The Bond - 8. Chapter 8

Sir Jared wanted desperately to return home, but knew that he couldn’t in support of his cousin, the last of the Monciet line. Currently, he resided in a rather plush cabin hidden in the Ironian woods, north of a particularly well-known apple orchard. Though the fruit was not in season, he enjoyed the bucolic scenery and found the cabin, once used as a royal safe house for the Coynes, rather comfortable. It was secluded despite its massive size, halfway built into a hillside in the middle of the woods. He had a balcony connecting to the room he chose to stay in with a few companions, and enjoyed being able to look out and see the tops of trees from the third story. Even though he enjoyed the cabin and always had when he journeyed to the place as a child, Jared was itching to get back to the management of his country.

And a little privacy wouldn’t hurt either, he thought. I love the men in my party, but this… Jared looked over his shoulder from the balcony back into the large room that a few of his men shared with him, and noticed one man noisily using the chamber pot. This is a bit much.

Jared thought to why he was there, and felt torn between family. On the one hand, current rule of the Ironian province owned by the Coyne family fell to his mother Matilda Coyne. Essentially, this meant that the stewards and advisors available were doing what they could in Jared’s stead. My mother needs me… she’s probably scared without me. He grimaced. Matilda Coyne’s mind had gone years ago when her husband died, and she now lived in paranoid delusion, fear, and deep confusion. Jared was the only person she fully recognized and could be made aware of, and thus she was clearly unfit to rule the country. Jared had originally taken leave to the cabin to gain intelligence on the now occupied Monciet region and ensure his cousin’s safety, but the mission had been extended to much more than that. Those that had volunteered to go with him and were staying in the Coyne cabin were avid hunters, and seemed to want nothing more than to explore the woods. After a few boring days where nothing eventful seemed to happen, excluding maybe the frequent rape or murder committed by a Nabian guard, the men grew bored and realized that they probably were not going to accomplish anything on this trip. So, Jared relented and they all went hunting to pass the time. Later, he received the emergency request for a meeting of the Hallowed Order. After staying for that and finally getting in contact with his cousin Marion, Jared felt he should be free to return home and relieve his mother of any duties she might have or any visitors unaware of just how bad she had become.

But then there’s the other hand. Marion. Jared paused, and sighed. I can’t leave her now, after knowing what she’s been through. Granted, she’s certainly capable of surviving on her own… but who needs me more, my cousin or my mother? Jared shook his head, unsure of what he thought. Perhaps this meeting will shed some light on the matter.

As if on queue, Marion whistled from down below, and Jared could make her figure out through the trees. Her two – fake – Nabian guards were in tow per usual, and she walked with a confidence that Jared had never seen in her. He had always remembered her as meek, but supposed that people changed when backed into corners. Her short hair barely moved at all in the wind that made the branches rustle and whisper their tales, but her long silk dress was in full bloom behind her, billowing in a way that must have made it troublesome for her to trudge out to the cabin.

“Come on up,” he called cheerily. He waved his arm to redundantly indicate his wishes, and entered the room off of his balcony and sat at a round breakfast table. When Marion made it up to the third floor and entered the bedroom, the varying men of Jared’s party rose respectfully, getting off the cots and blankets all around the floor that they had been lounging about in. Jared was startled to see them all bow and pay their respects to Marion before courteously exiting the room.

They haven’t bowed like that for me in years… even I forget my status when I’m around them. Jared liked that. He shrugged.

“Cousin,” Marion said happily, with a smile that showed straight white teeth and two dimples on each cheek. She clasped his face with her hands, and then pulled him into a tight hug. Jared smiled at this, wrapping his arms around her and setting his chin on top of her head protectively.

“I’m glad to see you. You look much better than you did at the meeting,” Jared remarked. After the embrace, he inspected her up and down and looked for signs of abuse at the hands of her husband.

“Well, there have been a few changes in the Monciet Castle since then. And as for my husband, whose marks I’m sure you are looking for,” she said with a wry grin, “I had only debilitated him just before the meeting. I’m pleased to let you know that he hasn’t gotten out of his wheeled chair since, or uttered a word.”

In truth, Jared felt kind of guilty for having a member of his family behave so much like a Nabian, but he supposed it was for the best, and that Marion had good reason. After all, he did beat her. He deserves some kind of punishment. Jared took a look at his cousin, and hardened his resolve. He gave an affirmative and serious nod, and then smiled.

