Countess Anne Claire stared at her table in some bemusement as Lennard van Brugh laid out colossal beaks in front of her one by one. She was certainly no monster hunter, but even she could tell these had been freshly claimed. Each of them was near as big as her head, and Lennard carried a full bag of them.

  “And… nine,” Lennard finished, lining them up so they appeared more presentable. “I tried to get all in the area that I could, countess, alongside the one that you pointed out. The region doesn’t see much traffic, but I imagine it should still be much safer for everyone nonetheless.” He scratched the back of his head. “I hope this in some way makes up for the fact that I was unable to recover your husband’s… belongings.”

  Anne Claire cleared her throat as she thought of what she might say in response. She didn’t honestly expect him to find her husband’s body. It had been many years, many winters—if he wasn’t buried beneath snow, he was surely buried beneath rock. By now he was likely dust. It had merely been another distraction for him. But with such effort put forth…

  Someone opened the door, and one of the countess’ knights walked in. He leaned down and whispered the news to her, and her eyes widened in surprise and annoyance before she conveyed her order back in a whisper.

  “Send who in?” Lennard asked. “Was that about Willem?”

  Anne Claire looked back at him as the knight walked away. “You heard that?”

  “Aura users have exceptional hearing. I apologize if I shouldn’t have,” he continued respectfully.

  Anne Claire sighed. “You’ll learn soon anyway. Your father is here.”

  Lennard’s eyes opened in alarm and he stood, the chair behind him creaking as it ground against the floor. “What? Did he say why? Did he mention me?”

  “I imagine he came because Willem invited him,” Anne Claire said.

  As Lennard gathered himself, the door opened again. Two men entered—Baron Tielman, accompanied by his son Godfried. They wore thick clothes of the north and gambesons, both of which seemed ill-suited for this temperate city. Anne Claire regarded them cautiously, covering her mouth with her fan as they entered.

  Knights shied away from Tielman, bowing their heads as if by instinct. Even Anne Claire felt a natural, instinctive fear of the Shield of the North. His mere presence brought a tangible weight into the room. All of her guards looked on the verge of surrender at a moment’s notice. This was the man who’d led the Grand Crusade into the mountains north of his barony. This was the man who’d fought Avaria’s slave armies seven times, and prevailed in each engagement.

  “Lennard?” Godfried said in annoyance. “We were told our sister would—”

  “Dowager Countess Anne Claire.” Baron Tielman dipped his head, and Godfried’s face shifted as he realized what had happened—the classic ‘countess’ trick Anne Claire had come to love. “It’s been some time.”

  “Baron Tielman,” she greeted back. “It hasn’t been long enough. Take a seat next to your heir.”

  The baron visibly stiffened at her tone, but he still followed her words. Tielman sat, while Godfried went to the corner of the room and leaned against the wall. He watched them all suspiciously.

  “I advised Willem against seeing any of you,” she began earnestly, and Tielman’s face stiffened. “Since coming here, he’s been very happy. He’s begun a project that he’s very excited about, and I’ve had great enjoyment helping him.” Even in face of this monstrous man, Anne Claire held her face high and said, “I genuinely believe that you’ll be nothing but a blight on him.”

  Godfried laughed quietly in the corner of the room as Lennard and Tielman digested her words. “So, he made up some stories, wrapped you around his finger? I’m eager to see his inevitable betrayal.”

  “Willem told me nothing about you people,” Anne Claire answered, looking at all three of them without fear. “Whenever I brought it up, he would change the subject, or simply claim that he doesn’t know, can’t remember. He’s too kind-hearted to besmirch people behind their back.”

  All of them looked incredibly confused at the mention of Willem’s ‘kind-heartedness.’

  “Catharina, though, has given more than enough stories for me to picture what your household is like,” Anne Claire continued. “To be frank, I dreaded when the king decreed that she would marry my son. But now that she’s arrived, I’m glad she was able to be free of that cold castle of yours. I intend to extend the same courtesy to Willem.”

  A hard silence fell upon all the members of House van Brugh.

