In Virma, it would have been simpler. He would have talked to Joliette's husband and asked him to explain to his wife that she needed to watch her tongue and keep it in check.
Here, however...
"I don't need to eavesdrop."
“Oh, really? You're just jealous of Angie! You know that you're not worthy of her."
Bran smiled. Her sting had no effect. He was unworthy? He might be—not of Angelina but of simple human happiness with a loving and beloved wife, a home, children... If only everyone realized how much it meant! How important it was!
But if Holosh had given his loyal servant those minutes of bliss, Bran would never miss out on any of them. He would guard them like a dragon guarding its hoard, picking them over, admiring them like precious stones. He could be killed, but his happiness could not. He would do anything to protect his family: lie, steal, kill, die...after all, without them, his life wouldn't mean anything. It would be easier to deal with Holosh.
And so, Joliette ran into his smile as if it were a blade.
"I know what I'm worthy of, Duchess. Do you know what you're worthy of?"
Joliette sat up in her chair like a snake ready to strike, hissing almost like a snake would, too. But priests of Holosh didn’t fear snakes; they were used to dealing with vipers twice as venomous.
“What are you getting at?”
"I'm not getting at anything, Duchess. I'm asking you once again, please step back. Or..."
"Or what? You'll complain to Angie?"
"No," Brain replied simply. "I'll make it so you'll leave for your estate for a long time."
“Oh, really?"
Bran gave her a mocking smile. He could arrange it. He could have arranged something much worse, and Joliette knew that. She hissed even worse, almost foaming at the mouth, her formerly pink and tender lips becoming ugly and disgusting as if living toads sprang from them instead of words.
“You! You snuck into our family, took advantage of my sister..."
It wasn't news to Bran that the princess disliked him, but that hate...that hate, he didn't expect.
Whatever. He would make it worth her while.
Bran shrugged, as if shaking off the cloud of bitter hatred that had enveloped him, and summed it up.
"You will stop upsetting your sister, Your Excellency."
Joliette tried to stomp her foot but realized that it would have no effect and fizzled out.
"Do you think she'll be happy with you?"
"She already is."
"This is just a passing fancy. Later, when it's all over...what do you really have in common?"
Bran let out a dreamy smile. He knew what they had in common.
A quiet evening by the fireplace, children playing on a bearskin rug, Angelina weaving lace, constantly falling out of rhythm, him reciting a poem from a scroll, arguing with her over its lines, both of them laughing together, exchanging glances when their hands accidentally touched...
What could they have in common? Family. Love. Happiness. Bran wasn't an illiterate serf, and Angelina appreciated his desire to move forward, his interest in new things, and his urge to learn. She learned by his side, too. They had shared topics to discuss, common interests. Bran knew that what they had wouldn't go away. Passion was sand to be swept upon by the wind. Love was a sturdy wall. The wind might rage and roar behind it, but to no avail.
"Duchess, let's finish this conversation. You've heard me, and I understand your point."
Joliette flew out of the room, slamming the door shut.
Bran frowned and left for Castle Taral. He had something to fetch from his friends.
***
"Angie, dear..."
"Bran!"
The sight of his beloved's radiant smile once again confirmed to Bran that he had done right.
"This is for you."
"Oh, Bran! They are lovely!"
Two little furry balls were stirring in his hands, one black with white spots and another snow white. Those were Virman guard dogs. A female had recently given birth, and it was just the time to wean the puppies from her tit.
"One for you, and another for our son. Let them grow up together."
Angelina beamed, and Bran was rewarded with a kiss.
"You're the best husband in the world!"
"I know...and you'll have to bring up three instead of one."
"I was already bringing up three, so it makes it five," Angelina said with a laugh. "Even more, if we count Ian and Hilda's dogs."
The children had gotten their puppies half a year ago. Those came, by the way, from Lou-Lou and Nanook. Ian had called his own Storm and was training him as a furious warrior...or trying to. The puppy followed him everywhere, slept with him, ate with him, bathed with him...
Bran didn't mind. Hilda's nannies, however, did mind, as she did her best to emulate her brother and started making scenes, demanding "uppie," meaning a puppy.
Angelina just laughed at that. Let them. A house with children should have animals, anyway. It must! Then the children would grow up as people who knew how to take care of someone, love them, cherish them, and teach them, knowing that others could feel pain, too.
Angelina glanced at the puppies. Which one of them would be hers, and which would go to her son? Both of them were so cute!
The puppies exchanged looks and made the decision themselves. The white puppy headed to Angelina, stepping over the blanket. He sat down, gave out a yelp, got mixed up in his own legs, almost fell down sideways, sat down again, and finally pissed himself out of distress right where he sat.
It made Angelina laugh out once again.
"Bran!"
"How will you call this cocky fellow?"
"Snowball, of course. He looks just like one!"
"A good name. Maybe he'll grow into Snow in time."
"I remember how big Nanook and Lou-Lou are. Of course, he will."
Angelina called the servants to clean everything up and squeezed her husband's fingers.
