Chapter Text
Volkov took it on himself to treat Rutger well, who in turn was burdened with shepherding Vlad and Radu, who bickered with each other at every chance they got. If Jemina’s identity card wasn’t the reward, Vlad would have thrown him out on some distant snowy peak and washed his hands of the last person he was blood-related to. At least Rutger and Volkov seemed to enjoy the display.
Rutger found Vlad as he was attempting to escape Radu’s company. Radu had spouted nonsense about no one else talking to him (Vlad had seen him chatting to several other knights easily) and how Gott was short-tempered around him (rightfully so) and so clung onto Vlad for companionship.
Vlad found a fairly secluded place in the Varanov mansion where only servants seemed to walk past, each bowing respectfully when they saw Vlad but didn’t ask him to leave. Vlad was doing his best to stay out of their way, knowing a nobleman like Radu wouldn’t know how to find this area.
How the nobleman Rutger found him was a mystery. Then again, Rutger knew all the best places to hide when he wanted to avoid work.
“You two are close,” Rutger said. He was looking down at Vlad, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. It wasn’t the first time Vlad had been told this, but for even Rutger to say it felt like a betrayal.
“We aren’t,” Vlad protested. He heard too much of Radu in the exclamation. He inhaled through his nose to calm himself.
“You act like you are,” Rutger said. This was with a wistful tone, and both men thought of the one who died. Rutger joined him on the floor, sitting a little away from him.
“I’m only tolerating him for the bishop’s sake. I can barely tolerate the bishop too, so I don’t know why I’m doing this at all.”
Rutger smiled as though he knew of the identity card at stake. If he didn’t know he could surely guess Vlad was being paid in something other than money.
“Everyone knew about the festivals we were planning,” Rutger said, stating what Vlad already assumed. “I didn’t tell them to keep it from you.”
Vlad would have rejected it outright without even leaving Shoara if he knew beforehand. If the plan was to get him to return to Sturma, it worked.
“You’re the one who said it was an urgent and important matter. Isn’t that a lie?”
“You should’ve heard the news. It was being planned for months. Even the arena being built was a big deal. That’s important, isn’t it?”
Not only did the people close to Vlad not mention it, but Vlad himself ignored the news. He kept his head down and away from the gossip, especially about Bayezid’s ancestral home.
“I didn’t want to hear the news. I don’t care about Sturma.”
“That’s why you’re Vlad of Shoara, not of Sturma.”
Vlad looked at Rutger dead-eyed. Then he said, “I could’ve been Vlad of Varna since it was Father Andrea who arranged it.”
Rutger just shrugged a little. He shifted like the hard floor was uncomfortable.
“I’m jealous,” Rutger said.
“Of the identity card?” Vlad asked, thinking they were still talking about the reason why Vlad ended up leaving Shoara.
“Of how you are with Radu.” Rutger spoke blandly as if there was no intention behind his words, just idle conversation. This was not the place for any deep emotion, and Vlad shifted uncomfortably, not wanting any vulnerability exposed when a servant could turn the corner at any moment.
“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” Vlad said finally, thinking of the times Vlad had beaten Radu up. “If you want to bully him too, feel free. He needs to know his place.”
“I don’t want to anger San Rosino,” Rutger said, forcing an upbeat tone. He wasn’t smiling when he stood, stretching. The haunted look in his eyes wasn’t of anyone who passed—for once Vlad didn’t see Joseph or any other man, but instead knew this was a ghost Rutger had created.
Then Rutger smiled lightly. As he walked away, Vlad hoped the heat of Rutger’s world burned his troubles for him.
Volkov arranged for all four of them to dine together. Vlad didn’t like it nor did he see a point; he’d rather eat by himself or with Gott, but if the other lords all thought it was appropriate, Vlad felt he had to play along. He was still fumbling around ever since he received his last name.
Maybe if Joseph were here to make it five, Vlad thought. While it wasn’t a sin to miss the dead, Vlad felt guilty for the thought all the same.
“I can’t wait to lose against Vlad tomorrow,” Volkov said flatly, referring to the jousting they would do the next day.
“I don’t have to take part if you don’t want to lose,” Vlad replied, equally flatly.
“No, no, you’re the main event. Everyone wants to see the swordmaster.”
