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The Seneschal is a Rogue Trader’s right hand. The one who takes care of official affairs that are beneath his mistress’ notice. Finding a suitable replacement for Abelard has proven challenging - the indomitable old man had served for so long it was hard to imagine anyone else as von Valancius’ protectorate’s second-in-command.
However, his family had produced a worthy successor - and with his ancestor’s blessing, Theo Werserian had taken the role. Abelard’s oldest great-grandson was actually named in honour of Lady Theodora and was immensely proud of succeeding the position of Seneschal.
After a short adjustment period, the situation stabilised and the von Valancius protectorate continued to run like clockwork, despite the changing of the guard.
But where there is the right, there is also the left. For the Rogue Trader has two hands, after all.
The seat of the Master of Whispers has gone unfilled for far too long. The last one was, of course, the traitor Kunrad Voigtvir. Ever since then, Vox Master Vigdis has been serving as an ad hoc replacement for one, bringing rumours and gossip to her mistress, but she has plenty of other duties.
So what is a deserter Inquisitorial Investigator to do? Stupid question. Become his beloved’s left hand, of course.
And that is how Heinrix van Calox found himself a new von Valancius Master of Whispers. Voigtvir’s fatal flaw was disloyalty. But the galaxy will start spinning in the opposite direction before Heinrix will ever betray his dear Rogue Trader.
In fact, many have already tried to lure him into their snares. Probing for weakness in his conviction and loyalty. Of course, each was carefully investigated, filed, and a dossier and threat level assessment were duly presented to Her Ladyship.
It was almost laughable how quickly the nobles forgot who he used to be. He may have put away his rosette, but one never stops being an Interrogator.
And if Calcazar could not compel him to turn on his beloved, no one can.
Van Calox, kill the Rogue Trader.
Those cold, dispassionate words still haunt his fitful slumber. In those dreams, his body moves against his will, his sword plunges into her back as her eyes - her trusting, pleading eyes - look at him, into him, through him.
Then, he jolts awake and gathers his groggy lover into his arms. Despite not knowing what exactly torments him she holds him tight and chases away the sticky cobwebs of his nightmares with her touch.
It has been a while since they dropped all pretence and he moved into her spacious quarters. What is the point of sneaking about? It’s not like their connection is even the most scandalous one.
No, that would be her Drukhari pet.
His beloved Lord Captain is engrossed in her data-slate - Danrok has just brought her the latest numbers from Janus. And at the foot of her throne, Aezyrraesh is sitting cross-legged, idly sharpening a wickedly curved Drukhari dagger. Lerissa’s feet are resting on his shoulder - who would have guessed the former Kabal Drakon would allow himself to be used as a footstool, in the full view of the entire bridge, no less.
She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need to.
“Has the Adeptus Administratum responded yet?” She can always sense him. It’s the tickle on the edges of perception, the resonance those who aren’t touched by the Warp can never feel. And, through the connection of their bodies and souls, she can recognize him specifically with uncanny clarity.
“They sent all the documents, with all the signatures and seals,” he can’t help but chuckle as he hands her the folder.
“Hmph. Who would have thought burning a few of clerks would increase their efficiency a hundredfold,” there is a spark of ethereal flame in the depths of her eyes, but it burns out quickly.
She spent almost three days arguing with the blasted bureaucrats. She is genuinely a patient and benevolent ruler… but the horrors of the Warp are nothing compared to the nine hells of Adeptus Administratum.
In the end, she snapped her fingers and von Valancius enforcers seized the impetuous clerk and a dozen of his comrades before dragging them to the courtyard in front of the building.
The Rogue Trader made sure the head of the Administratum was watching through the window before she set the screaming people alight with her mind.
The finished report arrived the next day. It is quickly flipped through before she hands it back to him.
“We can leave Foulstone at last,” she stretches, cat-like in her grace, and smiles, “Cassia should be visiting Dargonus soon. We’d best hurry back.”
“A moment, Your Ladyship, before we head that way,” he steps closer, lowering his voice, “my sources tell me there is to be an attempt on your life when we arrive.”
“How novel,” she grins up at him and he smiles back, “who is it this time?”
“Doloroso’s most fanatical supporters, ones that the Chaplain wasn’t able to corral. They tried to kill him too, as a matter of fact, but we both know the old pirate is made of sterner stuff.”
“Hmph, I suppose they are still salty about their former leader’s death. Wish I could tell them what really happened, but would they listen?”
