Chapter 362: ARC 6-Winter War-56

“Lourianne Tome, your grace,” I declare, hoping my tone communicates how terrible of a first impression he’s made.

“Tome. What is a summoner from the capital doing in the north?”

I had all manner of subtle insults prepared but his recognition brings them all to a stop. Saints, I’m always shocked when someone recognizes my family name. “You…know my family?”

“Many come to Victory in hopes of proving themselves, either to themselves or their families. We have employed many weapons in our war against the creatures of the north, summoning amongst them. There are records of a Tome attempting to replicate the feat of your ancestors by speaking with the lords of winter during the reign of my grandfather. He never returned but he left several pages of theories. Summoners are fond of writing.”

If Alana weren’t still seated on the floor, carefully controlling her breathing, I might have forgotten my swift disdain of the man and amended it to a much more favorable opinion. As it is, I smother my excitement at the revelation. “Yes, well, I’m sure I don’t need to speak on the value of tradition to the duke of Victory.”

“No. Alana, why have you brought a summoner?”

Alana freezes. Then she climbs to her feet. Again, I know her well of enough to see the apprehension behind her blank mask. “She is my bannerwoman.”

Her father shows the most emotion he has so far, heavy brows furrowing. “You would give that honor to a girl you have known for less than a year?”

This man is truly trying my patience.

“In less than a year, I have come to know her…intimately.” Heh. Only a small smile touches my lips. “There is no one I would rather entrust with the duty.”

They stare at each other. Alana is the first to break, dropping her head.

“There is a chance any child of the James family may lead Victory in the future. Being a leader means making decisions with confidence and accepting the consequences, whether they be good or ill. So be it. Lourianne Tome will be your bannerwoman. The keeper will record it in the Book of Banners tonight.”

“Thank you, Father. I would also request access to the records pertaining to all summoners who’ve visited Victory.”

“Some of those records are sensitive documents. Why should you and your bannerwoman be granted access to them?”

“It will aid the war effort. Lou is the best summoner in the kingdom. If anyone can build on the feat of her ancestors, it’s her.”

The smile on my lips stretches a little further. Even I am not so bold as to confidently declare myself the best summoner in the kingdom. Certainly the most accomplished. I doubt any contracted elemental can match Geneva’s prowess. Geneva, Bell, and Rolly? If someone has secured a contract that measures up to half of their combined potential, power, and knowledge, especially as they’d have done so without my seven affinities, I’d have no choice but to acknowledge them as a unparalleled master of the craft.

“Very well. I will have them sent to your rooms.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I do not need thanks, Alana. Only results. I will you see you at dinner. I suggest you take the opportunity to educate your bannerwoman on a few of Victory’s customs.”

Alana flinches but says nothing. I step away from the door as the duke walks toward me, not even sparing me a glance as he walks from the building. I wait for the doors to close behind him before hurrying over to her. “What in the soul-sucking Abyss was that?” I snarl as I wrap an arm around her waist. With my support, she stops pretending to be strong and sags against me.

“A warm welcome,” she says sarcastically. “While the James heirs are all expected to participate in the campaigns, Father wouldn’t send me to my death. Normally, the test is carried out by a servant or a member of the Moons. I suppose it’s an honor he decided to do it himself.”

“How is smacking you to the ground repeatedly a test?”

“You saw it. He had to use magic to deflect my sword.” She grins proudly. “Before, he batted it aside like it was nothing. If it had an edge, I doubt he could dare to block it with his bare hands. If my blade is enough to threaten my Father, it’s enough to cut down the weaker beasts of the north. Which means I won’t be dead weight at the beginning and can protect myself deeper in the Peaks.”

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I push down my reflexive want to argue the point, recalling my many days of training with Kierra. Compared to the elves, the duke smacking around his daughter a little to test her growth is practically coddling her.

We put back on our shoes and exit the small building that seems to be a space dedicated to training. “What did he mean, teach me a few of Victory’s customs?”

