Chapter 451: ARC 6-Winter War-145

In the capital, it would be unusual for knights to have a larger residence than the family that sponsored them. Even for an order of knights that could have dozens of members compared to the moderate household of a noble along with their servants.

A few of the more famous orders manage it by investing in themselves, expanding through generations of wealth. It is, however, completely unthinkable that a noble would grant their forces a more lavish residence than themselves. To pay for its construction, furnishing, and upkeep out of their own pocket. Just another way that Victory has proven to be far outside the norm.

The Order of the Bleak Moon, the knights sponsored by the James family and the largest order in the north, has a building worthy of their station. It’s more appropriate to call it a compound. Unlike the drab gray boxes that seem to be the staple of the north, the home of the Moons has character. A lot of character.

At the western end of the fort is a large, two-story building that curves backward like a crescent moon. Its gleaming white stones look like a pain to keep in their pristine state, but I can’t spot a speck of dirt despite my incredible vision. It has the same slanted metal roofing as every other building, but the grooves hammered into the metal sheets and the curling at the end makes them look stylish instead of bleak.

The upper face of the building has strange windows along the entirety of the second floor. At least, I want to call them windows, but it’d be more accurate to describe them as strange holes carved into the stone. Windows have a covering, usually shutters or panes of glass. These holes don’t have so much as a cloth covering them, letting in the wind and rain without protest.

Given that they closely resemble the silhouette of swords, ending in an obvious point, I’m half-inclined to think they are decorations. If we were anywhere but the north, I wouldn’t have any doubts. The wealthy have done crazier things for their aesthetics but I can’t imagine northerners being so frivolous.

I don’t get to see much of the inside of the building as our destination lies beyond it. Pressed against the enormous wall surrounding Victory, the strangely shaped building acts as a smaller wall, protecting the vital buildings situated in its courtyard. Small personal residences used by the field commanders of the order and their families.

Very small by a noble’s standards but cozy enough. The true luxury is the privacy they afford. Anything will look like a palace when the alternative is sharing a living space with hundreds of people.

The further from the main building they are, the more luxurious the home, culminating in a residence that a wealthy merchant would be pleased to own or a high noble might accept staying in while on vacation.

While the Northern Devil is quite famous and Yulia is a James, the two of them don’t have many accomplishments. Her last name comes with many benefits but extra consideration in regards to housing isn’t one of them. The bunny and the devil share one of the smallest homes near the front of the courtyard.

As expected of Alana, she has no idea where her sister’s residence is. One of the Moons kindly leads us to the door of their home. Yulia has at least tried to spruce the place up. Where all the other doors are a plain brown, hers is painted a dark blue that stands out against the white stone. The extreme cold and tough soil hasn’t dissuaded her from maintaining a garden, ice fashioned in a facsimile of manicured grass, hedges, and flowers. Whoever is responsible went as far as to mix dye in the water to give the garden color. It isn’t as vibrant as a natural garden but against the white backdrop of the rest of Victory, it’s positively stunning.

A relatively elegant solution to the problem of landscaping. I can imagine the whole of Victory adopting the practice. It’d go a long way to making the place less gloomy but, again, the people of the north aren’t concerned with frivolities like ice gardens.

Perhaps exposure to more of the finer things in life will change their opinions. The knight escorting us takes more than one glance as we approach. Alana too, for that matter. She doesn’t want to be, but I know she’s impressed.

We don’t have the chance to knock before the door is thrown open by the duke’s eldest daughter. She looks positively delighted to see us on her doorstep. Probably because she never imagined the day would come. Despite the circumstances, it still took some coaxing to get Alana to visit her sister.

After a round of greetings, Yulia sends the knight away and ushers Alana and I inside. The duke’s wives came for my elf first thing in the morning. Opening the door to Eleanor’s scowl with Kalise smiling over her shoulder was a surprise but not nearly as much as Kierra walking off with them while telling us not to wait for her. The three of them have gotten together every day since Kierra spoke to them about our plans for Khan. I never imagined them becoming so friendly but spending time with the other women has improved her mood so I leave her to her new friends.

