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Chapter 217 by AlexandraS90 AlexandraS90

What's next?

That morning, learn Bezoriana's fate.

The next morning, you wake early and, having your chambers to yourself, contact Corinne.

The Spider answers after only a few seconds. She's unmasked, sat perched outside a cave, a rock swept clean of snow serving as a seat.

“How fare you, cousin?” you ask, a hint of apprehension creeping out into your voice.

“Far better than those foolish White Torch demon-hunters who came after Bezoriana, let's just say that, shall we?” Corinne responds, beaming her usual unhinged smile at you. “They didn't make it easy, but I cut them down, to a man!”

The Spider is breaking her fast on strips of cured meat. As the baroness' straight white teeth tear into the meat, an image bursts, unbidden into your mind's eye. The fat spiders Corinne kept in a cave on her lands, her so-called "babies", devouring those the Cult had no more use for. You suppress a shudder, and move on to more important matters.

“Where is she?”

“'Ave no fear, Edward.” the Morlandian tells you. “our tante rests in a cave nearby.” she nods her head just beyond the periphery of the magical projection.

“Get her out of here.” you advise.

“Your concern is touching, cousin.” Corinne smirks. “Don't worry, we'll keep a low profile, and be rid of Beatha in less than a week. Then, I can come back. The two of us can have a little fun, perhaps?”

“P-perhaps.” you say. To be completely honest, you're not exactly disinterested in the notion, but in the sober morning light, the buzz of the wine and Khaliq's comforting warmth nowhere to be found. your frayed nerves were returning in ****.

“You shouldn't have killed them.” you state. “It'll draw attention.”

“To who, exactly?” Corinne asks. “We'll both be long gone in a matter of days.”

As Corinne finishes her food, wiping her fingers on her leathers in a most unladylike fashion, it occurs to you that she's too fixated on the kill, the carnage, the enjoyment of demonstrating her superiority to the purebloods to truly plan ahead and strategise. Little wonder her own mother had relegated her to a mere tool, a blade to strike at those the Cult wanted dead.

“Let me when you make it over the border to Sinnabarrow?” you ask. That at least might bring you some comfort.

“Of course. And give my love to Roland, oui? Tell him those Deanian dogs would've never troubled me!”

With that, Corinne ends your magic-assisted communion, going about her business as the representation of her diffuses into loose red particles of magical energy, then complete nothingness.

-

Realising you haven't seen Kara in quite some time, you decide to seek her out. None of the servants milling about your quarters during the day have any clue as to your lady's whereabouts, so you move across the castle, seeking out Donald.

You're let into the king's chambers as he and Jana eat and sup.

Scanning the table, you notice a scrap of parchment, quill and inkwell alongside the plates of food. Surreptitiously glancing at it, you quickly ascertain it's a dispatch to Harris, their son, safely cloistered in the capital.

“Edward!” Donald says happily. “It would seem congratulations are in order, aye? Have a seat.”

You oblige the Beathan monarch, limping to the table and joining them.

“Donald told me what he asked of you. Quite the tall order.” the warrior woman opines.

“That's our Edward. Very little can dissuade him, when he sets his mind to somethin'. And when that's something beyond ploughing? Watch out!” Donald teases.

“Madeleine sent a messenger, said she'd meet with Hjordis this morning. Would only make sense if we were there, too.”

“I'll come.” you say offhandedly. “But that's not why I'm here. I was just... wondering where Kara is.”

“Oh, did she no' tell ye?” the red-headed king asks, raising an eyebrow. “She led a party out after Robert and that demoness he was hot on the heels of, said they'd been gone too long.”

Panic bursts through you, and for once, you make a poor effort of disguising it. Your good hand goes out, clenching the edge of the table. Corinne had slain her pursuers indiscriminately.

“Y'seem worried, brother.” Donald observes, leaning in, putting his hand over yours.

“And you don't.” you retort.

“Why should I be?” Donald says. “It's Kara! More than a match for some poxy succubus, I'd say! Been ridin' on the odd expedition with the Order for years, in fact!”

Having seen your family, Corinne in particular in action, you weren't sure you shared his optimism, or his faith in his sister.

“I trust I don't need to remind you how dangerous demons can be.” you say diplomatically. Donald's bravado softens.

“Ed, I'm sure she'll be fine. No one demon could match two parties of Beathan warriors, trust me.” he says, doing his best to reassure you.

Part of you wanted to dart out of the room right then and there, contact Corrine, ask her if she'd locked swords with a young red-haired woman. But you knew it wouldn't be proper.

“Love, I hate to interrupt, but it's nearly time you were headin' to Madeleine's.” Jana informs Donald, setting down her fork and gesturing for a serving girl to come clear away the breakfast plates.

“Aye, is at that.” Donald realises. “Come on, Ed. This may provide some distraction from your worries, if naught else.”

What's next?

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