Luther's Pride Part 52

The following days were brutal for Luther. His wives took turns training him in the spells, which became a thinly veiled excuse to vent their frustrations. 

Helena went first, teaching him her arcanum in swift, painful lessons. Their sparring sessions took place early, before they risked an audience. Then they vanished into the gardens while the others kept the servants, their guest, Emily, and any visitors away from the thunderous clamor of their training. 

The servants’ curiosity rose as the day carried on, but none of them were brave enough to venture into the gardens or violate Wulfric’s orders after Luther requested privacy. 

Eira took her turn in the afternoon, teaching Luther her arcana in her apartments. Her spells were more confusing to him, but she taught him the basics. Foreshadow remained the one he relied on the most in combat, but the others were educational to him in the art of divination. He hadn’t had much opportunity to study such spells, and they caught his interest.

Rhosyn refused to train him in her arcana. She’d join the combat, and she hadn’t separated from the household, but their connection was the most tenuous. She agreed to help him, but she refused to teach him her spells for fear he might use them for necromancy. No amount of his persuasion or bribery would move her on the subject, so Luther had to content himself with difficult communication with Criella. 

Criella, lovely and naked, remained passive. Surprise seemed to be the only genuine emotion that flicked across her face, but it made no difference to her spirit. Luther could sense her peace, but the more he focused on it, the creepier it grew to him. Had she lost all emotion but retained some kind of being? Was she capable of feeling while in that state? Was it beyond his ability to sense her feelings because death severed some of their connection? 

There were too many unanswered questions. Luther attempted to solve that situation by phrasing his questions as yes-or-no questions and providing two stones for her to point to when she wanted to answer. Not that Criella held the answers. Her spirit knew what she knew in life, but even her favorite book proved that she was detached from more than just her body.   

Luther ate dinner with his wives, and Emily, but it passed in silence with minimal small talk. Poor Emily tried, but must have endured the meal under the impression that they thought her a spy. She stopped trying to engage them in conversation after the third attempt, and Luther made the excuse of exhaustion. It wasn’t a lie. Training sapped his strength, both magical and physical. 

The clinking of plates, chewing, swallowing, and other ambient noises filled the grand dining hall in the absence of conversation. 

Luther could tell that Wulfric knew something had strained the union, but he was polite enough not to comment. The servants kept their heads down. Chatter around the mansion suggested that the Le Fey union was nervous about their bout with the Feothes and any challenges that might follow. It was common enough among new unions of the nobility. A show of strength was necessary, and it’d strike fear into any challengers for a while. Brutality would bring them peace for a time. 

Meanwhile, a growing rumor threaded its way through the servants. Wyll reported the staff were laying wagers whether he would challenge the duke after his battle with the Feothes. Luther played coy. It wasn’t out of the question, but he didn’t have any plans to risk his future happiness. He had bigger plans for after he fulfilled his sworn oaths against the Feothes. 

Jowangshin trained him the following day, after asking for a leave from her Temple position. The temple granted her two weeks to enjoy her new union before she had to return to her duties. She took Luther to the local quarry, and Jo showed some of her spells to him. Luther didn’t practice there, preferring privacy to keep the element of surprise. Witnesses believed Jo was simply demonstrating her most impressive spells, showing off for her new husband as a bit of foreplay. Might was a person’s most attractive feature, after all. 

Luther practiced her spells at home, and on a smaller scale, not attempting to match her prowess. The pool of their magic filled slowly. The connection between them was more strained than before, and none of his wives were in the mood to reconnect or strengthen their bonds. Everyone slept in their own apartments, and no one joined him for the baths. They bathed separately from him, though they spent some of their time together, which helped. 

The next day was more training in the morning and strategizing in the afternoon. Between himself, Helena, and Eira, they devised battle plans that accounted for their enemies and made some general strategies that might prove effective against any grouping. It’d work, Luther thought, and they had several tricks to play. Jo considered every deception he suggested to be nothing more than an underhanded scheme. But that was her problem, not his. 

The eve before the battle, they slept in the same bed, but they only slept. No one rustled under the covers, and even Helena kept her hands to herself. Nerves remained high. Criella lingered close by, but her mood seemed too passive. She did not care if Branan or Lucas lived or died. It was creepy, her constant state of peace, as if nothing mattered. 

Luther had encountered the philosophies of foreign lands that believed such peace and detachment were achievable in life. Still, Luther wondered how much of one’s identity someone lost when desire fell aside. Or perhaps Criella was as tired of his bullshit as everyone else. That would make just as much sense. 

Dawn crowed on battle day behind gray clouds, and Luther rose first. He and the others dressed for battle. 

