Chapter Text
The usual measured hum of the city bazaar was broken by a loud female scream. The trader who came around the corner dropped the basket from her hands and it fell with a thud on the cobblestones. The fruit from the basket rolled down the dusty road.
"Where are you going, you devil!?" screamed the fallen woman , unsuccessfully trying to lift her huge body from the ground and either catch up with the dark figure in a cloak who knocked her down, or start picking up the rolled apples. However, instead, she had to jump away from the road and watch as her goods were ruthlessly trampled by dozens of boots of the Inquisition squad.
"Seal off the area, she won't be able to get far!"
"Yes, sir! " the people in red cloaks answered in chorus, smoothly heading forward down the street and following the commands, running in different directions.
"Favor, where are you going?"
A figure detached from the general formation. It had anunusual weapon in the form of sickles on long chains, throwing them on the roof of the nearest building, was rapidly climbing up, completely ignoring the orders of the commander.
"Favor, get back in line immediately" The man shouted, but the inquisitor was already gone.
Marina Favor knew for sure that she would be reprimanded for disobeying the commander's orders, but that was why she carefully built her reputation among higher ranks. A month ago, she achieved her becoming a member of the secret department for the investigation of hereticism and was finally able to enlist more support from the organization for the capture of particularly dangerous witches. And this time she knew for sure that they were dealing with a real witch, whose strength could not be compared to those they had already had the opportunity to catch, so she decided that it would not be so shameful to neglect the usual trapping tactics.
Trained since childhood, Marina could match the strength of five ordinary inquisitors, but the organization began to take her seriously only recently. What the average man in the order received by the fact of existence, she had to claw out with her own hands. The opportunity to be on the front line in the war against heretics and evil spirits, to come forward so freely and make her own decisions was like a breath of air for her.
Navigating the rooftops with her advanced weapons wasn't that difficult. Clinging to the irregularities in the roof, the sickles created a support and Marina easily overcame long distances in a short time. She knew that evil spirits were generally faster and physically stronger than a human, and with all her zeal, she studied new tactics to fill this gap in abilities.
The woman was convinced that her instinct did not fail her when she saw a black figure on one of the distant roofs of the city. The city of Breu'er had its own small feature - part of it was built close to the cliff above the river and the height of the cliff was so great that even evil spirits could not survive a fall. With a cordon on the ground, the inquisitors would have driven the witch to the very edge, but in this case she could have avoided the attack by running along the roofs. This is exactly what Marina was trying to prevent.
The figure stood motionless at the very edge of the roof and looked down from the cliff, not paying much attention to the rapidly approaching Inquisitor. Marina jumped to her on the roof and shouted:
"You are surrounded, you have nowhere to run."
The figure turned around and the woman could see the uncovered part of the face, but she could not see anything except thin lips and the tip of the nose.
"Yeah, bad luck," the witch replied lazily. Her voice was low, but at the same time sounded quite young "You're like cockroaches here now."
Marina, deciding not to continue the exchange of pleasantries, but to get straight to the point, made a lunge and the chain with a sharp sickle rushed towards the witch. She dodged, taking a step to the side and Marina pulled the chain to hit her legs or at least hook the target. The witch jumped lightly on the spot and, turning over in the air, ended up at the other end of the roof.
The Inquisitor used the second sickle, subjecting the witch to non-stop unpredictable attacks from all sides. The girl in the cloak continued to dodge the attacks, but the longer she did it, the more obvious it became impossible to continue. Marina's attacks, fast and powerful, honed by years of training, did not give the enemy a chance to rest, exhausted and caught at the most inopportune moment, and even if the witches had more speed and strength, they could not dodge forever the same way as ordinary people.
Dodging another chain cut, the witch noticed that her breathing began to falter. "Damn it..." she muttered through her teeth and began to quickly look around in search of escape routes. She was caught off guard by an arrow that flew a few millimeters from her ear. The tip of the arrow caught the hood of the cloak and tore it off her head, revealing her face to the world.
Marina stood with a crossbow pointed at the witch and knew that there could be no mistake now. The portrait completely agreed with the description collected from the testimony of many witnesses: pale skin, jet-black hair just below the shoulders, gathered in a low ponytail with strands sticking out in disarray, a narrow long nose, black low-set eyebrows and ice-blue eyes. The girl's face looked stern, but it was surprisingly even, without traces of scars or illness. She looked at Marina with a kind of tired tension, not like anger or contempt.
" It's you. The Raven from the North. Sapphire claw," Favor blurted out.
There was silence. The witch froze and somehow timidly asked again:
"... what?"
The Inquisitor was taken aback. Everything was coming together, she had been preparing for months to capture a dangerous witch, known among thieves and the Inquisition under these names. No one knew her real name, but many under torture were able to tell about her usual places of residence, appearance and habits. Nothing had been heard about her for a long time, and then Marina finally got lucky and a suspiciously similar girl was noticed in the tavern.
After a long silence, the cloaked witch shifted from one foot to the other and sighed heavily.
"Well, if one of these drunken pickpockets that you caught decided to call me that I hope you strangled him."
Marina fired the crossbow again, but missed again. This time, the arrow seemed to be led away when it flew close enough to the witch.
