A Favor

Purples as dark as Aliya’s hair, bright oranges and reds like the setting sun, mellow blues like the cloudless sky… Aliya wondered if she could come up with a name for every color in the emperor’s garden.

“M’lady! Or is it Your Grace? Care for a fresh pour?” Malin made a toothy grin, his fangs sparking in the midday sun as he teased her. He stretched out his arms and made the laziest yawn imaginable before leaning back in his chair, propping up against the balustrade of the overlook.

Aliya ignored him, nervously fidgeting with the golden braids adorning the bust of the silver dress the emperor gifted her.

They’re over an hour late.

“Oi, Aliya. What’s eatin’ you?” Malin frowned, scratching the back of his grey mane.

“Barnabas is supposed to bring those children straight to me once—” she hesitated for a moment, biting her lip before continuing. “Once the Butcher is done with his questioning. Or interrogation.”

“Ah. Him.”

She had been so caught up in the twists and turns of the heresy trial that she had not given much thought to the fact that Iosef “The Butcher” Kabicci had been assigned as her mentor. Not much thought until the moment she ran into the fiery-headed noble who had tried to tame Lightbringer during the trial. His missing hand had been treated and was expertly bandaged, but there was something decidedly off about him. He had innocently asked Aliya for directions to the main road. There was no trace of recognition—nor hatred—in that man’s eyes.

Her stomach turned as she thought about the Butcher’s interrogation of the three children. Barnabas had promised he would bring them straight to her as soon as the doctor was done with them.

“Butcher, what do you know of him?” she asked, turning to a frowning Malin.

“Same as you. The architect of the Burning of Ionos. They’re using his name like a curse these days. Butcher take you, if you really hate someone.”

“That’s… not helpful, Malin.”

“Beastkin experiments. Moonkin ‘n’ inari only, from what I ‘ear. The tales ain’t pretty, Aliya… One of the medics says he collects our bones.”

She nestled her mouth into her closed fist, lost in thought for a moment.

“What ‘bout you? You’ve actually met ‘im.”

“I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “It was just for a moment. I just know the rumors. At the trial he seemed… weary?”
“Weary?”

“Reminded me of the general. Overworked and too tired to give half-a-fuck what rumors the nobility spread about him.”

Malin rubbed his temples as he shook his head. “These are our people, not a bunch a’ busybody nobles spreadin’ rumors over tea. And how many of us were lost in Ionos…”

Aliya began chewing on the tip of her thumbnail anxiously. It was best to only concern herself with the children, for now. She’d deal with the Butcher in person soon enough.

Her golden eyes lit up as she saw the portly shadow of Barnabas and three little ones gliding across the etched glass windows of the palace. The door to the overlook creaked open as the beastkin children spilled through the door. The lawyer trudged in just behind, slightly out of breath.

The trio lined up in front of Aliya and bowed together so deeply, their messy manes almost mopped the floor.

“We are so sorry, Lady Aliya—I mean, Your Grace!” began the white-haired bastien girl, sniffling up a string of snot as she gave her apology.

“We are so very sorry, we—they were threatening our friends!” stammered the blonde moonkin lad.

“I know we don’t deserve your f-forgiveness," cried the grey-maned inari, sobbing as he tried to mop up his tears with an oversized sleeve.

Barnabas let an apologetic smirk creep across his face. “Sorry, Your Grace, I couldn’t dissuade them.”

“It’s all right, Barnabas.” She smiled as she dropped to one knee before the children. “Enough bowing like that. You’ll get dizzy, sillies!”

As the children stood upright, they started to relax, staring at Aliya expectantly.

She looked them over from head to toe. They looked fine and healthy—cleaned up, even. “I hope you three understand you did nothing wrong. It is the nobles who take all of the blame.” She softened her voice even further. “Was that red-haired man who lost his hand one of them?”

They nodded in unison.

“And your friends they threatened, what of them? Are they safe?”

“Ah,” interrupted Barnabas, pushing up his spectacles. “Their location was determined, Your Grace. A highly capable group of knight sisters has been dispatched to rescue them. Please don’t trouble yourself, the order is from the Nasvian Choir and Grand Cleric Trujair selected some of the best in the sisterhood.”

“The Church is in the business of rescuing slaves now?”

“Sadly, I suspect this will be the exception.”

