Realm of Monsters - Chapter 640: Veres Throne

Chapter 640: Veres Throne

  “I saw him fight one of those fucking horned abominations with his fists,” a small woman exclaimed. “Lord Veres punched one of them right through a building. A building!”

  Now Kithina knew all these drunks were fucking mad. Their fervor was practically infectious, with more and more people joining in on the discussion, citing impossible heroics from the one they referred to as ‘Lord Veres’. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Stryg was the farthest thing from a nobleman Kithina had ever met.

  She wanted to shout at all these fools that they were completely and utterly wrong. But as she looked around at the pride and excitement in their eyes as they spoke about Stryg, something warned Kithina that it might not be in her best interest to contradict the room full of drunks, many of whom carried weapons at their sides.

  Deciding it wasn’t worth it, Kithina grabbed her freshly served drink, got up from the bar, and headed back to her table at the far back corner of the tavern. She plopped down on her chair and glanced at her companions with a shake of her head. “You guys have no idea what I just heard over there.”

  “Actually, I can,” Lysaila muttered, her expression disturbed.

  Kithina glanced at the lamia’s ears, stirring just a tad whenever a boisterous drunk shouted a bit too loudly. “Right,” Kithina nodded sympathetically, “Sharp hearing.”

  “Anyone want to enlighten me? You know what? Nevermind. Probably doesn’t matter anyway,” Callum sighed into his mug and took another swig.

  “How long is he gonna be like this?” Lysaila clicked her tongue.

  “He’s a very sad drunk and he just saw his ex, so probably all night,” Kithina grumbled.

  Lysaila glanced at the tavern-goers in the distance and wrinkled her nose. “What those women and men are saying. It’s… strange.”

  Kithina scoffed. “That’s putting it mildly. I mean, Stryg as a Veres? What kind of scheme did Stryg cook up for this little shenanigan?”

  Callum coughed mid-drink and sputtered back up his ale.

  “You okay there, lordling?” Lysaila slapped him on the back a couple of times. She hit him harder than she realized and Callum staggered forward. It was all he could do to brace his hands against the table and not slam his face into the wooden surface. 

  Kithina couldn’t help but snicker. Lysaila had really softened towards Callum over the last few weeks, but she was still Lysaila, the grumpy and deadly lamia that would sever a man’s head without batting an eye. 

  Kithina was grateful to have friends like the two of them. If only for a moment, it blunted the painful thought of the siege and the uncertain fate of her family. She wanted to go out and search for her family right now, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

  “I-I’m fine. Thank you, Miss Lysaila,” Callum smiled weakly and rubbed his back. “The ale just went down the wrong way.”

  Lysaila grunted, his response satisfactory.

  “But seriously, why a Veres? It couldn’t have been Stryg’s idea; he’s too dumb to pull something like this off,” Kithina surmised. “Maybe Professor Loh? Or Lady Gale? But why go through all the trouble of calling him a lord? Elise would kill him if he tried to be a claimant. Or maybe it was Elise!? Yeah, she’s definitely smart enough to pull something like this off, but why? It doesn’t make sense… Cal, are you alright?”

  Callum’s face had gone several shades paler than usual as Kithina continued to speak. “Stryg is… the Lord of House Veres?”

  “Well, no, obviously,” Kithina laughed. “But those drunk idiots seem to think so.”

  Lysaila narrowed her eyes. “Your heartbeat is unusually fast, lordling.”

  “Huh? Is it?” Callum swallowed and pulled at his collar. “Just a little hot in here, is all.”

  “He’s probably just angry that these people think Stryg is a Veres. I mean, I’d be pissed too if I was in his shoes,” said Kithina. “I bet Stryg is scared shitless right now; he probably thinks Elise is out to get him, that is if she isn’t the one who came up with this whole plan. Or maybe Elise did this in order to lure Callum back into the city. Shit. This could be bad.”

  “Do we need to leave?” Lysaila began eyeing the tavern-goers now, as if searching for an unseen threat.

  “Where to? The city gates are closed until dawn and no ship is setting sail at this hour,” Kithina said.

  “…We don’t need to leave,” Callum muttered.

  “Huh?” Kithina gave him an odd look.