  “That said, he invited you on his own. I shan’t restrict his freedom.” Anne Claire snapped close her fan. “He intends for a dinner in his home. I’ll send people to fetch you when he’s ready.”

  “His home?” Tielman asked, confused. “Then… the gold, he bought…?”

  “Is that why you even came?” Anne Claire raised a brow. “The gold?”

  Tielman shut his mouth, shaking his head.

  Anne Claire scoffed and rose. “Remain outside of the city until you’re called for.”

  “Outside the city walls?” Tielman rose to his feet. “That’s an insult to House van Brugh.”

  “It is.” Anne Claire nodded, staring up at the baron who surely weighed more than twice what she did without a hint of fear. “I’m glad there’s something flickering in that thing you call a brain.”

  Tielman walked around the table until he stood just before her. “The actions my son took while I was poisoned don’t reflect my position toward Willem, dowager countess. He remains a member of House van Brugh. He remains my son.”

  Anne Claire stood strong. “Then suffering some humiliation for him should be little to ask.”

  With that, she brooked no more protest. Anne Claire left the room in elegant strides, shutting the door with nary a sound.

  Back in the room, however, the three Brughs stood there, each of them trying to think of something to say and do after what had just happened.

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  “She forgot the griffon beaks,” Lennard said with genuine sadness. He examined them, searching for flaws. “Or… maybe she didn’t forget,” he considered, even sadder.

  “We weren’t that bad to Catharina, were we?” Godfried looked between them.

  “Hans tricked her into eating a cockroach once,” Lennard said thoughtfully.

  “Dad made him shovel snow for twelve days for that,” Godfried gestured at his father, then looked to the floor. “We should just go back.”

  “We set up camp outside the walls,” the baron said decisively.

  “What?” Godfried looked shocked.

  “I’ve already made camp,” Lennard said excitedly, like he was going to be praised. “The majordomo is there right now.”

  ***

  “Society of Assured Prosperity,” Lennard read, looking up at the sign with a rather well-carved diamond above the lettering. “Is this the right place?”

  Tielman stepped forth and knocked decisively. A few seconds later, the door opened. Willem stood at the door, wearing rather humble clothes.

  “There you are,” Willem said, not allowing a moment for awkwardness to seep in. “Anne Claire said three of you came. At least you didn’t bring a posse of knights. Would’ve been troublesome to feed them all.” He opened the door. “Come on in. Just upstairs, now.”

  Willem left the door open, walking toward stairs behind a desk. They entered, looking around. It looked like a business of some sort. Who, exactly, had Willem gotten himself involved with? Tielman was uneasy, but he followed his son up the stairs. At the top, they were greeted by a table set with five plates. The servant Tielman recognized as Dirk placed steaming lobsters atop them.

  “Sit wherever,” Willem beckoned them in. “I had Dirk make these beauties my special way. I think you’ll enjoy them.” He sat at the head of table as Dirk moved diligently.

  As Willem exchanged some words with Dirk, they all silently took some seats.

  Tielman glanced at the vacant seat beside his son. “Dowager Countess Anne Claire is coming, I presume?”

  “Her? No, she was busy.” Willem shook his head, then pointed. “That’s Dirk’s seat.”

  “Who’s Dirk?” Godfried asked.

  “Short guy right there is Dirk.” Willem grasped the lobster with his bare hands, gesturing with a pinky toward the man serving food. “Come on, Dirk. Job’s done. Sit, enjoy.”

  Dirk glanced between all the young lords and the baron, clearly feeling a great degree of trepidation at the prospect of sharing a table with them all. “Maybe I should let you speak alone.”

  “Nah, I trust you.” Willem tore the shellfish apart with his hands. When Dirk still hesitated, he said, “It’s fine. Sit.”

  Dirk uneasily pulled back the chair and sat. He looked like a child amidst all these big men, the effect only made worse by his shrinking posture. He stared at his food, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

  “How was the trip?” Willem asked.

  “Do you care?” Godfried cut in.

  Willem broke the lobster apart, unbothered. “Not really, but it’s polite to ask.”

