“Miss Anna Vasilyev, right? Come in, come in!” Anna found herself pulled into a vicelike embrace by a young boar woman perhaps octuple her weight. The woman wore a floral hooped dress piled voluminously with overskirts and ribbons, and her coarse head-fur was arranged in tight braids. A prominent Clary claim-seal had been sewn into one of the arms of the dress.

“Good day, Miss Manon Beaufort. Would you be so kind as to announce us to your father?” Yvon said, stepping into the room. He carried a small wooden trunk, and was dressed in unusually plain clothing.

“Yes, of course, Lord Clary.” The boar released Anna before offering a deep curtesy to Yvon.

They had taken a carriage to a fine townhouse in central Parisi, home to a family of clothiers who sold through the Clary monopoly. A taste of the family business, Yvon had said, before a visit to the kin of the deceased maid. He had returned her knife before they set out, and it was a great comfort to feel its weight rest on her arm.

“That we may meet so soon! Is it true that you fought off a whole swarm of draugr? Father said you were a monster, but I know the minds of men twist such things, and was sure you would be beautiful. Oh, before you debut, I must introduce you to my friends, and we will teach you to play quadrille and dance the forlana!” Manon led them down a hallway lined with paintings of imperious boars holding rolls of fabric.

“There was only one draugr, and another magus did most of the work,” Anna replied.

“Still! A real draugr! Father said there hasn’t been a manifestation in Parisi for eighty years! You must have been so frightened, even as you faced it down!”

“Hardly,” Yvon said. “One whiff of blood, and it was like watching a rabid bear go in for the kill.”

“All men should have their eyesight tested, for you never seem to catch our good side,” Manon retorted.

She led them into an airy sitting room, its open windows covered by long translucent curtains that danced in the morning breeze. Much of the remaining walls was covered by displays of of very expensive-looking cloth, and a gold-plated grandfather clock stood in the corner. A corpulent boar with a large mustache sat a small table, and rose to his feet as they entered. An ornate metal claim-seal was pinned to his waistcoat.

“Lord Clary and his consort, father.” Manon curtseyed again to Yvon and took a seat at the table.

“And his consort, hah! And what a sight she is, my Lord. At this rate, every respectable grass-eater in the city will be locking up his daughter.” The boar pulled Yvon into a vigorous handshake, and led him to the table with a firm grip on his shoulder. Anya followed, taking a seat next to Manon.

“Please, let us keep to business.” Yvon glanced at Anya, making a quick look of exasperation.

“So, now that you have tasted both goat and rabbit, which do you find more delectable?” Mr. Beaufort continued. “Of course, if you ever wish to sample boar-”

“Mr. Beaufort.” Yvon leaned forwards, glaring upwards at the larger boar.

“No time for pleasantries? So be it. Any news on tariffs on wool from Albion?” Mr. Beaufort obtained a bottle of wine from under the table, and Yvon shook his head.

“If you expect a reduction following the end of hostilities with Rus, you will be disappointed. When the new monarch is decided, their regent will likely launch a quick conquest to build legitimacy. Since every member of the Hunting Council imagines he or she will emerge as said regent, they seek to build up the state’s reserves.”

“Damn shame. Merchants like us can only be stretched so far before we break.” Given the furnishings, Anya could not imagine the boar was anywhere near breaking, but she held her tongue.

“My father has made the Clary position clear, but you must understand that we are outmatched. Now, surely you did not call me here solely to discuss internal tariffs?” Yvon leaned forward, steepling his hands.

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“You have met my youngest son, Benoit. He has gotten himself into a spot of bother.”

“Go on.”

Mr. Beaufort pulled a letter from his surcoat.

“I recently received a letter from the gendarmes. It appears my boy was caught up in the arrest of a certain Mr. Lavosel during a sweep of a mead hall. The man and a few fellow disreputables were discussing abolition of the monarchy and…” The boar fumbled with the letter. “So-called natural rights for grass-eaters. My son had the bad luck to be sitting one table over.”

“I have read a few of Mr. Lavosel’s pamphlets. His prose is passable, but pinning down what his ‘natural rights’ entail is harder than catching a greased rat.”

Mr. Beaufort brought himself forward, towering further above Yvon. Anger crept into his tone. “Lord Clary, my son is currently in a solitary cell in the Bastille, for a crime he had nothing to do with.”