“I’ve come to talk to you about the plan we discussed at the meeting,” Marion said.

“Plan?”

“For the Di Coteaus.”

“Ah. Yes, right. What about it?”

“Well, I suppose we need to adapt in light of the news,” Marion said, grinning.

News? Jared didn’t say anything.

“Jared…”

“Yes?”

“You are caught up on what’s been going on, correct?” Jared frowned, scratching his head.

“Well, it’s not exactly easy to write from here… we don’t have any birds trained to go from the cabin to the palace at the moment…” Marion rolled her eyes.

“With the Di Coteaus. I suppose I’ll just tell you shortly then, and also have your men informed. Alexandre Di Coteau married the prince of Tomacia in some kind of secret ceremony. There’s talk that he wants peace and to resolve some of the conflicts he has with the Nabian way.” Marion laughed, and Jared thought she must be joking.

“What?” he said with a chuckle. “No way.”

“That’s what I thought too! I mean, I guess there was that stunt he pulled to avoid our wedding that basically declared that he was against slavery and a couple of the grisly rituals Nabians hold dear, but I just can’t believe it. He must be planning some large-scale invasion of Tomacia by getting inside or something. After all, he’s certainly on track to be one of the most decorated generals in history…” Jared knew Marion was referencing the sacking of her own home, and felt a swell of pity for her.

“Wait… you were serious.”

“Yes, silly! He actually married into Tomacia… he’s sent confirmatory letters and everything.” Jared sat back in his chair, and ran a hand over his head.”

“Wow,” he said finally. “So what does this have to do with your plan then?” Marion smiled, and sat down with him at the small round table. She crossed her fingers together, and leaned onto the table.

“Well, I was assuming that you’d slip into his camp or army or estate in the classic elite style, and find a way to get to him there. But now, I guess there’s not really any need for that.”

“There’s not?” Jared didn’t understand his cousin’s reasoning, and gave her a questionable look.

“No, of course not. I mean, I know you probably didn’t want to anyway, and probably want to get back to your mother and all – how is she by the way? – but that will only be a necessity if things end up going too well for him. You promise you’ll take him down if you need to, yes?” She gave an imploring look, and sat quietly for him to answer.

“My Mom is good. Well, she’s about as good as she’ll ever be I guess. But yes, I promise, I already told you I would at that last meeting. But I don’t really understand… why wouldn’t I need to go get him myself? You’re right, I don’t exactly want to go, but… what does a marriage change about how General Alexandre has to die?” Marion strummed her fingernails over the polished surface of the woods, and cleared her throat.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re only a contingency plan… I wager they’re going to tear each other apart. Why put in the effort when you can let an enemy destroy himself and watch?” Marion spoke the last statement more like a fact, and leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “I’m going to enjoy watching,” she said with a devilish grin.

***

Ysabel Clarion also enjoyed watching people tear eachother apart, and she was in her prime glory amongst a rainy, muddy, dark, gory battlefield that reeked of death and vomit and seemed to everyone but her a black spot of despair amongst the good days in the world. She inhaled the scent of men fouling themselves as they lay dying in heaps of moaning bodies, and exhaled with fire in her blood as she noticed the flies had started to move in. More fighting was going on just a few yards to her west, and she eagerly started making her way there. She lashed the reins on her horse, and moved at high speed towards the group of men engaged in combat.

Technically, the horse was not hers. Rather, she had stuck her claws into the thigh of a man riding past her, and had used the momentum of the horse in combination with a jump to swing up onto the saddle behind him. With a short cut to the jugular and a simple shove, Ysabel had stolen the horse, which she now intended to use as a battering ram. A large group of Damien’s ex men had gained the high ground and better positioning on a small squadron of hers, and she galloped with all haste.

Shifting her weight upwards, she gradually got to where her feet were no longer in the stirrups, and she was squatting on top of the great beasts back. She could feel the horse growing hesitant at not wanting to run into anything at this speed, but urged it onwards. Just when the animal might have stopped, Ysabel reached up to its face and stuck to index finger blades into its eyes. The horse gave a great whinnying shriek, and galloped forcefully in pain. Just as it began to stumble, Ysabel leapt off of its back and into the group of men. The horse pitched forward into a roll, and broke a strong line of shields. Using this opportunity, Ysabel threw herself into the circle, a whirling mass of hair and blades and lightweight armor. Each stroke of the hand she took was multifaceted, a downward cut always followed by an upward slash to counter. Her fingers made quick work of many men at a time, making the smallest wounds that hit the most important arteries. The blades on her fingers slid in and out of chests as if they were made of butter, piercing through mail, plate, boiled leather, and scale. Noticing that her squadron was still not picking up the slack, she thought of Alexandre for just one second and the demon was there, ready to take over.

