just tell me why. Why would Lord Owain try to murder Lady Ashlynn on her wedding night? If you can’t tell me something that makes that make sense, then I can’t put enough trust in you to cooperate with you.”

”If that’s all it takes,” Marcel said with a smile as he popped a piece of buttered bread into his mouth. ”On the night of her wedding to Owain Lothian, someone told the young lord that Lady Ashlynn bears the mark of the witch. Whether she was a witch or not, I’m sure you have a good understanding,” he said in a tone that suggested the idea was preposterous. ”But it is true that she possesses a birthmark in an area few would see. Make of that what you will, but it was enough for Owain to beat her nearly to death.”

-CLANK-

The sound of dishes and silverware clattering as Tiernan’s meaty fist slammed into the table momentarily startled everyone, and the smoldering rage burning in his eyes grew even hotter. He might not have known Ashlynn well, but as a father of a girl just coming into the age to consider marriage, his blood boiled at the thought of a man so vile that he would lay hands on a woman the night she left the protection of her own flesh and blood!

”How did Lady Ashlynn get away from him?” Isabell asked, resting a hand gently on the powerful ironmonger’s muscular shoulder while she focused on the details of Marcel’s story. She wasn’t without a slow-burning fury of her own, but getting lost in that anger would only cause her to miss important details, and right now, the young man’s story still didn’t entirely add up.

”She’s not a strong woman. For all her sneaking about, she’s not a trained swordswoman who could take on a knight like Owain. If she’s not a witch,” she asked suspiciously, ”then how did she escape when Owain attacked her?”

”I think that Lady Ashlynn is stronger than you think,” Marcel said with a light laugh. ”But you’ve made an assumption in error. Lady Ashlynn didn’t fight her way free of him. Sir Tommin and Sir Broll dumped her body in a shallow grave outside the march, at the edge of the Vale of Mists,” he said. ”Lady Ashlynn ’escaped’ by clinging to life so hard that she crawled out of her own grave and wandered the darkness until she found help.”

”That’s also why the secret I’ve given you is greater than you may realize,” Marcel added. ”As far as the people of Lothian March are aware, Lady Ashlynn is either alive and pregnant with Owain’s heir in the Summer Villa, or she’s dead and buried in an unmarked grave in the wilderness.”

”Within the whole of Lothian March, the number of people who know that she’s alive and planning her return can be counted on the fingers of one hand,” Marcel said, holding up one hand and wiggling his slender, dextrous fingers. ”So, is that enough of a loan of trust to win your cooperation?”