"Okay, if you want to give pathetic names to everyone in a row, it's up to you" the girl threw back the skirts of her raincoat and shoved her hands into the pockets of the coat that was hiding under it. Out of the corner of her eye, Marina noticed a sheath strapped to her hip with several thin daggers-stilettos "But I have a job now. You know, the kind where they pay money, give housing and feed? That's how you have almost. So suck on this disgusting shit-name somewhere in your church, and don't bother me."
"The Holy Inquisition will not let a single witch go" Tabor said, "All of you hell's spawn, without exception, will burn in hell."
"Absolutely" the girl replied sarcastically "But only after you."
Marina barely managed to dodge the stiletto flying at her. With her human gaze, she did not notice how the witch pulled it out of its sheath. Had she touched it at all?
Favor resumed her attacks around the perimeter, throwing sickles and waving them in different directions, but this time the witch did not even try to dodge. The weapon was rushing straight towards her, but a few centimeters away from her it turned back, heading already towards the Inquisitor. Marina had to dodge her own weapon.
Now she was completely sure that this witch was nothing compared to the ones they had already caught. Those whom the Holy Inquisition set on fire were, for the most part, only weak sorceresses who protected themselves with magic alone. This witch, in addition to magical power, the direction of which Marina could not determine, also had high combat skills. According to the information they gathered, Sapphire Claw was mainly engaged in theft, but an ordinary thief could hardly have such combat training.
Her suspicions were only reinforced when the girl waved the skirts of her cloak and pulled out narrow twin swords from the scabbards hidden under it. Habitually grasping the handles, the witch rushed forward. Marina realized that close combat could not be avoided and quickly pulled the sickles by the chains to her to parry deadly attacks.
The black-haired witch moved quickly, but with long breaks. After each sharp lunge, she bounced in the opposite direction from the inquisitor, giving herself time to rest. Marina didn't know what her tactics were, but it looked like she wasn't trying to kill her, but was just trying to throw her back, clear a place for maneuver. If her goal was to open a passage to the roofs closer to the city center, then this plan would have failed miserably, because Marina's weapon could easily intercept the witch in a jump.
The first thought of the woman was that the magic of this witch is connected with levitation or air. The way her weapon flew past the girl instead of hitting the target could be explained by this, but if she had such abilities, the witch would have long ago tried to escape towards the cliff or started attacking from the air. Accordingly, it was either that her magic was too weak for such maneuvers, or completely different.
Tabor decided that it would be best for her to use a trick that had already worked on the witch and she let go of one of the sickles, letting it hang on a chain sticking out of a long sleeve to grab her crossbow. The crossbows in the Inquisition were small and convenient just to quickly immobilize the enemy. Automatic devices with drum reloading made it possible not to waste time on cocking, but limiting the number of shots to the need for manual reloading did not give the inquisitor the right to make too many mistakes. Instead of them, the order already offered to use rifles or pistols, but their cost was much higher and their weight was greater, so crossbows were still the main weapon of an ordinary fighter against heresy.
Waiting for the witch to jump away, Tabor quickly took aim and fired an arrow at the girl right between the eyes. The short arrow froze in the air a few millimeters from the witch's forehead. She blinked. Once. Twice. The arrow was still hanging in front of her, slowly rotating on its axis. Then it turned point downwards and plunged into the roof with force, breaking through the tiles.
There was a crash. Pale blue sparks sparkled around the fallen arrow and the witch.
" ...I'm just wasting my time," the girl muttered to herself, "but now I know a little more about you, so it was useful."
Marina rushed forward, waving sickles. Anything to interrupt the spell that this vile witch is trying to conjure. But the girl no longer tried to jump aside, just grinned slightly and ... jumped off the cliff.
Marina's sickle caught the air and hung from the edge of the roof on a chain, sticking into the wall of the house under the roof. The woman ran to the edge of the roof hoping to intercept the witch in the air, but there was no trace of her.
After looking around once more and making sure that it was no longer possible to intercept the witch, the woman angrily kicked a broken piece of tile and wearily howled. All her efforts went down the drain. She was exhausted from the fight and was sure that she would receive a reprimand from her superiors, and especially dangerous evil spirits remained at large. The worst day of her life.
She turned around and descended from the roof, heading towards the city to report to the commander about what had happened.
After waiting for the footsteps on the roof to subside, the witch exhaled wearily. Holding on to the sword with one hand, hanging over the cliff, pressing as hard as possible against the sheer wall so that the inquisitor could not see her was quite a difficult task even for her. She was really lucky that there was a sewer pipe right under the building where she was, right under the cliff. If she hadn't been there, she really would have had to fight the Inquisitor.
The pipe wasn't very big, but her sword was able to safely magnetize to it. Now she needed to somehow climb back up without falling off. After checking whether she had dropped her belt bag or something from the weapon and making sure that everything was safe, the witch pulled out a second sword and, catching it higher, threw her body over the overhanging piece of land behind which she was hiding.
Moving away from the edge, shaking herself off and looking around, the witch put her swords back into the scabbard, hitching them in such a way that the clanging was not very audible when walking, put on the hood of the now fairly torn cloak and, pulling it over her eyes, continued her journey.
