VI. An Attempt

Ardashir had lost sight of the penitent. She was here in the crowd somewhere, moving like a ghost in green. Khagra had been pulled aside by Vladan almost ten minutes ago for some kind of conference with the Leyan magus and Lieren, which was somewhat concerning. Honestly, any time she and Lieren were in the same room, there was ample room for concern. He'd created a stir by escorting Khagra in and knew that it would be talked about for some time, but he was a knight, not a lord. He did not have land or a title and so it was somewhat less scandalous. After all, he could easily just be doing the queen's bidding. The orc was well known to be a guest of Seva's at this point. Ardashir would have liked to kiss her in front of everyone, to make a point of the fact that he loved her, but Khagra had suggested a more cautious, discreet route and he respected her decision.

Holland had briefly mentioned that she would look for a rooftop for him to shout from if he ever got around to proposing, a comment that insulted him a little bit—of course he would propose, when the world and the future were slightly more certain. It had been a tease back when they were still a few days out of Tamaris, designed to get a bit of a rise out of him. She'd been merciful enough not to say it with Khagra within earshot, at least.

At least he had a glass of wine in his hand as he waited and watched. That was more than he could say for the poor sods in the royal guard who had to stand there for hours. He remembered guarding the Tuama and praying for hours that the First World relics within would come to life just so he would have something to swing a sword at. It was a trustworthy position, but far from a glorious one. Someone tapped his arm and he turned around, dark eyes settling on an altogether too familiar face.

It made sense: things had been going far too well to last. Ardashir was really only surprised that he was the first to hit a snag. Normally that was Holland's job.

"Lady Gray," he greeted politely. His tone wasn't chilly or rude, which was better than most men in his position might have handled it. Then again, he prided himself on his manners and no matter what she'd done to him, chivalry demanded courtesy to women. She was not a lady, no matter her title—that honor was reserved for women like Khagra—but he owed her at least civility.

Genovefa was a pretty woman and always had been. Her chestnut hair was in a complicated braid, her agate-colored eyes bright with good humor. She had soft cheeks and a small nose, her face a little rounder and kinder than that of the old Yssan nobles like her husband. She was smiling, but then again, she usually was. Or at least, that was the case when he'd known her. It was strange to think that he'd been married to her once. That felt like a lifetime ago. "Ardashir, you know my name," she said with amusement. "Are we really going to stand on formality?"

"I would prefer it." It surprised him that he wasn't more upset. He'd been devastated when she left him. The only thing that had made it better was leaving with Holland, getting away from all the things that reminded him of her. And then, one night on the road, Khagra had wandered into his life. Seeing Genovefa now was just a reminder of how incredibly lucky he felt to have the orc. The woman he'd once been married to was a flighty, ultimately superficial creature. She enjoyed the many games invented by the court and desired things that were frivolous. She liked romance and drama and comfort.

Genovefa was beautiful the way mirrors were beautiful: giving the impression of depth and dimension, but never actually delivering. Khagra did not merely reflect his love—she returned it, as constant as stone and as deep as the ocean. He was fairly certain that Genovefa was fishing for a reaction. She liked feeling desired and he was one of her favorites to pull emotions out of. Had he really fought other men for her attentions once? Gods, but he had been a foolish young man.

"Your absence has made you terribly taciturn," she said. "What happened to your poet's soul?"

He was tempted to be rude just to get rid of her, but Holland would probably create a stir if things started to go wrong and manners were paramount. He had no real excuse to brush her away, at least not until Khagra returned. "It has found its home," he said.

It hadn't been the best choice of words, as it had apparently sparked Genovefa's curiosity rather than brushed her away. "Oh?" she said with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't entirely certain, but she seemed slightly hurt by the idea that he might be looking at someone else with affection. It probably didn't suit the story she had painted for herself. A knight pining away after was likely more suitable. Certainly tragic. "Another woman? To think you used to write me such beautiful letters."

Ardashir shrugged. "And now they are echoes left behind," he said.

She was still smiling, but her eyes were calculating now. She was trying to figure him out, trying to find strings that she could pluck for her amusement. He was not feeling particularly puppet-like at the moment, however. "You say such hurtful things."

"I'm certain that was not my intent, Lady Gray."