Anya tensed, and looked to Manon, but she maintained a hollow smile.

“Have you traveled to the Bastille to explain his innocence? I hear the locks open to coin as well as keys.”

“The guards are all hunters, and they put me through three hours of humiliation before I could even speak to the warden. Miserable little cat, made me sit in a chair his size just to suggest I find a lawyer to negotiate on my behalf. A hunter lawyer, of course.”

“You think I ought pull a few strings and have him released.”

“My Lord, I chose to take a risk with your father when he was still Mr. Clary, and his corporation exclusively dealt in wool from newly-conquered Albion. I hope he has impressed on you the gravity of the relationship on which our mutual good fortune is built.” Mr. Beaufort’s fingers dug into the arm of his chair.

“Benoit, Benoit. I saw him last at your Yuletide ball, handsome fellow. He knows I try to keep up with the latest intellectual babbling, and wanted to discuss the latest few pamphlets Mr. Lavosel had published. To tell the truth, his description of the man’s ideas was far more coherent than the original, and I suggested he seek out a certain Albionese squirrel by the name of Locke.”

Anya shivered. A breeze had picked up outside, and the drafty room suddenly seemed very cold.

“What are you insinuating?”

“Perhaps you are truly unaware, but your son may not be as innocent as you claim.”

“Not so innocent of what? Breathing in the vicinity of a man who will openly say what every grass-eater has thought at one time or another?” Mr. Beaufort nearly rose from his chair, and pulled back his lips to show the length of his tusks.

“Father, please restrain yourself!” Manon placed a hand on her father’s arm, but he shook her off with surprising force. Yvon narrowed his eyes, but did not otherwise react.

“Now, your son was found in the company of anti-monarchist agitators, and can hardly claim to be a bystander. If it became known that I had tipped the scales in his favor, the other families of the Hunting Council would howl treason until their throats were bloody, and my family’s situation could become very tenuous. In any case, the gendarmes should easily determine that your son’s acquaintances are useless intellectuals, and he will go free.”

“In how many weeks, or months?” The boar sat down again, but his eyes were still aflame. “Lord Clary. You know what happens in those cells.”

“If it were merely a question of debasing myself before the warden, I could be persuaded. Benoit is an intelligent, inquisitive man, and I have no wish that he comes to harm. Alas, the cost is one I am unable to pay.”

“Lord Clary, please consider-” Manon began to speak up.

“Hold your tongue, Ms. Beaufort. It would pain me too greatly to refuse you.” He looked down into his hands, refusing to meet her eye.

Mr. Beaufort clenched his teeth.

“I had hoped this might remain a personal matter, but Benoit is my son. Surely your father does not wish to see our business relations jeopardized.”

“I have my father’s full confidence, and you have nowhere else to turn. If I remember correctly, markets covered by the Clary monopoly make up seventy percent of your income.”

“You have far too much pride for a man who eats grass second-hand,” Mr. Beaufort whispered below his breath.

“Mr. Beaufort, if you have nothing else of worth to say, I will take my leave.” Yvon rose, before picking up the trunk and placing it on the table.

“Clary claim-seals. Fifteen of a new design, rendered in gold leaf. They were recently completed, and your family will be the first to have them.”

“Keep your baubles. I have seen what they are worth.”

“As you wish, then. Anna, come.”

Anya stood up, her ears quivering as she followed Yvon out of the room and onto the stairwell.

“Anna! Wait!” She turned to see that Manon had followed her. The boar nodded to Yvon, who continued down the stairs and through the door.

“Anna, I am so sorry. Your mate seems a dreadful man, full of cruelty and ill-gotten pride. Whenever you need, you must see me, you understand? Regardless of his feelings towards my father, he cannot find an invitation between us unreasonable. Oh, you poor dear thing.” Manon took Anya’s much-smaller hands and clasped them together in her own, pulling the rabbit close. Anna felt the boar’s warmth on her chilled skin.

“Don’t worry about me. I can survive one man.”

“All right, all right. You killed a whole swarm of draugr, so I should trust your judgment. Oh, one more thing!” Manon took two azure ribbons from her dress and quickly tied them in showy knots around the bases of Anya’s ears.

“There. It’s the new Parisi style.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”