39th of Glade, Year 114
By the time they left the sewer, it was beyond midnight. There were no signs of Dranoch within the estate, though Taelian found that immensely strange. Everything was wrong; they had a guard posted to the sewers, but not in the vestibule or halls? Something was definitely off. From the way Vendrael grimaced and almost frantically directed his gaze, Taelian could tell that he agreed.
The Ebon Knights climbed the long, opulent steps with finely carved wooden rails, reaching the summit and parting the door leading to Lady Glairen’s interior courtyard, connecting her room to the remainder of the luxurious floor plan.
There, upon entering the room, an unmistakable figure immediately came into view: a woman of dark brown hair, wearing an elegant dress fit for Nobility, leaned over the edge of a botanical display with a pail of water.
“I was wondering when you would arrive,” she said, a solemn expression covering her face. “For I have woefully feared for the sake of any man to come upon me in this time. The moment is almost near, and you bring it closer yet; I only require an ounce further of sustenance. You will be my last.”
She turned to them, standing straight, and curtsying with an empty stare. A voice echoed from the shadowy corner of the room.
“My Lady, shall I call Gratiana?” the masculine Cardinal inquired.
“No, there is no need, Randil. You and I can handle this, don’t you think? There are only four of them.”
“One of them is—“
“I am aware.”
“You fight with more honor than the remainder of your kind, that’s for certain,” Vendrael interjected. Lady Glairen smiled politely and nodded.
“Yes, well, if only you did not intend to kill me — I could have changed them. Showed them the inevitability of a revolt at the hands of men like you if we continue down this route. I would have directed our hunger outwards — to other lands, taken our prey as spoils of war; given prosperity back to the Siltori and showered them with tribute. I was once one of you, after all.”
“Anything that you once were is now long gone,” Vilara spat. “How many of us have you devoured to become as you are? A hundred thousand? Two genocides against us wasn’t enough — your vicious greed has dealt us a blow from which we will never recover!”
Tears were in her eyes. It was sorrowful, he could see; even Ebon Knight against Dranoch, many believed it was a battle between brothers of a kind. They saw the blood leeches as wayward, traitorous kin, perhaps even hopeful of their redemption. But they would never be redeemed.
“Enough. You have already dirtied the court steps with the grime of your malice and spite. Vendrael — for I know who you are — your essence will offer me the last of my progression towards becoming a Huntsman. Know that your sacrifices will not be in vain — I will save Sil-Elaine in your stead.”