The smile was starting to slip now. He wasn't giving her any real reaction, after all. Just polite, vaguely distant conversation, as if they were strangers.

"At least tell me that you missed me."

He raised an eyebrow, the first sign of an emotion he gave. "Does your husband know where you are?"

She waved a hand. "He's off amusing others with war stories. I'm certain he'll be along in a minute."

To gloat, Ardashir added for her in his head. You deserve him. Lord Gray was of the oldest noble house in Yssa except Essen, but he had only held the title for a few years. He was a bit younger than Ardashir, handsome enough to compete with Fionn, and already covered in glory as a knight. He, like his father before him, was a staunch champion of Essen and the old bloodlines. However, he was diplomatic enough to keep his sneering about the younger families behind closed doors, unlike his father. It made him more palatable to the King. Ardashir was exactly the kind of knight he disliked, landless and houseless, created by the good graces of the Lord Protector alone. Lord Gray considered the Hooded Knights to be necessary and certainly valuable on the field of war, but not appropriate to sit at the dinner table like people.

"I hope your marriage to him is treating you well," Ardashir said instead of giving voice to that observation. His tone was still polite and even. He could tell he was beginning to irritate her, which was actually somewhat amusing.

Genovefa opened her mouth to say something to him, probably something less than kind, but shut it abruptly. Ardashir knew without looking that a familiar presence had rejoined him, one easily intimidating enough to cow Genovefa: Khagra. He smiled for the first time since Genovefa had arrived. It was an easy, genuine expression.

"Am I interrupting?" Khagra asked. Her tone was overtly well-mannered, but there was something to it that dared the noblewoman to object.

"Never," Ardashir said, turning slightly to look at her. "This is Lady Genovefa of Gray."

If Khagra had been nervous before, there was no sign of it now. Her protective nature drowned it out thoroughly. "A pleasure."

Ardashir looked back at Genovefa. Her discomfort was obvious. He didn't hate her or wish her ill, but watching her squirm was certainly satisfying. "Lady Gray, this is Lady Khagra of the Wing. She is here as a guest of Her Majesty."

He could tell Genovefa was rallying, however. She wouldn't make a direct attack, but he certainly expected some nastiness of one variety or another. The idea of an orc being treated with similar respect as she could expect to receive from him likely rankled at her. Not to mention the fact that Khagra wasn't exactly being deferential. "How...charming," Genovefa said. The smile was back in its full, artificial splendor. "I have heard that your people have quite the fearsome reputation. It's pleasant to see that civilization has finally spread beyond the kingdoms of men."

"I have heard much of your people as well from Ardashir. It seems Yssan nobility is the font of civilization," Khagra said in a tone so agreeable it was disarming. There was something that might have been sarcasm in her voice, but it was so subtle that he doubted the noblewoman would catch it. He did, however, and it was making it difficult to fight down the urge to grin.

Genovefa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She was trying to read Khagra. Ardashir doubted she would have much luck. His warrior was a straightforward creature, but when she was irritated, she tended to appear quite calm. He knew it was a result of the painstaking effort to keep the bloodrage that burned in her veins in check. Orcs were beyond fearsome when they were riled and Khagra was no exception. However, breaking someone's bones to demonstrate displeasure with them was impolite in most societies, so she kept herself reined in. It would have been quite the apology to make.

Sensing she was not likely to be successful, Genovefa looked back at the knight. "You must dance with me, Ardashir," she said, catching hold of his hand.

He gently pulled his hand free. "I must respectfully decline, Lady Gray," he said. "I have no intention of dancing with anyone other than the lady I accompanied, and she has not expressed an inclination to do so."

"How rude of her not to share," Genovefa said, looking put out. Her pout was currently far less effective on him than it had once been. "Surely you would make an exception for me?"

Ardashir knew without looking that Khagra's animal eyes were probably quite feral at the moment, even if she was still keeping a polite face. "I know who I came with, Lady Gray. Perhaps your husband will indulge you." He turned to Khagra and smiled with an abiding warmth. "Still not interested in dancing, vosu?" The orcish term of endearment rolled off his tongue as easily as 'love' did. He found he preferred it, actually. He still wasn't very good at speaking his love's tongue—the guttural syllables were sometimes difficult for him to make properly—but he enjoyed the way it could make Khagra light up. The little smile the words could prompt were well worth the hours he spent trying to replicate those sounds.

