The Lion, the Butcher, the Snake
Had a vengeance they plotted to take
But the Summoner’s daughter
Her vengeance burned hotter
And her Demon, their bodies did break
—common tavern verse in the Pallian Commonwealth; first attested mid-12th century Anno Calamitatis (A.C.; “in the year of the Calamity”).
This story wasn’t mine to begin with. And there’s a lot I still don’t know. This would serve as a decent beginning, I think. It went something like this.
Oh, right. You’d want a date. I’m less sure about the day, but I could do month and year? You still count years from the Calamity, right…
“So, we are agreed?”
It was night. Mute stars shone down from a clear sky as Inquisitor Henry Lindell awaited the answer to his question. Across from him, her eyes still turned towards the stars and the thin crescent of the greater moon, the Marchesa Gianna Forteza lounged upon the divan in sparkling evening wear, wineglass—as always—not far from her lips. She had the curious skill to always appear completely relaxed, no matter the context.
Of course, Lindell mused, there was no reason to think she wasn’t, in this moment. This was her home.
The steady pounding of the General’s boots behind Lindell betrayed the man’s nervousness; evidently, he felt much more out of place. General Hawthorne was no socialite—far from it. He was at home on the battlefield, not the dinner table. But Lindell wasn’t worried on his account. Out of the three of them, Hawthorne was the most committed to their cause. He was the one to propose it.
Those three weeks had felt like years. Lindell had no patience for politics.
Lindell knew the General’s nickname now widely circulated among the country’s papers. If reports from the war were to be believed, General Hawthorne had fully earned the moniker ‘Butcher.’
The Marchesa stretched, then took another sip of her wine. “The plan is good,” she said. “I’d be able to move within the week, if need be.”
“I was thinking two,” Lindell said. “Antonin is expected to make an appearance at the Prime Minister’s spring debutante ball. That should be an appropriate venue, no?”
There was a squeak of boot against wood as Hawthorne turned to Lindell suddenly. He snorted, then said, “I never took you for a theatrical sort, Inquisitor. We’d give those dandies at the Times a heart attack.”
Lindell managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Precisely my point. The larger the audience, the greater the impact.”
“Did you devise that maxim yourself?” the Marchesa said. Her eyes were still on the stars, on the rising sliver of the lesser moon gleaming in violet.
He didn’t rise to the bait.
Hawthorne walked between Lindell and the Marchesa, resting his arms on the railing and raising a cigar to his lips. “I’d hate to face you on the field, Inquisitor. You’ve a damn cruel mind for strategy.”
Lindell knew a compliment when he heard it. He bowed his head and said, “Likewise.”
Hawthorne snorted.
“Well, from how I heard it, we have come to agreement,” Lindell said. It was always better to be direct. “I will forward key details to you by letter. I shall endeavor to keep potential incrimination to a minimum, but it goes without saying—burn every letter you receive from me as soon as it is read.”
“I wasn’t born out of sight of the Calamity, you know,” the Marchesa said. She wore her pride on her sleeve; Lindell had heard a story that she once galloped into battle at the head of her famed mercenaries, decades ago. He would not be surprised to discover such a rumor was true.
Lindell looked to Hawthorne. The General met his steady gaze, and then gave a slight nod.
“Very well.” Lindell rose, dusting off his plain shirt and bowing shortly to both of his co-conspirators. “Dare I say, in two weeks time we shall have the head of Antonin Lovelace.”
There we go. Like I said, this story wasn’t mine to begin with. But I certainly made it mine by the end.
The epigraph poem was the first piece of writing I composed for this story nearly three years ago. I might cut it eventually (kill your darlings!) but I haven’t seen the need quite yet. It’s a little indulgence I’m still hanging on to.
Compared to the original prelude, I haven’t added much at all here. I kept the scene’s third person narration, as our main character is in no way present. In fact, for all we know she’s entirely reconstructed this scene from what she does know about these events. The few lines in first person at the beginning and the end were added, of course; and I couldn’t help but add in a few extra tidbits here and there, including (additions in italics):
“…We’d give those dandies at the Times a heart attack.”
Her eyes were still on the stars, on the rising sliver of the lesser moon gleaming in violet.
Both add just a little more detail to the world right from the jump.
I’m not quite sold on the first-person introduction to the Prelude; I wanted to root the narrative in our main character’s voice early, and give the story a bit of a frame narrative—she’s relating this story years later, I imagine, and under very particular circumstances that might or might not become clear by the end of the novel.
One thing pointed out to me early on, years ago, is that the first draft of this story didn’t make its non-Earth setting clear to most readers. The reference to Calamity in the opening lines hints at that—we’re certainly not in the High Middle Ages in Europe, as the year 1121 might otherwise suggest. I’ve also pulled in a reference to a second, “lesser” moon early on. This sort of work is a delicate balance, since these details aren’t notable to the characters in the story; thus, they can’t take up too much space in the narration. But if they’re buried too deeply, you can’t expect every reader to notice!
One aspect of this story I needed to take particular care with is the characterization of its villains: the Lion, the Butcher, and the Snake. We spend almost no time with them on screen—this is a romance first and a revenge tale second, despite what Talia might wish—so every scene the villain trio inhabits has to punch far above its weight class in characterization. That’s pretty much why I gave the Prelude entirely to them. After this brief taste (and the epigraph leading the next section), nearly everything we learn about these villains comes secondhand.
Stay tuned for chapter 1, and the proper introduction of our demon protagonist!
See here for an introduction to this rewriting project. And, given this is the very beginning of the novel, let's take another peek at that wonderful cover:
Alright, let's roll!