“Put me up against Radu then. It can be a recreation of my duel against that central dragon.”
“Hey,” Radu protested from where he was sitting. Volkov was at the head with Vlad and Rutger on either side. To display the brotherhood Rutger was envious of, Radu chose to sit next to Rutger instead of Vlad.
“No one will mind,” Vlad said, ignoring Radu, “especially not the Bishop.”
Radu looked desperately at the other two, who just looked contemplative at the offer.
“Not a fan of jousting, I take it,” Volkov said to Vlad.
“I’d rather fight the lindworm by myself than do it again. It’s pointless.”
“Because you use a sword,” Rutger said pointedly. “It used to be more common for knights to use lances.”
Volkov and Radu acted as if that was common knowledge, Volkov nodding along and Radu rolling his eyes at the explanation. It wasn’t for Vlad, who pretended like he already knew in the same way as everyone else. Rutger grinned, knowing Vlad was pretending but not calling him out on it.
“I’m looking forward to the other parts of the festival,” Vlad said. “I want to see the rest of Bastopol. Whenever I’m here I seem to get interrupted.”
He was referring to Mirshea’s attempted invasion of Bastopol. Radu had only heard of it due to serving time as a wine barrel, and he tilted his head and looked at the ceiling like he was imagining Mirshea breaking in.
Maybe he could envision it accurately. If there was one thing Radu was first in, it was knowing the most about the annoying dragons who wore smug smiles and neglected their offspring.
“Find someone to dance with,” Rutger suggested. “Isn’t that popular?”
“I normally danced with Jemina,” Vlad said, recalling the few festivals he’d attended in Shoara. “Or one of the women from the Smiling Rose.”
“There were festivals in the slums?” Radu asked. Vlad looked at him like he was stupid.
“Obviously. But I’m going to gamble this time.”
“Gamble…” Volkov looked to Rutger, uncertain about whether or not he should let a guest lose all his money. Rutger just shook his head, quietly telling Volkov not to object.
After the couple rounds of jousting Vlad was obligated to take part in—he won against Volkov, of course—he quickly left the arena that had been set up, changing into plainer clothing. Even his sword was handed off to Gott, who promised to secure it before heading out himself. Vlad gave him some money as a reward, earning the usual amount of praise from him about how generous Vlad was.
“Where’s my money?” Radu asked, who’d observed this with curious eyes.
“Go away.”
“I want to hang out with my family during this festival. My great noble swordmaster brother surely has spare change for me too.”
Vlad looked at Radu’s too-expensive and well-made clothing that definitely stank of nobility and wealth.
“Why is family asking for money? I only give it to servants.” Despite saying this, Vlad sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be rid of Radu so easily. He tried to convince himself having company was better anyway, but really, he’d rather be alone.
As they started walking down a street, Vlad spotted what he was looking for up ahead. He grabbed Radu’s arm, nodding at the men playing dice. Just this once Vlad was a little happy to have Radu sticking around him.
“You go first. You’re dressed better.”
Radu looked at him strangely.
“Then I’ll show up and get your money back.”
“You’re going to swindle them,” Radu said. He at least had the good sense to keep his voice down in the crowd of festival-goers.
“Swindlers should be prepared to be swindled,” Vlad said confidently. “Now go. I’ll be there soon, so don’t lose too much.”
Radu did as he was told. Vlad wasn’t sure what made him so obedient; was it because Vlad promised to get his money back, or was it because Radu meant it when he said he wanted to be with family?
The idea they could be ‘family’ was laughable. Vlad had a family back in Shoara, and Radu didn’t count simply because they shared blood.
Vlad wandered for a bit, mentally counting to one hundred in his head before heading back to where he left Radu. He approached casually, asking Radu what he was doing, leaning over the men who were crouching around the dice on the ground.
“Gambling,” Radu said, playing along with the innocent act. “Although your big brother is losing.”
Vlad was going to hit him for that line later. In the moment it worked, because the men who were playing dice all laughed and asked Vlad if he wanted to join.
“I want to play,” Vlad said to Radu, kicking at him. Radu sighed. “And give me money too,” Vlad added on. Radu looked suspiciously at him, but did as he was told and stood up, handing Vlad a few coins.
Being a holy knight must pay well, or Radu was just as sticky-fingered as Vlad. He wasn’t expecting Radu to hand over silver coins.
