Barde Venit passed through the large wrought iron gate into the Vegnoni family compound on the eastern edge of Capira’s trade district and nodded to the armored guards who stood at attention on either side of the entrance. He looked around at the tall hedges encircling the compound like leafy sentries, allowing the inhabitants a semblance of privacy in one of the city’s busiest districts. Even here, within the gates of the estate, one could hear the bustle of the Sartorial Bazaar one street down.
The Vegnoni family was the only noble house that regularly stayed in a dwelling outside of the Gentry District near the Royal Quarter. Gernan Vegnoni, the elderly patriarch of the family and founder of the Vegnoni trade empire, was adamant about living close to his factories and warehouses in the trade district. Though times had changed and his enterprise largely ran itself now, the gnarled old oak was loath to uproot himself and move to the quiet Gentry District. It was this sense of stubborn tradition that kept him from rubbing shoulders with the other nobility. Barde hoped he could appeal to this sense in order to win his support in the coming insurrection.
A gentle wind blew the light spray of a nearby fountain toward Barde. Though it was unbecoming of a man of his status, he stopped a moment to bask in the cool mist that fell softly on his flushed skin. He stole a glance backwards at Daer Welveton, the captain of his personal honorguard and the only one of his retinue allowed to enter the grounds with him. Surely the man was sweating up a storm in his mail and gambeson beneath the afternoon sun, especially after having walked half the city, but if so he was professional enough not to show it. Well, aside from the smirk that crossed his face as the cold mist brushed past him.
Daer was no stranger to Barde’s intimidation tactics and would always accompany him - visibly armed - into the homes of noble families in Capira. It was a cheap tactic to unnerve the hosts. Some may have considered it rude, but politics was a ruthless game, and Barde always played to win. No family would dare accuse the duke of threatening them, though they always eyed Daer’s broadsword warily.
A manservant dressed in exquisitely embroidered gold and brown clothing - the house colors of the Vegnoni family - opened the carved front door and bowed as he gestured for Barde to enter. Barde thanked him softly as he passed into the cool interior, his stiff shoes clacking against the white marble of the foyer.
The home of the Vegnoni family could not be considered attractive under any meaning of the word. Updated at least a dozen times throughout the years as their trade empire grew, it had acquired the pejorative nickname “The Patchwork Home” for its odd, mismatched appearance. The contracts for each additional project were always auctioned to the lowest bidder, so the style of the home differed from wing to wing. Yet, few homes in Capira outside of the Royal Quarter rivaled the Vegnoni mansion in size.
Once, many years ago, Ardenel had come home from school and asked Barde, then still a junior bureaucrat in the city’s treasury, why the Vegnoni family had such a large home while they lived in a small attached house in the same district. He had sarcastically promised the boy to one day bring him to the Vegnoni home, where he could compare it to theirs and, if he liked it, he could live with them instead. Barde smiled remembering the brat’s response.
“I already know I want to live with them. They have two pools!”
Indeed, from the foyer one could see through the glass windows into an interior courtyard where there lay a clear pool surrounded by exquisite rock detailing and manicured shrubbery.
The manservant closed the door behind Daer and approached Barde with his hands folded behind the small of his back.
“The master sends his regrets that he could not greet you himself and begs your forgiveness. In his advanced years it is difficult for the master to travel from his quarters to the front of the estate in a timely manner,” the servant explained. Barde knew it had nothing to do with his “advanced age” as Gernan had played the same game for decades. He wanted his guests to know that they were not important enough to warrant his greeting, and that they were now in his domain. Next the servant would guide them through the mansion, forcing the guests to admire his rooms full of expensive antiques and bespoke furniture and adornments.
Perhaps in another instance Barde would have felt slighted, but today he was amused. A man like Gernan, so deeply entrenched in the ways of the conservative old guard, would surely harbor deep hatred for the upstart Red King. Things were looking up.
As expected, the manservant humbly requested Barde and Daer to follow him deeper into the manor. The trio passed through a sitting room full of the gaudiest gold-encrusted furniture Barde had ever seen and into a tea room whose design did not fare much better. Gernan’s daughter sat within this room entertaining another elderly woman with tea and muffins atop a marble serving platter. They quieted their gossip as the men entered the room and bowed their heads respectfully enough to appease Barde, though not so much as to display any real humility.