“Of course not,” pointless to even try, and they both know it.
“Of course not,” she echoes and sighs, “so, what’s the plan?”
Return of the Rogue Trader is always a matter of pomp and circumstance. It’s been only a couple of months for them, but almost a year has passed in realspace. The raging tsunami of Cicatrix Maledictum continues to batter the galaxy, distorting time as it sees fit.
No wonder Governor Drivestem decided to throw a parade in honour of the de-facto ruler of the Koronus Expanse. Emperor only knows when they will show up again.
That also means those who planned the assassination attempt had plenty of time to prepare.
He could try to seize the conspirators while they were planning, but it would be better to catch them in the act. When victory is assured, people tend to become sloppy. Then they can catch the entire cell before they can regroup.
Plus, it would give them an excuse to finally remove Drivestem - after all, he allowed a dangerous insurgent group of radicals to threaten the life of the Rogue Trader. One last failure in the series of mistakes.
So Heinrix follows in the procession to the left of the figure ahead of him - as Master of Whispers should. To the right, young Seneschal Werserian is a picture of dignity and discipline. Abelard would be in attendance, of course, and would be watching his descendant like a hawk.
The tall, slender woman ahead is waving to the adoring crowd, her psyker regalia a deep violet velvet shimmering in the sunlight. Only a few officers and some of her retinue are part of the parade, with Danrok and the ever-present Bloodspun Web cultist bodyguard aside from him and Theo. The rest of the procession is taken up by some of the most impressive trophies she discovered on her latest trawl through the Expanse. Aeldari statues, Necron obelisks, a taxidermied head of a mutated voidbeast, a hermetically sealed case with some saintly relic…
And rounding out the menagerie of treasures, a Drukhari ‘captive’. The Dark Aeldari seems unbothered by the stares, especially poignant with his neck armour loosened, his brand visible for all to see.
The gates of the von Valancius palace are looming ahead. Any second now-
The shot rings out, startling the crowd.
It would have been true. Should have been true. But the one for whom it was meant was not where they expected her to be.
Death is yet to whisper her name, after all.
A short blade flies out of the woman’s sleeve and swishes through the air, effortlessly cutting the bullet in two. There is the slightest ripple in the warp divining the direction of attack as the lithe figure at the head of the procession strikes down another one, two, three more projectiles. As she dances through the whizzing bullets, her velvet hood falls away, revealing the face - not that of the Rogue Trader but her faithful shadow.
Kibellah, dressed in her mistress’ usual attire and armour, looks up.
“Sixth floor, east. Eleventh floor, southeast. Top of the building, west.”
The ‘spinner’ behind Heinrix lifts up her skull mask, violet embers glowing in her eyes as she smirks.
“Excellent,” the real Rogue Trader tosses the long blade that was hanging on her back to Kibellah as Danrok offers her the usual staff, heretofore artfully hidden among the trophies, “Heinrix, you and Theo take east. Kibellah and I will take care of southeast.”
“And west?” Heinrix raises an eyebrow at her. Instead of answering, the viszier points. He follows her gaze and looks over his shoulder to see the dark silhouette of the Drukhari stalking through the panicking crowd in the westward direction. A moment later, a bright las flash of an Aeldari long rifle pierces the air - Yrliet has been covering them from a tall perch somewhere in the rockrete jungle.
“Poor bastards,” Theo shakes his head, his sword already in hand.
“Your Ladyship!!” Abelard Werserian, pale and resolute, breaks past the throng of fleeing people like a grox through a cold trade emporium, “now is not the time to dawdle! We have to get you to cover, quickly!”
“Easy there, old man,” Theodore pats his great-grandfather on the shoulder, “we have it handled.”
“All is according to plan, Master Werserian. Her Ladyship was never in danger to begin with,” Heinrix can see the retired Seneschal is about to start lecturing his descendant on propriety and decorum, and slides in between the two men, “not to mention, we have to get moving. Theo, with me.”
“But Her Ladyship-“
“Already halfway up to the eleventh floor if I have to guess,” he cuts Abelard off. The old Seneschal blinks and stares at the spot where the Rogue Trader and her shadow were but a few seconds ago. Heinrix can’t help but chuckle. This woman… unpredictable, wilful, impetuous… and perfect. Always, ever.
He channels his powers into warp speed. A gust of icy wind surrounds him as he begins to run, weaving through the stampeding crowd.
