The Vampire & Her Witch

High Lord Dirar was shorter than Ashlynn had expected.

It was an odd thought when coupled with a man who easily stood head and shoulders taller than her, but from the descriptions she’d heard, she’d expected a man who could match even Hauke for height. Instead, she was greeted by a man who’d stand eye to eye with Virve, Georg, or the other members of the Clan of the Great Claw.

Dirar’s proportions matched those of a thoroughbred racehorse, lean and elegant without the bulk of a knight’s warhorse. His features complemented his physique perfectly, giving him a countenance that was both delicate and refined in a way that bordered on feminine without quite crossing the line.

What the High Lord lacked in size, he made up for in presence. His dark eyes were tranquil beneath perfectly shaped brows, and if the confrontation at the gates had disturbed him, he showed no sign of it now. Rather, watching his calm, steady approach, flanked by a long-horned servant carrying an ornate lacquered case, Ashlynn was struck by the feeling that she’d encountered a deep, sheltered pool whose bottom no light could reach.

”Your Dominion,” Dirar said, stopping a respectful distance away. He bent his forelegs slightly, lowering himself and bowing his head slightly while his long, dark hair fell beside his sculpted features like a jet-black waterfall. ”Your name has echoed in my ears for close to a year now. The Heavens have smiled upon me that we meet at last.”

”High Lord Dirar,” Ashlynn said smoothly, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the way her young handmaidens stared openly at the handsome Eldritch lord. ”You’ve come a great distance to join us here. I hope you encountered no trouble on your way.”

”A slight misunderstanding at the gates,” Dirar said smoothly, as though the thunder and lightning that had terrified half the city had been little more than a momentary distraction. ”Allow me to correct an oversight,” he said, gesturing to the muscular servant beside him. The bullish man walked forward at a slow, measured pace, bowing submissively as he opened the lacquered case to reveal six scrolls wrapped around polished brass handles and sealed with different colors of wax.

”I am the Sovereign of the Six Jewels of the Southern Sea,” Dirar said, pitching his voice so the whole bailey could listen, from the lords and ladies at Ashlynn’s side to the lesser nobles along the eastern wall.

”Six great cities nestle on the warm coast at the bottom of the world, and in each of them I keep a palace. Choose one. It is yours: its keys, its kitchens, the thousand servants who keep it, and the two hundred soldiers of its palace guard; all yours whenever you come south, for as long as grass grows and the tide flows.”

Along the eastern wall, several people gasped in amazement at the offer. The argument at the gates over tribute hadn’t been a quiet thing, and many members of the Lothian Court had speculated about what Lady Ashlynn expected from a visiting guest. Most felt it would be a token of gold or jewels, perhaps a piece of jewelry or, once they’d heard Cadeyrn’s report, a treasured tome of some sort.

No one had expected the words that they’d heard. A palace with a thousand servants and two hundred soldiers? The most powerful barons of the march didn’t live so well, yet this man offered up a palace the way they’d have presented a bottle of fine wine to a friend, and he claimed to have six of them!

On the heels of that revelation, another shock rippled through the crowd, though it landed hardest on Tybal Aleese. Six great cities. His entire life, he’d warred with men he thought of as nomads and savages, wanderers on the vast grasslands of the Southern Steppe with no place to call their own.

For years, Reynold had ventured south, discovering vast herds of Eldritch people who built small towns out of tents only to move on within days. Some had speculated that they must have a home far to the south, a place filled with farms to feed such a herd, but no one had ever imagined that there were six cities full of people. And from the scale of the palaces the High Lord had mentioned, those cities must be at least as large as Lothian, if not larger still...

”If you would have my counsel,” Dirar said, gesturing to the case of scrolls. ”The palace at Green Sand Cove has the most enchanting views of the sea, and you can walk along a quarter-league of beach without leaving the palace’s walls. Wolstan tells me that you come from a place along the sea, and the Witch of Deep Currents, Esselk’ti, has described your homeland to me. I think you would find it a pleasant place to take your ease,” he said, pointing at the scroll sealed in green.

”But if you’d prefer something different,” Dirar added, pointing to the scroll at the opposite end of the case. ”The palace in the City of Solace holds the second-greatest library in all the Southern Steppe, and the palace staff includes archivists and copyists who ensure that no tome or scroll is ever lost to the ravages of time,” he offered, smiling as he watched a twinkle of delight shining in the corner of Ashlynn’s eyes.

”I ask that you permit me only one indulgence,” Dirar added, touching his fingertips to his chest as he lowered his head again. ”Please allow my concubines to keep their residences undisturbed. They are more precious to me than my own limbs, and I would not have them shifted about like furniture. I’m certain you’ll find them companionable and delighted to host you any time you visit,” he said with a warm welcoming smile.

”Or if you prefer solitude,” Dirar offered, giving himself room to retreat. ”The palaces are more than large enough for six people to avoid each other for however long you stay...”