Genovefa went white. He wasn't certain if it was shock, fear, or rage. Likely some combination of all three, but he really didn't care.

"Perhaps later," Khagra said, her expression softening when she looked at him. She looped her arm through his again. It was a comfortable arrangement now that she'd gotten used to it, an excuse to be close. It also seemed to relax her a little bit. Before the pair of them could break away, however, Lord Gray arrived.

Arrogance practically crystallized off the nobleman. Ronan of Gray was not precisely the paragon of knightly virtues. He was so used to being at the top of the food chain that he had little empathy for those below him. His face was classically handsome like Fionn's, though Ardashir always noted it had an element of cruelty to it. His jawline was strong and defined, his nose aquiline, and his pale grey eyes constantly surveyed the world as if it was all his domain. His hair was dark, touched at the temples with the premature grey that marked his family. It gave him a distinguished air beyond his age.

"Sir Sadeghi, it seems you're upsetting my wife," Lord Gray said. His voice was a smooth baritone and not at all friendly. Every syllable dripped disdain.

"So it would appear. I am sorry that you are upset, Lady Gray," Ardashir said calmly. It wasn't exactly an apology for upsetting her. He recognized the expression on Genovefa's face. It was the look of a woman about to spit out words that she would bitterly rue. He hoped that her husband would cut her off, for the sake of propriety. However, that looked not to be the case.

"That beast is your—"

Ardashir's whole body tensed at that word. If Genovefa had been a man, he would have lashed out with a fist. However, he wasn't about to hit a woman unless she was actively trying to kill him, which wasn't the case.

"I prefer 'orc', though I'll accept 'savage'," Khagra said smoothly, responding with altogether more grace than Genovefa merited. The temperance and maturity made Ardashir fall a little bit more in love with her.

The hooded knight was trying with every fiber of his being not to laugh and kiss Khagra on the cheek. She'd broken him out of his anger with a few words. Diplomacy would have to rule the day, though he wasn't going to let it pass without remark. "Lord Gray, I believe your wife may have had perhaps more wine than is advisable, if she is so quick to toss civility into the wind," Ardashir said.

Lord Gray's eyes narrowed. "You should watch your tongue, Sir Sadeghi. You are in no position to comment on manners with the guest you have brought into this court. Why Her Majesty tolerates a creature such as this under her hospitality is beyond me."

"Truly?" Ardashir said with just a touch of dryness. "I had thought the wisdom and intellect of the House of Gray was limitless."

The nobleman's mouth formed a grim line. "Continue to push me, Sir Sadeghi, and I will have you thrashed." There was a dull flash on his finger as he let his hand stray his sword, the finger just beside his signet ring. It was an unpolished ring, set with a plain grey stone. Ardashir made no reaction to it, but he felt a chill in the pit of his stomach.

"I believe knights are entitled to duels," Khagra murmured. "Unless Yssan chivalry has changed so greatly since your absence, Ardashir."

"Lords come and lords go. Chivalry is unchanging," Ardashir answered. He could feel his muscles tensing again. If the puffed-up popinjay wanted a fight, he would be happy to oblige...particularly with that hint of his true affiliations. "I believe you owe Lady Khagra an apology, Lord Gray. If you are unwilling to give one, I would be happy to obtain one in the ancient and accustomed manner."

"You are willing to fight to defend her honor?" Genovefa demanded.

Ardashir smiled faintly. "With pleasure."

"Flattering as it is, perhaps now is not the best time?" the dragon-rider said calmly. "Last I checked, this was a celebration and not a battlefield. I assure you that I am not offended, nor should you take offense on my behalf, Ardashir."

The knight nodded. "Ever the voice of reason. As you wish, vosu," he said. Khagra's wishes took precedence over his personal desire to punch Ronan of Gray's nose flat. He gave Genovefa and her husband a polite bow. "Enjoy your evening, Lord Gray, and you as well, Lady Gray." With that said, he let Khagra guide him towards the side of the room. He would tell her about the ring when it was safe and they were in private again. In the meantime, better to carry on as normal.

"Heaven-sent man," Khagra said fondly. "You very nearly plunged yourself into boiling water."