“Thank you."
Bran kissed her hand.
"My princess."
It felt so good, having someone you loved by your side. It felt amazing.
***
The Earton house. The master bedroom. The masters, however, weren't sleeping at all. Jess and Lilian were busy searching for a compromise. It wasn't going well.
"Lilian, are you sure you want to go?"
“Yes, of course! Jess, I'm just pregnant, I'm not sick."
Jess sighed.
"Lily, honey, at least take a carriage."
Lily winced.
"I don't want to!"
"Lilian!"
When her husband switched to that tone, Lily generally didn't argue. She could try knocking sense into him, being stubborn, or get her own way, but why do it if it wasn't a question of principle?
Yes, she hated local carriages. The people here had no idea about shock absorbers.
Yes, she preferred riding Lidarh.
But if her husband really cared that much, she might suffer a bit. It wasn't a big deal. She would ride in a landau sooner or later anyway. Horse riding was wonderful but not especially good for pregnant women. Really, a month more, a month less... At least this time, Jerisson wasn't trying to lock her at home for the entire duration of her pregnancy. She shuddered, recalling how they had fought last time she was pregnant.
Jess couldn't quite recognize that a pregnant woman was akin to a war elephant: an unstoppable force, quite large to boot. Of course, most doctors would have criticized Lilian to no end, which even made sense, but...
Aliyah remembered her mother's teachings. If the woman and the fetus are healthy, she shouldn't have too many problems carrying it to term and giving birth. It doesn't even matter if the child's coming with his head or legs forward.
But if the woman has any issues, it's a different story. Then there's a risk of miscarrying, exicosis, eclampsia, and lots of other unpleasant words. Still, if the mother and the baby are fine, the woman can even b
e hung from the Eiffel Tower upside down—she'll give birth without ever sneezing.
Lilian thought herself healthy, and her first pregnancy had confirmed that. She had been running around all nine months like a lynx stung in her rear and was quick enough to do everything she wanted.
Slight nausea? So what? It was easily fixed by eating a bit less and maybe drinking some tea with lemon.
Swelling? That was nothing new; eighty percent of women regularly got it and felt fine. Just watch your health and don't overindulge. Now, if she ate pickles and drank soda all the time...that might be a problem. Lily did watch her health, and there were almost no problems.
For her second pregnancy, she was going to do the same thing. Why not? She was young, healthy, had given birth by herself and easily enough, with no tears and consequences. More than two years passed between both pregnancies, too.
She had recovered completely and could handle another go. Actually, she had recovered well enough to even stop herself from chomping down on all the soured milk in the vicinity.
She wanted it, though. Not plain milk, not yogurt, nor any other dairy; just soured milk. She had been drinking up to four pints when carrying and nursing.
Some people back on Earth had said that milk was bad for adults and that calcium in it wasn't digested well, but Lilian had her own teeth and her own body, and that body wanted soured milk. Sometimes, it knew better than the brain. Sometimes, the person was still thinking, and their body already acted, using the obtained nutrients as building blocks. Just listen to your body and separate its urges from the desires of your brain.
The difference is simple. If you truly want milk, you might have a calcium deficiency. But if you're walking past a soda ad and suddenly get an urge to drink it, it might be not your body's desire, but your brain reacting to the ad.
In this world, however, soda was still unknown. Lily regretted one thing. She had once visited a champagne production facility. It wasn't the real thing, of course, as she had never been to Champagne in France—just fuzzy wine with bubbles.
She remembered the tour guide telling everything about it. But would she handle starting production?
No, that was quite beyond her. Too bad, really.
"I'll ride in a landeau, dear."
Jess kissed his wife's cheek.
"You're a treasure."
"Not just me. There are two of us here now."
Jess smiled and kissed her belly, still flat and toned.
"You are my treasures."
***
The killer was thrashing around the room, swept in a cold rage.
How dare she!
A gorgeous vase was sent flying into a corner, followed by another, then an inkpot, an expensive inkstand made out of lazurite... He was tearing the study into pieces.
"What's going on with you?"
He couldn't reply due to a lump in his throat, but the one who came in didn't need an answer.
"Is it happening again?"
He nodded.
"Let's go, then."
"Where?"
"We'll find you someone..."
"Where?"
"There's an auction at the brothel today. Dress inconspicuously."
"You...will...take...me?"
"Dress inconspicuously. You'll pick yourself a...toy."
"Th-thank you."
"I'll be waiting in the carriage."
The killer darted out of the room and went to dress. A hooded cloak, a mask, plain dark clothes...
Yes, he needed a toy. He needed a death. He wanted to feel blood dripping down his fingers, to feel someone's final breath leaving their lips, he wanted...
That bitch! Ugh!
The killer stopped. He sighed, breathed out, and tried to compose himself.
Soon, very soon, the fire burning him from the inside would be quenched by blood. He couldn't wait.
***
Two men were talking in the embassy of Avester.
