“Please, tell me the parts all washed away,” a voice pulled Lane out of her musings. Greg and Thoko had walked over.
“Sorry?” Lane asked. “Oh, yes. There was a – Bishop Larsson called it a water-spirit. It looked like a giant otter, but it glowed like the stars.”
She felt herself blush when Greg stared at her, but Thoko leaned onto the stone wall at once. “A spirit animal?” she asked excitedly. “I’ve never seen one myself, but my parents talked about them! It’s really special, meeting one!”
“I’m sorry,” Lane said. “I think it went away again.”
Thoko stared out in concentration but gave up after a few minutes. “I’ve never heard of one that looked like an otter,” she said. “I wish I had seen it, but father says they rarely appear to more than one or two people at a time.”
Lane was glad that Thoko had heard about creatures like this before. From the way Greg was looking at her, she’d have thought she’d have to argue about whether or not she was hallucinating.
“I guess I’ll go and join the reception,” she went on and wrapped her arms around her body against the wind. “Do you want to come, too?”
At that question, both of them looked at her as if she wasn’t quite sane.
Lane smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said. “I mean – unless anyone in there really wants to risk a fight with David, and I’d be surprised if anyone around here has the guts for that.”
Greg opened his mouth, but Thoko was faster. “Why don’t we at least try?” she said. “I’ve never been to a royal reception.”
“Ducal reception,” Greg said softly, but Thoko had already linked her arm to his and was pulling him along.
Greg felt very self-conscious when they entered the town hall. He was wearing the best clothes he had been able to borrow from his brothers, but it wasn’t even close to what he would have worn to a reception at Deva Castle. And he wondered if anybody around here had read the newspaper article about him. The guards did eye them suspiciously; Thoko more than him – she was wearing her dark uniform trousers and the white blouse again. Even deLande wasn’t really dressed for the occasion.
So servants and guards both stared when they walked down the wide main hallway. They made no attempt to stop them, though, and soon, they reached the main festivity. Greg looked around nervously and felt himself breathe slightly easier when he realized that this was far from the court at Deva Castle. Most of the people inside were merchants from Breachpoint’s city council, a few important heads of industry – not that Breachpoint had a whole lot of that – and some landed gentry. Marquess Picot was present, of course, as was Marquess Rover, sneering down his long nose. Other than them, David, and the duke, Greg couldn’t spot anyone he knew.
Lane moved straight to the thickest crowd surrounding David and George Louis. Greg and Thoko decided to stick to the sidelines instead and check out the long tables full of food. Just as they had emptied their small plates a first time, David and Lane joined them.
“Enjoying yourselves?” David asked.
“The food, mostly,” Thoko said.
“Prince George will be sad he missed you. Did anyone give you any trouble?”
“I don’t think they really noticed us yet,” Thoko said. “Either that, or they’re ignoring us.”
Greg nodded quietly in agreement. It was slightly ridiculous how relieved he was to see his brother, armed with both steel and enough silver that Greg could feel the cold, a sword at one side, pistol at the other, and the crossbow at his back. The latter probably shouldn’t comfort Greg at all. He guessed it was there not because David thought there was any chance he would need it, but because it was like a personal crest, something that made him immediately recognizable. Or possibly just out of habit.
David looked around watchfully before turning to the buffet table himself and taking a fresh plate. He frowned at the selection. Greg had filled and emptied a second one before David had filled his first plate.
“Are you all right?” Lane asked. Apparently, she had noticed, too.
“Yeah, yeah,” David said quietly. “I could sleep for a week or two, and I still don’t really feel like eating anything after – after this morning.”
Greg looked down onto his food, and so did Lane. From the corner of his eyes, he could see David nibble at a piece of bread.
“I’m sorry,” Thoko said. “That you had to do that. Maybe you should remind the duke that you actually fought in that battle. You know, unlike him. The least he could do is give you a day or two for a break.”
David smiled wryly. “Can’t do that, Thoko. I promised Morgulon I’d make sure George Louis behaves. That’s pretty much a twenty-four-hour job.” He added more seriously: “I’ll go to Brines with you tomorrow, and hopefully, we’ll have a few days to relax there. Though we might not, since George Louis is going to Eoforwic.”
He raised his voice at the last sentence.
“What about me?” George Louis asked promptly. Greg spun around. He hadn’t noticed the duke coming up.
