The Vampire & Her Witch

Chapter 1652: Hands in Marble (Part Two)

Master Vespert’s hands were clenched so tightly on his tools that they shook, tapping against the heavy canvas of his apron and displaying even more agitation than his bristling tail conveyed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice cried out to shove the tools into the High Lady’s claws and let her do the carving if her demands were so specific. Let her do it herself and learn firsthand how wrong she was about how things ’must’ be done. The rational part of his mind, the part that wanted to live to see the sunrise in the morning, kept his mouth firmly shut, but it was a battle with himself that he was rapidly losing.

"Master Vespert," Erna said as she ran the tip of her tail over the block of rough-hewn stone, pressuring the sculpture even further. "Do you know what this is?"

"A monument, Highest One," Vespert said with great difficulty as he imagined that powerful tail toppling his work in progress. "The greatest one I’ve ever attempted. The Mother of Trees and the Harbinger of..."

"It is not a monument," Erna interrupted sharply.

The master sculptor closed his mouth before he could say something stupid, and he rooted his feet to the floor before they could carry him to his meticulously arranged desk, where he kept the letter he’d received from the palace seeking to commission a ’monument’ as a gift for the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees...

"Or rather," Erna said, allowing herself the small, gracious smile that exposed the wicked curves of her fangs. "It is a monument, but it’s also much more than that. If all you give me is a monument, Master Vespert, I will be very disappointed in you," she said, putting extra emphasis on the word ’disappointed.’

Master Vespert, to his credit, did not flinch. He only inclined his head a fraction further, perking up his ears in a clear sign that he was willing to listen

"This is a promise," Erna said. "Auntie Nyrielle fought the bloodiest battle the arena has ever seen. She earned the title ’Blood Princess’ for a display of carnage like none in the history of High Fen City, but never forget why she fought that battle," Erna said pointedly.

"She bled for the Vale of Mists," Erna continued. "She bled for her parents and her grandsire. She bled to avenge everything she’d lost, and she paid for every champion she carried away from here with a thousand glorious battles fought for all to see."

"I know the Blood Princess’s storied past," Vespert said hesitantly as he gestured to sketches pinned to the walls of his workshop. "I’ve visited every statue erected in her honor across the city, and I gazed upon her personally when the Willow Witch fought in the arena..."

"Then you understand how unique this alliance is, between the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees," Erna interrupted. "On the same sands that the Blood Princess dyed red with the blood of the fallen, the Mother of Trees made a willow grove grow... In a place where there was nothing but blood and death, she brought rich, abundant life."

"You understand the significance, don’t you?" Erna asked as she lowered herself back onto the coil of her tail.

"The hands in this sculpture are the heart of their alliance," Erna said firmly. "The promise between them as they join together. You’ll do the hands first, and you’ll make them perfect, or I’ll find someone who can."

Master Vespert was silent for a long moment, and the only motion he made was the slow, agitated swishing of his tail that left a pattern of overlapping arcs in the marble dust covering the floor of his workshop.

Finally, after several excruciating heartbeats, he tucked his hammer and chisel into the pockets of his apron and said the hardest thing he’d ever said to a patron.

"I can’t do it that way, Highest One," Vespert said, looking up into the unblinking eyes of the serpentine ruler of the High Fen. "No matter how much you want me to, no matter how important it is, I can’t do it the way you ask."

"If I try," he explained. "Then I risk destroying the most important part of the statue when I move on to their torsos and other limbs. I might escape your fury for the moment, but I’d doom myself to an even worse fate in the end."

"I can produce what you want, Highest one," he said confidently. "But I cannot produce it the way you want it. If that means you have to find a different sculptor who can, then so be it. But before you decide that I’m incapable, at least inspect what I’ve done to prepare for the most important part of this most important monument," he said, gesturing to a bench at the back of the workshop.

The wall behind the bench was covered with sketches of hands, faces, and figures. There were several different pieces of fabric draped over wooden forms with small notes pinned to them that read ’for folds’ or ’in a light breeze.’ Most importantly, however, on the bench itself, there were more than a dozen blocks of marble carved into the shape of a pair of hands.

The pieces captured different angles, different grips, and even different proportions. There was one pair where the fingers were merely touching, and another pair where they were interlaced. One looked slightly monstrous with a hand clearly meant to be Nyrielle’s, shaped in the extended, wicked claws she possessed when she revealed her true form as the Harbinger of Death.

It was a half-finished block at the very end of the table with hands that hadn’t fully emerged from the stone; however, that captured Erna’s attention.

"This one," she said firmly as a genuine smile formed on her lips for the first time this evening. "This is the one."

The hands in the piece clutched each other tightly, and Verspert had gone so far as to carefully sculpt the indentations in the skin that showed how much pressure each hand placed on the other in the grip. He’d stopped halfway, however, leaving half of each hand still lurking within the rough-cut stone.

"That is the grip of a woman who is afraid she will lose the other one, Highest One," Vespert said slowly, daring not to betray the stirring of hope that had taken root in his heart. He’d been particularly inspired when he roughed it out, but he stopped halfway because so many of High Lady Erna’s notes had spoken of the strength and determination of the Harbinger of Death and the Mother of Trees that he doubted she would ever accept something that looked so... vulnerable.

"Yes, it is," Erna said as she leaned forward to examine the piece, tracing the tip of a claw along the stone that looked like soft, yielding flesh.

"It is not the grip of an alliance," Vespert pressed, making certain she would understand what it would mean for the whole of the piece if he chose this set of hands to define the center of the monument.

"It is the grip of this alliance, Master Vespert," Erna said, turning her smiling face toward the master sculptor and tasting the air around him yet again. This time, the scent was stronger, earthy and determined but also... bright. Almost lemony in its brightness without any of the coppery undertones of a warrior whose heart pulsed with the hot blood of battle and courage.

This, she realized, was something she sampled far too rarely. A bright, vibrant desire to create. It was different than a champion’s courage, but perhaps Lady Ashlynn was right. Perhaps this kind of craftsman’s zeal was no less valuable than the bold defiance of a champion on the sands who faced death directly.

"The rest of the monument will match this grip?" Erna asked, swishing the tip of her tail through the marble dust on the floor as she looked back toward the unfinished statue.

"As you said, Highest One," Vespert answered. "The Blood Princess fights to protect that which she holds most dear, but the Mother of Trees isn’t a woman who shrinks behind her partner’s wings. They’ll face the world together, and nothing will tear them apart."

"Good," Erna said, nodding in approval before turning to face the door as she felt familiar vibrations through the stone floor. A boat had just docked in the canal outside of Vespert’s shop, carrying a man whose scent wasn’t very dissimilar from her own.

"You could have waited outside, Brother," Erna said when a familiar figure slithered into the workshop a few heartbeats later. "My stop here won’t be long."

"That’s what made me nervous, Sister," Aleser said as he swept his one-eyed gaze over her and the master sculptor she’d come to visit. "You seemed displeased when you left the arena this evening and when I heard you’d come here, I worried that your displeasure might find an unworthy target," he said, carefully moving himself close enough to Master Vespert to intervene if the situation called for it.

"Master Vespert won’t suffer for another man’s failure," Erna said coldly. "Only for his own. Thankfully, he hasn’t disappointed me tonight," she said, flashing the master sculptor a wide grin that revealed her sharp, pointed fangs. "In fact, he’s put me in a much better mood. But when it comes to tonight’s debacle in the arena..."

"I know," Aleser said, as the tip of his tail drooped. "Sister, we need to talk..."