  “I said we don’t need to leave. This isn’t some plot by my sister. She’s probably the last person in the world who’d want the truth out,” said Callum.

  “Truth? What truth? What aren’t you telling us?” hissed Lysaila.

  Callum swallowed, his mouth suddenly felt very dry. “You know how Stryg used to always talk about his tribe?”

  Kithina nodded. “Yeah, of course. The Blood Fang Tribe. What about it?”

  Lysaila’s blue eyes went wide. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” Kithina glanced between the two of them. “What is it?”

  “The name, Kitty. The tribe’s name,” hissed Lysaila.

  “Blood Fang? What does that have to do with— Oh. I get it.” Kithina laughed. “You think that has something to do with that?” She gestured at her canines, then at Callum. “Very funny, guys. You almost had me there for a second. Heh. …Guys? Why aren’t you laughing?”

  “Because it’s not a joke, Kitty,” said Callum solemnly.

  “You’re serious?” Kithina’s mirth somewhat faded. “Okay, so Stryg might be part vampire. I’m willing to accept that. Stryg bites people all the time, shit, he’s bitten everyone at this table at least a couple of times. But so what? That doesn’t prove anything except that he’s a little savage bumpkin. Do you really expect us to believe that he’s a Veres, Cal?”

  “Krikolm is the old tongue. In common tongue, the name of my family’s sword translates into ‘Bloodfang,’” Callum replied.

  Kithina’s expression cracked. “Your family’s sword? Has the same name as Stryg’s tribe?”

  Callum slumped further into his chair. “The last person who carried Krikolm was the Blue Rose.”

  “She’s the one who disappeared and never returned?” Kithina recalled.

  “That’s common knowledge, yes. But what isn’t well-known anymore is her birth name. Stryga. Who also happens to bear a very striking resemblance to Stryg, judging by her portrait in my family’s vault,” said Callum.

  “You knew all this time?” Lysaila glared at him.

  Callum nodded glumly. “It’s why Uncle Gian got me out of the city. He hoped the true heir of Veres would return and put a stop to my sister. If Stryg has returned and somehow managed to claim his birthright, then my sister is probably dead.”

  “I see…” Lysaila glanced at the redheaded dwarf and did a double-take. “Kitty, are you alright?”

  Kithina stared at the wall, as if staring at something in the blank distance. Her bright green eyes were glazed over, her expression serene.

  “Kitty?” Lysaila asked once more, worry bleeding into her voice.

  She slowly turned and met the lamia’s gaze. “…Uh-huh. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Stryg is the Lord of House Veres. What’s so weird about that? It’s not like he’ll one day be an Ebon Lord too and somehow rally the ancient Sylvan armies to his side. I mean, that would be crazy, right? Like, what sort of stupid bullshit would Stryg get up to if he had all that power in the palm of his hands? But you know, it’s not like he fucking hates Hollow Shade for what they did to his people. Right?” 

  Kithina chuckled maniacally and took a deep swig of her ale. “Because if he did, well then, Stryg would fucking burn the city to the ground. Or you know, just become a tyrant overlord and fucking slaughter all the nobles with his bare hands. He’d probably implement the incredibly harsh and might I add, lethal ways of the Sylvan upon all of us. Half the children would die before they even saw their tenth winter. But you know, none of that would happen, because Stryg is only an Ebon Aspirant. He doesn’t have access to one of the city council seats, the only power in the entire city that could oppose a future Ebon Lord, right? It’s not like Stryg is a Veres, right? Our grudge-holding, homicidal friend isn’t the lord of House Veres. Right?”

  Callum looked away conspicuously and sipped his ale.

  “Kitty?” asked Lysaila.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. Totally fine~ Super duper fine. May I?” Kithina casually grabbed Lysaila’s cloak and planted her face in the lamia’s shoulder. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck—!” she muffled a scream.

  “She’s taking it better than I expected,” noted Callum.

  Lysaila patted the dwarf’s back as Kithina continued to scream. “Wait until she tells you about the siege.”

