The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 1912: An Uncomfortable Topic

Even with Sir Elgon leading their escort out of the city and the presence of an impressive number of Eldritch soldiers, it took a considerable amount of time for Ashlynn’s carriage to cross the city, especially as they drew closer to the recently repaired South Gate.

Once they drew within sight of the South Gate, their progress became even slower as the carriage found itself in the midst of a throng of people making their way to the South Gate.

"... told you we should have left with Harrod and his git," a man in the crowd grumbled. "Look at how many people are going to watch. I bet there won’t be any good seats left..."

"You’ll be thanking me within the hour for taking the time to mend your cloak, you will," the woman next to him countered. "But go ahead and complain; see if I don’t let you freeze next time..."

Elsewhere in the crowd, people had thoughts that had nothing to do with the midwinter weather.

"...placed your wagers on?" a stout man in a well-made cloak said as he shuffled forward. "I’ve got three pennies that say Lord Tybal loses his head tonight..."

"Betting against your own kind ain’t right, Tal," the leaner man next to him responded. "I put my silver on Lord Reynold. No one’s beaten his younger brother with a lance in three years, and they say Lord Reynold’s even better than Sir Rain."

"You’re just betting on Lord Reynold because the payout is higher if you win," Tall countered. "I’ll take the surer bet any day..."

Meanwhile, others were finally starting to notice the carriage making its way toward the gate, and someone finally worked out what the crest on the side of that carriage meant.

"It’s the Empress," a voice in the crowd cried. "The Emerald Empress!"

Once one person said it, a dozen others quickly echoed it, and before Micheline knew what was happening, a powerful, feminine voice boomed out from the carriage behind them.

"Make way for Her Dominion," Virve shouted in a voice that echoed off of every building lining the street. "Make way or face the wrath of the Oak Witch!"

People were already starting to move at the first ’make way,’ but when she added a threat, slow shuffling turned into a mad dash for the edges of the road as people rushed to get out of the way.

"She’s not subtle, is she?" Heila said, shaking her head at Virve’s choice of words while watching carefully through the windows for signs that anyone had been hurt in the sudden crush of bodies.

"When has Virve ever been subtle about anything?" Ashlynn said, sighing at her guard captain’s choice of methods. "But I don’t think this is about Virve being blunt. I think she’s still a bit raw, and being surrounded by humans pushes the limits of her patience."

"Mmm," Heila said, nodding in understanding while the carriage picked up speed. "I wish you’d been there for her. Tala nearly had to poison her to stop her powers from rampaging out of control."

"I wish I could have been," Ashlynn said, looking solemn. "But I didn’t want to delay things until I could return to the Vale and..."

"I know," Heila said. "And she understands too. But coming here after that," she said, glancing back toward the carriage that followed after them. "There’s a reason she’s spent most of her time since arriving here chasing down the remaining relics carved from the fallen Ancient Oak rather than staying at your side."

"Mmm," Ashlynn said, nodding as though the whole conversation made sense. Micheline was certain that it did, but at a certain point, her curiosity got the best of her.

"What happened to the, um, the Oak Witch?" Micheline asked hesitantly, fearing that she was intruding on something secret.

Still, Maela had asked her to keep her eyes and ears wide open, and for at least a few days she could take refuge behind a shield of ignorance. It was better to ask insensitive questions now, when they would be received as innocent missteps, than to struggle to find answers later once she should ’know better.’

"We recovered her father’s remains from Bors Lothian’s trophy room," Ashlynn said bluntly. "Bors had him skinned and made into a rug."

"That..." Micheline said, her eyes going wide in horror. "That’s..." she said, struggling to find the right words before pressing her fingertips to her lips as her eyes turned to the petite witch looking out the window. Or rather, to the petite witch’s horns.

"Then, the horns mounted in the restaurant," Micheline said, swallowing heavily.

"Those are different," Heila said, turning away from the window as they passed through the looming South Gate. "Marcel asked for those, and they’ve been given the highest honor to be displayed that way."

"The horns of my clan aren’t exactly hollow," Heila said, knocking on one of her own horns to demonstrate the sound it made. "But they aren’t solid either. It’s more like the inside of a sponge, but made of something like bone. When a loved one dies, we take their horns and pour molten metal into them," she explained. "Even the poorest among us will have their horns filled with tin. Copper, bronze and silver are more common in wealthier families."

"Then, you display them in your homes?" Micheline asked, imagining that it must be a morbid sight to enter the home of Heila’s people, filled with metal-filled horns of their dead loved ones.

"No," Heila said, shaking her head before reaching into a pouch and pulling out a disk of horn filled with brilliantly polished gold and a web of bone. "We slice them into tokens and amulets to be carried by loved ones. Gold is only used for heroes, like Andrus," she said, looking at Ashlynn, who nodded solemnly.

"Andrus died protecting us in the High Pass," Ashlynn said. "I didn’t know him long or well, but... He was a good friend. Providing the hold for his horns was the least I could do. I have a piece of his horn as well," she added. "It’s part of my War Hat, so I never forget the cost of leading others into battle."

"Marcel honored the families who offered the horns of their departed loved ones by gilding them in gold," Heila said. "No one was killed for their horns the way humans hunt us for trophies, and he’s always treated the Horned Clan with respect."

"I see," Micheline said, sitting back in the seat that no longer felt as comfortable as it had moments ago.

The war against the Eldritch had always been a distant, abstract thing, even when she studied the battles that had shaped the Kingdom during her years at the Royal Academy. But now, sitting in a carriage with people who had been on the opposite side of that war and hearing how Virve’s father had been treated, the distant war no longer seemed as simple or as righteous as it had when she left home.

Looking ahead to the strange glow coming from a hollow between hills, Micheline wondered how many more of the things she’d always accepted as truth would be torn down tonight.