Cataclysm War | Chapter 53: Count Cartellis (First Draft)

Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.

Xarina frowned at the manor house she stood outside, dressed in the local fashions with a purple blouse and matching dark ‘jeans’, as the clothier called them, complete with a snug black jacket and heeled black boots. Her [Spatial Storage Ring] remained equipped, and her blades firmly sheathed at her hips. A pair of footmen, as the lightlanders called them, had greeted her at the gate and asked her to wait while one of them validated her identity for a visit—an annoyance Xarina had begrudgingly agreed to accept.

Such excess, still, bewilders me.

Dawnhaven was a city rife with plentiful resources, and the homes of its Aristocracy were no different. The manor of the eponymous ‘Count Cartellis’ was a four-story behemoth equipped with delicate crenellations and a strange blend of Terran architecture molded into Haelfenn preferences. More than anything, it was bright: its primarily white coloration catching the streetlight and moonlight with equal ease.

The home, like most of the noble estates, was largely on its own: isolated from its neighbors by lush greenery and amenities that were largely blended with pre-Integration Terran ideals of luxury, melded into Haelfenn decadence. Xarina found the entire thing revolting, though she couldn’t deny the comforts she’d enjoyed during her time in the city had been… pleasant.

Her ruminations were cut off by the return of the footman, who bowed to her formally and spoke in Haelfennyr.

“{Welcome to the home of Count Cartellis, Lady Lyrin. The Count awaits you within.}”

Xarina grimaced again at the words, but said nothing and walked forward, following the path from the outer gate along the winding, artistic stone, snaking through the lush gardens. It took her almost a minute to cross the intervening distance to the manor doors themselves, and the entire time she wallowed in loathing for the wealth on display. Her Talrinarian instincts warred against her adaptive comprehension that this was not the nightlands, and she tried to smother her instinctive desire to shout about pointless wastes.

This was not the world she had left, and she had to remember that.

The doors to the mansion opened a moment later, and a Haelfar woman in a black-and-white servant’s attire greeted her with a bow, the sigil of House Cartellis—a blade wrapped in ivy—emblazoned in green and gold over her chest. Xarina eyed the lightlander for a moment and then stepped forward, heeled boots clicking as she entered the foyer. Her eyes darted up to the chandelier of arcane lamps providing illumination in soft gold, and she swallowed back another disapproving mutter.

No Wytchlight anywhere. The fools were inviting predators to destroy them.

The maid, as Xarina recognized the Haelfar to be, gestured Xarina toward the paired stairs climbing either side of the far walls of the foyer and led her toward the left one, hips swaying faintly in a trained manner that made Xarina’s disgust deepen. The way that lightlanders seemed to lean into the sensuality of form, like they were advertising themselves for mates, was repulsive.

The Haelfar woman led her up the stairs in silence, hands folded before her in tacit submission, as Xarina followed her step by step, heels echoing on the marble. When they reached the landing above, the maid turned left, and Xarina followed her, striding with wary crimson eyes down the portrait-ridden corridor leading deeper into the mansion’s north, as she reckoned it.

They came to a halt outside a pair of large treated doors—oak, if Xarina had to guess, based on the knowledge of Terra from her [Codex]—and the maid opened them, depressing the gilded handles to pull the doors open and step inside with a subservient curtsy.

“{Lady Lyrin for you, my lord,}” the woman said demurely.

The target of her speech, a Haelfar man of middling height attired in a dark suit, turned from where he was standing near a merrily burning fireplace, a glass of dark liquor in his left hand, and a rapier on his left hip. The man, ostensibly Count Cartellis, turned his green eyes onto them and nodded to the maid.

“{Thank you, Mira. That will be all.}”

“{Of course, my lord,}” the maid said in a simper that made Xarina’s skin crawl. “{Would you like me to bring refreshments?}”

“{Not at this stage,}” the Count answered curtly. “{I will call if they are required.}”

“{Yes, my lord,}” the maid said again, curtsied once more, and then retreated backward outside the room, shutting the doors after she did.

