Chapter 6 Beatrice's Betrayal

• Nicholette could have just sent a messenger or even asked anyone of the many workers or guards that busy themselves every day with the functioning of the house that doubled as the headquarters of the city’s security. But being bored out of their skulls from spending so many days inside, she and Raquel decided to venture outside, despite their father’s direct orders.
• It wasn't all that hard to sneak out. They even managed to do it wearing a little more elegant clothes than it would take to climb a wall. Raquel wore a light pink combination of skirt and bodice with a golden design embroidered in the front and knee-high boots, while Nicholette wore a loose teal green blouse and a dark skirt, both covered with blue capes. They strolled past the kitchen and out through the stables, where only the stable boy worked. He was distracted with his duties, but even if he saw the young women, he didn't have the authority to stop them, so they just walked around the stable storage area to a narrow passage in the fence that led to an opening where there was no outer wall. It had never been built because the place had a sheer drop on the other side. There was a path that surrounded the whole property, but it was very narrow, so the girls had to move slowly, watching every step until they reached the cobblestones of the northeast exit.
• As they reached the street, the familiar city opened itself to them, with its bustling movement of people coming and going, pushing trade carts or riding animals. The air hummed with the clang of blacksmiths, the chatter of merchants hawking alchemical trinkets, and the vivid toll of the cathedral bell. It was much louder than when she heard from her home in the quiet of the night. The sisters melted into the crowd, their hooded cloaks disguising their Veritas finery. Erbe’s streets were a labyrinth of contradictions: the Merchant Mile, where perfumed nobles bartered over jeweled daggers and silk crossed paths with the Iron Ward, a grimy district of forge-fires and grit, where armorers hammered steel for the Huntresses. The stench of molten metal and oil clung heavily to the air, invading her memories. That was what well-kept armor smelled like, only it was very faint. Raquel gravitated towards the Merchant Mile, but Nicholette pulled her sister the other way. This was no time for shopping.
• “We are not going through the Iron Ward!” Raquel protested.
• “No, we are not. Guards are always about bringing gear that needs maintenance. And I don’t want any of them telling on us or even offering an escort. We go this way.”
• Nicholette led her sister down a smaller street full of houses and small commerces and into a square that harbored many restaurants and bars and a decorated well in the middle. The smell of food being prepared tantalized them and if this were any other day, they'd be happy to pull up a chair and order the day away. But since this was a mission, they had to focus. They slipped into a shaded alley strewn with boxed produce, some fresh and some already rotten, where they could go unnoticed. Tip-toeing around the puddles of mucky waters leaked from vegetables, Raquel and Nicholette came up to another alley that led them into daylight.
• The Academy stood less than a mile away, an ample fort smack in the middle of the city, not very far from the Sacred Coven. Its moss covered walls stood tall as if they were a line of defense against an invader. They weren't. If by any chance the invader reached the Academy, it would mean that they had already breached every nook and corner of the city. The walls did, however, serve as protection for the extensive armory that the Academy held, a fact guaranteed by the Veritas family crest, which hung above the front door.
• As they turned a corner on the street that led to the front yard of the Academy, Nicholette stopped in her tracks.
• “Guards. The front door never had guards. Father must be really worried.”
• “Any way around them?”
• “Of course. This is Erbe. We are always planning ahead, even if we don't know why.”
• Nicholette led Raquel around the block and into the back of the academy, into a dark alley where a one-eyed beggar strummed a lute. Raquel tossed him a coin.
• “For your silence.”
• “Never even seen you, ladies.”
• “You take so much after Father…” Nicholette teased Raquel.
• The beggar grinned, toothless, and nodded toward a rusted grate in the wall behind a stack of empty crates. As the metal screamed its rusty pain, it revealed a smuggler’s tunnel that led beneath the academy they could follow unnoticed.
• “Are we seriously going in there? In these shoes?” Raquel asked. To her response, Nicholette just ducked inside.
• Through the dark passage the women reached a nook behind a shelf of old records and books in the administrative area of the Academy, an unattended space that led to a wide corridor. On one side, closed doors, on the other, wide open space to the main courtyard, where Beatrice and other masters, as usual, were riding the novice huntresses.
• “Again!” Beatrice roared to her formation, six dedicated teenagers, all shapes and sizes. “Faster this time! A Lycan won’t care how tired you are. Save your energy in defense positions. And attack!”