Their maids helped his wives don their armor, and Wyll helped Luther gather his supplies: the magic rings, the enchanted armor, the enchanted sword, and Lavinia’s rod. Luther wished Criella had taken it, so this battle might not have been necessary, but there was no changing the past, as far as he knew. 

He refused to believe in the limits of magic without questioning them, now that at least one limit had proven false. He could only say he’d never heard of magic allowing one to traverse time outside of a tale, but how many scholars based their stories on truths without realizing it? At least one that he knew of, even if it had once seemed the highest fantasy. 

They ate breakfast on the road, and the carriage ride to the duke’s castle was a long one. The duke had to preside over the challenge since Luther couldn’t do it himself. He proved unobliging to visit Luther’s manor, so Luther and the others journeyed to his castle for the challenge. He wished he’d surveyed the arena when they were last there, but he assumed it was outdoors, as most were, and they’d have an audience. 

The sky suggested a gray and dreary day ahead. Light gray clouds darkened over them as they drove toward the duke’s, and Luther frowned at the advantage such weather would give Branan. A natural storm cloud meant Branan didn’t have to summon one before he could wield his lightning, and Luther hoped the clouds didn’t thicken before their scheduled challenge. 

As strange as it seemed, Luther’s nerves danced faster at the thought of revealing his arcana than at the idea that he had to kill Lucas and Branan. No doubt they had tricks of their own, and he expected some last-minute deceptions to take place. There was no accounting for every variable in alchemy, and the same was true of life. 

“Are you nervous?” Helena asked Rhosyn, who hadn’t let her eyes leave the window since they left. 

“Yes,” Rhosyn answered. She took another breath. “This will be my first challenge. I’ve sparred, but I’ve never taken a life before.” 

“Nor have I,” Eira said. 

Helena nodded. “You’ll do great. Besides, there are only two of them. Chances are you won’t have taken a life by the end of the challenge, either.” 

“Am I the only one of us who’s fought a challenge before?” Jo asked. 

“You fought a challenge before?” Luther asked, curious. “When?” 

“Three years ago,” Jo said. “A young woman who wanted my position in the temple and believed that my arcana was weak compared to hers.” 

“How did you beat her?” Luther asked. 

Jo frowned. “I overwhelmed her.” 

“What was her arcana?” Helena asked. “I don’t remember hearing about this.” 

“There wasn’t much of a crowd; it was just a minor dispute between two priestesses,” Jo said. She sat on the other side, across from Luther. Helena and Eira sat on either side of him, with Rhosyn and Jo across from them in the carriage. “She was a physiomancer, like you, Hel.” 

“Now I need to know how you beat her,” Helena said. 

“I overwhelmed her, knocked her down, buried her head in the Earth, and suffocated her,” Jo said, making everyone in the carriage raise their eyebrows. “Must we discuss this? We need to focus on the battles to come, not those behind us.” 

The carriage fell silent. Helena clearly wanted to know more, but she dropped the matter. Jowagnshin didn’t want to discuss it. She crossed her legs and left her hands on her knee, waiting for the carriage to stop at the duke’s castle. 

“We should have brought cards,” Luther said after a few minutes of silence. “Or a book to read aloud.” 

Eira chuckled. Helena grinned. Jo grunted. Rhosyn said nothing. She glanced at him, then let her eyes slide back to the window where the countryside rolled past them. 

Luther half-expected hired bandits to ambush them on the road. The duke had made his distaste for this challenge clear with the messengers he’d sent to make the arrangements. Luther didn’t care. The sunrises and sunsets that had passed since were beautiful, but they did nothing to cool his hatred for Branan or Lucas. Both men died today, and Luther didn’t plan on sacrificing anyone to do it. 

His wives would survive. He’d sacrifice himself first, though he had no intention of dying either. No, their plan was solid. Execution remained, but it approached with every turn of the wheels beneath them. 

The horses drew them along the road, reaching the duke’s castle just before noon. Emily traveled in a coach of her own, riding behind them. Many nobles were waiting for their arrival, and it surprised Luther to see so many eyes on him as he stepped from the carriage and helped his wives down.

Whispers and murmurs spread through the crowd as they exited, dressed for battle. Perhaps that was in poor taste for the marquis, counts, and barons, but Luther had always been a man to prepare for the battlefield. 

Luther eyed those gathered in the courtyard, but none of them lived here. Neither the duke, nor his spouses, nor the Feothes were there to greet them. Nobles, servants, and guards made up the crowd. 

“Can someone please direct me to the duke’s arena? We’re here for our challenge with the Feothes,” Luther said. 

“The duke is in his hall, Lord Le Fey.” A young countess answered him, then giggled. “My, you are handsome, for a fey.” 

“Thank you,” Luther said, bowing to show his gratitude. “But I did not ask as to his location, only his arena.” 