  “I’m well again,” Tielman said in conclusion. “I’d like to ask you to come back to the family, Willem.”

  Willem chuckled. “Little hasty. Why not enjoy your food before we bring up business?”

  Lennard looked at Willem squarely. “The last time he ate with you ended poorly.”

  “Unless you’ve a shellfish allergy, the food’s fine. What, want to trade plates?” Willem pushed his forward.

  “It’s fine.” Tielman tore the claws off, cracking the shell with his bare fingers. Willem smiled happily.

  Lennard looked at his food uncomfortably. “How do I actually…?”

  “It’s a pain to eat, but it’s ridiculously cheap here and it tastes good.” Willem demonstrated extracting the meat from various portions.

  For Lennard and Godfried, learning how to deshell and eat a lobster was such an absorbing task that they couldn’t waste any time thinking about why they’d come there. Dirk humbly used a cracker to open the shells, while all the fiercely strong men of House van Brugh just used their hands and knuckles. The oddly satisfying sounds of cracking filled the room. Initially the first-timers of the group seemed hesitant, but eventually they scoured for more meat. Godfried elected not to eat the tomalley, and Willem took it right off his plate without shame.

  After about forty-five minutes, everyone was finished. Dirk passed around towels so that everyone could clean up, but as they were, a loud knock echoed in the room.

  “Dirk?” Willem looked at him.

  “I’ll see who it is,” the man nodded, walking downstairs.

  “Never eating this again,” Godfried said, staring at the scattered shells with some discomfort. “Sea-spiders. Disgusting.”

  “Good. I don’t want you ignorant people driving up the price. I’ll enjoy it all by myself.” Willem began to take the plates from their tables, moving them away.

  “This is common food for slaves in southern Avaria,” Lennard noted. “Right, dad?”

  “And soldiers.” He nodded. “In the Grand Crusade, these were all we had, sometimes. They would wash up on the beach in piles. To preserve rations, we’d cook them immediately. They go bad too quickly, otherwise.” Tielman studied a claw moments before Willem took his plate. “This was… interesting. It tastes better than I remember.”

  “They’re fresh, that’s why. Even a day dead, they go bad.” Willem set the plates down elsewhere, then turned his head as Dirk came back. The man walked in frenzied steps, then whispered something in Willem’s ear.

  “What?” Willem looked perplexed, then looked at Tielman. “Did you have people coming later?”

  “We were the only who came.” Tielman shook his head.

  “Why? Who’s here?” Godfried leaned in.

  Willem moved back to sit at the head of the table. “Your mother, I think.” He looked around. “And Hans, his name was. Right, Dirk?”

  The atmosphere of the table, which had calmed somewhat, reassumed much of the tension it had lost in their shared lobster-eating experience.

  “Yes, it’s the young lord Hans.” Dirk lowered his head. “Shall I…?”

  “Yeah, bring them up.” Willem held out an insistent finger. “But don’t cook anything for them. I don’t want to go to sleep smelling lobster or fish.”

  As Dirk walked away, Lennard asked, “Is that all you have?”

  Willem nodded. “Somewhat. I’m on a seafood diet. I see food, I eat it.” He laughed to himself. “It’s just cheapest here, that’s all. You’ll get sick if you eat too much.”

  The stairs creaked as three people walked up them. Dirk was the first to crest the top, then Hans. The man looked around at everyone here in some alarm. The third to arrive was a dark-haired woman with a long and elegant ponytail. She wore a riding outfit and a cloak, the colors of which matched her green eye. Indeed, eye—a white mask with elegant gold flourishes and a mock eye covered the upper right quarter of her face. An emerald-studded rapier hung from her waist, and her gloved hand hovered near it as she looked around. In time, her gaze settled upon Willem.

  “You’re too late for food, I’m afraid,” Willem said decisively, taking command of the room. “Come on, sit. Tielman was just about to ask me to do something stupid, and I was about to refuse him.”

  Viviene Dubois walked in with elegant, soundless steps, then said with a melodic, flowing accent, “You contradict yourself, Willem. No food? That sounds like wonderful fare to me.”