It had to be said that Llei Napaciza was, at least, a better man than his father. Not because his father was a devil; the devil blood came from his mother, the daughter of one of the countless unfortunate commoner girls who had been given to devils midway through the war. His mother had had little more choice in having him than his grandmother had had in having her, and had less human soul to feel pity in. No comfort from that corner. Less than no comfort from his father, who had been disappointed with how slowly the devil-child grew. Half-devils sometimes grew very quickly; his mother had had him at nine. Llei couldn't even hold a bow properly until he was nearly eleven, while his brothers began their training at six. His father sent him into combat at twenty, when he was no stronger than his half-brothers had been at ten, not caring much if he lived or died.

But Llei had not been raised by his parents. He had been raised, more than anyone, by his half-sister Adriana. An angel, she was not, but she had seen him through those miserable early years. Adriana did not shrink from a devil's touch, when the devil ran to her in tears. Adriana did not fear a devil's wrath, when the devil needed as much punishment as any other child. She had left him with enough of his heart intact to have some left to share with his wife, when his father had ordered him to marry. He was almost thirty, and didn't look more than fourteen. He was terrified. But Adriana, five years older and with children his size, had explained to him: your wife will be more afraid than you are. She believes she's been given to a devil. But you will decide what devil you are. Are you Asmodeus, who meets all flesh with fire? Are you Belial, whose softness exists to ensnare and consume? Or are you Dispater, capable of building a home, and defending that home with fire?

So Llei had tried, without a map, to be Dispater. For his enemies - fire. He defended his family's lands against mountain orcs and Kuthites with a father's fury. For those who rotted the realm from within, he held no mercy, either. When he had occasion, Llei's favored method of execution was to slather the victims in tar and burn them alive.

For his family - a home. If his wife had cried, when she first saw him, that had been the only time. If his children thought him harsh, they did not think him cruel. If the peasants who worked his family's lands cowered at the sight of him, it was not because they saw no difference between him and the raiders he defended them from. If his sister only loved him because she did not know what he had done to her -

He was well-practiced at justifying what he had done to his sister. His father's title had, in time, passed to Adriana. Adriana had named him regent legitimately; her trust in him had been genuine. Was still genuine. But Adriana had not been a competent countess, and time and again, made decisions that he knew would ruin them. Not just her, or her people, or him, but - his family. Their family.

Adriana was old, and most people accepted that she was merely senile. If anyone realized she was under a feeblemind, nobody wanted to fight a devil over it. She had a son, somewhere in the south, but the son wisely kept far away from Menador. Llei saw to it that she did not suffer. He kept her under constant guard, with constant company. She had a chair on the balcony that overlooked the lake. He visited her every day, and every day she was happy to see him. He had ruled in her name for nine years, now.

 

 

As much as Llei hated his southern masters - decadent idiots who were too busy killing one another to maintain basic control over the eastern half of the country, who made idiot laws that he had to enforce - he couldn't say that he was happy to see them go. The best of the marriages he had made for his children were now liabilities, blood ties to useless ex-nobles whose lands had been seized. He had waited for the same axe to come down on him, but it had not. A letter had politely suggested that he stop burning people alive, and then - no follow-up. Nothing.

Then came the stories. The archmage Naima can heal a thousand sick in a single day. The archmage Naima can regrow teeth, fingers, legs, all with a single touch. The archmage Naima can give new bodies to the old, and will do so for a pittance, so the people of Cheliax have time to make up for the horrors they committed under Asmodean rule. The archmage Naima can save your sister from hell.

For all his sins, Llei loved his sister. He had meant to keep her comfortable and alive as long as possible, and then see if her idiot son had the courage to come and challenge him for her title. If not, he would rule as regent indefinitely. If so, he could try to kill the son, and declare himself the heir. If that seemed inadvisable, he could instead try to convince the son that he would need Llei's help in defending the border. If both failed, he would have to shelter with the Baron Antonio Ramirez, his father in law by his second wife - but now that would only hold until the barons, too, were purged.

No chance of being a count, if he saved his sister. If the new body didn't destroy the feeblemind outright, it would make it extremely obvious. But it was one thing to condemn his sister to sit in comfort on the balcony, listening to birdsong, spared from making decisions she didn't want to make anyway. It was quite another to abandon her to hell. If having her sane would threaten his family's safety -

Well, would it? His sister had always tried to protect him. It was a new day. Perhaps it was a day when the soft could survive, even in Menador. He could think of only one way to check.

 

 

"I will go to the convention," he told his first wife, Monica, in the early morning. "I doubt if this constitution will have any teeth, but we will know where we stand with the new regime, and among the new nobility. Some of the newcomers may be eager to make alliances with established blood, and unaware of how precarious our position is. Afterwards, if it's safe..." He sighed. "I will have Adriana healed."

     Monica frowned, the wrinkles across her forehead deepening. "Her useless son may choose not to come here. Our children could be real nobility, not only claiming their trappings. Real security, at last."

"But he might come here. The newcomers will not back a devil. Ramirez will allow our sons and their wives to shelter with him, if it comes to that. He is a practical man, and we are nothing if not useful in a fight. But I don't know if he will tolerate you. Adriana will." As long as she never knew what he had done to her.

     Monica still frowned. He had hurt her, of course, when he divorced her, even if Monica would never admit to it in words. Worse, he had disrespected her, and had seen to it that that disrespect could never be fixed. Pietat, too, was disrespected, by having the ex-wife living under the same roof as a mistress. In the end, he was too weak to be Dispater for either. But -

"I will keep us safe," he promised, softly. "You. Pietat. Both sets of children. Adriana, too. If I can, I will find a solution that saves what is left of our pride with it. I will go to the convention and try. But I did not promise to safeguard your pride. I will keep you safe. That much, I swear."

     Monica closed her eyes, nodding. Then she handed him something. An unopened letter from Pietat, studying at the wizard academy in Kintargo.

Llei took it, and skimmed what she had written. "She complains about her pregnancy. Learns about her sorcery. Makes friends." He smiled, suddenly. "Has a boyfriend, apparently."

     Monica scoffed. "And writes about him? To you?"

"I gave her permission. Specifically. I'm not sure if I expected her to admit to using it, but - " He read the note again, still smiling.

Llei did not love his second wife as he loved his first, but he was attached, after a fashion. Seventeen years ago, Pietat had been born pale and ashen as the grave, not breathing. Llei was there when it happened, and had made the decision for her father: they would ask the goddess Iomedae for a miracle. Llei was a soldier of Menador, and no stranger to asking Iomedae for things. More importantly, Llei was a father, and had known the pain of losing a child, even then. 

The miracle was not for him, of course. And, of course, it was not an unusual sort of miracle, such that it communicated any great favor or approval from the goddess. But it was Llei who brought the child to St Ilnea's fountain, and Llei who had asked that the waters restore her to life. And for Llei - Llei, whose grandfather had fought to conquer Cheliax for Asmodeus, whose mother had hated him, in whose veins the fires of hell still burned -

The child had taken a breath, and cried.

"Let the girl have her loves, if she can find any worth the name," declared Llei. It had been a long time since he had named the feeling, even indirectly. "I will not give up mine. Let us see if the new day can bear them better than the old."