Xarina watched her go with unveiled distaste, and then turned back to the Count, who was appraising her with cold, intelligent eyes.

A dangerous man, it seems. Not a fool. That is both beneficial and problematic.

“{So,}” the Count said calmly, swirling his glass as he looked her over, “{you are a Night Sister.}”

Xarina narrowed her eyes at the address but nodded once, curtly, while surveying the room. A desk lay opposite the doors, with plentiful bookshelves behind it, and sitting chairs were arranged to the fire on her left, while a small dining table and a window to the world outside resided at the far right end of the room. The floor was covered in some manner of manabeast fur, and the overall interior was lit by equidistant arcane lamps mounted on the walls.

It was, in a word, cozy.

She hated cozy.

“{Not talkative, I take it,}” the Count murmured, and sipped at his drink before moving to rest against his desk, crossing his ankles and letting the large polished wood construct take his weight without a groan.

Fool male. He lowers his guard by removing his combat balance. Idiot.

“{I’m told you are one of the best the Starhold has to offer,}” the Count continued while Xarina stared at him, folding her arms over her chest and regarding him neutrally. “{That’s good. We’ll need that talent for what is to come.}”

Xarina narrowed her eyes faintly at that, but only arched an eyebrow in question. She wanted to avoid wasting breath on the lightlander noble as much as was feasible.

“{You require my aid to gain access to the highest tiers of Dawnhaven, which I am happy to provide, but I have a condition as well—one not covered in the original deal to smuggle my family and me out of the city when it is properly razed.}”

Xarina’s eyebrow lowered at that, and she lifted her chin to show her displeasure.

“{Oh, it’s nothing too onerous,}” the Count assured her while turning to fetch a piece of vellum from his desk, and then offering it out to her.

Xarina frowned slightly but stepped forward, snatching the vellum from the odious lightlander’s grip and looking down at it, her alertness remaining focused on the Count and any chance of an ambush within the room. The vellum sheet itself was largely innocuous and contained only a single item: a drawing of a Terran man, adorned in black and silver attire, with dark hair to his shoulders and a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Xarina arched her eyebrow again and looked back to the Count silently.

“{That is my condition,}” the Count said as he swirled his drink. “{That Terran, in particular, has caused my family some amount of grief. My daughter, Divines pity her, has suffered a great misfortune at his miserable hands, and he is too politically connected for me to handle easily. My son is arranged to duel the animal, but I fear he may be overmatched—you, however, I have more faith in.}”

Xarina looked back down at the image, and her gaze narrowed.

It was not a common face. The features were nearly symmetrical, the cast of them bold and self-certain. Even in the minor details of the depiction, the blue eyes conveyed a sense of danger, mixed with youthful confidence. Whoever had rendered the likeness had done well to capture the expressivity of the Terran’s eyes and the subtle smirk on his lips.

“{Kill this man and bring me proof of the deed. That is my only request, before we vacate this miserable failure of a Colony,}” Count Cartellis said, drawing her gaze back to him as she rolled up the vellum and mentally willed it into her [Spatial Storage Ring]. “{He does not hide, but he is popular and well-liked among the rabble. You will need to be cautious.}”

Xarina arched an eyebrow at him again and finally deigned to speak.

“{Where does he live?}” she asked coldly, hating every use of Haelfennyr.

“{Somewhere unassailable, I’m afraid,}” the Count said with a mirthless smile. “{That is part of what frustrates my own desires. His guardian is not someone you or I can hope to overcome. She is one of the two Venerates in this City, and as much as many of my peers and I detest the woman, her power is something only a fool would deny. If you are to do this, it must be done when he is without her aegis.}”

Xarina curled her lip at that, putting the pieces together instantly.

Terran. Venerate guardian. Popular with the people.

“{You want me to eliminate the Terran Archon,}” she said flatly.

The Count smiled at her and simply sipped his drink, green eyes unblinking.

