The Vampire & Her Witch

For a moment, Heila thought that Loman had actually learned something from his harrowing ordeal these past few days.

He’d sacrificed acolytes of his own church to fuel his sorcery and in the end, he’d accomplished almost nothing for it, killing and wounding nearly as many soldiers on his own side as he had among Dame Sybyll’s army. He’d been judged harshly, lost an eye and an arm in punishment for his crimes, and watched both Ian Hanrahan and Sir Tommin receive punishments for their own.

It was enough to humble any man, and when Loman approached Lady Nyrielle to offer an apology, Heila genuinely believed that he’d come to understand the harm that he and his people had been doing to the Eldritch nations for generations. She thought that he’d actually come to an understanding when he heard Lady Nyrielle’s story of loss and pain, and that he was finally, finally, going to do the right thing.

”...If there’s even the smallest part of you that can accept my apology, on behalf of my family, please spare my father’s life...”

The moment Loman added those words, Heila’s expression soured, and she looked across the table to see a similar look of disappointment on Thane’s face.

Like Lady Nyrielle, Thane had suffered directly at the hands of the Lothians when one of Loman’s ancestors condemned Thane’s sister for the ’crime’ of defending herself against a baron who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Rather than see the Baron’s family punished for their former patriarch’s misdeeds, the Lothian Marquis had sent the victim to the headsman’s axe and stripped Thane’s family of their titles and lands for the crime of magnicide.

Thane had obtained his vengeance long ago, but a genuine apology from the Lothian family would still have meant a great deal to the first of Nyrielle’s human progeny. As it stood, however, Loman had tainted his apology with a self-serving plea for mercy.

It was laudable, perhaps, that he’d made that plea on behalf of his father. But it still raised the question of whether Loman was apologising because he felt genuine remorse at his family’s deeds, or because he saw the impending collapse of his entire family line, and he was willing to do anything in order to avert the disaster.

”You can stand, Loman,” Nyrielle said in a quiet voice as her face became a calm, impassive mask that so many people at the table were familiar with from the days before she’d met Lady Ashlynn. ”I thank you for your apology.”

”I never thought I’d hear the words, ’I’m sorry,’ from anyone in your family,” Nyrielle continued in a voice that was as mild and impassive as the expression on her face. ”That you would say them means more than you know. But you must know that you cannot barter words for your father’s life,” she added flatly.

”I, I understand,” Loman said, trembling slightly as he stood. His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, and his lips pursed together as he struggled to control the feelings that stormed within his chest. He wanted to say more, but he’d already said as much as he could...

”I don’t think that you do,” Nyrielle said softly, shaking her head at the young Lothian lord. ”Your father’s life is no longer in my hands. I spared him when you were still just a child, and his life has been his own to lead ever since then,” she explained.

”The wound I inflicted on your father was sufficient to destroy his desires for war and glory, but I left him with everything else,” Nyrielle continued. ”He had two sons to raise and a wife that he loved with all his heart. I hoped, as I always have, that it would be enough for him to live the rest of his days caring for his family and the lands your ancestors had already conquered.”

The Kiss of the Void she bestowed on Bors Lothian had been very specific in its aims. Death of Glory crippled much of the current Marquis’s ability to throw himself into the sort of reckless, ambitious, expansionist wars his family had fought for generations, but it did nothing to prevent him from enjoying life or caring for his loved ones.

Nyrielle had been brutal when she murdered Cellach Lothian for what he’d done to her parents, but ever since then, it had been harder and harder to feel the sort of deep, personal hatred for any of the Lothian Lords that she once had. The millstone of time had ground away at her ability to feel such strong emotions, and Bors had never done anything to draw her personal ire.

But even if Nyrielle herself had never had a reason to personally hate Loman’s father, the same couldn’t be said for others at this gathering.

”Anything your father faces now,” Nyrielle said as she glanced briefly down the table toward Virve. ”Is the result of his own actions, and has nothing to do with me or my grievances with your family.”

Sitting next to Virve, Hugo struggled to draw breath under the oppressive weight of the Oak Witch’s presence.

Loman’s presence already seemed like more than Virve could bear, and when the Lothian Lord began walking toward the head of the table, she clutched her hand into a fist so tight that she bent the sturdy fork in her massive paw. When Loman pleaded for his father’s life, however, the weight of emotion that Virve carried became a palpable thing, pressing down on Hugo and Isabell alike.

Isabell was the Hemlock Witch, and even though she’d only awakened to her powers recently, she possessed a strength to resist the pressure of her fellow witch in ways that Hugo couldn’t match.

”He’s grasping at straws, Virve,” Ignatious said softly while setting a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. A gentle warmth suffused the man who had just become Ashlynn’s Steward, filling him with a sensation of warming himself by the fire that was so vivid, he could have sworn that he heard the hearth popping and cracking in his ears.

That warmth didn’t completely alleviate the pressure. Virve’s intense displeasure couldn’t be completely mitigated at such close range without taking more direct and disruptive action than Ignatious was willing to take, but it did allow the struggling steward to breathe more easily even as the conversations continued around him.

”Loman sees the end of his family line arriving,” Ignatious said softly, shaking his head at the one-armed man as he watched Nyrielle rebuffing his plea to spare Bors Lothian. ”Whether Loman has admitted it to himself or not, deep down, he knows that his brother will not survive a confrontation with Lady Ashlynn.”

”Worse, he’s trapped by his oaths to the Church, and if he wants to rebel against the fate he accepted when he took his vows, the price he’ll pay will not be small,” Ignatious said, as though it were a great tragedy.

”Trust in Mistress Nyrielle,” Ignatious whispered to Virve. ”She would never deny one of her progeny their vengeance, and she extends the same to Lady Ashlynn’s coven. Even if it is for her beloved’s dream of peace, she will not restrain your claws.”

”I know she won’t,” Virve said, dropping the crumpled fork on the table as she finally relaxed when Lady Nyrielle nodded in her direction. ”But hearing him plead for Bors Lothian is almost more than I can stomach,” she said, scowling at Loman Lothian when the young lord followed Nyrielle’s gaze to lock eyes with her.

”Your father will get what he deserves,” Virve said bluntly, not bothering to hide her contempt for the Lothian Marquis when she addressed his son. ”By my claws if he lives long enough, or your brother’s. One way or another,” she promised. ”He will not survive this winter.”