Naturally, Vlad won. He knew the men cheated, but he also knew how they cheated, and Vlad was quicker and more slick at playing dice. From Vlad’s perspective, they weren’t experienced scammers, only doing so to take advantage of the festival; that was why Vlad picked them in the first place.
As Vlad stood up again, having earned back enough money (and hoping Radu hadn’t completely emptied his pockets before Vlad’s arrival), one of them squinted at him and asked, “are you the swordmaster?”
There was an awkward silence. Vlad handed off the coins to Radu, who looked happy to be given more than he’d lost.
“No,” Vlad said cheerfully, “I lightened my hair with salted water and sunlight to look like him.”
The man who’d spoken looked mystified. Vlad rubbed at his hair.
“My sister told me people by the sea have their hair naturally lightened from when they go into the sea then dry their hair in the sunlight,” Vlad elaborated. He was parroting information Nibelun had once said. “It took a few weeks of repeating it, but it worked. My hair’s actually like his.” Vlad pointed at Radu’s red hair.
“You could’ve fooled me,” the man said, shaking his head.
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Vlad replied cheekily as they left. They waved their farewell and moved on. Vlad’s smile dropped off his face as they did.
“You’re good at lying,” Radu said to him with an air of admiration after they’d walked for a bit.
“That’s what commoners have to do in order to stay alive,” Vlad said.
“And nobles. We do too.”
“Really?” Joseph had seldom lied, and when he was misleading it was for good reason.
“Sure. Telling the truth isn’t always beneficial in meetings or deals.”
It was Radu who was saying it, so Vlad didn’t trust him. Radu was grinning away like he didn’t care if Vlad believed him or not. Vlad was tempted to bring up Joseph but didn’t want to sour his own mood.
It was common sense to lie for a greater cause. Even Joseph would agree with that. Vlad only resisted acknowledging it because it was Radu who said so—Vlad sighed, then asked how much more he had made from swindling the swindlers.
“You tripled what I lost,” Radu said. “I didn’t bet that much.”
“If they’re locals, they’ll probably tell the others about us. We can’t do that again.”
“So let’s try other games. They have wrestling matches.”
“Can I fight you? I always wanted to make you eat mud.”
“Like there,” Radu said, ignoring the threat. He pointed at a particularly large man. Vlad wasn’t sure if he could be beaten without a sword.
“I’ll wrestle him, and maybe my younger brother can upstage me afterwards.”
“I don’t think we’d be wrestling the same man in a row. Wouldn’t they rotate it? There’s a couple of other men waiting to the side.”
“You sound scared.”
Vlad kicked at his ankle. Radu stumbled at it, nearly knocking into another festival-goer. Apologising to them, he then turned back to Vlad and moved to strike his head. Vlad ducked the blow.
“Let’s do it, then. Since you seem desperate to prove something,” Vlad said. When Radu smiled, it looked an awful lot like Mirshea.
Radu won the wrestling match. To Vlad’s eye it seemed like a close match, if only because he knew how Radu should have moved. Vlad, who was used to wrestling in the mud and had tackled men larger than himself before—a feature of being raised in the slums and joining a gang—won his own match easily.
Maybe Vlad was in a kind mood, because he let himself be dragged by Radu into the next event he wanted to try. This was an arm wrestling match. Vlad watched as Radu couldn’t make his opponent budge before his arm was neatly folded back.
When Vlad was next, feeling competitive, he asked the man if he could use a trick.
“What sort of trick?” The man asked.
“Aura,” Vlad said.
The man, clearly not believing Vlad could use aura, agreed to it.
Vlad could only thank Ramund for the body fortification when he won. He wasn’t sure if he could’ve won without it, and he declined the prize, telling the man he had used said trick.
“Could you have won without it?” Radu asked, having observed through his own world.
“Yes,” Vlad lied. For what felt like the millionth time, Radu laughed like he didn’t believe him.
Radu bought street food from vendors with the proceeds of their gambling. As he handed Vlad his share—an act that took Vlad by surprise but wasn’t unwelcome—he remembered stealing some back when he was a child. He said as much to Radu, who pulled a face at that.
“What do vendors do with the leftovers? I used to think they gave it out.”