George Louis clearly hadn’t expected Greg, either. The duke stopped and stared at him, and for a second Greg could see the alarm on his face. He caught himself, glancing over at David.
“Gregory Feleke,” the duke said. “I hadn’t expected you to join us.”
“Nobody said we couldn’t,” Thoko said before Greg could even open his mouth. “Or would you prefer us to leave?”
Greg had no doubt that George Louis would very much prefer for him to leave the building. Not that the duke was going to say so in front of David. Instead, he eyed Thoko coolly.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced?” he asked after a moment.
“No, we haven’t,” Thoko said. “You did send the Inquisition after me, though.”
“Really. How did I manage to do so, if we haven’t even talked?”
“I’m Thoko Banda. You might also remember me as ‘that heathen witch, black as the devil’.”
Greg eyed Thoko with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He wouldn’t have been brave enough to talk to the duke like that, and he hadn’t expected her to do so, either.
George Louis stared at her, too, travelling from her face, filled with barely contained anger, down the white blouse she was wearing, lingering at her legs and boots, before snapping back up to her face.
“So there truly was a woman on Mr. Levi’s crew,” he said slowly. “My apologies. I thought the Inquisition was chasing a wild rumour, and saw no harm in keeping them distracted.”
“You gave them my name.”
“Yes, I did. But I assumed it was a man’s name.”
“Right,” Thoko sniffed, shaking her head.
Greg didn’t believe the duke, either, and he could see David rolling his eyes, too.
“Anyway,” Thoko continued after a moment. “Would you prefer us to leave?”
George Louis was glancing at something behind them. “It seems like the least I owe you is a meal,” he said, and turned to David, no doubt to make an exit.
However, before he got the chance, Picot reached them. The marquess had pretended to focus on the buffet table – failing miserably – before he “accidentally” bumped into David.
“Ah, my apologies, Lord Feleke,” he said. “Your Highness. I do hope the buffet is to your liking?”
“An excellent selection, Marquess Picot,” David said politely.
“And this must be one of your brothers?” Picot asked, looking at Greg. “May I ask, ah, which one?”
“The interesting one, you might say,” David said. “Gregory and Miss Banda here went and found the four elders for us.”
Picot actually held out a hand. Greg shook it, trying not to gape at the marquess. Picot looked over to Thoko and this time he did pause, just like George Louis, eyes travelling down from her face, lingering on the blouse briefly, before moving on down to her hips and legs.
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“Miss Thoko Banda,” David repeated, emphasizing her name. “She’s been a huge help to me, building diplomatic connections to the werewolves in the mountains.”
Marquess Picot smiled at her, finally looking back to her face, and offered his hand to her as well.
Greg could tell that Thoko wasn’t eager to shake hands with the man, but after a second of hesitation, she did.
“I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance,” the marquess claimed.
“Thank you,” Thoko said, with a slightly forced smile. “Marquess Picot, did I catch that right?”
“Quite so.”
Picot even gave a slight bow and finally let go of her hand, turning to the duke. “I have to ask,” he continued. “Your Highness, the men burned on the pyres out there, clearly they cannot be all the dead from the battle? I heard you lost more than half of your force?”
“A third,” George Louis corrected. “These are the soldiers who prayed to Mithras. The others will be burned at Oldstone Castle.”
“Well, I have to say,” Picot went on, “it’s a huge relieve to see that you are willing to grant the old privileges to the Church.”
Greg heard a murmur behind his back, but he was too busy stopping his jaw from dropping to check who it was. He quickly picked something from his plate to hide his incredulity. That was the conclusion Marquess Picot drew from all this?
“I can’t make promises there,” George Louis replied, looking from Picot to whoever was standing behind Greg. David was staring in the same direction, which made Greg’s skin crawl.
“I did promise my soldiers that they would be free to pray to whichever god they choose,” the duke continued, “and that their beliefs would be honoured even after their deaths.”
Picot sputtered. “But – but – but... Your Highness! Some of those old – old folksy beliefs required burial mounds! Underground! You cannot be seriously considering...”
“Not yet, obviously,” George Louis said. “But eventually, yes. In a few years? Why not? This very morning, a group of werewolves left to cleanse the Stour valley, just as I promised. I do not see why, in a few years, it shouldn’t be possible to put bodies in the ground without fear about what the Rot might do to them.”
“But Your Highness – you know how expensive it is to have a new field treated alchemically! How much work is required to plough just deep enough for crops to grow! A grave – that would need to be how deep?”