So, the Butcher gave the order?

Aliya’s eyes turned back to the children. “Why don’t you three have a seat at that table over there?” She pointed at the marble table Malin sat behind.

Each of the kids ran over and jumped up into the surrounding chairs’ soft cushions. The moonkin sergeant began pouring generous glasses of lemonade as the children stared in wide-eyed wonder at the magnificent palace garden.

“That one looks like an owl!” exclaimed the inari boy, excitedly pointing at a freshly-trimmed hedge in the distance.

It was a lopsided oval like an egg, with the slim point facing down and ending in two tree trunks. Its back tuckered out into a tail like the end of a lord’s coat while the upper front flattened into two discs, each set with a wreath of yellow flowers surrounding a black, hollow center. It did, indeed, look just like an owl. In fact, it was likely the finest hedge owl in existence.

Barnabas chuckled as he watched the children. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “It’s only a formality at this point, Your Grace, but here is the Emperor’s pardon for the matter involving the children and those nobles.”

“You think they will seek retribution?”

“I… do not know. Nobles shy from nothing when it comes to revenge, but you are under the wing of the Nasvian Choir, now.”

“Unprecedented, I assume?”

He nodded as the two of them pulled some extra chairs up to the table.

The children’s spirits were on the rise, filling Aliya with a gentle warmth. “This is my good friend, Malin Seth. You didn’t get the chance to meet him, but he fought hard at Prashen alongside me and many others.”

“H-hello sir! I am Mattias!” said the nervous inari, staring up at the massive moonkin.

“I’m Cass! Err, Cassandra for short—I mean Cass is short for Cassandra!” blurted out the bastien, knocking on the side of her head as if berating her mind for her linguistic mishap.

“And I’m Nico, sir!” said the moonkin.

Malin cracked an unintentionally vicious smile at the kids. “Nice to meet ya! Can I get you anythin’ to eat? Some snacks? Enjoy the lemonade ‘fore it warms up!”

Mattias shook his head. “We ate only an hour ago.” He paused for a moment, before remembering his manners. “T-Thank you for the offer, though!”

“Children, did that doctor do anything mean or hurt you?” Aliya posed the question in as gentle a voice as she could muster, but her face betrayed her seriousness.

Cass tilted her head inquisitively. “No? I mean, he asked a lot of questions, but he was really nice. Are all doctors that nice? He—"

“He had the clerics bring us this really, really tasty stew and a bunch a’ cakes! I was starvin’, so I had three whole bowls!” interrupted Nico.

“I was gettin’ there, Nico! And yes, you are gonna get fat if you keep eatin’ like that!”

The young moonkin raised his eyebrows and gave Cass a playfully shocked look. Aliya glanced over at Malin who met her with an optimistic shrug.

“Can you tell me what sorts of questions he asked and your answers?”

“Well,” began Cass, “he seemed really interested in findin’ out about the nobles who threatened us.” She took a brief sip from the lemonade before continuing. “We didn’t know that much. Just what they looked like. Some of them wore masks, though… I can draw a picture! I’m pretty good! I did it for Iosef!”

Aliya let out a sigh of relief. “No, no, no. You’ve done more than enough today. Another time, though!”

There was a knock at the door, drawing everyone’s eyes as a pair of palace servants pushed the double doors to the overlook wide open. Two shadowed figures stood just inside the palace’s hallway. Aliya immediately recognized the figure of the general, but the second figure was one she hadn’t seen in more than half a decade, since before she set off for war.

“May I present Count Ilhan Senvoire of Angiers and Lady Dana of House Lucern!” announced one servant.

The Blackberry Count and Lady Dana stepped forward onto the overlook as the servants pulled the doors closed and vanished back into the palace’s interior.

“Your Grace,” said Ilhan, bowing politely.

As always, he was clothed entirely in black. Barely perceptible—yet elaborate—designs decorated his shirt in a somehow-darker black. He cleared his throat, cuing Lady Dana who had forgotten to introduce herself.

“Y-your Grace!” squeaked out the lady, shaken from her brief moment of stupor.

She was elegant and beautiful like always, but a twinge of sadness pulled at Aliya’s heart upon observing the early signs of greying in her dark brown hair and the beginning of wrinkling around her silver eyes. She wore a dark blue dress from shoulder to shin and shining black shoes: flat, as opposed to high-heeled, just as she preferred.

