The truth is ever a better tool for manipulation than a lie. That’s what my mother taught me growing up and it is a truth that has been guiding me ever since as the daughter of the Goldfield family.

To be a noble is to be a liar, we deceive even our dearest friends in order to achieve our goals. It is our nature. We will do what we must to further strengthen our family, to push to higher heights and to undermine the branch families trying to take us down. We must keep anyone else from rising after us, else we will fall forever.

Yet, for that exact reason, the truth is made more powerful.

In a land of liars, the truth is something dear and precious.

Countess Christina Greystone is a valuable resource to be exploited. Her families riches are perhaps doomed to be passed to a lesser branch of the family, and some will see this as a chance to instead take it for themselves, even with the brigands and thugs filling the streets with their eerie monsters such land will be worth much once all is repaired.

But, there is so much more to her than the land and title behind her name.

She is ambitious and powerful, and her connections to the elite of this Kingdom make her that much more valuable than a Count’s title and lands. Though she’s made some childish attempts to disguise it, she’s not concerned for the lands that she’s having settled.

Either she’s simply after the safety of the people, or more likely, she has some interest in the city beyond the mountains.

Even should this project fail to result in the development of a duchy, which seems unlikely given the details of this project. The city beyond the mountains is rich with trade resources locked behind difficult trade routes, which this will address. She’s made us all act to pay for the guards that will patrol the routes she uses to trade for riches.

Presumedly, that is.

I have yet to find any decent connection that would serve to give her profit, but I have found a caravan with her name clearly written upon it, heading on the road beyond. That is to mean that she is expecting a place there, so I have no doubt about that.

Of course, in a place so distant from the capital it could prove difficult to sabotage her efforts, but that doesn’t mean that I’m powerless. The mercenaries she hired to escort her people were reliable enough that I could not easily have them betray her, but they are only a small deterrence.

Counter to my claims to the others, my own colonial forces will be marching shortly, many powerful knights with them could easily, and quietly, bring the Greystone caravan to a swift end. With the remaining forces coming to their supposed rescue to finish the deception.

Tapping out a rhythm on the study table I see the plans marked out on blank sheets of paper. I wouldn’t dare put this down in script, not even to have it swiftly burned. The stakes are too high for risk.

A knocking brings me back from my reverie, but it’s at odds with my senses. It isn’t how the maids will usually knock, nor anyone that I know, but most unusually of all, it has come from the wrong end of the room.

It has come from the window, not the door.

Surely that wasn’t a person, no one would be so foolish as to steal into this place only to knock politely at the window like some nature of polite guest. I slowly approach the window, carefully drawing the curtains open until I can see outside.

There is no one here, just as anyone would reasonably presume. My mind playing tricks perhaps…

“A mist is rising…” I whisper the thought aloud as I gaze out my window and take in the sight of the barn slowly sinking beneath the rising tide of thick white cloud. It is not something that I’ve ever seen before, but if the guards see no reason to be alarmed then I don’t see why I ought to be bothered by it.

Perhaps I should take a moment to retreat to the barn, I’m sure that the slaves would be glad for the company and guidance. The mists may be confusing them if it is seeping at all through the building. A thing I should certainly check.

A black figure stepping out of the barn stops me before I can even turn from the glass windows. He is swiftly followed by another and another, all vaguely familiar but the mist makes it difficult to be sure.

“The slaves are running?” I whisper, my brow creased. “Their collars will kill them, no… I can’t let this happen. If father finds out they’ll all be killed, or at least taken from my power. Unacceptable.”

Marching down from my room, I seep past the maids and guards, and though they too seem bothered by the mists, unreasonably so even, I don’t spare a moment to interrogate them. There is no time to spare, the slave collars are rather inflexible and I wouldn’t be surprised to see some at the front already dead.

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What has lured them away? Why would they, in this moment decide to leave? Do they think the mist will disguise them? Protect them?

“I’m checking on my pets,” I inform the guards as I rush past them into the gardens that separate the main house from the barn. The mist has stolen away the colours and beauty of the familiar place and made it into a maze which I can only pass by memory.

Yet, the thorns of a rose catch onto my leg as if the fangs of some terrible beast. I quiet the shout rising in my chest, and calmly remove myself from them but some marks remain, bleeding down my leg.

Taking in the surrounding flowers, I attempt to reorientate myself, but nothing here seems familiar. The mists are thick but not so much that I cannot see, rather the flowers seem out of place, some entirely removed, others, new unfamiliar things replacing them. The mists give the pale white lilies and snapblooms an otherworldly beauty, and I cannot help wanting to stop and take it in, but my current quest doesn’t lend me time to spare.

Should my slaves leave the grounds, they will end up dead.

Shadows form in the mist, familiar figures warped by the deceptions of the thickened mists.