Murmurs rippled through the crowd at that, and a servant stepped forward. “If you please, my lord, I’ll take you to see the duke. You may leave your weapons–” 

“I appreciate that you are a man of duty,” Luther said, patting the valet on the shoulder. “But if you think that any of us would let our weapons out of our sight minutes before we enter a battlefield, well, then my opinion of you lowers, my good man. It plummets like a stone.” 

The servant gave a nervous chuckle, as did some members of the crowd, as if Luther had made a good-natured jest, which was the tone he put into his words. Many saw the folly of what the servant had suggested, but Luther and the others recognized he was only following orders. Still, neither Luther nor his wives would disarm themselves or allow anyone to inspect, alter, or arrange their equipment. They were here to fight a challenge, not to engage in pleasantries. 

“I’d heard the fey were charming,” a young lord said. “Come, sir, where is your good faith?” 

“My faith in the duke abounds,” Luther said. “It is equal only in my respect for him.” No one seemed to get the joke. “Otherwise, I reserve my faith for the gods. I’ve met too many mortals to have much faith in them. Now, please, the arena? We have an appointment there.” 

The young lord rolled his eyes as if he found the matter droll. “Then give your weapons to the guards and head inside. Lunch is ready to start.” 

“Father!” Helena called, waving to the two older gentlemen who were leaving the castle. 

“Helena!” 

Petros, Lionel, and Regina Cerul approached them, hugging Helena and clasping arms with the others. 

“We heard you’re to fight a challenge against the Feothes,” Petros said. “So we’ve come to cheer you on. We heard about Criella, too. You have my sympathies, Luther.” 

He nodded toward Luther. The older gentleman’s gray hair made Luther smile, and he envied the paternal affection between Helena and her fathers. They doted on her and loved her, though her mother fussed over Helena’s armor and licked her thumb to wipe a spot away. The gesture would have made Wulfric frantic in their current location, but no one could begrudge a mother such a simple sign of affection. 

“We’re heading to the arena now,” Luther said. “Would you care to walk with us?” 

“Certainly,” Petros said, clasping Luther’s forearm in greeting. “You’re prepared, I imagine?” 

“As best we can be,” Luther said. “Are Lucas and Branan here?” 

“They’re inside with the duke and his spouses,” Petros said as he led the way around the castle toward the arena. The walk was a long one. 

One of the duke’s servants saw them going and ran inside the castle; no doubt he’d announce their presence to the duke.

“Do they have any further members to their union I should know? I fear trickery. Branan and Lucas aren’t the types to face a challenge when the odds are so stacked against them without some kind of underhanded deed,” Luther said as they walked.

Petros grunted. “The duke gave them special license to marry, but none of the nearby lords took them up on the offer. You’re too much of an unknown. The duke has been grilling everyone as to your arcanum and your strength, but no one’s been able to give them answers. That’s why he asked to speak with us. He spent most of our audience with him asking questions about you, your travels, and what we knew about you. Which, I must say, isn’t as much as I would have liked now that you’ve married my daughter.” 

“Ah, secrecy, the mightiest shield,” Luther said, chuckling to himself. “I fear I’m about to abandon that defense.” 

“There’s honor in confidence,” Petros assured him. 

“Hm,” Luther hummed. “As you say.” 

“How has marital bliss been treating you?” Petros asked. “Helena seems well taken care of, and ready to face her first challenge as a married woman.” 

Luther nodded. “It’s been more complicated than I expected.” 

Petros laughed. “Ha! It always is. And you took four partners in a short time. You’ve faced more complications than our humble trio.” 

Luther laughed with him. “Yes, that seems to hold true.” 

“And here we are,” Petros said, gesturing ahead of them. The slight drop in the terrain revealed a stone-ringed arena at the base of the hill twice the size of Luther’s. More than challenges took place here. The duke could even host races, mock battles, jousts, tournaments, and more in his arena, entertainments for nobles and commoners alike.

Some nobles milled around in the stadium seats that ringed the arena, eager to get the good seats. They looked surprised to see Luther and his family arrive without fanfare. Luther and the others stopped at the edge, near the entrance, and waited. 

They didn’t have long to wait until Duke Beaudivere and his entourage emerged from the castle. Luther scanned the crowd that poured from the castle behind the duke and his spouses, but he didn’t see Branan or Lucas with him. Strange, but not worth boiling over, yet. If they thought they could escape their fates by forfeiting and fleeing the empire, they were mistaken. 

“Hail, Lord Le Fey!” Duke Beaudivere cried out as he approached. “I had hoped to speak with you!” 

“I am happy to grant your request, your grace,” Luther said, bowing. 

“Good! Then come inside. You can leave your weapons with my man here,” the duke said. 

“Alas, I cannot, your grace,” Luther said. “We may speak here, as we are, but I swore to fight a challenge today, and I stand ready to enter the arena. Have Branan and Lucas fled or forfeited?” 