Dana glanced over into the corner where Lightbringer rested against the balustrade in its newly gifted golden sheath.

Barnabas stood up to welcome the two with Malin as the children, not quite understanding the proper etiquette, chose to hold themselves in an awkward half-bow. They likely would have held that position until the end of time had Malin not set them at ease.

“Count Ilhan, Lady Dana!” Aliya’s calm face switched to a beaming smile as she walked up to the lady.

The two women stood before each other for a moment, unsure what would be appropriate to do, until Lady Dana pulled Aliya into a tight hug—the latter resting her chin comfortably on the lady’s shoulder as she closed her eyes, her tail wagging behind her. She felt her former mistress’s gentle breathing and took in her familiar scent, laced with spice and notes of blackberry.

She opened her left eye for a moment and caught Ilhan crossing his arms. He wasn’t known for his patience.

“So,” began Aliya, finally pulling herself from Dana’s arms, “can I offer you anything? Lemonade? Water? Wine?”

“No, thank you,” responded Ilhan, shaking his head. “I have some matters I wish to discuss and then I must depart.” He eyed the trio of children, Malin, and Barnabas. “Important matters best left for the three of us. Master Barnabas, would you show the children out?”

“Of course, my lord. Come along, children!”

Barnabas led the young trio back into the palace as they continued to bow after each step in their muddled attempts at politeness. Malin tailed the last of the children as Ilhan gave him a curt nod.

“I’ll be waitin’ in the lounge a couple doors down with the others,” he said to the group, returning the nod to his former commander.

As the doors to the palace snapped shut, the Blackberry Count cleared his throat once more. “Your Grace, I have both a boon and a request for you.”

“You can dispense with the formalities, Ilhan. How long have the three of us known each other?”

The count undid the topmost button of his shirt and tugged his collar loose. “Very well. Boon first. I would like to offer you the services of my spymaster, Serritt Ovazdz, who will serve you directly and train your intelligence operatives in the short term.”

Serritt Ovazdz. Not a household name, but one Aliya knew very well. During the war he had foiled many an enemy plot. Most importantly, if it wasn’t for him, Aliya might not have made it through the war. Might not have found Lightbringer.

“That—that’s quite the offer… You are sure you won’t need him?”

Ilhan shook his head, “Other than those lost to battle, Angiers escaped the worst of this war.”

Dana nodded her head in agreement. “House Lucern and many others are stepping up to fill some of the holes in leadership.”

“This leads to the request. My niece, Emilia Lagrange—my wife’s side of the family—went missing on her return from the Ducai front. She went missing after the armistice agreement. Her escorts also vanished without a trace.”

“After?”

“Indeed.” Anger, then sadness, flashed across the count’s face. “She wrote to me, you know.” He paced over to the balustrade, hands clasped behind his back as he took in the view. “She had planned to visit both Sancrés and Angiers.”

“I’m sorry.”

Even slaves sleep with full bellies in Angiers.

“Tell me what you need.”

Ilhan turned to her and offered the beginnings of a smile before returning to his survey of the garden. “Master Ovazdz will train your people, but he will also be treating Gabriére, your capital, as his forward base of operations.”

“Keeps him closer to Starmgard. Is that where you think she is?”

“No.” He quickly turned around, resting his lower back and palms on the balustrade. “I have no reason to single out Starmgard, especially since Emilia is human. However, she is a powerful mage.”

Aliya tilted her head slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow…”

She noticed Dana wringing her hands, one of her habits when she got very upset.

“There are rumors of mages being kept as slaves for the purpose of hereditary magic.” Ilhan’s face was as grim as a gravestone.

Magic was not something Aliya knew a lot about. She had fought against members of the mage nobility, but using Lightbringer was instinct driven and primal—a far cry from the rigorous training, engineering, and bloodline cultivation the mage nobility seemed to pride themselves on.

“Vileblood.” The realization hit her as she shook her head in disgust.

“Are you familiar with the Shadow Hansa?” continued the count.

“I am aware of them.” She nodded towards Dana, her mentor in matters of commerce as well as the condoned evils of the world.

“While they have yet to fully sink their claws into beastkin trafficking, which was only recently outlawed, they have been in the human trafficking trade for a long time.”

“Ilhan.”

“Yes?”