“I return home, to the very heart of my domain, bearing the spoils of a hundred planets and this is the reception I get?”
Lerissa von Valancius stipples her fingers in front of her and stares down the profusely sweating Governor Drivestem from her ancestral throne. She and Kibellah have swapped back their clothes and she is once again proudly displaying her battle psyker regalia.
Regalia that is still covered in blood and soot from head to toe, a rather bold fashion statement for holding court.
“Your Ladyship, we couldn’t possibly have known-“
“Save your excuses, Governor. It seems that the moment I turn away from Dargonus you enjoy the rewards of rulership but none of the responsibilities.”
“Ouch. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down,” Jae giggles as she stage whispers to Cassia. The young Novator tilts her head as she squints slightly, her ruby eyes studying the woman on the throne.
“Huh… but Her Ladyship’s hues are impish pink and mischievous chartreuse, and bleeding into it are specks of gold… oh, oh I see! She is enjoying this…”
“Shereen, you’ll have to forgive me but I don’t even know what colour ‘chartreuse’ is. But I can tell you this much - she loves watching powerful men squirm.”
The Shadow Baroness catches Heinrix’s eye and winks.
“It’s precisely why she tamed our dear Interrogator here… and broke that knife-eared menace, Marazhai.”
Heinrix rolls his eyes at her. The comment stings because it’s true. He was one such powerful man whose presence instilled fear in all around him… and she made it her mission to needle and tease him and get under his skin from day one.
Since the time his powers manifested, there was no place for lighthearted fun in his life anymore. Everyone either feared him, despised him or respected him.
But not her. Shielded by the rights of the Warrant, by the blood of the Emperor signing the sacred decree and vesting her with immense power, she looked at him as someone who was a person first and Interrogator second. And what she saw was a buttoned-up man with repressed emotions… and she could not abide that.
Unable to simply order her to stop her teasing, he was disarmed, dismayed and thoroughly diverted. All novel feelings, and deeply unwelcome ones at first.
“Your Ladyship, this misstep was indeed inexcusable, but it seems you knew of this assassination attempt ahead of time… yet did nothing to alert me of the danger!”
“Shrewd ashmag,” Jae’s squint bodes nothing good for the future of the Governor, “too shrewd.”
“A precaution was taken, after all having barely survived Rykad Minoris I have developed a deep and justified distrust of triumphs,” the Rogue Trader doesn’t skip a beat, her piercing eyes never leaving the man in front of her, “but there was still a significant risk to me and those around me, especially my loyal shadow who was willing to stand in the crosshairs in my place. And that’s not even mentioning all the people who came out to greet me. All because you decided to hold a parade with such lacklustre security.”
Drivestem’s eyes shift around like crazy, looking for something, anything to divert the ire of the Rogue Trader before him.
Heinrix never met Theodora von Valancius, but he has heard her described as a ‘she-wolf’ more than once. Truly, the two women are related - the predatory smile on the face of the current lady von Valancius is sharp and promises to devour those who do not submit.
Drivestem’s panicked eyes land on Heinrix - and he swiftly turns back to his sovereign.
“B-but surely, your new Master of Whispers would have - and should have! - alerted you!”
As a matter of fact, he did indeed warn her, but… Heinrix smirks. Bad idea to go after her retinue.
Her eyes flash with violet flames. He chuckles - the visible reminder of their psyker potential is an excellent intimidation tool. Doesn’t take much to do it - but the effect is undeniable. He used it himself many times, to great and amusing effect. The hardest part about it is keeping his face straight.
“Governor, are you aware that Cicatrix Maledictum is raging across the galaxy? The warp storm one hundred thousand light years in length, the one of the greatest disasters to ever befall the Imperium?” Her tone is ice as she stands up, drawing up to her full height, “when was the last time you travelled through the void? Well, I can tell you this much - not recently enough. The effects of it on spacetime are devastating. Our latest jump has taken hours from our perspective, but once we emerged we found that three months have passed in realspace. How exactly do you propose we track those extremists when the Warp devours the time allotted to us? No, that is why I rely on you, the planetary governors, to ensure safety and prosperity while I venture into the danger beyond the stars. And you cannot even do that. What good are you to me, then? Answer me, Urbend.”
She leans down, closer to the pale face of the governor.
“And do remember what happened to Vistenzia Wyatt,” she says in a much lower voice, never losing that unsettling smile.
Drivestem flinches and bows as low as his corpulent physique would allow.