  “Siege? What siege?” asked Callum.

~~~

  Stryg sat on the Veres throne, an ebony wood ceremonial chair with wine-red leather upholstery. The throne was several steps up at the end of the manor’s grand hall. It was odd, sitting in the chair where Stryga once sat. His ancestor’s memories still played in his mind, almost as if they were his own.

  “Psst. Stryg,” Gale subtly leaned down and whispered.

  Stryg blinked and sat up. “Huh?”

  “—armies and forces are pledged to your service, my lord,” said Lady Isolde Ravelle. The true blue archmage had her iconic black veil draped over her face, but wore a scarlet dress, the colors of House Veres. She was clearly making her allegiance to him well known to all.

  Gale glanced at Stryg expectantly, but when she saw his blank expression, she coughed and addressed the archmage standing below. “We thank you for your oath of loyalty, Lady Ravelle. Your House’s renown for its vast reserve of mages will certainly tip the scales in House Veres’ favor.”

  “It is my honor to serve,” Isolde curtsied.

  Gale gestured for her to come forward.

  Isolde walked up the steps, one at a time, and knelt down in front of the throne. Stryg glanced at Gale, who nodded at him. Slowly and with a bit of uncertainty, Stryg stretched out his hand. Isolde lifted her veil, then held his hand with reverence, leaned down, and kissed the Veres signet ring on his index finger. Her lips stayed on the ruby for a full two breaths before she lifted her head, a smile on her face. “Hail the Ebon Prince, Lord of Hollow Shade.”

  Gale nodded approvingly. “Hail the Ebon Prince.”

  “Hail the Ebon Prince!” echoed the retinue of guards lined across the grand hall.

  A look of wonder crossed Stryg’s wide eyes at the sight. Isolde stepped away without breaking eye contact. When she had reached down to the final step, she curtsied, turned, and walked out of the grand hall.

  Stryg cracked a small smile and settled comfortably onto the throne, crossed his legs, planted his elbow on the armrest, and laid his jaw on the palm of his hand. “I could get used to this.”

  “Don’t let it get to your head, you still have nine more lords and ladies to see today,” said Gale.

  “Nine? Why so many?”

  “This is barely a tenth of the nobles who have requested an audience with you. After your mother’s little show the other night, everyone wants to meet the Ebon Lady and the Ebon Prince.”

  “But my mother isn’t even here.”

  “Yes. Uncle Gian is currently teaching her the proper noble etiquette when it comes to these sorts of meetings. Not that it’ll do her much good if you’re any indication. But so long as she doesn’t throw a dagger at another noble again, I suppose we can count it as a win.”

  “That guy deserved it.”

  “Debatable.”

  “He was siding with the enemy.”

  “You made the Blackveins our enemies when you cursed their heir.”

  “That’s—” Stryg’s mouth hung open, uncertain of how to respond. “Anyways, can’t we just postpone the meetings until tomorrow? I was supposed to go on a date with Tauri this afternoon.”

  “Your bed tumbles with the orc can surely wait. We need to solidify your power here and now if we are to come out on top amongst the Great Houses. There are plenty of nobles in this city who do not wish to see the days of Ebon Lords return. You’re lucky you have so many friends on the city council already. Lady Goldelm, Lord Katag, and even Lady Noir will be powerful allies in the days to come. Until then, you need to meet with every noble who is eager to side with our cause.”

  “What about training then?”

  “You can train at night. Your species is nocturnal.”

  “I’m also half-titan.”

  “Star titans are also nocturnal, Holo told me as much.”

  “And what about lunch? Isn’t it time for lunch already?”

  “It is not. And when it is, I’ll have the servants bring you your meal here.”

  “Where am I even supposed to eat? There is no table.”

  Gale knew he was bluffing; Stryg had little care for tables, or even utensils for that matter, when he ate. Still, she played along. “I can have one of the maids spoon-feed you.”

  “I’m not a baby.” He frowned.

  “I’m sure the maids would delight in having your attention if only for a short time. Perhaps you can finally choose one of them as your dedicated blood source. Every Veres has at least one, Callum had three.”

  “No thanks. I already have three.”

  “Is that so? Hm.”

  A maid ran into the hall and came to a halt as several guards blocked her path. 

  “Oh, is that lunch?” Stryg sat up.

  “Again, it’s not time for lunch,” Gale said.

  “My lord!” the maid called out, breathless. “Young master Callum and two of his companions are at the front gate!”

  “Cal?”