She ducked a spear by arching over backwards, throwing her hands into a man’s stomach. At the same time, her boot came forward and the sharp tip of her foot entered the spearman. Her body like a figure “T” with one leg as the base, the Demon whipped herself back upwards and into a lunge at two other soldiers, one male and one female. All ten points made contact and two bodies were shoved to the ground by just a hand each. Grabbing one man’s sword hand by the wrist and pulling him forward, one claw on the thumb ripped open a vein in the neck, and a 180 degree turn was outfitted with a backhand that opened red streaks on another soldier’s face. She continued this way for some time, relinquishing control to her darker half.

I think that last man was mine, thought Ysabel.

Fuck him, roared the darkness, slashing and building fury by the second.

Fuck you! screamed Ysabel back, whose body was in motion but mind was nowhere else.

You do not control me.

Yes, I do. Ysabel’s body struggled for a moment, but the jab of a spear jerked her physical form back into routine, ripping and slicing and watching the life fade from so many eyes.

The tide is turned. And so it was. Ysabel looked around in a momentary reprise from low level soldiers coming at her, and noticed that the small squadron fighting this particular group of Damien’s old employees was now gaining definitive ground.

Our work here is done. We go.

No!

We go, thought Ysabel, and she gained control. Her pupils shrank back to their normal size, and the demon grudgingly quieted. Ysabel took one of the horses from a fallen soldier of hers, and rode back towards the center of the battlefield, towards where Marcus was. It was her intention to see if any other groups amongst her soldiers needed help, but she felt just then how much blood exactly she was covered in. Her creamy, golden skin was unrecognizable, now crimson and brown with the crusting remains of her enemies. In the sun that shone that day on the Tomacian front, her hair normally would have been ablaze with gold, copper, and cinnamon streaks. Instead, it looked almost black with the grime of the battlefield. This was nothing that Ysabel was a stranger to, but she noticed it particularly before she was about to meet with Marcus and the other high-ranking soldiers she kept on an advisory board for battle.

I once hated this feeling. I remember when my father had made Yago and I take our very first lives. I drowned my kitten and wept for it, and Yago opened his cat’s stomach with his bare hands, curiously dissecting it all. She frowned at the memory, realizing just how distant it was from her. She plucked a sinuous strand of what looked like part of a muscle off of her shoulder, and slowed her horse as she approached the commanding tent.

Why do you love this? I feel disgusting.

This is glory, Ysabel. This is strength beyond what you could do without me. You wanted strength, didn’t you?

I wanted to protect my family.

And so you can.

Darion is gone, and my children are in Tomacia, one probably going to end up killed for his choice in marriage and the other just as ruthless as you and I. This was never what I wanted.

It doesn’t matter what you want anyway. I’m in control now. Ysabel could feel her muscles tensing, surrendering to the wicked commands of the other.

Nothing will tear me from my children. Not even you. Ysabel’s arms gave a spasm, and her horse jerked to the left from a kick that she involuntarily gave her horse. She cleared her mind with the thought of her family, and took back her body.

Fuck off.

***

Jezebel walked through the doors of the palatial residence that her aunt owned in the Capitol, happy to see that the house staff was still in full operation despite the lack of any nobility living there. She crossed the massive entry hall towards a parlor, where she reclined onto a couch. She signaled for a maid to have her things for the night brought in, but made it a point to not bother unloading with much more than that.

“Yes, Lady Di Coteau. Right away.” The maid bowed her head, and Jezebel approved of her mannerisms.

Leave it to Ysabel to have a decent staff. Jezebel took a bite from an apple in a display on the table before her, and gave a toothy grin.

“I’ll also send the head of the household staff, if it please you.” Jezebel looked over at the diminutive girl, and nodded.

“Very well. That’s fine.” The maid scurried out of the room, and Jezebel resumed eating her apple.”

It’s a shame really, that I wont be staying here longer. This place is quite nice. Jezebel looked around the parlor approvingly, noting to herself that this was how a general should live. Everything was in tip top condition, minus the couch opposite from her, which had five holes through the cushion and wood. Four were in a line, and the fifth was separated a bit.