As for my succubi, Geneva is busy with Khan. We’ve established that she won’t make any progress restoring his mind while we’re here. Her assignment for the moment is to scan his mind for any problems. Alana’s brother appears to be in control of himself but that could be a facade. Whoever stuck their fingers in his mind could have planted suggestions that won’t show themselves unless he encounters their specific trigger.

Such as leaving Victory. Or encountering a target the estrazi want dead. If we’re going to take him with us, I would like to know beforehand if he’s going to cause us any trouble.

Bell is spying on the hunters, gathering information for the March. I’ve talked to Alana about settling Victory’s debt. This time, I am determined to avoid another senseless slaughter. If the estrazi truly are preparing to start another war with the kingdom, the last thing we need is to be at each other’s throats. We will claim Victory’s due and we’re going to do so without razing Quest to the ground and inciting civil war.

In preparation, Bell is doing a little rumor mongering herself, using Arthur as a cover. Planting the idea of negotiation in their heads. Probing them to find the upper limit of loss they can accept without raising arms. Ferreting out the names of the decision makers in the guild who can sway the rest to reasonable decision. Shifting their dislike for us to Emberton, who made a quick escape after the March and can’t defend himself. Small efforts that will save thousands of lives in the future.

Something that could easily have been put off till later but having the imp beside us for this conversation would be too much of a temptation. Yulia is a hard woman to understand. Harder still to judge. It would be easy to have Bell open her mind but wanton use of the mental affinity is detestable. She isn’t a threat so there would be no justifying it either.

No, Alana and I are going to have to handle our relationship with her sister by ourselves, for better or worse.

“You have a lovely home,” I compliment without feeling. There isn’t much to see other than the banner of the Bleak Moons hanging over the large fireplace but it’s good manners anyway.

Yulia smirks. “Thank you. The lack of furniture and decorations really sets off the plain stone, don’t you think?”

I chuckle. “So it’s on purpose?”

“This is home but it’s not home. There are unspoken rules about these things. It’s best not to change too much.”

“Tell that to your garden.”

“Do you like it? I had to convince Aunty for months to let me do it. It takes a lot of work in the beginning but it’s very easy to maintain and when it’s time for us to move, it’s as simple as putting the water into barrels.”

“Already planning on moving?” Alana grumbles, subtly prodding her sister for her ambition. After all, a change in residence means a change in status.

Yulia is unfazed. “My husband wants to be the leader of the Moons. Isn’t it only right I have faith in him?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to be duke?”

“I’m sure you can understand that he will be whatever Victory and his family need him to be. You used to say the same things once.”

“Where’s that son you’re so proud of?” I blurt before Alana can vent her rapidly mounting frustration. Yulia had to know those were fighting words. Maybe her patience isn’t without end.

Thankfully, she isn’t beyond taking the helping hand I’ve extended. “The bedrooms are upstairs. This way.” She leads us beyond the bare welcoming room to a long hallway. At the end of it is a narrow staircase that forces us to walk single file as we ascend.

There’s an immediate difference from the moment we reach the second floor. On the wall on the top of the stairs is a painting. A landscape of a green hill beneath a clear blue sky. Nothing remarkable but very telling.

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I don’t think Yulia wants to change Victory. I think she wants to leave it for greener pastures. But she won’t because she’s a James and a James will always choose Victory. If she can’t leave, she’s determined to make it closer to her ideal.

A sudden wave of pity for the poor bunny longing for summer fills my chest but I push it down. Can’t let Alana see it. My lips are fixed in a stiff smile as Yulia gets into the tour. There isn’t much to see. The second floor only has three rooms. The kitchen, the bedroom Yulia shares with her husband, and a small room that was probably meant for storage but is occupied by their son.

“Here he is.”

Playing on the floor of the smaller bedroom is a small boy. In his hand is a wooden figure that closely resembles a knight. He waves it around at wooden animals, bashing them into each other occasionally. It really does start from birth.