***
"It's been a while since inquisitors have been seen in our city. Maybe there really are no more witches in the kingdom? "asked the girl who strongly scented with a fashionable floral fragrance, coquettishly hiding behind a large fan with one hand and correcting red curls in an unnecessarily complicated hairstyle with the other.
"Come on," a girl standing next to her in a light blue dress with white birds embroidered on the hem answered her quietly, " But everything is better than seeing their harsh ... ahem, faces, on the streets"
Beatrice didn't really know these people. The brain helpfully suggested options based on the assessment of the cost of the girls' outfits and jewelry, but in the end it did not give out anything more than an understanding of their belonging to the minor nobility. The realization that she needed to memorize their faces, to know by heart the names and titles only added to the girl's headache.
Today, on the birthday of her older sister Margaret, according to all the rules, a banquet was held at the Darkfall family estate. This forced Beatrice to interrupt her usual seclusion and take part in a social event for the first time in a long time.
The banquet hall of the estate was richly decorated, bright and spacious enough to accommodate all the invited guests, of whom there were many. Over the years of her marriage, Margaret, due to her unsurpassed charm and flexible thinking, managed to win over many representatives of the nobility. However, Beatrice did not envy her at all, on the contrary, she sympathized with her. Such frequent appearances could tire even the most energetic socialites, which Margaret had never been, but the status of the duke's wife did not give her the right to object. Beatrice understood that even if her sister looked happy enough in her marriage, she would not want such a fate for herself.
The banquet itself was no different from any other event among the nobles - dancing, snacks, small talk and expensive wine. Beatrice wasn't interested in any of this, so she stood awkwardly closer to the far wall and silently watched the servants running past and the rich people having fun in the distance.
"My Lady, aren't you bored?"
Beatrice shuddered. A man's voice, clearly addressing her, sounded too close to her. The girl mentally slapped herself for allowing herself to get so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice a person in such frightening proximity.
The man who approached her looked to be in his mid-twenties, not too tall, with narrow light eyes and hair slicked back in a fashionable manner. His suit did not differ in excessive variegation, but a camisole made of expensive fabrics, perfectly fitting for an obviously imperfect figure, spoke of his belonging to a rather rich family. The man had a glass of wine in his hand, but he obviously hadn't drunk from it yet, and apparently wanted to offer it to the lady, but didn't dare yet. While Beatrice was thinking how to answer the man's first question, he apparently decided that he had not attracted her attention enough and continued:
"It's the first time I've met you at a banquet in such a bright outfit. I would like to see you like this more often."
Beatrice frowned. From the age of twelve, she attended all social events exclusively in all-black outfits, symbolizing mourning. The mourners were always treated more cautiously and much less often approached with questions. But too much time has passed since her father's death for her grief to be taken into account in society. No matter how much she wanted to continue to be immune to meaningless small talk, it was no longer possible.
This time Beatrice attended the banquet in a rich red dress decorated with neat decorative roses, black lace and beads. She chose this dress on the advice of her sister. And against the background of the colorful, deliberately expensive outfits of other guests, it looked quite modest, and the predominance of red color seemed to her frightening enough to feel a little more comfortable among a large crowd of people. Margaret gave her a surprisingly long time before the banquet to choose a suitable outfit that would not be in the usual black tones for Beatrice, but also did not feel inappropriate. Since Beatrice's hair was quite short, always cut exactly to a length just below the chin, it was almost impossible to put them into a hairstyle. Her sister suggested that she replace her usual headband with a more festive one - with red roses and threads of black beads. This ornament contrasted surprisingly well with the pale wheat color of her hair and Beatrice was sincerely grateful to her sister for her patience, although she did not understand why she still found the strength to reckon with her infantile nature. The man's remark about her outfit still seemed somewhat indelicate to her.
A little struggling with the fear of seeming too rude, Beatrice decided to continue to remain silent and pretend not to notice the guest who came up. It would be nice if he even considered her deaf or delusional. There were all sorts of rumors about Beatrice anyway. Due to the fact that she was the direct heir of Count Darkfall, but almost never went out, people assumed she had all kinds of illnesses, never taking into account that she turned seventeen not so long ago and until she came of age she not only could not legally perform the duties of a countess, but also did not really want to.
The girl decided not to immerse herself too much in her thoughts and check the intrusive guest out of the corner of her eye, and to her regret, the man still continued to stand next to her, waiting for some answer and devouring her with his gaze, transferring it from one part of her body to another, as if assessing. Beatrice felt a slow wave of anxiety.
"Beatrice! There you are, darling."
From the other end of the ballroom, Margaret was her approaching at a rapid pace. She was in such a hurry that she had to hold the hem of her emerald dress in her hands, and her black curls bounced with every step. Margaret came very close, taking her sister by the arm and turned to the man with a glass:
"Excuse me, my sister and I need to discuss some important family issues, may I? "
"Ah…Sure." the man answered, taken aback, taking a cautious step back.
Margaret took Beatrice a little further to the side. They were almost at the servants' entrance now, but Beatrice felt much safer that way.
After making sure that the nobleman who had come up earlier had lost interest and left, Margaret elegantly folded her hands in front of her and straightened up. Her usual grace and seriousness seemed to return to her body at once.