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Ladyship. It was indeed my fault, I see it plainly now. I can only hope that your generous heart can forgive this old man’s failings.”
The quick smirk that flashes across her face goes entirely unnoticed by the governor.
“Sadly, age isn’t kind to anyone, Urbend. Perhaps it is time to find someone younger, more proactive?”
She has been trying to find a way to retire Drivestem for two years now. This incident turned out to be a perfect moment to strike.
“If that is Your Ladyship’s will,” Drivestem grits his teeth but doesn’t dare look up. Waves of psychic energy roll across the hall, the air is fizzy and charged with static, “but I do have to remind you that few would possess the power and know-how to govern the jewel of your realm.”
Drivestem is trying to sway her with that one last argument. But he must have known she’s been trying to diminish his influence. There is only so long he can hold on to power when the Rogue Trader wants him gone.
Concede with at least some grace, old man. For everyone’s sake.
“Indeed, there are few. But I have just the person in mind,” she smiles.
Heinrix has long suspected she plans to elevate Clementia Werserian. She is a strong leader, a formidable soldier and a diligent-
“Macharius, would you accept the honour?”
There is a moment of stunned silence followed by intense whispering.
Ah. Of course. Instead of showing favouritism towards Werserians, she opts for a neutral third party in this squabble between the power on the rise and the one going out.
The cantankerous Sauerback patriarch inclines his head.
“If that is your will,” he grunts with the enthusiasm of a man about to jump into an alligator-ridden cesspool, “Your Ladyship.”
Those only seeing the surface of their relationship would have thought the two hate each other's guts. But that is far from the truth. Aside from Werserians, there is no other noble house as staunchly supportive of her as Sauerbacks. Somehow, Macharius and Lerissa, the two diametrically opposed people that they are, get along and understand each other surprisingly well. Even if the former dislikes Rogue Trader privileges and the latter enjoys just about skirting the path of heresy while protected by said privileges, they have earned each other’s respect.
Her uncovering the traitor hiding within his own family and not executing them all for it might have also had something to do with it.
The brusque man simply doesn’t know how to show that he cares. According to rumours, Macharius has smiled only three times in his life.
Nevertheless, both Jocasta and Macharius would gladly leap in front of the Rogue Trader to take a bullet, and that is an indisputable truth.
And as Werserians consolidate power and influence, one day they will govern - but until then the reigns of Dargonus will be reluctantly but safely in the hands of Macharius Sauerback.
As a bonus, she won’t have to do any of this manoeuvring when the time comes - Sauerback is many things, but he will obey a direct order. Not to mention, he despises intrigue and is busy enough taking care of his own clan, cities and soldiers. In short, he would be all too happy to get rid of this duty foisted upon him by Drivestem’s incompetence.
“That will be all, then. Do not let me keep you.”
With a small flick of the wrist, the courtiers are ushered out of the hall. As soon as the door closes, Lerissa leans back on her throne, sliding slightly down. Only then does she allow herself a tired groan.
“Ugh, it’s over, finally,” her noble bearing evaporates with the sound of the double doors closing shut, “stars, why does this have to be so complicated…”
Heinrix chuckles and offers her a hand. With a sleepy smile, she takes it. Standing up, she stretches with a sigh. Her neck vertebrae respond with a series of satisfying soft pops.
“Time for some well-deserved break. And a bath. You need a bath, Your Ladyship.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“That is my job if you haven’t noticed yet.”
She smacks his forearm, but there is a smile on her lips.
“Cassi, Jae, give me… half an hour to make myself presentable,” pointedly holding her gaze, Heinrix raises an eyebrow at her, “hmm, make it an hour.”
He raises a second eyebrow.
“Two hours at the latest.”
Cassia giggles, her special sight reading their emotions all too clearly. Heinrix doesn’t actually want to know what his love and lust look like in her eyes.
Still, seeing her sprawled on the throne, holding court and verbally keel-hauling a planetary governor while still drenched in blood and smelling of battle… that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. All he wanted to do in that moment was to kneel before her and worship her with his body.
As they leave the hall and make the short walk to her chambers she weaves her fingers with his and squeezes gently.
“How about a massage, Heinrix? Your biomancy makes it utterly… magical.”
He chuckles, closing and locking the door behind them.
“As my lady commands.”
Is it why his powers were once sanctioned? Who’s to say they weren’t? After all, pleasing the Emperor’s Chosen is a holy duty. One that he fulfils with great enthusiasm.