• And as a coordinated ballet, the girls lunged their wooden swords forward, swinging for internal organs in a move Nicholette knew all too well from having repeated it hundreds, if not thousands of times, under scalding sun, heavy rain and even under snow. Always alert, Beatrice saw the guests out of the corner of her eye. She smiled and began to shout a greeting, but Nicholette made a gesture with both palms downward that ensued Beatrice to hold her voice.
• Beatrice looked around and found an idle trainer. She called her in and gave some instructions that looked like she asked to take on her class. Then walked away to the corridor Nicholette and Raquel awaited.
• “Nyx! Are you back for more training? I miss bossing you around here in the Academy. And you brought a princess along!” Beatrice noted Raquel’s elegant dress. “My liege…” She made an ironic curtsy to Raquel.
• “Beatrice, you dummy. Stop it!” Raquel interrupted her, but deep down was a little flattered.
• “Why weren't you announced? The foyer is open…”
• “Oh, we're still grounded. We came in through the ratway to avoid prying eyes.”
• “Oh, yuck!” Beatrice remembered that tunnel.
• “Yuck indeed.” Raquel agreed.
• “I need your help to get out of the house if I’m to hunt down that monster that attacked us. I need a phony mission.”
• “Oh, no, you don’t! You are not having a fully grown werewolf leader as an assignment right out of Academy! Not even if you take all the soldiers in your House.”
• “A leader? As in, a King?”
• “Ah, you didn't know... Much has happened in the last days. Let’s talk somewhere else.”
• Beatrice led the sisters to the second floor, avoiding meeting any staff or Huntresses. They navigated the rich mosaic colored floors away from anyone's sight and came into the vast wooden doors that were the war room. Beatrice peeked inside and, since it was currently empty, gestured them in and shut the door.
• The mosaic stone floors gave way to soft thick carpets. The tall windows lit up a long polished table covered with detailed maps, documents and reports, leftover from the last meeting. Among the papers, Nicholette found a sketch of a smiling Rafe. The artist that drew it had managed to perfectly capture his intolerable smile and sly expression.
• “Why wasn't I asked to describe him? I took a good look at him. I talked to him. I could have testified.” Nicholette felt rejected and out of the loop of the most important thing that happened in town.
• “There were enough witnesses at the ball. And your father made it very clear that you were not to be bothered with this first phase of the investigation. Perhaps he knew you all too well to guess you'd go after him yourself.”
• Raquel couldn't help but to agree with Beatrice on that deduction.
• “You were saying he's a King…?”
• “Prince. Obviously he wasn't a Fenris or a merchant at all, as you know. But we managed to pinpoint his clan and his whereabouts.”
• “Excellent. So all you need to do is come to my house and call me on a mission. Something small like a scouting mission or a patrol mission. That will get me out of the house, and we can go introduce Prince Rafe to the benefits of a silver blade to his guts.” Nicholette stated, decisive and the plan was solid.
• “Sounds simple.” Beatrice agreed.
• “It is. No need for a great big fuss. It’s just a skirmish mission, like the Huntresses have done many times before. Up front battle.”
• “Yes, we have done those.” Again, Beatrice agreed.
• “Ok, so I'm thinking we gather a small troop, four or six Huntresses and fifteen or twenty soldiers. One healer. And two witches, of course. In those numbers we won’t need to carry many resources, so logistics and camping should be simple, like with two or three pack mules.”
• “You thought of everything, then…?” Beatrice agreed once again but was reticent.
• “Yes, I think so. Where should we meet? And how long will we be walking?” Nicholette took the map on the table, searching for the location of Rafe’s clan.
• Beatrice gathered the map and rolled it. Nicholette was confused.
• “Don’t you think we should study a path and identify possible camping sites? Obstacles? A water source?”
• “We have done that. But, it’s… ah… complicated.”
• “Complicated? Beatrice, how? We know our lands, most of it are plains and are resourceful.”
• “Still… complicated.”
• “How? Why?”
• “Nyx… She isn’t going to take you on that mission. If there is a mission… Beatrice?” Raquel, observant and witty in diplomacy and politics, understood Beatrice’s position right away.
• “Bea?”
• “Sorry, Nyx. No can do. You were my favorite pupil. And my friend. But not the best. You are… Just not ready.”
• “Not ready?!”
• “No, Nicholette. Not ready.” The deep harsh voice of Lord William came from the door.