"I hope this man didn't do anything to you?" she asked. Despite her extremely formal tone, there was concern in her voice.
"We didn't even have time to exchange pleasantries, don't worry," Beatrice replied, smiling slightly to reassure her sister. It turned out badly.
Margaret exhaled lightly. She straightened the hem of her dress and reached out to Beatrice to straighten the strands of beads tangled in her hair a little.
"I tried my best, but I still had to invite the Duke of Vermont's eldest son. If no one from their family was invited, it would be extremely rude," she said, finishing sorting out her sister's hairstyle and then tiredly rubbing the bridge of her nose, "Even though this is my banquet, but I can't ignore the rules."
"I understand" Beatrice replied, looking away and smiling slightly. She knew how important the reputation of the family was to Margaret. Since her father passed away, she had assumed the unspoken role of head of the family, representing the Darkfalls among the nobility instead of Beatrice. She also took care of the other brothers and sisters as best she could, using her knowledge and connections gained through marriage. Poor Margaret had to become a substitute mother in this large, poorly functioning family and create at least some semblance of order. Unfortunately, she always had to maneuver between the happiness of her brothers and sisters, and her own.
"Demian's mother has connections with these people and they very often asked me about the family business, partners and formulas" the elder continued, "Our sources say that Vermonters are involved in illegal tobacco trafficking and the supply of weapons to western regions. There are no details, not a single case has been made public, so I can't object. I don't trust them and I don't advise you. "
Beatrice nodded curtly and immediately noticed a little girl running towards them.
"Mom, look what I drew for aunt Bette!" said the girl, grabbing the emerald hem with her small hands in an attempt to draw Margaret's attention to herself. A black-haired girl in a dark blue velvet dress was holding a slightly crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Margaret for evaluation.
Vivitt, just recently turned five years old, and she was developed beyond her years. She showed good results in her studies with a personal teacher, but her favorite activity has always been drawing. Margaret has said more than once that it might be worth hiring her a tutor in painting when she grows up a little.
Margaret took the sheet from the girl's hands and beckoned Beatrice to take a closer look.
"And what did you draw, honey?" she asked, turning the sheet and taking out her pince-nez from her bosom, holding it in front of her eyes so that she could get a better look. Margaret's eyesight was always somewhat worse than that of the other children in the Darkfall family, but not so bad that she had to wear glasses all the time.
"The black bird carrying a letter!" Vivitt explained proudly, pointing her finger at the center of the sheet.
Beatrice leaned closer to examine the drawing. A large black bird with a large beak and sharp claws, most resembling a raven, was drawn on a piece of paper with colored pencils in a childish, uncertain, but surprisingly detailed way. The bird's claws, for some reason, were neatly painted over with a bright blue pencil. In her beak she held an envelope with a strange seal, and against the background, on an unpainted white sheet, a black wrought-iron gate could be seen.
"Oh, but this is the gate to our mansion! Very similar," Margaret admired, handing the gift into Beatrice's hands. She squatted down and patted her daughter on the head, "Very beautiful, dear. I think Aunt Bette is thrilled."
She looked at her sister and she smiled.
"It is indeed a very beautiful drawing, Lady Vivitt. I am grateful for this wonderful gift," Beatrice said, making a small curtsy with a smile. Vivitt giggled contentedly.
Margaret rose and took her daughter's hand, turning back to Beatrice.:
"I know you're already tired of all this, so you can go upstairs for a break. I'll send a maid for you later in the evening if there is such a need, is that alright?"
"Thank you," Beatrice replied with palpable gratitude.
Margaret and her daughter went back to the banquet hall, where the invited guests were waiting for them for another round of empty chatter, and Beatrice slipped out the door, holding the hem of her long dress in her hands and carefully climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor of the mansion, where her private chambers were located.
Despite the sufficient influence of the Darkfall family, all its members valued comfort more than luxury. The second floor of the mansion could not boast of rich stucco, gold jewelry and other valuables, but it was decorated simply and tastefully. A long corridor with many doors to the rooms could remind someone more of an expensive hotel, but for a large Darkfall family it was the most convenient. On the second floor there were mainly bedrooms, study rooms and a recreation room, while on the ground floor there were richer halls, a living room, a dining room and a large main hall.
After walking a few meters down the corridor, the girl carefully opened the white wooden door.
Beatrice's chambers, as well as the corridor, could not boast of luxury, but they were distinguished by a large number of various objects with lace and various trifles, taking their places according to the principle known only to the mistress of the room. A large bed with a soft feather matress was hidden under a discreet lace canopy, a lamp with lace inserts stood on the bedside table next to it, under it was a small stack of books, of which the third was not finished reading, and the other two had to be taken to the family library, but Beatrice constantly forgot about it. Nearby, on a small lace napkin, there was a mechanical alarm clock, which the girl both loved and hated. Loved for the fact that it really coped with its main task perfectly, and I hated for the fact that its incredibly loud sound made her jump up on the bed in horror every time before realizing what was happening.