I wonder what made that, she thought while rolling her eyes. Jezebel was prone to tantrums similar to her aunt’s, but was surprised that the couch was still in this condition. She shrugged. I suppose we all have to lose it sometimes. Jezebel thought of her last great annoyance, which was what she had discovered in between the Di Coteau estate and Ysabel’s villa in the Capitol.

I can’t believe that was Carlisle Cathcart… I just thought it was some good-looking slave. Alexandre could have gained so much ground with him as a bargaining chip… or he could have at least hurt the Cathcart line significantly. Not take his lover home… the traitor. Jezebel fumed for a while about what her cousin had done, and pondered why he would take the course of action he did instead of attend to the glory of Nabius.

But then again I suppose he’s got enough glory as it is… he conquered the largest piece of land in decades in the Monciet region, and then became a general… the thought of that soured her mood.

And Talia! I bet she knew too… had she turned him in and had the prince slaughtered, she could have taken a spot on the thirteen for sure… but that little bitch didn’t do a thing. Jezebel scoffed. That’s the difference between she and I. I’m willing to do what she can’t. She is WEAK. Jezebel comforted herself with that thought, and sat back comfortably into the sofa. Just then, a short, rotund man with a stationary pad walked into the room and bowed graciously to her.

He started scribbling in black ink, and blew on the parchment to let it dry before she took a look.

Boris... head of staff… welcome… boring. Jezebel looked him in the eyes, and made a quick assessment.

“Can’t talk? Something got your tongue?” The man’s nervous expression gave him away, and Jezebel threw her head back with a laugh. “She cut it out didn’t she? Too bad.” Jezebel turned around, and started issuing orders to a guard. A tap on her shoulder annoyed her, and she whirled around to face the mute man before her. She read his note of welcome, and dropped it onto the floor.

“You don’t need to welcome me. I know I’m welcome, this is a home belonging to my family,” she snapped. She turned back around and spoke back to the guard, telling him what to unpack. “And besides,” she said when she turned to face the fat man again, “I’m going to head back up towards the Di Coteau estate tomorrow. My cousin is the epitome of foolishness, and his idiocy is bound to call for a meeting of the thirteen soon. I won’t be missing that.”

Boris shook is head gingerly to the side, and Jezebel raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” she said with her arms crossed over her chest. Boris wrote a long note, and placed it carefully in her hands. Jezebel’s face darkened while she read it, and she looked up at him with evil in her eyes.

“I’m banned from the estate? What do you mean I… Ysabel banned me? That horrid bitch… she just knows I’m a prime candidate for the next general position available and is trying to stop me… it must be for Talia. It must be. That bitch. Playing favorites unethically.” Jezebel started pacing, seriously annoyed.

“I’m going to go where I want to. What could possibly be going on in her current territory anyway? Nothing… she doesn’t want to use me as a placeholder or get me experience, she’s just trying to keep me away. I’m not going to continue south,” she said definitively. Boris handed her another note, and Jezebel’s face darkened as she read it.

“Are you threating me? You were instructed to ‘use force’ if needed?” Jezebel paused, and stopped walking. “I do what I want, when I want. And I don’t take orders from fat, insolent little shits like you. So you’re going to have to obey her, or send me on my way back north when I choose. Pick wisely… who do you fear more? Me, or her,” Jezebel said, giving the choices. “Even if your soldiers take me all the way to the Clarion estate, I will never give you any real authority. You are about to make an enemy, me or my aunt. Who do you fear more?” Jezebel reapeated, leaning in so her face was threateningly encroaching on the man’s space.

He gave a nervous tick, nodding over to the wall. Jezebel looked in the direction he had indicated, and saw a large portrait of Ysabel in her finest garments.

“Her.” Jezebel said. Then, she screamed. “Her!” Jezebel could no longer contain her rage at the unfairness with which her family treated her, and pulled the dagger from her belt and thrust it into the short man’s protruding stomach. He bent over in pain, making a strange noise the she thought must be the scream of a mute person.

“Come with us madam,” said two soldiers as they grabbed her by the shoulders out of nowhere. The man lay on the floor bleeding, as she surrendered to their overpowering grasps. “We’re going to escort you to the Clarion manse now,” one of the men said. "Under the strict orders of General Ysabel Clarion, you are not welcome to stay here." The men practically carried her out to her coach, and set her inside while preparing to drive it themselves. “We leave immediately.”

“Bitch!” screamed Jezebel into the air.