Greg stole a glance at Thoko, who had schooled her face to a carefully neutral expression.
“The effort and resources that would take!” Picot continued. “And for what? Some silly, archaic, and heathen superstitions?”
“That is what freedom of religion would entail.”
“But certainly, one can take the ideal of liberty too far?”
“I am so glad someone finally said it.”
The two people who had been standing behind Greg’s back finally stepped forward, a woman and a man dressed in rich clothes. It was the woman who had spoken last.
“Lady de Clare,” George Louis said, with a polite bow. “Your Lordship. Please, would you elaborate on your last point?”
Greg didn’t need to hear what the lady had to say. He was pretty sure he could read it all in the way the two kept their distance from the rest of the group and the depreciative look with which the lady regarded their clothes, especially Thoko’s. The lord, on the other hand, was taking stock of the men, starting with Picot and dismissing him quickly. The Marquess ducked away. Greg managed to meet the strange lord’s eyes for a second, before he, too, was apparently deemed unimportant.
“If you’re going to remodel the country,” the lady said, “you should consider doing away with such outdated privileges as ‘free cities’. After all, you are ruling Mannin, are you not? So why should a city like Breachpoint be ruled by a council of commoners?”
She had raised her voice, causing a hush in the congregation. After all, more than half the people in the room were said commoners ruling Breachpoint.
“Are you playing devil’s advocate, milady?” George Louis asked back calmly. “Or are you seriously suggesting I try to take back a privilege so old even the Empire couldn’t revoke it?”
“Didn’t revoke,” the lord cut in smoothly. “It’s not like between the Rot and the Loegrion resistance, they ever really tried, did they?”
“Of course they tried,” Greg muttered, annoyed at this distortion of facts. “Of course the Valoise tried,” he repeated, because everybody was turning towards him, and David slightly inclined his head to him.
“The first viceroy of Loegrion fought tooth and nail against Deva keeping the status of a free city,” Greg explained, “and his heir tried again in 1634. Viceroy de Bruce briefly succeeded in turning Deva and the sixty-four other free cities of Loegrion into territorial cities in 1699. Only the largest of them, those numbering more than ten thousand residents, regained the privilege during the succession crisis of 1703, Breachpoint amongst them.”
“Well, there you have it,” the lady said smugly. “It can be done!”
“It could be done,” George Louis conceded, “if I had the whole Grande Armée at my back and call, which I don’t have, and if I wanted to do it in the first place, which I don’t. I rather think that the masses of free workers in our cities, the free trade and industries, are one of Loegrion’s strengths, not a weakness.”
The last part was obviously directed at the council members listening in. An appreciative murmur was the answer. Greg had no doubt that George Louis would have sounded quite different if there were more nobles present.
Lord and Lady de Clare smiled in a way that made Greg worry. “You speak of free workers. Will you at least guarantee nobles the right to their personal possessions?”
George Louis raised his eyebrows at the lady. “I will grant the right of property to every person in this land,” he said. “For all those things that can be legally owned under Loegrian law. Does that answer your question?”
What were they talking about? Illegal magical artefacts? Dangerous poisons? There weren’t all that many things that were illegal to own for a noble. Not that Greg could think of, at least.
“And by which version of Loegrian law will you judge?”
“Lady de Clare, let’s call a spade a spade,” the duke replied, sounding a little annoyed. “Are you talking about slavery?”
There was a hiss of outrage all around, and when Greg looked over his shoulder, he was reassured to see that it did not come only from the commoners. Even Picot looked alarmed, and Marquess Rover was quickly turning beet red with fury.
The lady half smiled, half pouted when she looked at the bristling crowd. “Slavery. Such an ugly word for an ancient custom.”
“Not in Loegrion!” Marquess Rover barked. “Not ever!”
“Not in Loegrion,” George Louis repeated. “We have no – custom – of slavery here, and I do not intend to start one.”
“Really. But what about the werewolves? You are not giving them a choice to work for you, are you? You cannot truly count these monsters as people?”
Lady de Clare smiled and batted her eyelashes at the duke.
Greg had to admit he was quite interested in the answer to that question, too.
The duke turned to stare at Greg, his gaze calculating. For a long second, they looked each other in the eye. Greg felt like the duke was trying to read him, until he looked over to David. Suddenly, Greg wondered if they would get a truthful answer.
If they got any answer at all.