Opposite the bed in the room was a wardrobe. Compared to the closets in the sisters' old rooms, it was quite small and contained mostly Beatrice's casual clothes and a pair of black dresses for going out. All the rest of her clothes were stored in other places. To the side of the wardrobe was a dressing table with small drawers for storing jewelry and an incredibly large set of gloves for all occasions. The dressing table was covered with another lace napkin and was littered with various necklaces and hairpins that Margaret had left there. When she was helping Beatrice pick up an outfit for a banquet, she personally came to her chambers and arranged a fitting, leaving some of the unsuitable accessories on this very table. Beatrice made a mental note to return them to their owner as soon as the banquet came to an end.
She shifted her gaze to the desk in the corner and quickly walked over to it to shift the papers with notes that were slowly sliding off it. Beatrice preferred to work on alchemical formulas in the laboratory, located in a separate small pavilion in the garden, but she also made some notes in her chambers. Some of them remained here forever, never finding use and accumulated in an ever-growing stack.
Finally, the girl went to the large window and pulled back the heavy lace tulle in different directions. The light, which had previously passed through the lace and fell on the furniture in a bizarre pattern, now completely filled the room. Looking out, Beatrice looked around. Her window overlooked the garden, located in front of the estate and from here the main entrance and large wrought-iron gates were clearly visible. Beatrice picked up Vivitt's drawing, which she still held in her hand, and compared it with the pattern on them. The resemblance was so precise that it was even a little scary. Perhaps Vivitt just had a photographic memory.
After making sure that everything was in order with the room, Beatrice pulled the tulle, then the curtains, and went to the door to lock it from the inside. Standing in the middle of the room, Beatrice took a short breath and lightly stamped her heel on the floor. A soft glow immediately lit up the room. Around the perimeter of the entire room, a large magic circle was slowly illuminated, dotted with signs and symbols.
" Let's check it out..." Beatrice muttered to herself, looking around the circle and nodding at certain symbols, comparing them with the diagram in her head.
After making sure that this particular protective seal was still in good condition, Beatrice clapped her hands and the glow disappeared.
Of the entire Darkfall family, Margaret specialized mainly in protective seals, and after the death of her father, it was usually she who updated them throughout the estate. Beatrice knew how they worked and could easily reproduce most of them, but such household magic interested her least of all.
However, it was this magic that helped the Darkfall family, consisting almost entirely of witches, to survive for so long among people, remaining unnoticed. It was what gave them the opportunity not only to exist peacefully in civilization, but also to climb high enough on the social ladder.
The father of the family, Bertram Darkfall, was an outstanding man. Although, it is impossible to call someone who is not a human a man.
Bertram was a witch and never stopped being one. The birth of a boy witch was considered an unprecedented rarity and most often they were born without magical abilities. It was Bertram who was the double exception. He not only survived, developed his magical skills secretly, living among people, but his youngest son, Oliver, turned out to be another magically gifted male witch. Unfortunately, Bertram did not have time to witness the awakening of magic in his son.
As for the mother...
Beatrice turned towards the dressing table and picked up a photo frame with a large photo of their family, which always stood on this very table. In the black-and-white photograph, Bertram was sitting in the very center on a chair - a blond man in a neat suit and small round glasses barely hanging on the tip of his nose. Little Oliver was sitting on his lap. He was only two years old in the picture.
Next to her father, on her right hand, standing proudly erect and folding her small gloved hands in front of her, stood seven-year-old Beatrice. Even then, her father singled her out among all his children and began to intensively teach both magic and his favorite and very profitable business in human society - alchemy.
Right behind Beatrice, one of her older sisters was standing with her hand on her shoulder. In the photo, Alice still wore a long hairstyle and a beautiful patterned dress. Beatrice missed her. Alice was good-natured and cheerful, but her spirit of adventure forced her to leave home a few years after her father's death. No one could stop her. Now it was considered a miracle in the family to receive a letter from her once a year at most.
Behind them in the photo was Margaret. Even then she was quite tall and, unlike her sisters and younger brother, her hair was not blond like her father's, but black and thick. In the picture, she was standing very tense and there was a reason for that.
To her right stood Beatrice's older brother, William. He didn't really get along with the rest of the family and Margaret always claimed that he was "weird." Alice was openly afraid of Will all her childhood and everyone were practically relieved when he graduated from university and began his career as a foreign language teacher. By teaching children from rich families, he could easily provide for himself, so he did not bother to connect with his family. The peculiarity of Will was that he was the only one of Bertram's children who was born without magical abilities. Perhaps this fact was the reason for his alienation. At least that's what Beatrice thought.
From the right edge next to William, the edge of a chair, a piece of a dress and a black veil could be seen, but the part of the photo itself, the one where their mother should have been sitting, was mercilessly torn off.
Beatrice did not remember this incident well. Surprisingly, she did not remember her mother well at all, despite the fact that she remained in the family until Beatrice's twelfth birthday.
The girl remembered some situations, bits and pieces, but surprisingly, she did not remember her face, habits, or any other details. Beatrice understood that this could hardly be called normal. Everyone else in her family remembered Elizabeth well, but it was Beatrice who for some reason could not make a whole image out of the pieces of the puzzle.
It's been seven years since Elizabeth Darkfall disappeared without a trace. Before disappearing forever from the lives of her husband and children, she tore up all the photos in the house that she was captured next to them. For Beatrice, there was not a single physical reminder that this woman even existed.
