Chapter 67. Villain Etiquette 101: Apologize for the Army, Then Demand a Child

Chapter 67: 67. Villain Etiquette 101: Apologize for the Army, Then Demand a Child

I used to think the scariest thing in the world was a man who shouted without any reason why they should do that. Or maybe husbands and boyfriends who caught me stealing their wives because they intended to kill.

And... I was wrong about that. I just found out recently and exactly how wrong I was while standing on the wall of Hearthfang Keep at dawn, watching a stranger in a clean white coat wave at us like we were old friends who had stopped by for tea.

The sky behind the Chain’s army was the color of a bruise healing, yellow at the edges and gray in the middle, and the first thin light of morning had turned every shield, helmet, and breastplate on that plain to gold.

They stood in perfect rows, thousands of them, so still and so quiet that I could hear the banners snapping in the wind.

Nobody coughed around me. And nobody dared to even shift their feet.

It looked less like an army than a very expensive funeral.

Beside me... Bonette had not moved since she spoke the name. And I can tell between two things that she’s scared or maybe pissed as fuck.

I’d seen people go pale before, but I had never watched someone lose all the blood from their face in real time.

Her knuckles were white against the parapet. And fucking hell, her lips even had gone gray.

It is that serious... so when I touched her sleeve, she flinched like I’d put a hot coal on her skin.

"Gah! Wha—what are you doing?!" She shrugged with that pissed look.

"Whoa there, sorry that I surprised you all of a sudden," I said. "It’s just that... you need some talking to me... especially after hearing you call that man with the word ’master.’"

"Who is he exactly?"

For a moment I thought she wouldn’t answer. The Warmother had come up on her other side, with Velora a step behind, and both of them were watching her with the sharp, wary attention of people who had just seen a landmine appear in the road.

Down in the snow, the man in the white coat strolled a few paces closer, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked up at the walls with an expression of mild, friendly interest.

"His name is... Cassian Vael," Bonette said at last.

Her voice was a thin, cracked thread. "Master of Chronicles to the court of Lunhare."

"It is a title for scholars... the keeper of the archives, and the queen’s historian." She swallowed. "And her friend... her dearest friend."

"The only human she ever trusted without reservation."

The past has lots of good lore... now I’m starting to get why we, humans, are a bunch of pieces of shit. I bet that he backstabbed Millie’s mother or something.

And then... I thought about the hand Millie had dreamed of, the man that was holding out a little sweet.

I also thought about MasterMaster and how I had felt it twist in my gut and how very wrong I had been about what it really meant.

"We thought that he... died," Bonette whispered. "On the night the palace burned."

"We found his robe in the library... It was scorched and soaked in blood."

"The queen wept for him for a week." She laughed, a short, terrible sound. "She wept for him... for a human!"

Nobody said anything.

Below us, Cassian had stopped about fifty paces from the wall and lifted his face. When he spoke... it was in a warm, clear tenor that carried across the snow without any effort at all, as if the wind had decided to carry it for him.

"Good morning, Warmother Evershade," he said. "I do hope I haven’t come at a bad time."

He was tall and slim, maybe thirty, with honey-brown hair that curled slightly at the collar and a pair of small round spectacles that caught the light.

His eyes were a soft, warm gray.

He wore a long white coat lined with gold embroidery, thick with a fine gray dust that might have been ash, and on one hand, as he adjusted his glasses, I saw a ring of pale glass glow faintly.

He looked like the kind of man who would help an old woman with her groceries. And yes... I think that he looked like a favorite teacher.

If I’d met him in a library, I would have asked him for book recommendations. And definitely joke with him about adult books; which one would he like?

"I have admired the Northern Wolf Clan for many years," he went on pleasantly. "Magnificent custodians of a truly remarkable trust."

"I have always considered it one of the great tragedies of history that we never had the chance to even speak for just a minute." He gave a small, rueful smile. "Please accept my apologies for the army."

"I know that it is dreadfully rude to arrive with so many guests... but I find that people do not listen to a polite request unless it is accompanied by a certain amount of noise."

"Isn’t that right, Warmother?

The Warmother did not answer. Her face was a block of stone.

"I will keep this brief simple," said Cassian. "All I want was only one SIMPLE thing, and we don’t have to get hurt for that, right?"

"The little moon... I want the little moon."

Every muscle in my body went tight. And who would’ve thought that this bastard was going for Millie right away?

"In exchange," he continued, "I give you my word that not a single hair on any head within these walls will be harmed..."

"The armies will withdraw immediately, and yes... the captives will be released as well." Cassian crossed his arms. "The Gilded Chain will leave your land forever and never show any of their faces towards beastwomen."

He raised a small paper bag in one hand and held it out toward us, the way you’d offer a sweet to a child. "I am sure we can all agree that this is a very reasonable arrangement; am I right?"

"No harm done indeed."

Goddamn, this man... I could feel the manipulative aura around him. And I also hate it when a fucking bad guy starts with a talk.

Reminds me of my old self with all the manipulative, fucked-up talk that makes a taken woman fall instantly at me.

I frowned just so that I could see the paper crinkle. And... I was sure that I could see the little twist of string at the top.

I knew exactly what was in it, and the knowledge made my stomach roll.

That fucking bastard...!

"No," said the Warmother.

It was a single syllable, flat and hard as a hammer. It dropped into the cold air like a stone into a well, and for a moment nothing moved.

Cassian sighed. It was a gentle, disappointed sigh, the kind a teacher gives when a favorite student gets a sum wrong.

He lowered the bag slowly and tucked it into his coat.

"Then I shall ask again," he said, "but a little louder for this time."

He lifted his hand.

Before he dropped it, his eyes drifted along the parapet, over the Warmother, past Velora, and came to rest on me.

His face lit up with such open, delighted warmth that it made my skin crawl. "Ohh...?"

"Ahh... I see..." he said. "And that must be the guest; I never thought that the mural was true."

I stopped breathing. Especially when he said ’mural,’ what kind of mural was that bastard even talking about?!

"How wonderful... So what the queen said was true... you really would come when the beastwomen are in danger." He smiled and gave me a little bow, graceful and sincere. "I have been so looking forward to meeting you..."

"I’ll make sure you are here to see the fall down of all the beastwomen... starting from those wolfkin of the Northern Clan!