“They throw it. If you want some, you learn where they dump it.” It wasn’t something Vlad would ever have to do again and it was knowledge Radu wanted for the sake of wanting it.
Vlad bit into the sausage, not as good as Cannor’s but almost, feeling his eyes be drawn to the sight of a small play taking place.
“I think that’s us,” Radu muttered, seeing what Vlad saw. They exchanged looks and joined the audience gathering.
It was strange to see himself be portrayed as a hero. The play left out several details, skimming over black magic and holy knights, and instead of Radu at Achiuk he was depicted as being present against Sarnus; the change made Radu tense up, like he didn’t know what to make of it.
Radu never overcame his dragon nature. If not for Quijano’s intervention, Vlad wasn’t sure he would have either.
They left before the play could finish, neither comfortable with continuing. By silent agreement they slipped away, somehow going by unrecognised. The most accurate part of the play was their appearance.
“They left Lord Joseph out.” Vlad felt empty, his words hollow.
“Unless the Church releases a statement, it’s difficult.”
Vlad was put off the rest of the food he was holding. Despite his loss of appetite he still ate, not wanting to waste it. He wouldn’t give them that.
“Vlad the swordmaster,” Radu said, echoing what the play and many others referred to him as. “I wonder how many children are born and given that name.”
“…I can say my mother’s choice of name is more famous than anything my father did, then.”
“Only in the north.”
“You think they wouldn’t in the empire?”
“They admire you but hate northern and illegitimate blood more,” Radu said. Because it was Radu saying it, Vlad believed him.
“Did you have fun?”
Rutger was meant to be in the middle of the line of travellers heading back to Shoara. Instead he was further back, having slowed so he’d fall in line with Vlad. Radu was on Vlad’s other side, because apparently Vlad wasn’t allowed a moment of peace.
“I guess I did.”
“I told Volkov you looked like you were enjoying yourself, so if anyone else asks…”
“I did,” Vlad said firmly. “Except I had a headache that whole time.”
“Just kill it then.” At Rutger’s off-handed advice, Radu shivered.
“Unfortunately, I’d get in trouble. People seem to believe he’s also a hero.”
Rutger’s eyebrows shot up at that.
“We saw a play,” Radu said helpfully, “and apparently I was there for a lot of major events.”
“Was I in it?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a great portrayal.” Radu glanced at Vlad like the memory was a shared joke. Vlad just felt dead, like the morning after his first drink. He wanted to drink the whiskey Joseph had offered him. “They gave Volkov a few more parts.”
“Lord Volkov,” Vlad corrected.
“No one’s said anything about it other than you. You don’t even see me as your brother, so why should I listen?”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“I’ll believe that when I’m dead.”
“You-” Vlad reached for his sword, stopping when Rutger waved him down. He was grinning like they were acting out a comedy play of their own.
“It’s fine,” Rutger said reassuringly, “because it’s Radu doing it.”
That was an odd way to excuse it. Vlad stared at him, appalled at the double standard; Vlad’s slights against Rutger in the past were still brought up to this day, but Radu’s blatant disrespect was left untouched. Rutger noticed the look of betrayal.
“He’s like that to everyone so it’s fine.”
“That shouldn’t change anything. I have a peanut allergy now because of you, so why is he forgiven?”
“He’s a dragon. Can you teach animals the same etiquette as humans?”
This made it all make sense to Vlad. He nodded, pushing down the thought that reminded him he was the most perfect dragon reincarnated and so Rutger’s logic should also excuse him as well.
“That’s why I can be a rude bastard to everyone,” Radu said proudly. “That, and they all find it charming.”
“Lady Alicia, I’m sorry,” Vlad said, feeling bad for her. He shouldn’t have planted the idea of Dermar in Radu’s head.
“I hear she’s a pretty lady too. That makes your suggestion even more tempting.”
“Don’t you dare disrespect her,” Vlad warned, “or I really will kill you. She’s someone I owe a lot to.”
Radu looked to Rutger for confirmation. Rutger nodded. His self-proclaimed brother didn’t even know Vlad’s banner well enough to know the Hynal crest was the first to be sewed on. Vlad rolled his eyes.
“There’s no crime in looking,” Radu said as if that would absolve him of all sins.