She squeezed her hands together. “Whatever it takes, you’ll get.”

The Blackberry Count’s face relaxed. He looked vulnerable for the first time ever: a tall, pale man, bent crooked by his endless burdens. “Thank you, Aliya. All I ask is that you provide Serritt with quarters and a well-lit staff room in your ducal palace. I have already added plenty of my own coin to your seed fund. It shall more than cover expenses and support staff.”

“Ah, thank you!” She felt guilty taking the coin, but she needed every drake she could get. “There will still be a prisoner exchange at the peace talks next month?”

“That is the plan. However, our best intelligence efforts have not identified Emilia as one of the candidates for a prisoner swap, nor has she been sighted within a Union prisoner camp.”

“I see.”

Ilhan swept his hand through his black hair, slicking it backwards as he stretched his neck. “Thank you again, Aliya. I have some arrangements to make in advance of the peace talks, but I will see you again then, if not sooner.”

He bowed gracefully and swiftly exited through the palace door, leaving the two women alone together.

“Aliya,” began Dana, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“I’m sorry.” She took Dana’s soft hands and held them with her own. “You were—are—close with Emilia?”

“Quite. I was her music tutor. Alongside you, she was one of my best students.”

“I…” Aliya was at a loss for words.

Dana squeezed her hands. “I know House Lagrange, House Senvoire, and Master Serritt will get Emilia back.”

She nodded in response. It was no time to discuss hypotheticals. Hope was what was needed in the present.

“But there is something else.” The lady nervously fiddled with her fingertips.

“Oh?”

“I have been—rather, I have wondered…" She shook her head in annoyance at her blunders and took a deep breath. “It has occurred to me that I have not considered your agency in the past.”

Aliya blinked several times in confusion before responding. “Agency? What are you—you mean us?”

“I never once considered you were in no position to reject my wishes.” Dana gazed downwards, staring at their held hands as her bottom lip quivered. “I wanted to apologize and to ask—"

The moonkin let out a light growl and grabbed Dana’s chin, forcing her to meet her own gaze. “I regret not an hour, not a minute, not a second of my time serving you. That time at the lake house, when the others were delayed by the storm…” She took a moment to gulp down the lump in her throat. “It is my happiest memory.”

Dana’s face formed a twisted smile as tears began to stream down her cheeks, causing Aliya to gently wipe them away with her thumb.

So many bloody windows.

“Why? Why do you ask? You remember things as well as I do. It felt natural.”

“I-I don’t know,” she sobbed. “You’re a duchess now and—”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, Dana. What happened? What prompted this?” Anxiety’s pangs needled at her stomach.

“Oh, it’s noth—”

“Nothing? Imagine where my head is going with this! Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you trying to put old regrets and grievances to rest?”

“No! For blood’s sake, I’m not dying!” Dana let out a defeated sigh. “It was something that came up when I was talking to someone—"

“Who?”

She remained silent.

“Who?”

“That—that one doctor.”

Aliya cocked her head to the side, furrowing her brow. “Doctor? The Herald?”

Dana nodded amid a drawn-out sniffle.

Confusion mixed with anger as Aliya shook her head incredulously. “What in the vileblood?” She cracked the knuckles on both of her hands. “It sounds like the doctor and I need to have a talk.”

“N-no, he wasn’t mean about it!”

“Mean about it? He planted this idea in your head that you—what—took advantage of me? Manipulated me? I’m not going to let that stand!”

She had been pacing furiously to the left and right when she suddenly made for the door.

“Listen to me, Aliya!” shouted Dana, grabbing the moonkin’s wrist and stopping her in her tracks. “All he asked me was whether I had considered your agency when I was your mistress! His follow-up questions were only to establish facts about our relationship. No threats, no judgment! I think he was… you know, being a doctor!” She lowered her voice as Aliya turned back towards her. “I believe he was being clinical. I’m no doctor, but you’re joining the Nasvian Choir for blood’s sake! He has his reasons to evaluate these things.”

Aliya tried to pull her wrist away, but Dana held firm.

“Don’t!”

With a deep breath, she calmed herself. “I need to meet with him tomorrow, regardless. But I will do so with a calm mind.”

“Well, perhaps I have just the thing for you,” replied Dana as she gently released Aliya’s wrist and caught her fingertips.

“Oh?”