Alana winces and catches my arm, bringing me to a stop. When I turn to look at her, her head is bowed. “That’s…” She sighs. “I…when he asked about you…a part of me wanted to declare our…relationship…but…” She sighs again.

I wrap an arm around her neck and pull her toward me, pushing her face into my chest. “It’s fine, Alana.” Seeing the man in person, I understand her hesitance. Am I thrilled? No. I don’t think it’s out of line to be a little nervous that she lost some courage staring her father down but I believe in her. She could have called me her lackey but instead she called me her…actually, what did she call me? “So, what is a bannerwoman? I imagine that’s what he meant.”

“Ah…come on.”

Once more, she guides me through the house. I take it as a good sign that she reaches for my hand on her own, the few worries in my heart from the meeting with her father dissipating. Once we are in the trophy room, she moves to the large bird taking up one wall, ducking beneath one of its great wings.

Behind it, is an inconspicuous door that seamlessly blends into the wall. I only realize it’s a door when Alana pushes on the stone and it gives way. She shivers as she pulls me through the thin opening. I can easily see in the darkness but she fumbles for a torch mounted on the wall just inside the room. She vaguely holds it toward me and I oblige her silent request by lighting it with a weak spell.

I expected the soft torchlight to reveal a room full of treasures, more of the gems embedded in the eyes of the animals outside, maybe some corpses plated in gold. Perhaps an armory. Instead, this secret room within the most well-guarded residence in the kingdom, I suspect, holds…paintings.

Portraits of men and women. All wonderful pieces held in ornately carved frame of soft wood or gilded in gold. Both men and women are displayed but there’s a common theme amongst them. Each and every one seems to be a warrior, posed wearing varying amounts of armor, holding a weapon, or sometimes both. Many of them have the dark hair and square jaw of the duke but there are variances, especially in the portraits on the second wall.

That is where Alana pulls me, holding up the torch. This wall isn’t entirely covered in portraits. Compared with the wall next to it, it seems like a row and a half have yet to be filled. I quickly recognize one of the portraits as a younger version of the duke.

“Every member of the James family has their portrait done before their first campaign.” The in case they don’t return doesn’t need to be said aloud. She points out her father. “That is my father, Erenhart Thanaren James. The boys of the family take the names of their fathers as their middle name, the girls their mother.”

“Then yours is…”

She frowns and turns her head. “Beside him are my aunts, Anastasia and Faith.” I guess that’s a question she doesn’t want to answer. I follow her finger has she points out a dark-haired woman with plain features but severe eyes. “Aunt Anastasia was gored through the stomach during a campaign. They managed to save her life but she lost the ability to have children. She retired from active duty.”

Her finger moves to the portrait on the other side of her father, a young woman with her hair cut to her ears and a big, infectious smile, leaning against a sword taller than she is. “That’s Faith. She died.”

“Ah. My condolences.”

“It happened when Father was young. I never had the chance to know her.” Her finger moves on, landing on the portrait following Faith, starting a new row. It shows a young man in formal clothes with a thin blade on his hip, his hair unusually long for a man and a thin, confident smile on his lips. “That is Erenson James, Father’s first son.”

Wow. Erenson Erenhart James. No one would ever guess he was named after his father.

“He had a simple wind affinity but was incredibly talented. Had a gift for cultivating his mana core and was considered a genius by his tutors. Completed his first campaign at thirteen. Father…he was the first son between him and his first wife. They also say he knew Eren was special from the day he was born. It was a given that he would be the next duke and people said he might be the man to finally beat back the winter lords.”

“Would?” I ask, noticing she talked about him in the past tense.

“He died seven years ago during another campaign. No one’s sure what happened exactly. There weren’t many survivors.” Her lips press into a thin frown. “It was right before my I was tested and my affinity discovered. Some days…I think the grief is the only reason Father softened his attitude toward me. He had to have known about me before and there are plenty of James bastards running around. Losing Eren…” She shakes her head. “He was cold before but he smiled, occasionally. The servants say they never saw him grieve but everyone knows it destroyed him.”

 

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