The Vampire & Her Witch

Cadeyrn’s dinner sat half-eaten in front of him, completely forgotten as he watched the struggle playing out between Isabell and Marcel. There was something deeply unnerving about the man who looked like he was only a year or two older than Cadeyrn himself, but who spoke with such ruthless conviction about ’making use’ of Lady Cerys’ injuries.

The Inquisitor at the other end of the table at least seemed to have some compassion, but it was clear that everyone here was willing to exploit Lady Cerys’ injuries, even when Lady Ashlynn had the ability to prevent her from suffering further.

”You look uncomfortable,” Hugo said quietly, leaning over to speak to Cadeyrn but pitching his voice to be loud enough that Morwen could hear as well.

”It’s just...” Cadeyrn started, struggling with why it bothered him so much. ”I thought that the Eldritch were virtuous, like Sir Ollie,” he said quietly, remembering how the flame-haired knight had spoken to him about taking Hope as one of his five virtues. ”But this seems... cruel.”

”The vampires of the Vale of Mists are only as cruel to the world as the world has been to them,” Hugo said softly. ”No, that’s not true. They’re not even half as cruel as the world has been to them. Marcel is taking advantage of the situation, but from what I’ve seen, he never does anything without having a good reason for it.”

”What reason could he have for wanting Lady Cerys and Sir Cynwrig to hide away from the feasts and festivities?” Morwen asked. ”If, if it’s really that important, then... then maybe it makes sense.”

”I don’t know,” Hugo admitted. ”You may not find out until later, if ever. He’s limiting what he says because he doesn’t know either of you, or Lady Eira, well enough to trust you with details yet. Don’t be offended,” Hugo said quickly. ”That’s just his way. But you should trust that his schemes tend to benefit people more than they hurt them.”

”You sound like you know him well,” Morwen said, looking at the slender Steward in surprise.

”The last time I dealt with Sir Marcel, he schemed against Lord Owain and me in order to get access to Master Isabell,” Hugo said with a wry smile. ”Then he kidnapped Sir Rain and me and brought us to the Vale of Mists.”

”But because of his schemes, Lady Ashlynn reunited with her good friend Isabell, who became the Hemlock Witch,” Hugo explained. ”I met my cousin, Sybyll, and... and many things happened that were... necessary,” he said a bit awkwardly, still uncertain how he should feel about his father’s execution and his own participation in the conquest of Hanrahan.

Sybyll would have taken her revenge on Ian Hanrahan whether Hugo had been there or not. She didn’t need him in order to achieve victory. But, because he’d been there, she’d been able to minimize the damage to the city and its people, and his testimony had helped to ensure that the common people were convinced of his father’s guilt.

None of that would have happened if Marcel hadn’t brought him to the Vale of Mists, and to this day, Hugo still wasn’t certain whether that had been a happy coincidence or if Marcel had been quietly manipulating things in order to deliver the Hanrahan bastard into his cousin’s waiting arms.

”Marcel doesn’t do things without a good reason,” Hugo repeated, forcing down thoughts of his own complicated circumstances to focus on the young people who had just plunged into a far more complex and dangerous world than they’d ever imagined. ”Just watch and listen with an open mind. He isn’t your enemy, and he might be a good friend one day if you can take the time to understand him.”

The conversation had moved on while Hugo spoke with the brother and sister, and Isabell had given up on excluding Lady Cerys from the gathering Marcel was planning, but it seemed like Marcel wasn’t done making plans for the noblewoman from Stormbrook.

”What about her brother?” Marcel asked, returning his focus to Liam. ”The Acolyte of the Inquisition. What do we know about him? Has he gone to meet with his sister in Sir Garrik’s castle?”

Liam looked slightly surprised by the question, glancing toward Diarmuid and Ignatious uncertainly.

”His name is Cian,” Liam said. ”I don’t know much about him personally, other than that Lady Cerys speaks of him often and with great admiration. She’s very proud that he was accepted into the Inquisition’s service a few years ago, and she’s hopeful that he’ll be promoted to the rank of Inquisitor soon.”

”I think that some of her, um, zealotry,” Liam said, choosing his words carefully. ”May have been an attempt to help his chances of receiving the Abbot’s approval for advancement. Or, at least, she didn’t want to become a reason that his advancement was blocked.”

”I see,” Marcel said, pursing his lips in thought. ”Inquisitor Diarmuid, do you know this Cian? Is he one of the Abbot’s favored acolytes? Someone who would have accompanied the abbot to Lothian City?”

Diarmuid blinked, clearly not having expected to be pulled into this conversation quite so directly. He exchanged a glance with Ignatious, who gave a slight nod, as if giving the younger Inquisitor permission.

”If he were one of the Abbot’s favored acolytes, then he would have accompanied me this summer when we attacked the Heartwood Clan,” Diarmuid said. His lips twisted into a frown as he once again confronted his actions against the blameless village, but he spoke the truth, no matter how unflattering it was.

”Abbot Recared was very clear that he had ’high hopes’ for the men he sent with me,” Diarmuid continued. ”He also complained about being saddled with the sons of too many noblemen whose faith felt too performative,” he added as he recalled the few conversations he’d had with the Abbot. ”He might have grouped Cian in with those others.”

Liam wasn’t entirely certain about the conclusion that Diarmuid had reached. It was entirely possible that Lady Cerys’ brother came off as performative in his eagerness to gain the abbot’s approval, but in Liam’s experience, it was hard to tell the difference between a fanatic and a person mimicking the actions of one.

Cerys’s faith, at least, seemed genuine, and it was difficult to believe that Cian had instilled such deep, genuine faith without possessing strong convictions of his own. But then, perhaps the abbot was one of the men among the faithful who had risen up from commoner origins, who had difficulty trusting the nobility, even when they embraced the faith.

That might blind the abbot to Cian’s real worth, and worse, motivate the young acolyte to even more desperate attempts to demonstrate the strength of his faith... Which led directly to Cerys’ unfortunate decisions.

”What a mess,” Liam muttered under his breath before turning to look at Marcel. It didn’t matter whether Cian was a true believer or a cunning social climber. What mattered was why Lady Nyrielle’s spymaster was so interested in him.