Beatrice put the photo frame back in place, sighed heavily and fell back on the bed. Sometimes she really tried to strain her head in an attempt to remember at least something, but the only scene she remembered was a stupid quarrel over Beatrice's haircut.
That day, the girl decided that she no longer wanted to walk around with long hair and cut it off on her own to a length just below the ears. As a child, she didn't care how other nobles looked at her, but her mother did care. Beatrice only remembered her screams and her own annoyance.
Beatrice woke up to a knock on the door. She didn't notice how she dozed off, but she was incredibly glad that this time her dream passed without nightmares. The insistent knock was repeated and the girl got up wearily from the bed, went to the door and unlocked it.
On the threshold, as promised by Margaret, stood the maid - Millie- a plump, but beautiful girl with long snow-white hair braided into a tight braid. The maid looked very nervous and wary and constantly looked around, so Beatrice suspected that something was wrong.
"Mistress Margaret...I sent for you...She asked me to go down to the banquet hall and ..." The maid chattered awkwardly, crumpling her white apron in her hands.
"Is something wrong?" Beatrice was still sleepy, but her intuition told her that Millie's twitchiness did not mean anything good.
"Nothing, but..." Millie exhaled, apparently giving up "One of the dukes drank too much and demands that his family be given some patents, Mrs. Margaret cannot calm him down and he demands to talk to the "heir""
"Vermonts..." Beatrice exhaled irritably and quickly ran into her chambers to fix her makeup, which was slightly swollen from sleep, and returned to the maid, "I'll be right there."
Going down to the banquet hall, Beatrice found a very expected picture. The younger son of the Vermonts, who had obviously had too much to drink, swayed from side to side and pointed a thick finger at Margaret sitting on a chair.
"Your family has been running away from obligations for too long " The man leaned his hand on a chair on the other side of the table and leaned forward threateningly, obviously trying to put pressure on Margaret with authority, "The fact that your father has passed away does not relieve you of his debts."
" What's going on here?" Beatrice asked, loud enough for the whole room to hear. The guests, who had already moved away from the dangerously drunk future duke, shifted their gazes to her.
"Beatrice, dear, I'm sorry I had to pull you out like that... " Margaret started to apologize, but the man interrupted her.
" And here comes the heiress!"
Beatrice decided not to wait for another drunken tirade and snatched a chair from behind the table, put it in front of Vermont and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
"You wanted to talk to the heir and here I am in front of you, so please don't inconvenience other guests," she said coldly, looking at the man, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
The future Duke straightened up and pointed his finger already in her direction:
"Our family bought the patents from Bertram Darkfall more than six years ago! Since then, we haven't seen any formulas and results, and Father can't wait any longer. Because of you, we've lost as much money as your whole damn property isn't worth! I don't care what you do there, I need the papers to be with me or you can say goodbye to your capital!"
The man staggered again and narrowed his eyes threateningly.
"This is the first time I've been able to get close enough to meet you face to face and now I'm ready to look into your shameless eyes. My father dribbles on my brain every day because I can't do business at his factory, while he himself can't beat money out of you for what we never got. So I need these patents. Here and now."
There was silence in the hall. The ladies cautiously stepped aside, hastily fanning themselves and anticipating a conflict about which they could gossip later. Beatrice exhaled, and then forced out the most businesslike smile she could.
"Mr. Vermont, we would be happy to provide you with the necessary formulas and copies. Our family prefers to do business in an honest way and we give everything on time, no matter what it costs us. But here's a thing..."
The girl leaned forward slightly.
"... All the documents about Bertram Darkfall's transactions are in our family archive. The second copy must always be in the hands of the customer. There are no documents in our archives about business relations with the House of Vermont. I assume, in that case, you are ready to provide your copy of the contract? With my father's signature and the ancestral seal of the house of Darkfall? If so, are you ready to show them to me now, in front of everyone present?"
The man opened his mouth and immediately closed it. It was obvious that he had nothing to say to that. The ladies in the audience began to whisper and the younger Vermont aggressively looked around for support, but did not find it.
Beatrice exhaled once more, keeping a tight smile on her face.
"If you cannot provide your copy of the document, then, alas, we cannot provide you with anything in return. Besides, I have not yet entered into the inheritance rights so that you can threaten me directly. If you want to talk more about this transaction, I can redirect you to the person who now has the right to dispose of my inheritance. I would be grateful if for this you can find out the status and location of Mrs. Elizabeth Darkfall."
The ladies in the hall gasped and began to whisper even more actively. The younger Vermont's face turned crimson.
"I'll prove everything to you," he growled under his breath and walked out of the hall with a wide, albeit a little shaky step. Millie, who was standing a little apart, fussed, but Beatrice waved her not to worry. She got up from her chair and bowed to the guests:
"I apologize for the inconvenience."
The guests scattered around the hall again, although for a while there was awkwardness in the air. Beatrice approached Millie and asked her to make sure that the future duke went home properly. The maid bowed slightly and ran to carry out the order.
Margaret walked over to Beatrice and took her hand.
"I'm sorry I couldn't calm him down myself. He drank a lot and wouldn't listen to me in any way.