“You are all here?” I ask my pets, spinning in place as I tell the shadows apart. “Why? If you’re found outside of the barn you’ll be punished. Please, come with me and I’ll return you home. If there is something here that is frightening you I’m sure the guards or knights can deal with it swiftly but you must be back home when they arrive.

“Hello? Darvos? Verila?” I ask. “What is wrong? Why won’t you reply?”

I step back but there is nowhere to go anymore, they’ve surrounded me. The translucent flowers filling the gardens now, have encircled me at their feet, and slowly a deep chill settles into my bones. I’ve been ignoring the obvious unsettling atmosphere in my rush.

“Guards!” I shout after only a moment of hesitation, rushing for the dagger strapped to my thigh and summoning a small flicker of fire to my fingertips. I’m far from a Mage-knight, but until the guards come I must deal with this alone.

Standing on guard, the shadows circle but they do not grow any nearer. They hover at the edge of the flowers, not treading past them, as if the thorns might tear them apart.

“Guards!” I shout once more but I can hear no response. They ought to be here by now.

My blood runs cold as I stand frozen in place, listening.

There is silence.

Perfect silence.

No shuffling feet, no distant voices, no rattling weapons; nothing. Even the shadows drawing ever closer to me seem muted sentinels.

I alter my grip on the dagger, but the thin, cold steel offers me no reassurance. I do not even know what I should say or do anymore.

“Are you really them?” I ask the figures. Rallying my bravery, I stand tall and march closer to the tall figure of Rathiel before me. The slave has ever been peaceful even upon our first meeting, he would not do something to hurt me.

The shadows whip forward, cracking the air, and by the time I lift my dagger to deflect the blow my wrist is already stinging. Another whip steals my dagger as I stumble back, but another figure stands tall over me.

“I… I’ve been good to you. Why? Why are you doing this?” I ask, reaching out for him. My hands sting as another blow lands on me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She is fearful, but not terrified.

Pansy still has flames at her command but she does not use them, instead reaching out to the shadows pleading for the slaves to stop their foolishness.

Saccharine blood has splattered about the gardens, and a hint of its taste reaches my lips as I cast another shadow forth as a whip. Her blood is rich with all nature of flavours, but fear is not one of them. There is, however, some nature of love.

A soft and gentle sweetness.

She genuinely loves her ‘pets’. To see her taking injury just to have them returned to their cages, to safety, burns at me. She is ignorant, but perhaps not so unkind of heart that she cannot be made to see right from wrong.

I was not wrong in wanting to see her saved.

Perhaps I am selfish, seeing her saved and leaving the guards to their deaths. Yet, this selfishness is not something that I would change in myself. Of course, I focus more on saving those that are already my responsibility, and those that I know over those that I do not.

“The freed slaves are outside and safe,” my loyal vampire servant, Gwen, says to me. Though her noble heritage still affects her even now, gaining confidence in her magic and now smoothly traversing the world of night and mist, she seems a little more at ease.

“Is this how it is meant to be done?” She asks, her eyes locked on Pansy as she reaches for another shadow.

“No, she is strangely resistant to fear,” I shake my head and turn my gaze to her again. To think that I would inspire the kindness in her to come to life more than her fear.

“Others will be here soon,” Gwen says, turning to me.

“I will finish this then.”

I frown, knowing that this will be far from my most skilful execution to date.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Pansy,” voices whisper my name from all about. They seem sad for me, though I don’t know why.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

“You are, Pansy. You are wrong. Wrong to cast us in chains. Wrong to stand over us as if better. You are wrong Pansy. But we can fix that.”

The shadows race at me on a gust of cold wind, the flowers rush ahead of them. Thorned flowers tear themselves from the ground and wrap me from head to toe, their teeth sinking into me.

I sting all over as the shadows take me.

“Pansy,” a new voice joins them. “I will care for you. I will raise you well.”

“Christina?” I ask as another pair of thorns sink into my neck.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I’ve been thinking on your offer,” Gwen says to me as I carefully lift Pansy in my arms. She is so small and delicate, her pale complexion calm and unmoving.

“To clear your memories, the trauma?” I ask and she nods.

“I want more than that,” she says, gazing up towards the sky. “I have died. You have killed me, but you have me back again. The gods do much the same, do they not?”

“I do not think what I do deserves such a comparison,” I meet her eyes but she is harsher than before.

“One should be brought into the world again, made fresh. Unburdened by past sins, forgetting failed romances, and lingering regrets,” her gaze is perfectly on mine. “I would ask that you do this for me. Remove me from my past, that I might be a new person.”

I remain silent for a moment, considering her proposal, before letting myself nod.

“I will do what I can for you, Gwen.”

“I would rather forget that name,” she says. “Call me Erulei.”