False Covenant

“Because you're either an aristocrat, or someone who wants people to think he's an aristocrat. If you were putting on any more airs, the rest of us wouldn't be able to breathe.”

“Ah. I see. And of course, if I share with you my full and proper name, you'll do the same in return? I'm fairly certain, after all, that ‘Widdershins’ is not what your parents chose to call you.”

By this point, the entire common room of the Flippant Witch had gone silent, save for the occasional clank, clatter, or gulp of a mug. No one present understood the intricacies of this confrontation-heck, Widdershins herself only halfway grasped what was going on-but nobody wanted to miss a word of it.

“No,” Widdershins said through a clenched cage of teeth. “I won't be doing that.”

“Shame. Then I fear I shall simply have to remain ‘that Evrard guy’ for the time being. And you,” he continued before she could speak, all traces of his smile sliding from his face, “can remain the same common, slovenly little criminal you've always been.”

“Hey! Who are you calling ‘common’?!”

“What else would I call you, Widdershins? You can pretend at being a tavern owner, a ‘businesswoman,’ all you want, but you're fooling precisely nobody. All you've ever been good for is slinking around in the dark, taking coin from those among your betters too foolish to hang onto it.”

“Hey!” Robin shouted at him.

Widdershins merely raised an eyebrow. “Now you're just trying to make me sound like a whore.”

“You hardly need my help with that, mademoiselle.”

More than a few gasps sounded throughout the common room, and several of the Witch's regulars rose (however unsteadily) to their feet, ready to defend the proprietor of their home away from home. But it was Robin who began a forward lunge, only to be brought up painfully short by Widdershins's sudden grab at her collar.

“Robin, no!”

“But-but he-!”

“I know. It's all right.”

“No,” Robin muttered, as angry as Widdershins had ever heard her, though at least the girl was no longer struggling to charge headfirst into gods-knew-what sort of trouble. “No, it's not.”

“Are you quite done hiding behind your little friend?” Evrard sneered.

Widdershins very deliberately stepped around the now-sputtering Robin. Evrard just about gleamed with some inner light as her hand once more clenched the rapier at her side, and he grinned as she marched over to stand perhaps an arm's length from him.

“Are you planning to challenge me, then, Widdershins?”

“No, not really.”

At which point, as Evrard was carefully dividing his attention between Widdershins's face and the arm she would use to draw the rapier, she kicked him square in the groin.

Duelist that he was, Evrard might have dodged or deflected even so unexpected an attack, had there not been a brief surge of power from Olgun that caused the nobleman to “accidentally” slip on the sawdust-covered floor as he spun away. He choked once, all arrogance finally draining from his expression, and crumpled to a heap, clutching at himself.

Robin let out a whoop to match her prior eep, and a round of snickers circled through the observing patrons.

“You…” Evrard seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty speaking all of a sudden. “You…”

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Widdershins put a hand to her ear. “I'm afraid I can't actually hear your voice when it's that high.”

Maybe it was Widdershins's taunts, or perhaps it was being laughed at by the crowd for the second time in half a minute, but Evrard pulled himself together. His face was pale, and he winced with every inch, but he rose slowly until he stood flagpole-straight.

“If you were of noble blood…,” he growled, fingers seeming to twitch toward his rapier of their own accord.

“Then I'd probably have died of hypocrisy poisoning by now. Evrard, what do you want?”

“I want,” he said, his breath coming more easily now, “to inform of you my intentions.”

“Your…?”

“As I understand it, Gurrerre Marguilles briefly challenged his daughter's will? Specifically the provision granting you ownership of her tavern?”

Widdershins scowled. “That was dropped.”

“Yes, because as the city's trade dried up, Lord Marguilles couldn't afford to waste time and resources on a prolonged legal struggle. But it remains true that ‘Widdershins’ isn't your legal name, and therefore, the will may not be binding.”

“It's how Genevieve knew me, you rat! I have a dozen people ready to testify to that! It's why Marguilles couldn't afford to continue his challenge!”

“And do you think he'll feel that way when I tell him that the entire will was forged?”

Widdershins felt as though she was suddenly tumbling backward, down an unseen hole; could barely hear the common room through the sudden frantic pounding of her heart, which must surely be deafening to everyone around her. She could only hope she sounded a lot more confident than she felt when she said, an eternity later, “I don't know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” Evrard leaned in, as though to whisper, but continued in a perfectly normal tone of voice, “I have connections everywhere, Widdershins. There's nothing you can do that I cannot discover. Genevieve would be ashamed of you.”

The young woman's whole body went taut as a crossbow string, and there's no telling whether she'd have actually drawn her blade at that point or simply attacked Evrard with her bare hands (or booted feet), but as she'd held her friend back a moment earlier, it was now Robin who returned the favor.

“Shins, no!”

“I see,” Evrard continued, as Widdershins relented against the tide of gangly limbs pressing against her, “that you're not, in fact, done hiding behind your friends.”

“I won't let you do this!” Widdershins wasn't sure if it had come out as more of a growl or a whine; she desperately hoped for the former.

“You'd have to kill me,” Evrard said simply.

“Why?” Robin fell away as Widdershins deflated. “Gods, what did I ever do to you?”

“Maybe, if you really can't figure it out, I'll explain it to you someday. In very short words. Have a good evening, ladies and gentlemen. So sorry for the interruption.” He tossed a handful of coins at the bar; they skipped and scattered over the smooth wood, tinkling as they fell, and nobody-employee or patron-moved to pick them up. “A round on me, to compensate you all for your trouble.” With that, and a last sardonic bow, Evrard strode through the door, cloak flapping with an almost deliberate melodrama in his wake.

“It's fine, everybody.” Widdershins's tone put the obvious lie to her words, but none of the customers appeared willing to challenge her assertion. “Everything's fine. Please, go back to your drinks.” And then she just stood in the center of the room, gazing at nothing at all.

“Shins?”

“Hmm?”

Robin's face, even more pallid than normal, interposed itself between Widdershins and the nothing she was staring at. “Can he actually do that? Can he take the Flippant Witch?”

“I–I don't know, Robin. He has no proof that the will was fake, but just the accusation might be enough to spur Gen's father to new efforts. He could certainly make life really, really hard for us.”

“Right.” Robin attempted to force a shallow smile. “Because things were going so smoothly before now.” And then, blinking at Widdershins's abrupt turn, “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to follow that-that snake! He knows so much about me? Fine! I'll even things up!”

She was gone before Robin could possibly have decided whether to protest or to cheer her on.