He looks up as the door opens and a big smile stretches his chubby little cheeks. “Mama!” he shouts excitedly as he climbs to his feet. He wobbles back and forth but manages to stay upright as he wobbles forward, latching onto his mother’s leg. She quickly scoops him up, turning toward us with a matching smile.

“Lou, this is Allen.”

“Allen?” I glance at Alana from the corner of my eye, but her attention is wholly focused on the little boy. There’s no way…is there? I don’t know if I would be impressed or afraid if she really named her son after Alana to improve their relationship. I’m probably overthinking it.

Though I do understand why she calls him Butterball. He’s very…round. Something he’ll likely grow out of given the kind of place Victory is but for now, he’s soft and adorable. The opposite of the north. Not to mention those bright green eyes that remind me of the painting at the top of the stairs. I can see why Yulia adores him, besides the love of a mother for her child.

“Baby, you probably don’t remember your Aunty Alana. And that’s her…”

“Wife.”

“Lou!”

“What? It’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?”

Alana turns away, face flushed.

“And that’s Aunty Lou,” Yulia finishes with a chuckle. “Say hello.”

The boy stares at me with wide eyes practically shining with innocent curiosity. His empty hand reaches toward me…and I recoil as if he’s got the touch of death. That doesn’t dissuade him in the slightest. He leans toward me, ready to fall out of his mother’s arms if it means reaching his prize. There’s that James’ stubbornness.

“Do you want to hold him?” Yulia asks. To which I quickly shake my head.

“You don’t like kids?” Alana asks and I don’t like the contemplative tone of her words.

“No. I like kids. I just…don’t know how to handle them.” So innocent and impressionable. I am keenly aware that I have a questionable personality. The wrong words or casual action could change the direction of Allen’s life. Scar his little mind forever. And they’re so fragile, especially with my new strength.

“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn.” Yulia steps forward as I step back. I’m prepared to skip away from her for as long as it takes for her to give up but Allen’s whine brings me to a stop. His big eyes are wet with tears as he stares at me, free hand still waving in my direction.

“You’re going to make him cry,” Alana says with a smile, clearly amused. “Just hold him for a bit.”

“You hold him,” I grumble, dread mounting as his whining grows louder.

“Come on, Lou. I promise it’ll be fine. Here, I’ll help you.”

I’m filled with reluctance as the bunny approaches and puts the butterball in my stiff arms. I hold him like he’s already cracked glass and will shatter with the slightest movement. Remaining stock still even as his little hand reaches for my eyes.

“I guess he likes purple,” Yulia says, pulling her hands away. My anxiety jumps to another level as she steps away. Just before I start to sweat, Alana puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Relax,” she whispers, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. Her other hand pokes the little butterball’s stomach and he grabs the offending finger while giggling, his previous tears long forgotten.

“I can punch through a wall with these hands.”

“You can also be gentle. I would know.” She coughs self-consciously. I don’t have to look back to imagine her reaction. Her sacrifice works, calming me irrational panic. I can control my strength, especially in a quiet and calm environment like this. I hesitantly raise Allen higher, meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

“Eyyy.” He smacks my cheek with his wooden soldier before dropping it. I reflexively catch it and put it back in his hand which excites him to no end, the little boy squirming happily. He’s like a puppy.

“Thank you for coming, Alana,” Yulia says from my opposite side. She makes faces at her son, making him giggle and wave his hands.

“You don’t have to thank me. I came to see my nephew.”

“Hasn’t he gotten big? I’m afraid I’ll blink and he’ll already be marching past the Peaks.” Her tone sobers as she lays a hand on the boy’s dark hair. “I know you don’t have a good opinion of me, Alana. Which is why I don’t want you to trust in me. I won’t stop trying to make things better between us but for now, you can trust in Allen. That everything I do is for his future and the future of all Victory’s children. You can believe in that.”

Alana doesn’t answer her sister’s heartfelt words…but she also doesn’t mock them. For her, that may as well be acknowledgement. Her hands reach for the butterball. “Here, let me hold him.”

 

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