A comfortable study with luxurious furniture, expensive wine, a slow conversation...from the outside, it looked picture perfect. But what if you listened to what they were saying? That's what a northern wind that accidentally flew in from a window did. It was still young and didn't know that humans should be kept at a distance.
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes. The ship's geared to sail tomorrow or the day after. You can start anytime. I found the men. Tony, are you sure there's no other way?"
"I'm staking my life on this."
Horatio chuckled.
That was right. He might only get to lose his position, but Lofrayne risked his own life.
His Majesty Entor wouldn't forgive failure. Sooner or later, one way or another... Fall from grace?
Entor would simply give him over to the Ativernans, as simple as that, and they would go all the way. Nobody would think anything. The poor soul just died of food poisoning...
"Good. Then let's do it tomorrow. The sooner, the better."
Horatio shrugged.
They had prepared the plan together, but it was Anthony who would bring it into motion; there was no other way. Horatio himself would be somewhere else, in public, together with as many people as possible.
"Tomorrow it is, then. Good luck.”
"Aldonai be with us," Tony replied, nodding.
He wasn't particularly religious, but what if it helped? He decided to light a candle in a temple for good measure. You never know.
The wind snorted, ruffling up the men's hair and the papers on the desk. Such hypocrisy! But then, that was to be expected from the bipeds. Really, hurricanes were so much better.
***
Sollie shivered and hugged herself. It was cold.
Of course, it was, seeing as she had only a shirt on. If she had her way, she would have never left her family's house.
Too bad she had to. It had become so bad for them when her father died. Nobody to till the field, nobody to sow it... And then their last cow passed away, too.
They were broke and hungry, the children crying all the time, their mother dead tired. A new cow would cost a whole fortune. Where would they find so much money?
"You can still change your mind."
It was Tim, her aunt's son, her cousin and childhood friend, who had told Sollie about the opportunity. Tim was Baron Sartre's stableboy, and the baron loved bragging in front of his peers. The clever boy just listened and memorized everything, and finally, it paid off.
The icy floor froze her bare feet.
"No, Tim. Take the money and give it to my family. Let Mama buy a goat, at least..."
"Fine. But Sollie, think again. I can get you money, as much as you need..."
Sollie sighed. He would; she knew that. Her aunt, however, had as big of a family as Sollie's, and they had a hard time earning anything. Sollie realized that if she didn't go through with it, by the summer, her mother and siblings would die out of hunger. Well, maybe the eldest could hold out for longer, but the youngest ones would perish during winter. She couldn't let that happen. As for the price...
What did price matter when it came to the lives of her family? The lives of her brothers and sisters she had brought up, telling them stories every night? Her mother, increasingly choking with cough?
If Sollie could help so easily...
Ah, whatever.
All girls went through it anyway.
"Sollie..."
She waved her hand.
Madam Emma walked into the room—that's what she had ordered them to call her. One look at her was enough even for a blind man to guess how that woman made a living.
She had dyed hair and wore garish make-up and an expensive dress with a low neckline barely preventing her breasts from falling out. Jewelry, nice shoes, laces, but all of that felt...fake, blotchy, vile. Sollie was disgusted at the thought of touching Madam Emma, but it wasn't going to get any better, and the girl tried to suppress her antipathy.
"Ready, girl?"
A nod was her reply.
; The woman once again looked Sollie over, pleased. How had a peasant family given birth to a girl like that? One of her grandmothers must have rolled in the hay with a noble. She was slender, with blond hair and innocent blue eyes. Someone was about to get lucky that night.
"Do you remember everything?"
Sollie gave her a scared nod.
"Stand, turn around when you're told to, undress, do what you're told to, don't cry, don't scream. I'll give the money to your brother. My fee is one half."
"Yes, Madam Emma."
"That's what you should say."
"Yes, Madam Emma."
The madame chuckled. What a good-looking girl.
Still, if it were up to her, she would have never given her as much as half of the money. However, not cheating the first time meant increased future gains. If the girl had sisters or other relatives, it would do well to use them, too. And if she told them that she was tricked...
The boy seemed shrewd, too. He had friends waiting for him outside. It wouldn't be easy to beat him up and take the money. Well, whatever. She still would get a nice cut.
Madam Emma nodded and left the room.
The auction was about to start.
***
Yes, the capital had it all, including brothels and auctions. There, highborn lords could easily buy themselves a mistress—for a night, two, a month, a year... For as long as they wanted, really.
Madam Emma was holding one of such auctions. She sailed out on the stage, looking like a queen, and immediately commanded everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like a minute of your attention. Today, we have a wonderful lot: a girl named Sollie. A maiden, as everyone can attest to by asking our doctorus or taking a look."
Sollie stepped forward.She was scared half to death, but she did it nonetheless, standing in front of everyone and crumpling up her shirt that was cut on the back. She had no idea how tempting she looked for the men in the audience, wearing nothing but that shirt and a white rose wreath on her blond hair.
A murmur went through the crowd.
"Starting price is twenty gold."
Sollie almost gasped.
Twenty gold... A cow! Her family would get a cow. They could even fix the house.
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