"It's all right," Beatrice replied. But Margaret felt her hand tremble. She let go of it and exhaled:
"Soon you will come into inheritance rights and there will be even more such cases. You did great today. But soon you won't be able to shift the responsibility to your mother. "
Beatrice gritted her teeth and clenched her hand into a fist.
"I know."
She turned away and went back to the far end of the hall, where she spent time at the beginning of the banquet. There she sat down on a small sofa to relax, and being honest with herself, she was not going to get up from it until the banquet was over. During this time, some of the guests approached her, but they exchanged a couple of standard polite phrases with her and went back to dance and drink wine. After a while, Millie returned with a report, informing her that the future duke had been sent home.
"Aren't you going to write a letter to the Vermont family about what happened today?" The maid asked furtively.
Beatrice waved it away.
"There's no need. The elder Vermont will find out about this without my prompting. I think that after this we will not see his son at the balls for at least another six months."
Millie giggled softly. Then she covered her mouth with her hand, bowed and hurried to leave her mistress alone. In another noble house, she might have been punished for laughing, but in the Darkfall family it was customary to value their servants highly. Those whom Beatrice's father still hired, he liked to call "uncut diamonds who only need stability and respect to become full-fledged treasures." Beatrice was convinced of this in practice, because even Millie, despite her external clumsiness and modesty, was an excellent worker with many talents.
Immediately after the banquet was over, Beatrice went to her chambers to go to bed. Due to the fact that she had already slept a little before, the girl was tossing and turning in bed and unformed, but annoying thoughts were swarming in her head. In the morning she felt absolutely restless and at breakfast it was hard for her to perceive the energetic speeches of her older sister. Margaret was going to stay at the estate with her daughter for another couple of days, so she was in no hurry to pack her things.
On her birthday, gifts were given to her not only by guests who attended the banquet, but also sent by acquaintances from afar. She had to open them and formally reply to each with a letter, so immediately after breakfast she asked one of the maids to look after little Vivitt and disappeared somewhere into the rooms of the estate.
Vivitt immediately ran off to play in the garden and the maid assigned to her could barely keep up with her. Beatrice saw their retreating silhouettes outside the window and idly picked at her morning waffles with a fork. Breakfast was, as always, delicious, but it was hard for her to fully perceive its taste because of the strange feeling of emptiness from restless sleep.
She was sure that she would spend her morning alone, slowly piecing herself together, but her thoughts were interrupted by the butler who suddenly approached her.
"Madam, I didn't want to interrupt your morning meal, but there is a suspicious person at the gate of the mansion. She claims that she needs to personally deliver some letter to you."
" A letter? Personally?" Beatrice was surprised.
"She claims it has to do with your father."
"Invite her here," Beatrice replied immediately. Everything connected with her father was not only her problem, but also a personal interest.
The butler hesitated a little:
"The fact is that she refuses to enter the estate. She wants you to come out to her personally."
Beatrice huffed, but got up from the table. It would be too rash to go outside the manor to a stranger, so the girl asked the butler to leave her alone for a while. As soon as the man left the door, Beatrice put her hands in front of her and closed her eyes.
Circle. The Abis. Vera. A little to the left. Rotate 180 degrees. Triangle. Vera, Abis, Etima. Down. Another turn.
Every movement of her hands was followed by a slight golden glow. Some of the signs that she wrote in the air with her fingers remained hanging shimmering in the sunlight, and the other disappeared. The circle drawn in the air turned. The triangle inside it turned in the opposite direction. The signs that converged in it flashed for the last time and disappeared as if they had never existed. The girl felt a slight chill on her fingertips.
The protective barrier spell, written in a magical glyph, lasted long enough for a simple symbolic construction and reacted automatically to any attempt to attack the witch who created it. It was this glyph, built on two turns and the postscript of the "Etima" sign, that did not so much protect from the attack as reflect it. So Beatrice could be sure that with the action of the glyph, she could not be killed or wounded by any human weapon.
The problem with such constructions was their fragility and the need to spend a lot of time creating even a simple witchcraft reaction. My father said that being born a witch with a predisposition to iconic magic is both an inconvenience and a great gift. Witches of other directions could create reactions at a much faster rate, but what they could do was usually limited by their element or ability. Iconic witches had to spend years mastering various types of spells and creating them, but their range of reactions was much wider. My father claimed that knowing the right formula, just like in alchemy, the iconic witch can create almost anything.
Beatrice didn't know how long it would take her to master more complex seals and speed up the process of creating them. Every day she doubted more and more that she would ever be able to develop in magic to the level of her father, and even more so to the heights that he prophesied for her. Perhaps, to some extent, his ambitions were too big. He might even have been a bit of a madman. In any case, Beatrice loved her father and was sure that she would never stop, no matter how much time had passed since his death.
After making sure of the strength of the protective spell, Beatrice left the dining hall and, accompanied by the butler, left the mansion through the main entrance, heading for the main gate. The middle of August was no longer so hot, so the courtyard of the estate met her with a slight coolness. The girl wrapped herself more tightly in a white lace shawl.
There was a dark figure standing outside the main gate, and Millie was standing guard nearby, whom the butler had apparently left at the gate to guard the uninvited guest. The maid bowed to Beatrice and stepped aside. The figure outside the gate moved when she heard the creak of the door opening.
