The Vampire & Her Witch

Diarmuid would have loved nothing more than to continue peppering Sir Ollie with questions. Or, failing that, to sit in his room for the next several days, praying for guidance while he worked through the revelations he’d been buffeted by since Dame Sybyll’s attack on Hanrahan Town.

But the setting sun heralded the most important event yet, a gathering of the leadership of the Vale of Mists along with their most notable ’guests.’ As much as Diarmuid might want to hole up in his chambers until he could restore his sense of internal equilibrium, however, he knew that tonight’s dinner wasn’t one he could afford to miss.

”It’s fine to be a bit overwhelmed,” Ollie said as he guided the Inquisitor deep into the tunnels where the ancient fortress burrowed into the face of the cliff behind the original structure to create chambers that had never seen the light of day, and never would.

”It took me at least a week to get used to living here, and I had Lady Ashlynn and Sir Thane guiding me almost every day,” Ollie said in an attempt to reassure the older man, who looked so lost in thought that Ollie had to stop him from missing a turn more than once.

”I take back what I said earlier, when I said that you were an impressive man, Sir Ollie,” Diarmuid said, stopping in the middle of the dark tunnel to look into Ollie’s pale gaze. The flickering lamplight cast inky, dancing shadows across the young man’s face that made him appear older than he was, and a touch mysterious where the darkness seemed to cling to him, but his eyes were as clear as winter pools.

”You are very likely the most impressive person I have ever met,” Diarmuid said honestly as he tried to imagine what it must have been like for someone like Ollie, who grew up in the servant’s quarters of Lothian Manor, to be thrust into the sort of life he found himself caught up in.

Perhaps one day, there would be sagas written about him, and young boys growing up waving sticks like swords as they pretended to be ’Sir Ollie’, but right now, the young knight himself seemed blissfully unaware of how extraordinary his journey truly was.

”That’s only because you’ve barely met Lady Ashlynn,” Ollie replied with a light chuckle. ”Or Lady Nyrielle, or Hauke,” he added as he considered the dangerous journey that had led the youngest member of their coven here.

”I’m not saying that out of a false sense of humility,” Ollie added when he saw Diarmuid’s disapproving look. ”At dinner tonight, you’ll meet several impressive people with stories just as impressive as mine. Lady Heila was a maid before she became Lady Ashlynn’s lady-in-waiting and the Willow Witch. Hauke risked his life to learn the ancient sorcery of his ancestors, just for the chance to help his people preserve their homes.”

”Lady Ashlynn and Lady Nyrielle find amazing people in unexpected places,” Ollie said as he opened the door to a well-lit and exquisitely decorated formal dining room. ”I just think I’m lucky to be one of them.”

”It’s more than luck, Ollie,” a clear, crisp, feminine voice said from within the dining room as Ollie entered. ”Lady Ashlynn might have given you an opportunity, but you’re the one who did the hard work of realizing it.”

”Isabell,” Ollie said warmly as he greeted the newest member of Ashlynn’s coven. ”I thought we would be the first ones here.”

”I can’t stand being late,” Isabell said simply as she crossed the room to give the young knight a welcoming embrace. ”Besides, being early helps to calm my nerves. I know I’m among friends here, but I’m unaccustomed to having such impressive friends.”

”I would have thought you’d be used to it after your tenure in the Emerald King’s court,” Diarmuid said, smiling as he extended a hand to greet the silver-haired engineer. ”You’re looking well since the last time we met, Master Isabell.”

Diarmuid’s words were polite and could have been dismissed as a simple social nicety between two people who were only barely acquainted, but in this case, Diarmuid really meant the words he said.

When he had last met her in Blackwell City, while he had been investigating Lady Ashlynn’s past for evidence that she was practicing witchcraft before she married Lord Owain, Master Isabell had resembled many women her age, with hair that had gone gray a little earlier than some and a face that sported noticeable lines at the corners of her eyes and lips.

She was the distinguished Master Engineer of Blackwell County’s Illustrious Corps of Engineers, and the gray eyes behind her silver-rimmed spectacles reflected the decades of experience that had earned her a position as one of Blackwell County’s most influential Guild Masters.

”Or, is it ’Lady Isabell’ since you’ve joined Lady Ashlynn’s coven?” Diarmuid asked politely, silently pleased with himself that he hadn’t stumbled over mentioning her transformation from ordinary merchant to powerful witch.

The woman standing before him now could have been the younger sister of the woman he’d met in Blackwell. Her face was fresh and youthful, and her hair had gone from dull gray to bright and glossy silver. Even her eyes shone as if they’d been polished, and there was a strength and vitality to her presence that hadn’t been there when they met before.

Diarmuid hadn’t noticed that Sir Ollie was a witch because the strapping young man met so many of the Inquisitor’s expectations for a young knight, from his strong, toned physique to his upright, noble bearing, that it was difficult to imagine him as anything else.

Perhaps if he’d seen Ollie before, when he’d been a stoop-shouldered, underfed, gangly youth, surviving off of scraps in the Lothian kitchens, he’d have understood that Master Isabell wasn’t the only one who had been transformed in profound ways after acquiring a seed of witchcraft. But, while he had missed the signs in Sir Ollie, they were impossible to ignore when he came face to face with Isabell.

”’Master Isabell’ is fine,” Isabell said directly. ”Or just Isabell among friends. Titles may come later, but the people coming to dinner tonight have so many of them, I think we’ll be tripping on our tongues if we try to remember which one to use for everyone at the table. Compared to the Emerald Court, this group is...” she paused, taking a deep breath as she considered her words carefully.

”This group far more impressive than any king’s court in the old countries could ever hope to be. You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” she added with a cryptic smile.

”You’re also looking well,” Isabell continued as she clasped Diarmuid’s hand firmly while taking in his black and midnight blue outfit that had replaced the robes of an Inquisitor. ”The outfit suits you. Is it just ’Diarmuid’ now? Or are you still an Inquisitor even without the robes?” she asked gently.

”I’m still filled with questions,” Diarmuid said, evasively. ”And I’m still seeking truth, wherever that truth lies. As to whether or not I’m still an Inquisitor,” he added, taking a deep breath as he forced himself to confront the question directly. ”I don’t know.”

”Inquisitor is a title the Church bestows, and if they choose, they can take it away from me,” he admitted with a wry smile. ”So for now, just ’Diarmuid’ will do. Once I’ve found the answers I’m searching for, if I still have a place in the Church and the Inquisition, it won’t be too late to take the title back up again...”