As much as Vlad liked travelling, he also loved returning home to Shoara. Although the city itself wasn’t the grandest—it wasn’t nearly as imposing as Sturma or Bastopol—it was still the city imprinted in his mind and made up his world. As Vlad headed back to the Smiling Rose alone, he resisted the urge to look up at the lights.
Because then he’d naturally look for the mayor’s office, but the occupant of that office Vlad searched for was long gone.
“You’re back.”
Jemina said it indifferently. By now she knew Vlad was always going to return at some stage no matter how far he ran away. Jemina looked up, saying, “I just cleaned your room, so you can go straight to sleep if you like.”
“‘I’d rather eat first.”
Jemina sighed like this was a problem for her. She nodded.
“All right,” she said. “Is anyone else with you?”
“No.” Radu had said he was going to the church, and Gott had rambled about how he had horses to look after; apparently he was still the one looking after the horses kept in the Smiling Rose’s stables.
Vlad went to his usual spot at the bar, sitting where Jorge used to sit. Jemina took up Marcella’s place, handing him a plate.
“How was it?”
“Why did you keep it from me?”
“It’s not a big deal. It was just a festival.”
Vlad just kept looking at his plate. If he dared to look up, he knew he’d see pity.
“It was partly for Lord Rutger’s sake,” Jemina said, “I wondered if he’d be lonely, so if you kept him company…”
“You only met Lord Rutger once at the succession ceremony. How would you know?”
“What else am I meant to think when he asks for you to be there. I’ve heard enough to have an idea of what his life is like now.”
“He could have been honest with me about the festival.”
Jemina looked at Vlad contemplatively, knowing Vlad was being intentionally difficult. The look reminded Vlad of all the other nobles, but maybe not Joseph. Vlad couldn’t think of a time Joseph had been mindful of Rutger.
“Next time you can take me there too. I don’t mind entertaining Lord Rutger.”
“So you’ll abandon me too by taking his side? I won’t allow it.”
Ignoring him, Jemina then said, “your brother will be staying with us too.”
“My brother?”
“Sir Radu.”
“Kick him out.”
“He’s paying, and that’s more than what you do.”
“He lied and said he’d be at the church,” Vlad protested, “but he’s staying here? I’d rather you go off and marry Lord Rutger than have him stay here.”
“I won’t kick out my fellow red-haired guests,” Jemina said, and that was that. Vlad had nothing more to say but could only grumble to himself about the continuous headache he was having these days.
In order to escape Radu, Vlad left the Smiling Rose early in the morning to head to the church.
As expected, it was open. Vlad slipped inside, hoping no one saw and no one would chase after him for attention. No one had ever followed him into a church before, but there was always a first for everything.
Pierre was already waiting for him, it seemed. The old bishop was sitting in the front pew with his head bowed, raising his head as he heard footsteps. He turned slightly, seeing Vlad approach.
“I’m back,” Vlad said needlessly. Pierre didn’t reply, turning back to the cross hanging above him. His morning prayers, Vlad assumed, although he thought priests would have their own gatherings or would wait until the morning service to join the parishioners.
“Did you accomplish much?”
Vlad, thinking of how he wanted to commit fratricide while standing in the church aisle in full view of the all-knowing God, said, “I’m not sure. Radu hasn’t decided on anything yet. I suggested he go to Dermar though.”
“I see.” Pierre clasped his hands together. “God willing.”
Vlad didn’t accomplish the task Pierre assigned him. Simply suggesting something to Radu wouldn’t inspire him to move; Vlad sincerely doubted Radu would leave the holy knights at his passing comment, no matter how much Radu claimed to not like it there.
Well, Vlad thought, he tried. He could still pay for Jemina’s identity card.
“Here.” As if reading his thoughts, Pierre reached into his robes and produced from it a card. Vlad stared at it, then took it with both hands.
It had Jemina’s name on it, and Pierre was the guarantor. Not as good as Pope Andrea, but it was meaningful all the same. Vlad wasn’t sure if this was how things were meant to be done; Jemina likely needed to receive it with her own two hands, but that was a formality they could go through with at a later date.
“But Radu will be back.”
“I was going to give it to you regardless.” Pierre was expressionless. “I knew you would ask for it.”
“You knew?”
“After a certain age, one stops guessing and begins knowing.” This was said with a self-assuredness Vlad couldn’t understand. Maybe if Vlad still had faith he would have understood; he thought of Joseph and his pessimism and sighed.