Beatrice went out of the gate and bowed to the stranger in greeting. She wanted to say something, but the cloaked figure immediately silently handed her an envelope.
Beatrice looked first at the envelope and the strange patterned seal on it, then at the stranger, then back at the envelope. She had no desire to try to find out something at once and in words, so she carefully opened the letter.
On the first page, in large letters, it was written no other than a warning
"The contents of this letter must remain strictly confidential. Please read it only if you are sure that there are no humans in your immediate vicinity"
Beatrice looked back at the butler and the maid. They were standing outside the gate and definitely could not see the letter from such a distance. So Beatrice turned this page and opened the next one.
The beginning of the letter was no different from any official address. Beatrice even thought it was someone's joke until she got to the heart of the letter.
"In connection with the death of your father - Bertram Darkfall - all the property left by him on the territory of the closed city now belongs to you as the main heiress. In the early years, your father was engaged in research as a student of the Tower. Among the things left by him there are various kinds of notes and notebooks, books, mechanical devices of unknown purpose and a certain number of objects made of precious metals. If you want your things to remain in the walls of the Tower, write a reply letter and send it back with the help of the courier who delivered it to you. If you want to pick up these things, you need to personally visit the Tower to confirm your identity.
If you want to visit the Tower, inform the courier about it within three days after receiving the letter. The person who delivered this letter to you will accompany you to your destination. Without a courier, you will not be able to get into the territory of a closed city or find out its location, since you have not visited it before.
Also, as the heiress of Bertram Darkfall, we invite you to a two-year training course in the Tower in the direction of your innate predisposition. Whether to accept this offer or not is also entirely your decision. On this issue, you can contact the dean of the Tower upon arrival in the city. "
At the end, the letter was signed with two names: "the dean of the Tower - Delphinia Shin'ia" and the mysterious "Aruma" without a surname and position. Next to the signatures on the letter was a stamp with a picture of a mountain edelweiss flower.
The letter has not explicitly stated, but any witch would understand that this letter was written by someone who is directly related to magic, and everything described in it is to the Tower of St. Morven. That's just the closed city and the Tower for Beatrice were nothing more than legends, which her father rarely mentioned, but her sisters often talked about. In fact, the Tower of Saint Morven and the city around it were the only place in the world where only witches lived. Its location was unknown to anyone, including uninitiated witches, which, apparently, were the witches of the Darkfall family. But if her father was really there, then why did he never talk about this part of his life? Beatrice was lost in her own thoughts and started when she heard a voice:
"If you have any questions, call off the people."
"- what?" Beatrice was taken aback.
The stranger nodded her head in the direction of the butler and the maid.
"Call off the people."
Beatrice roused herself and waved her hand to the servants to leave them alone. Milly glanced warily at the hooded stranger, but obeyed the order.
As soon as the servants disappeared behind the doors of the manor, the young woman took off her hood and inhaled the air as if she was holding her breath. Beatrice realized that under the girl's top coat there was something similar to a coat with black fur on the collar. The girl pulled her cloak down a little to ease the pressure in the neck area and fanned herself with her hand a couple of times. Her black hair was disheveled, and her cold light blue eyes stared at Beatrice.
"I don't like to waste time, so let's be quick and to the point" said the girl.
Her voice was a little rough, but still quite pleasant. Her pale face, framed by black strands, seemed almost white. She was about a head taller than Beatrice, so she looked down at her, but there was no arrogance in her gaze, only some kind of doomed fatigue and cold.
Beatrice turned the letter over in her hands and decided to start with the most obvious question.
"Does St. Morwen's Tower really exist?"
" Yeah."
" Did you come from there? "
" Exactly."
"And... what's going on there?" Do witches really live there? And teach others? It turns out that I am invited there?" Beatrice began to mutter. She did not understand at all whether she should believe at least something from what was written in the letter. Bitter life experience has taught her not to trust a lot of things.
" I asked - briefly..." the girl answered a little irritably, tiredly rubbing the bridge of her nose "But, yes. To all questions."
Beatrice began fiddling with the letter in her hands.
" And what should I do about it? I have no idea what the tower and the witches living there are like. In general, I was sure that this was just a long-standing story. How am I going to go there, even now? "
"Listen, "what should you do" is none of my concern" the black-haired girl interrupted her stream of consciousness, "I'm a courier. My job is to deliver the letter, and then deliver the answer to it. Or escort a person from point A to point B. No more, no less."
Beatrice said nothing, realizing that it made sense.
"You have three days to think over everything that is written in the letter. The sooner I get a solution, the better," the courier continued, adjusting the leather bag slung over her shoulder, "When you have a solution, just contact the Meriden Hotel in the city. Ask Branwen there. I will be notified and I will come to the same place in a couple of hours."
"Branwen?" Beatrice asked a little uncertainly.
The girl frowned a little
"My name."
Beatrice felt a little silly "Nice to meet you."
Branwen frowned a little harder and turned awkwardly towards the road.
"I will wait for the sign at the hotel. Don't delay it. I don't like to wait. "
Before Beatrice could reply, the girl strode away, something cluttering under her cloak.