The next room had an entire glass wall that faced the exterior gardens and housed dozens of plants. A tree with giant, waxy leaves and large hairy fruits caught Barde’s eye in the corner. He assumed it was from the Iv isles to the south, as it had the appearance of a jungle plant.
Finally the trio entered a room carved entirely of white marble that housed a large staircase up to the second floor. The bannister up the stairs twisted slightly as it went up, and Barde noticed small scales carved into the gold that had been smoothed down by hundreds of hands rubbing against it. At the top of the stairs the rail ended in a snake’s golden head, which explained the scales.
“The master’s drawing room is just ahead,” the manservant assured the two men without turning. Barde stayed silent as they walked toward two large cherry wood doors, their color having darkened to a deep crimson over the years.
The manservant opened the doors, revealing a large rectangular sitting table in a room surrounded by bookshelves stuffed to the brim with tomes and thick volumes. At the head of the table sat the patriarch himself, Gernan Vegnoni.
Gernan Vegnoni’s face was dominated by his distinct eyebrows. The large, caterpillar-like formations threatened to overtake the bottom of his eyes around the outside of his sockets, and errant black and white hairs strayed in every direction like the unkempt hairs of a street dog. The hair atop his head was always slicked back. Even now what little white hair he had left was pulled back and down against his nape in clean, combed lines. Freckles and liver spots dotted his arthritic hands that rested against the polished sitting table. He squinted at Barde as he entered, but said nothing.
“Hello, Gernan. It is a pleasure to see you again,” Barde announced cheerily as he entered the drawing room. He walked toward the only other chair in the room, situated to the left of Gernan at the table. Daer followed him in as the manservant shut the red doors and left.
“Welcome to the Vegnoni Estate, Duke Venit. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of hosting you or your family,” Gernan said flatly. Though his words were magnanimous, his attitude was stoic. Barde noticed the old man’s eyes wander toward Daer’s broadsword and inwardly grinned.
“It is truly a beautiful abode that rivals even the greatest of the Gentry District,” Barde replied. “It is to my great disappointment that this is but my first visit in all my years in Capira.”
“Your words are flattering, Duke Venit. I am glad my home is to your liking,” he replied. A slight edge seemed to creep into his voice. “In fact, I believe you are the first duke to ever visit me in this place. I have lived through the tenure of six dukes your senior, yet none had ever walked these halls.”
“A pity they were not privy to such a work of art during their short reign,” Barde replied, sneaking in a jab at the home’s design. Gernan Vegnoni was a veteran conversationalist, referred to by the previous king as Capira’s “preeminent deipnosophist”. Barde was hoping his own skill would impress Gernan enough for him to join his cause.
“Men malign this home’s appearance from the Gentry District as they cower beneath the shadow of the Royal Quarter,” Gernan spat back at Barde. “I rise above the rabble here and dare to declare myself the victor - something those rats squirming to pick up the king’s crumbs would never understand.”
“We are all scrambling to pick up the scraps these days, wouldn’t you agree?” Barde asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to his goal in visiting. “Industry has hardly recovered to its levels before the war.”
“For some, perhaps,” Gernan answered. “But the Vegnoni empire has always adapted to changing times, and always will. You understand the value of opportunity, do you not, Duke Venit?” Gernan narrowed his eyes as he asked the question.
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“I certainly understand the value of bold decisions in frightful times,” Barde responded carefully. His actions during the Reunification War were highly controversial, and it had taken all of his skill in politicking to overcome his detractors in the years following. It had always remained a sore spot, however.
“When you delivered the keys to the Rolakkhad treasury to the Red King before the Royal Quarter had even fallen, you were certainly making a bold decision,” Gernan continued. Disdain dripped from every word.