"On your behalf, I would dive into a mountain's fire." Ardashir smiled. "I told you that you had nothing to fear. You surpass her in every way."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," the orc said.

"I'll hold you to that tonight," Ardashir said with an even wider grin.

Khagra laughed, her yellow eyes reflecting slightly in the light. "I keep my promises."

"It's one of your many charms." The knight caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. "I see Holland." Their friend was moving with a definite purpose, her face serious. He felt his own relaxation dissipate. "She's seen something."

"Then we had best be prepared."

In the crowd, Holland slipped between people. Her cat-like movements made it easy to pass without ever colliding with anyone. Her reflexes were far faster than average. She'd caught a hint of a familiar smell in passing, almost perfectly masked by cologne. That harsh, chemical smell and a touch of ozone could only mean one thing: a demon. The crowd moved in just the right way for her to see a slender man in fine attire palm a knife from the table. He was headed for the royal couple, who were currently together. She wasn't certain if he was after Fionn or Seva, but she was going to kill him before he could reach either of them.

Unfortunately, it was going to be a very public fight. There was no way to force him into a side hall. He was too close, too deep in the middle of the room. Fortunately, he appeared in no rush. From his build, she had an uncomfortable feeling that she knew exactly what breed of demon she was dealing with. One of the inferi, the faceless ones, a more sophisticated version of the demon Anamalech that she and Seva had encountered so long ago on the road. A servant of the Princes of Iron designed to serve as an assassin just as dangerous as the Immortals. Fortunately, they were not sorcerers.

This was still going to hurt, however.

Holland grabbed him by the wrist, spinning him around with a pull. She saw his pupils expand with that strange twist that gave away the human-like but still very much demonic eyes. "I know you," she said coolly.

"You are mistaken," he said politely. His voice was almost perfectly human, but just a tiny bit off. There wasn't quite enough inflection. The artificiality was subtle.

"Try a different line, demon. Maybe it will get you further," Holland said. There was no recognition of her face in his expression. She'd been gone just long enough that she'd been left out of his briefing, which meant he hadn't gotten it straight from Naris or Laenus.

He moved so fast it was a blur, but she managed to throw up a hand just in time to drive his blade slightly off target. It still plunged into her chest, punching through a rib, but he missed her heart by a fraction of an inch. Her other hand slammed into his face, crushing his stolen nose flat. Unlike the cruder demons of similar nature, inferi could feel pain, albeit not nearly as strongly as a mortal. They required it to keep awareness of their stolen flesh, to prevent rot from setting in.

Ichor was oozing slowly from his wounded nose, black and foul-smelling. "That hurt," Holland hissed.

His face contorted into a grimace as he lunged at her. She recoiled back just far enough to only be nicked across the cheek by the steely claws that had slid out of his fingertips. "You will die like all the mortals who came before you," he hissed, barely maintaining his human-like voice.

Holland heard the screams, but she barely paid attention to them. To think, she'd almost thought she would make it out of this little party without a dance. She didn't waste time with words. They were close enough to the table that she could snag a chair and whip it at his head. With her boons burning through her body, she was fast enough to catch him before he could duck, shattering the wood on his head. It sent the demon staggering backwards, some of the flesh torn off his face to reveal the gleaming metal beneath.

He charged her, slamming her back into the table. She groped for the next available weapon, fingers snagging a wine glass. She shattered it against the other side of his head and then drove the stem hard into one of his fragile eyes. They were not as delicate as a human's, but they were still very much susceptible to damage. The demon's lips curled back to show teeth and he let out an infernal hiss that could never be mistaken for human. Ichor was weeping down the damaged half of his face like soot-filled tears, splashing onto her already ruined dress.

A clawed hand closed around her throat, but before he could apply full pressure, she'd wrenched the knife out of her chest and driven it into his armpit with enough force to render that arm inoperable. When the life-spark couldn't flow through his veins, he was unable to move so easily. He dug his other clawed hand into the flesh of her thigh, intending upon flinging her out of the way with demonic strength.

A furry, ham-sized fist hit him in the good side of his head hard enough to knock his good eye lose and send him careening backwards. Vladan had arrived with all the force of an ocean wave crashing into rock. "This is why we can't have nice things," the anthroparion bellowed. Before the demon could completely recover, her friend snatched him by his good arm and swung him up into the air before slamming him down into the stone floor. There was an unpleasant crunching sound.