“Why did you make that fucker ‘of Shoara’?”
“I’m surprised it took you this long to find out.” If it had been in the past, Vlad would have taken this as an insult. But Pierre said it thoughtfully, likely guessing—or knowing—why Vlad had to be told directly. Without Joseph to report to, Vlad’s curiosity lacked breadth.
“I wanted to tie him to the north.” Pierre was like stone, but even stone was warmed under God’s sunlight. There was the ghost of a smile on his face, and Vlad knew that ghost was no one he had met. “He would only stay if he was also linked to you.”
“Gross,” was all Vlad could exclaim. He sounded too much like Radu, but at least it wasn’t Mirshea who left his mouth. “What about how I feel about it?”
Pierre just put his hands together in prayer. Vlad knew this was a dismissal, and he left without praying. He didn’t feel like praying to a god that took everyone from him.
“I’m going to Dermar,” Radu told Vlad. They were seated at a table on the Smiling Rose’s first floor. Vlad had been reluctant to do so, expecting a line of merchants and peddlers bothering him, but for some odd reason no one approached. Jemina’s doing, most likely.
Radu was wearing casual clothes. They were decent but lacked embroidery, indicating they were for well-off but not noble men. Like he was trying to match Vlad, like Pierre was telling the truth. Vlad grimaced.
“You’re actually going?”
“I already sent a letter to the Baroness for permission, and she accepted.” Radu was ripping apart the bread ruthlessly and dipping it into his soup. Vlad watched the crumbs spray across the table as an example of Central manners.
“When are you leaving?”
“In about a month.”
“And what did San Rosino say?”
“They’re happy to see me go. I lack the ability to use God’s world.”
Vlad was fairly certain there was more to it than simply lacking God’s world, but to list the sins Radu had committed in his short career as a holy knight would be to exhaust all of the World Tree’s clean air.
“Well then,” Vlad said, feeling bitter. “Have fun.”
Radu’s eyes were steady when they looked at him. It was eerie to see the same blue eyes of a dragon’s look at Vlad with a calculated kindness, like Radu knew why Vlad felt bitter.
Not that he was. Not that Vlad thought Radu was leaving him behind too, just like Harven and Othar and Nibelun. To think that was to acknowledge he cared at all about his brother.
“You can come with me. I’m not opposed to sharing a manor with my brother.”
“I’m not your brother,” Vlad said coldly, “and I am opposed to sharing a manor as well as a city with you.”
“Ha!” Radu just shook his head. Vlad wondered if Radu ever had to share things with Mirshea, or if the way of nobles meant they never did. Rutger and Joseph never seemed to share, but they were also rivals for the succession.
“Then you can stay at your servant’s house,” Radu said with a grin. Vlad’s mouth twisted at his words.
“I’m not leaving Shoara.”
“Because of Joseph, right?”
Only Radu would feel the need to ask so directly. Vlad stared at him for a moment, then nodded once.
“Thought so.” Radu was finished eating. In an example of Northern manners, he swept the crumbs up into his hand and deposited them back into the bowl. “You’ve got Pierre and the current mayor here. If that’s not good enough, go back to Lord Rutger.”
“No.”
“Then stay here and rot.” Radu was speaking casually. That was the only way Radu knew how to talk. “But if you get sick of it, come visit me. I’ll have many complaints about a backwater town like Dermar. Can’t believe I never even touched the wall, by the way. What a stroke of bad luck.”
Vlad thought of Joseph who had grown more and more exhausted and sickly the longer the battle had gone on. Vlad thought of Rutger who rotted just like him in Sturma, and he said, “you would have died if you invaded.”
“Because of you?”
“Because Lord Joseph was there.”
Radu laughed. Vlad wasn’t sure if he was believed or not, not that it mattered. If Joseph had pointed at Radu and told Vlad to bring back his brother’s head, he would have done so. Radu, perhaps sensing the thought, patted his neck.
“At least you have a new talent, joustmaster. You can claim to have several hobbies now.”
Vlad slowly picked up his fork. Radu stood quickly, sensing Vlad’s threats were about to become a reality, dropped a couple of gold coins on the table, and rushed out of the door.
Vlad, happy his threat worked, pocketed one of the coins.