“I had not taken you for a loyalist, Gernan,” Barde responded, attempting to deflect from the topic. He heard Daer behind him shift feet, his mail and equipment clinking unceremoniously. “All the words I’ve heard from the lips of the nobility paint you as the consummate businessman. Although, there are also those who have passed your statements along criticizing the Red King’s statue expenses,” Barde added while picking up a jeweled letter opener from the table. A large ruby was inset in its metal handle to complement its gold blade.
“You’ve come all this way to tell me the latest gossip among houses?” Gernan asked with an exaggerated chuckle. “Perhaps I misjudged you as a serious individual.”
Barde took a moment to manage his composure. This man may not like him or his actions in getting to his station, but he needed more allies if he were to dethrone the Red King, and a powerful ally in the trades would be the perfect keystone to his plan. He needed to ignore the prodding, as difficult as it was.
“Libel of the Royal Seat is a serious misdemeanor in Rolakkhad,” Barde said.
“You’d not find a judge in all of Havan that would indict me and you know it. Why visit my home with empty threats?” Gernan snapped quickly.
“I would like to further understand your position toward our current monarch,” Barde said slowly and deliberately. “I imagine a conservative man like yourself is not happy about Rolakkhad’s first foreign king.”
Gernan did not respond immediately. His eyes flicked between Barde’s stone face and Daer’s blank expression. Daer had been ordered to stand at attention with his hands away from his broadsword at this moment - he wanted to avoid any potentially violent misunderstandings.
Finally, after a few tense seconds of silence, Gernan seemed to make a decision. He faced the cherry doors that Barde had entered in previously and shouted to his manservant.
“Gol, please see to it that my daughter and her guest have enough tea.”
The soft sound of wooden heels clacking against the marble faded away beyond the cherry door until the three were alone in the room.
“What are you intending?” Gernan asked, careful not to imply anything untoward.
“We intend to dethrone Redden,” Barde said bluntly. “Reports from Rolakk battle commanders indicate that he wielded some power from the dead continent to the west to conquer all of Havan. Cut off the head of the snake and the body will die with it,” Barde added quickly in hushed whispers. Though it seemed they were alone, speaking of sedition seemed to require a whisper under any circumstances.
“And the other houses?” Gernan asked. Someone shouted outside the window. After living in the Gentry District for so long, Barde had forgotten how loud the trade district could be.
“I am sure you understand that I am sworn to secrecy for their protection, however I have enlisted four of the seven great houses as well as fourteen of the minor houses to support the incoming monarch. All I ask of you is to immediately recognize the new monarch and engage in trade with the Royal Seat. Your recognition will help to grant legitimacy and bolster our standing with the other houses,” explained Barde.
“Many words to ask that I support you as the new usurper,” Gernan answered. Barde smiled a toothy grin at that. He did intend to become the new King of Rolakkhad; it only made sense that the second most powerful man in the country was the most fit to lead it after the first. Some of his new allies did not know this fact, but Gernan was ever the perceptive one.
“Sir -” Daer interrupted from behind, but Barde waved him off with a hand over his shoulder.
“Things would return to normal at first. No more vanity statues to eat up the people’s taxes, no more imposition of Ivan customs in the Royal Court. You would, of course, continue to enjoy your position as the largest trade empire in all of Rolakkhad,” Barde outlined to Gernan. Despite his serious tone, Gernan seemed distracted. Barde noticed that several times his eyes had moved expectantly toward the crimson doors to the hall.
“I understand that this may be uncomfortable to discuss,” Barde added, hoping to assuage the man’s worries, “but all I am asking is that you do not interfere once we take the Royal Quarter and that you cooperate with us after -”
“Sir!” Daer called loudly from one of the outward facing windows in the room. He drew his broadsword in a large sweep. Nervously, Barde reached toward his belt knife as well. It was encrusted with sapphires and largely ceremonious, but a ceremonious blade cut just as well as any. “There is fighting at the gate. Our men are being slaughtered!”
Barde stood up with haste, his knees toppling the chair he had been sitting in.
“Who is attacking? Do you see their colors?” Barde asked quickly.
“Yes,” Daer answered before pausing and gulping with difficulty. “They are gold and brown, sir.”
Barde turned quickly to Gernan, still seated at the head of the table with a wide grin across his face.