The duke stopped, annoyance flashing across his face before he could hide it. 

Castilla, two rows of spouses behind him, made eye contact with Emily and shook her head. Luther caught the motion. 

“You refuse my hospitality? You insult the lord to whom you’ve sworn your oaths of fealty and obedience?” Duke Beaudivere asked. 

“Surely not,” Luther said. “I only assumed that your grace would wish to see the law fulfilled before I indulge in any feasting or celebrations inside. Let us celebrate our might after the battle, by all means, but I stand ready now, and I shall see Branan and Lucas answer for their petty strikes against me.” 

“What petty strikes against you?” The duke asked. “The asmodean bitch? Branan’s quarrel with her had ground. She cheated him of some land, from what I recall.” 

“Her name’s Criella, your grace, and she is–was an advocate of the law.” Luther’s jaw tightened, but Helena’s hand in his kept him from surging forward to argue with the duke. “She arranged for my brides’ parents to gift them property before they issued any challenge. Branan’s wrath at not coming into a large amount of property after his consistent insults drove Lord Verdell to challenge him was unjust.” 

“Is that so?” the duke asked, already bored. He hadn’t been listening to Luther. “Well, come inside, and we shall discuss it.” 

Luther had already answered that request, so he ignored it. His impatience suggested he should draw his blade, but he kept his hand off his hilt, just in case. “Are Branan and Lucas Feothe on the grounds, your grace?” 

“They’re inside,” the duke said, weary. 

“Then bring them out, your grace, and we shall rejoin your celebration with as much swiftness as the gods above see fit to grant us.” 

The duke grimaced, annoyed at being defied, but with so many nobles around, he couldn’t throw a tantrum. He had to appear above such petty squabbles as the blood oath Luther held against Branan.

“Fetch them,” Duke Beaudivere gestured to one of his spouses, and they turned aside to complete the task. “You are a bothersome fey, you know that? I had wished to discuss some matters with you privately before your challenge.” 

“Is that so?” Luther asked. “Well, we can discuss them after.” 

“Are you so confident that you will win?” Duke Beaudivere asked. 

“Yes,” Luther answered. His tone wasn’t arrogant, but the declaration was. 

“And what of your brides? Are you so callous you’d use them as fodder?” The duke asked, causing a murmur to ripple through the surrounding nobility. “Release your grudges, Luther, make peace with Branan, and drop this foolish challenge. That is an order from the duke to whom you have sworn your obedience.” 

And there it was, the ultimate thrust of the duke’s arguments. His last, desperate, and pitiful attempt to see the challenge dropped. The duke lifted his chin to present every ounce of regal bearing, as if no one could defy such a request so reasonably made by one who didn’t have to ask. 

“My brides may sit out the battle,” Luther said. “If that is their wish. The challenge can be for my title alone, if they’re willing to forgo such an inheritance and carry on their union without me, should I die. If you would allow such an exception to the typical course of challenges. But I will answer the challenge I laid forth. It is not a matter of governance, nor of war, for which I swore obedience, but a personal grievance and oaths sworn before any I swore to you. No command but the law should keep me from it, and I have followed the law. I laid the challenge before witnesses, and Raoul Feothe accepted. The Feothe clan must fight me, or surrender their rights in this empire. Those are their only choices.”

Gasps sounded around Luther, drowning out some of his words. He was the one who laid the challenge, but what he suggested wasn’t done. Being the only one of his union to step into the arena was suicide and theft in one. It robbed his opponents of what should have been theirs in victory. It would require special permissions, and the duke was not inclined to grant him or his wives any favors. How this could be a favor to him, however, no one understood, except perhaps his own wives, whose gasps came from surprise and outrage. 

Those who worked out his deft maneuvering around the duke’s command, however, had every reason to worry the duke might grant him his request. 

“And what will you do if they forfeit?” the duke asked. 

“I will find another way to fulfill my oaths,” Luther said.

“Are you so proud that you would face such capable enemies alone, with no other combatant at your side?” the duke asked, shocked and more than a little confused. His eyes narrowed at Luther, suspecting there was some clever fey trap in his words. “There’s too much of your father in you. Gods above save us from such fey pride. It’s sheer folly!” The duke laughed. “No, Luther, your wives will fight, and perhaps die, with you. More’s the pity. I do so hate to lose such mighty human nobility.” 

“Then we only wait for our enemies, unless they have fled,” Luther said, bowing to the duke and ending the conversation just as Branan and Lucas emerged. They marched as two determined men, their chins high. 

Criella’s death secured Luther’s victory in this, at least, even if the work still had to be done. There were only two Feothes remaining. 

“Hello, Branan. Hello, Lucas,” Luther said. “Are you ready to die?”