The Vampire & Her Witch

Under Owain’s mocking stare, Loman took a deep breath, stiffening his spine and drawing himself up to his full height as he cloaked himself in the stately demeanor of a priest who bowed only to the Holy Lord of Light. His brother might be fierce and forceful, Loman reminded himself, but next to the righteous power of faith, even swords and armor bent and shattered.

”Father is resting until dinner, so if you need him, you should return later,” Loman said, giving a pointed look at the heavy wooden door as if to suggest that causing trouble here would only anger their father. ”Since I’ve already helped him to lie down, I would appreciate it if you didn’t spoil my efforts,” he said, speaking both as a dutiful son and as a priestly healer.

There were very few people in this world who could still intimidate Owain now that he had become a knight, especially after he spent so many years fighting skirmishes with demons, but their father was still one of the people who even Owain needed to lower himself and walk small in front of.

”Father’s resting?” Owain said, raising a brow in surprise that appeared genuine. ”The sun has barely set. Dinner won’t be for another two bells. How bad is his health that he needs to rest now?” Owain asked, sounding so genuinely concerned that he almost believed himself.

”Don’t lie to me, Brother,” he added as he scowled at Loman, raising a finger and pointing at his brother as if the tip of his finger were the point of a sword. ”He’s my father as well as yours. If his body is failing him, I have a right to know.”

For a moment, Loman hesitated. He hated that Owain was pressing him so fiercely on things, but he’d already been caught out trying to tell a half-truth once. If he did again, things might get even uglier, and they were right outside their father’s door. If Bors had to come to Loman’s rescue because he couldn’t handle his own brother, what kind of message would that send about how he could lead the march?

”Father is still as strong as a bull,” Loman said with a heavy sigh. ”But his old wounds are bothering him, and the cough that he’s suffering is more than a wet autumn cough,” he admitted. ”It may be nothing, or it may be serious. It’s too soon to tell, and he won’t let me examine him further to understand the sickness, nor will he let me pray over him.”

”That sounds like Father,” Owain agreed, painting a worried look on his face. ”He’ll be stubborn to the very end. Is there anything you can do?” Owain asked as he focused sharply on his brother’s responses.

Had things progressed far enough that his brother would be ready to summon other healers? Or did he still have confidence in his skills to manage their father’s health? Loman’s answer would tell Owain a great deal about how rapidly things were moving now that his investment in the Black Merchant’s services was finally bearing fruit.

”There are a few things I can do for him,” Loman said, though he didn’t sound hopeful. ”I’m headed to the kitchens to give instructions to his cooks. No more fatty sausages, nothing boiled in butter, and no more rich creams. Too much fat and grease can inflame the organs and distress the bowel, so we should spare his body the strain until he recovers.”

Loman expected his father to protest. No man liked it when healers took away their favorite dishes, and they liked it even less when they were forced to choke down bitter herbal concoctions. But, perhaps if the bland diet upset his father enough, the stubborn Marquis would relent and allow Loman the opportunity to give him a more thorough exam, if only to be released from the torment of boiled turnips, steamed chicken, and grain porridge that his son was about to inflict on him.

”But he will recover, won’t he?” Owain asked anxiously. ”He always said that he needed to see his grandchildren born, and I’d like to give him at least a few to bounce on his knee when he retires. He’s earned that much from life after all he’s done.”

”I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Loman said with the same practiced ease that he’d used to reassure countless patients and their families, even when he wasn’t certain what the future held. ”As you said, Father is too stubborn to let go of life before he’s seen his grandchildren. He’ll be with us for many years to come, I’m sure of it.”

”Good,” Owain said as he pushed back off the wall and turned to leave. ”In that case, I’ll tell Lady Jocelynn the good news. She’s been fretting, you know, ever since she heard from Lady Adala that you were fussing over Father for his cough. I’ll make sure she knows that everything will be well now that Father is in your capable care,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

Of course, Owain knew that things wouldn’t be well, no matter what Loman did. Spider Demon venom was insidious in the way it weakened both the body and the mind, and it could only be cured by the Church’s greatest healers.

But since Loman hadn’t identified the poison yet, Owain had no intention of giving up the game. It would be fun to watch his younger brother bustling about, throwing himself at every available woman of status in the hopes of securing a patron while he tried to prove that he could inherit the throne.

By the time his brother realized the malady that their father was suffering from, it would be too late. After all, who would accept the confused ramblings of a madman in the grips of his delusions when he tried to declare Loman his heir?

Soon, Owain thought as he left his brother behind outside their father’s chambers. Soon, he could put an end to the farce that Ashlynn was in the Summer Villa and dispose of the pale imitation he’d hidden there to maintain appearances. Soon, he would see his father fall and his brother’s treacherous ambitions fall to ruins with the old man’s death.

Soon, he would ride at the head of the greatest army assembled under the Lothian banner in more than a hundred years, and he would carve his name into history as the first Lothian Duke. All of his pieces were finally in place... Now all he had to do was wait for everything he wanted to fall into his waiting hands.