“What is the meaning of this?” Barde demanded. “You’ve betrayed a guest in your own home?”
“Now the traitor wants to discuss betrayal!” Gernan responded with a maniacal laugh. “A man disloyal to his lord should not expect loyalty from his dogs.”
Barde gritted his teeth and drew his knife. Now he understood why Gernan had been watching the door after sending his servant away. He hadn’t been nervous about the conversation, he was anxious for his guards to burst in!
“Why? What do you gain from this?” Barde asked with worry in his voice. Daer moved behind him toward the cherry doors - the only exit to the room.
“Who do you think was commissioned to supply all of those statues, you fool? How does he feed all of his armies and arm all of his outposts? The Red King is the greatest customer the Vegnoni family has ever known!” Gernan responded with a laugh. “His colorful assistant Doloridme knew my comments would draw you out, and now you’ve been caught red-handed. She should be here any moment now.”
Rage boiled behind Barde’s eyes.
“You sold your countrymen for a few more crowns!?” Barde cried out. “When I kill you here, will it all have been worth it, you demon?” He pulled the blade from his belt and advanced on Gernan.
“You are far too late, Barde. I’ve ensured a future for my family for all eternity in exchange for the life of a frail old man. I daresay it is my greatest trade I’ve ever made.” Gernan’s frail chest seemed to swell with pride as his dark eyes pierced deep into Barde.
His confidence in the face of death had almost unnerved Barde. He trembled right up until the moment his blade pierced Gernan’s chest. He quickly followed it up with four more thrusts until his hand, now slick with crimson blood, slipped past the handle of the decorative blade and cut Barde’s own fingers. He cursed the lack of a crossguard and left the blade in Gernan’s chest and backed away from the smiling corpse, holding his now bleeding hand with the other.
The cherry doors at the front of the room exploded inward, sending shattered splinters of deep red flying into the room and skittering across the large table. Two men in mail entered the room and Daer quickly cut them down with two strokes of his broadsword. Barde thanked Yasha for the incredible skill of his captain.
“Sir, we must make haste in escaping,” Daer said. Barde nodded and fell in behind the man as they exited the room and ran quickly down the marble steps. Red boot prints stained the white marble as the duo sprinted across the carved room, Barde already beginning to huff with exertion.
Daer threw open the next doors into the room full of plants and was confronted by a tall, lithe woman in leather armor. She wielded a thin rapier with an intricately ornamented handguard, its loops of silver intertwining among themselves like a woven basket. Her mid-length, curled hair and eyes were black as night against her pale face.
“We have many plants like this in Danet,” she mused calmly as she gestured with the tip of her long rapier toward the tree with waxy leaves in the corner. “It is strange to see it here, held captive from its home, blooming for a short hour unseen with no roots in this land.”
Daer gripped his broadsword tightly and slowly advanced toward the woman. She seemed to disregard him as she examined the strange tree. Barde noticed that a slow trickle of blood dripped from her blade.
“Much as time has plucked me from the fields, so has it this one. Both doomed to yield our days to a mimicry of life,” she continued.
“Who are you?” Barde asked from behind Daer. The two continued to slowly creep through the room of plants, hoping desperately that she was an ally from one of the great houses sent to rescue them.
“I am Princess Doloridme of Danet. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Duke Venit,” she said, her eyes now focusing on the duo. “We have much to discuss about your rebellious games.”
Daer raised his broadsword and stepped forward toward the woman. In a flash she moved quicker than Barde’s eyes could trace until she stopped between Daer and Barde. Daer fell into a crumpled heap as soon as she stopped.
“Captain!” Barde shouted at the man on the floor. Doloridme seemed invigorated by the kill.
“Do not fret, my dear child,” the princess said to him reassuringly. “You hold secrets that I wish to know.”
Child? She is hardly older than my son!
The woman walked up to Barde and placed a hand on his cheek.
“Our stock once thinned shall soon redeem its hours, such as God knows. With freer air, more fruits and flowers shall come to bear, while I droop here,” she sang before slapping Barde hard across the face.
The world faded to black.