Xarina glanced at the fire when he did, and after a moment, looked back at him.

“{That aligns with my own objectives, regardless,}” she said finally, thinking back to Yarilla’s orders and suggestions of a decapitation strike. “{It will not be done before the appointed hour, but I will see the Terran properly removed from the board as a threat by the climax of things.}”

The Count smiled at her words and lifted his glass in salute, pushing off the desk as he did. He was shorter than her, Xarina noted idly, perhaps shorter than many Fenn in general. Her own stature was a result of her genes, but even that made her stand out: few males she’d encountered that weren’t monstrous races had ever made her feel small.

“{I am glad our purposes align, Night Sister,}” the Count said curtly and finished his drink, setting the glass down on a leather mat awaiting it on the wooden surface of the desk. “{Now, if we are to ingratiate you with proper society, you must be appropriately attired. These… accoutrements you have acquired are passable for day-to-day use, but hardly worthy of the Court. Your dusky skin and red eyes will make you stand out, but we will need something to truly make you enchanting.}”

Xarina’s lips thinned into a line at his words, and she glanced down at her clothing. It had cost her almost two gold pieces to acquire the outfit she wore, and she was not heavily invested with funds. She hadn’t wanted to risk being discovered with great wealth when entering the City, and that meant the majority of her coin came from her Adventuring.

“{Fret not, Night Sister. I will arrange for the best clothiers in the Colony to attire you as elegantly as any Haelfenn Highborn. By the time we are done, the Peerage will be tripping over themselves to introduce their sons and eligible heirs to you.}”

Xarina snapped her gaze back to the Count frostily, and her fingers twitched, wanting to grip her blades at the implication. She’d agreed to use her wiles to lower the guard of her prime target, but the idea of being forced to cavort with Haelfenn nobleborn made her want to vomit. The entire lot of them were spineless rodents, as far as she was concerned, even if these ‘Alterans’ had martial traditions.

“{Yes,}” the Count mused in an unbothered tone, “{I remember hearing you were not to be treated the same as the women we are used to. Fret not, noble Scion, I have no intention of trying to force you into enduring the unwanted attentions of ‘lightlanders’, as your people call us. Your only concern is Leonidas Achilles. Everything else is just a shallow means to that end.}”

Xarina forced herself to relax at those words, despite the incendiary language, and reevaluated the Count. Definitely not a fool, as she suspected, but not as intelligent as he thought. He was playing too many cards too quickly, and making his borderline-obsession with the Terran Archon painfully obvious. He wouldn’t have survived a week among the Matriarchs’ games.

“{With that all said, I will have Mira show you to your rooms and prepare the clothiers for you as well. I take it black and gold will suffice for adornment?}”

Xarina lifted her chin at his words, but begrudgingly spoke again.

“{Yes,}” she said flatly. The colors were already her preference, and black would go well with her dark grey skin tone. It would also work in favor of her eyes. She hated having that knowledge, but it was awareness she’d been trained with, in case situations precisely like the one she was in ever arose. “{I will require flexibility with the attire. Leg slits for movement, shoes with snap-on heels, removable for speed when needed.}”

The Count nodded again.

“{As you desire. It will all be taken care of, and you will, of course, have the final say on the designs—though I should warn you, Court fashions trend toward… physical flattery, lately. I fear your conservative preferences may not be plausible if you truly want this to work.}”

Xarina stiffened at that, but forced herself to relax again and simply gave a curt nod.

I will play your game, lightlander, she thought coldly, and if you think to make a toy of me, yours will be the first throat I slit.

“{Excellent!}” the Count said, utterly ignorant of her thoughts. “{Then I shall summon Mira, and she will see you to your accommodations.}”

Xarina turned at his words so her back was to the fire, stepping away and waiting for the Maid without giving her spine to the Count’s sheathed rapier.

She would do what was necessary for the Starhold, as she was ordered.

And when she found the Cataclysm, she would handle that, as well.

Witness me, Matriars, she called quietly. I will finally end this accursed Quest.