“Well?” Lady de Clare asked, a bright smile on her face.
As the seconds stretched and the duke still hesitated, Greg straightened his shoulders. He had to admit, the lady had set up George Louis quite skilfully. However, if she thought she was the only one who could manipulate a conversation, she was sadly mistaken.
“That is a very interesting question, Lady de Clare,” Greg said, loud enough to address the whole room. “And a dangerous one. You ask if a werewolf is different enough from man to be property. This, of course, leads down a rather slippery slope. For if a werewolf is ruled different enough to be property, it will not take long for someone to claim that a woman might be property, too. As, indeed, it is common in Valoir.
I think it’s rather ironic, milady, that you would use the freedom to speak openly in this forum of men, granted to you by ancient Loegrian law alone, to argue that us werewolves – and perhaps other people – should not deserve the same. As a woman you should see and appreciate the value of those ‘outdated privileges’ you would have Duke George Louis do away with.”
Greg looked around the room, from the council members of Breachpoint back to the de Clares. The lady bristled, clearly surprised by his answer and alarmed by the implication.
Greg didn’t even bother to hide a smirk. The look on her face even made up for the fact that everyone else in the audience took a step away from him.
"Lady de Clare,” Duke George Louis finally cut in smoothly, “you seem to operate under the misconception that werewolves are less... intelligent, less able to judge right from wrong, than humans. And that therefore, akin to immature children, we are not only allowed but obligated to decide their fate for them.
Well, milady, I used to think so, too, and I'm sure young Feleke here would be more than willing to explain to us, en detail, how a werewolf’s mind might be different, yet no lesser. But I think it has become a moot point by now?”
When the lady was still shocked speechless, the duke smiled again. “Regarding your other question: Why don’t you ask the werewolf present if he would consider himself a slave?”
Greg tried not to show his annoyance as he pondered the answer. If he said no, he essentially condoned how the duke had treated him at Eoforwic. But after what he had just said, he couldn’t very well say yes, either, could he?
“I’m not a slave,” Greg said before the silence could stretch again. “Neither are the other werewolves working for Duke George Louis.”
“So you’re telling me that you all volunteered to fight at Oldstone Castle,” the lady asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “For what? Your love of Loegrion? A country where you are hunted like animals?”
“I volunteered, yes,” Greg said, ignoring her and speaking to the rest of the audience. “I volunteered to join the railway crew that built the line to Sheaf, and when the Rot attacked us, I fought to defend people who I consider my friends. And again, nobody forced me when I agreed to present to His Highness, despite the danger to my own life, proof of how a werewolf can fight the Rot.
For the past year, I have helped convince other werewolves to join the effort. True, most of them came to join the railway crews, but not one of them refused to fight the first battle at Oldstone Castle. The four who came with me from the mountains came just as willingly, even though they knew they would be taking on the might of the Empire.
Granted, the convicts are a slightly different matter. They were given the choice between certain death and the dangers of becoming a werewolf. But the rest of us? Those of us who have been werewolves for years? We decided to gamble our very lives on the chance that you, the people of Loegrion, would appreciate our help and show your gratefulness by at least not murdering us.”
Greg let his gaze travel over his audience grimly. He should better make the most of this opportunity.
“Do we think the reward so far has been worth the effort? You’ll probably hear different opinions on that matter depending on which one of us you ask.”
He schooled his face into a more gentle expression. “We already talked about whether a werewolf is human enough to not be a possession. The question which remains is whether we are human enough to own property ourselves. Right now, the Lackland Company, for which the vast majority of us at least nominally works, pays us only in food, clothes, and other necessities, like shelter on new moon. Considering the risks we face anytime we fight the Rot, I do not think this will suffice forever.
You needn’t look so shocked,” he added, looking from one merchant to the next. “Few of us would even take silver, much less want it. You would be far better served by making a list of the most Rot-infested areas of the country. Divide them up into territories, and offer them up as a reward. Any territory would need enough forest and game for a werewolf to live on, but they could absolutely protect fields and important roads at the same time. I have no doubt that Breachpoint could profit if werewolves were to rid the far shores of the Savre from the Rot. Something for the council to consider in the future.”
“I’m sure you have given us all much to consider,” George Louis cut in. “And I thank you for that.”
Greg gave him the most innocent smile he could manage. While the council members muttered amongst themselves, the duke turned his back to the room, to get some food from the buffet.