The Truth About Noussoir
Part 8. Rendezvous at Malinbois
“Do you know to whom you are speaking, young man?”
Noussoir was too lost in his own thoughts to notice her rising temper.
“Je suis Dame Diane de Moriamis, Vicomtesse Malinbois, Princesse de Morlay-Malinbois!”
The memories of the past few days were flashing in Noussoir’s mind: running away from Morlay, eluding la Garde d’Obsidienne of Malachie, and the packs of wolves that seemed to be hunting him down at every turn.
“I was a noble even before I married your... brother!”
Brother. The words were so filled with pain and anguish for Noussoir. How could his ‘brother’ Malachie deny his lawful wife (this devilswine in front of him now) and love his ‘sister’ Suzanne? How could he, Noussoir, ‘brother’ to Suzanne, be forbidden to love his ‘sister,’ when his own ‘brother’ Malachie loved her so.
“Why, I was an aristocrat even before there was a Glantri!”
Noussoir could still see pointed fangs in front of his face, dribbling with frothy rabid saliva. He could still felt the sharp claws shred his favorite silk chemise into bloody ribbons from off his chest. One moment, he was in Suzanne’s warm fragrant embrace. The next he was engulfed in a bed of heavy snow-white fur, that only yielded to two menacing blue eyes.
“And what do you expect to accomplish by bringing me this wild, slanderous, and gravely insulting tale of my Malachie and that impertinent mundaner ‘sister’ of his?”
Noussoir emerged from his nightmarish reverie and cleared his throat to speak.
“Madame Vicomtesse,” he said, in practiced gentility, as Suzanne had taught him, “I had rather hoped that a lady such as yourself, of such stature and position would see—”
“Blackmail, is it? Is that your game? Bah!” With that, the Vicomtesse spat an acrid ball of phlegm over her shoulder.
Noussoir saw the spit land on the floor in a red-pink blob. It was probably the sherry she was drinking, he thought.
“I will not even give credence to your vicious lies!”
Noussoir glared at the portly matron, his hands clenched white in fists of rage. In his ears were the mad howling of the wolves at the full moon.
Several minutes later, Noussoir walked out of the Vicomtesse’s chambers. He was holding an expensive antique necklace which belonged to the Vicomtesse, and in his pocket were several folded letters, sealed with the Vicomtesse’s personal insignia. On the sleeve of the coat he wore was a red-pink stain.
It was probably the sherry the Vicomtesse was drinking.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Epilogue