Holland grinned. It was so good to have reinforcements. But she didn't linger long on watching Vladan's progress. Inferi worked exclusively in pairs. There was another one waiting in the wings somewhere. It would go for their intended target.

She caught sight of a servant working his way towards Fionn, moving against the flow of pandemonium. As much as she would hate herself for saving the man who'd broken Seva's heart, she couldn't afford to let the creature carry out his deadly purpose. She tightened her grip on the knife and moved like a panther through the crowd. When he saw her on intercept course, he lunged for Fionn. Holland hit him with a tackle from the side, slamming the second demon into the wall. The overpowering reek of poison blood and ozone confirmed her suspicions immediately. She plunged the knife into his head. Unfortunately, a table knife was not insulated the way her sword's grip was. There was a bright flash and Holland felt like she'd walked into a swarm of furious hornets. For a moment, her world went black and her body went rigid. When she came to, she was slumping rapidly towards the ground and the palm of her right hand looked charred. The demon was dead.

She hadn't warned Vladan that killing them released the sorcery that powered them, but then again, he seemed to be keener on dismantling the one that had stabbed her than on killing him outright. Holland had never seen someone rip apart a demon before, but then again, she'd seen what Vladan had done to a golem when he was angry. The anthroparion didn't seem to feel the need to pick up a weapon. The ground was serving fine purpose.

It was a mess. Most of the flesh had been battered off the initial demon, so there was ichor spattered everywhere. He was missing an eye completely with the other damaged and both arms had been torn off, with a leg soon to follow. The torso looked dented unpleasantly, but he was still twitching and flailing as best he could. There was no mistaking his nature.

"Vladan, leave him alive! I have a question for him!" Holland called, returning to the anthroparion's side.

"Ask quickly," he said, dangling the demon by its damaged leg. She could see flashes of life-spark dancing across broken limbs. "I deeply desire to see if I can crush it flat."

"Who sent you?" Holland asked the creature.

The demon gave her a twisted smile, his jaw half-dangling. "THE ONE WHO OWNS YOU," he said in his true, gravelly voice.

That was enough of an answer for Holland. "Smash him to pieces. Little ones."

"With pleasure," Vladan said cheerfully. "I will count the swings required."

"Holland!" It was definitely Seva's voice. The penitent could see Khagra fast approaching as well, with Ardashir on her heels. All of them looked worried.

Holland glanced down at herself. There was a rather large, dark stain spreading down her torso. That explained her growing light-headedness. She could feel the itching and twisting starting in her chest as the sorcery in her own body worked to repair the wound. "I may have ruined the dress," she reported, sinking into an undamaged chair. She was glad she was still near the table.

"I suppose we should be grateful that the only apparent way to kill you is by cutting off your head and burying it separately from your body," Khagra said with a sigh.

"Burning works too," Holland murmured. "Give me an hour or two and I'll be fine. It's just going to hurt like hell for a while." She could feel eyes on her and looked up. Laenus was watching her, his eyes wide. She knew what he was thinking.

After twenty five years of absence, there should have been no way that her boons were still powerful enough to heal her of a wound like this. But then again, he didn't know about Orobas. She intended to keep it that way.

"Foolish, foolish woman," Seva said, fear lending her voice a sharpness. "We have guards for a reason."

"And they have better things to do than get themselves killed," Holland said. She didn't fight when Khagra tore the hole in her dress open a bit wider so she could inspect the wound.

"I could say the same of thee." There was a definite worry in those blue eyes she loved so much.

Ardashir smiled faintly. "I think you earned yourself a thorough scolding, Holland."

The penitent glanced over at Vladan, who was cheerfully smashing the remnants of the demon into the floor. "Possibly," she admitted. "But look how happy he is."

Khagra's sigh was worthy of a saint pushed to the very edge of patience. She looked up at Seva. "Someone needs to calm down the guests, Your Majesty. Ardashir, would you care to be her bodyguard since Holland will be sitting out for the next few hours and Vladan is...distracted?"

"My pleasure," the knight said. He bowed to Seva. "I'll follow you, Your Majesty."