Bram was left coughing and wheezing on the floor when Mara finally released him from her hold. Heaving violently, he expelled a mass of black gunk from his throat. The Ikoras wiped off her hands on the rags she wore while Marianne moved to console her betrothed.

"Are you okay, beloved?" spoke the dainty lady. "What did she do to you?"

"Saved him, in a sense," Mara interjected. "None that I'd expect you to appreciate, alas."

Though a quiet fury took hold over Marianne's features, she refrained from turning her lividity on their tormentor, still wary of the young woman's intent to take her tongue.

Her reticence was not lost on Mara. "He'll likely be off words for a time," she said, "so I'll have you speak."

Marianne faced Mara cautiously. "Have you finished?" she asked.

"I have," Mara answered. "I permit you two to remain here and rest for a time. When that time has passed, you will leave this place, and I expect you to show more wisdom than the Lord and stay away."

"Where are we to go?!"

"You're highborn, aren't you? Perhaps your family will take you back."

Quivering lips and glassy eyes betrayed the lady's fear. Mara might even have felt some pity at so pitiful a display were it not for the vile young Master wallowing weakly in Marianne's embrace. As it stood, she could only regard both with disgust. She coldly turned her back on them.

"Live elsewhere or die here," she said. "The choice is yours, sweet maiden."

She took a step, but stopped when Marianne called out with a question. "Why are you letting us go?"

Mara exhaled sharply. "I am letting him go. I have imbued him with power: power to live, power to feel, and power for nothing more. In a year's time, he will die, and my will shall be fulfilled."

She turned back to Marianne with a piercing stare. "It will be extraordinarily messy. I'd not blame you for wishing to die for having seen it. But if you choose to go with him, you may know a few months' happiness. That is more than those in Hovale were ever allowed."

Mara reached the threshold and pulled the door open. The hook-scarred man swiftly turned to make sure he wasn't facing an escape attempt. The Ikoras rested her hand on his shoulder and addressed the fallen nobles once more.

"Convey your choice to your watcher," she said. "If you prefer death, leave the young Master there and step out of this chamber. This man will cleave you on the spot."

And then, she shut the door.

She would not be present when, just over an hour later, Marianne carefully opened the door and stepped outside, struggling to support her betrothed against her. No one deigned to help her as they hobbled through the grounds. They received naught but glaring and jeers, not least of all from those engaged in burying the many Bram had slain. The only service the Hovaleans offered was to open the gates so that the highborn who’d been brought so low could leave them at last.

“Good riddance,” said Torbin as he watched them leave.

“Aye,” offered the red-haired woman. “Surprised the lady’s lettin’ ‘em go, though.”

“Right. I wonder about that.”

Torbin decided to sate his curiosity and seek an audience with the Ikoras. The link between them led him inside the manor house, where he found Mara staring into a fire raging in a stately hearth. Seated in the simplest chair in the chamber, she kept the soles of her calloused feet upturned so they could feel the fire’s warmth.

Leaning against the door frame, the balding man chuckled. “You don’t figure you’ve earned a fancier chair than that?” he joked.

“Don’t want one,” Mara said flatly.

“No? Thought I heard you were after some sort o’ Throne.”

Mara’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She still had quite a long road to walk to reach the Kingdom Throne. There was comfort in the knowledge that she’d planted a seed to secure her path to power, but she still did not relish thoughts of the trials to come.

It would all be worth it, she told herself. She would finally hold something worth having in the end.

“Yeesh,” Torbin interjected. “This ain’t like you, lass. Guess I should’ve expected as much seein’ as you let those noble bastards go.”

“It was necessary,” Mara responded. “I need the young Master alive.”

“Tch. What the hell for?”

“To carry my Curse.”

“Curse?” Torbin quirked a brow. He left the threshold to step into the room, but stopped when Mara suddenly stood.

“We’re going to gather the others. We’ve a matter to discuss.”

Though Torbin remained curious about Mara’s odd state of mind, he offered little protest as the two of them went about the task of rounding up the Hovaleans from the fields and the bathhouses. They gathered in the dining hall around the longest table. Torbin sat at the head while Mara chose to stand at his side. Ars made sure to claim the seat closest to the two.

“This is everyone?” she spoke, still unaccustomed to the reduced number.

“Yeah,” Torbin said somberly. He slapped his cheeks to pipe himself up. “What’s this all about, then?”

“The battle is won,” Mara answered. “We have eradicated LeBaron’s forces, cast out his heir, and claimed this manor for ourselves. Hovale, however, is lost.”

She went silent for a moment as all gathered let slip their sighs and bowed their heads. A moment to remember the many dead.

“We are not Hovale,” Mara continued. “Nor are we LeBaron. The time has come to christen ourselves and these holdings we have claimed.”

“How ‘bout Ikoria?”

Mara was thrown from her trail of thought by Ars’ sudden interjection. Her eyes and numerous others fell upon him. Unnerved by the attention, he had to take a moment to swallow a lump in his throat.

“Well, been thinkin’,” he went on. “‘S that thing the matron’s called ya, innit?”

“Matron?” said Hethys with a sardonic smirk.

Ars offered her a slight bow. “All respect, miss. But I’ve heard ‘er call ya ‘Ikoras.’ And it was, err…in your mind. When we was linked f’r th’ wall.”

“I remember it,” Torbin chimed in. “Reckoned it was the proper name for witchy folk like you.”

“I’m not a witch,” Mara seethed. Torbin only laughed.

“So, lad, you’d have us name our new dominion for the source of the power that secured it for us?”

Ars nodded, then looked up to Mara. “I’d’ve suggested namin’ it f’r you, but ya don’t seem t’like the word your name came from as much.”

“I like it,” said Torbin. “And, as the designated Lord of these holdings, I say it sticks.”

“Sounds fair to me,” said the half-blind man.

“Aye!” exclaimed the redhead.

“Eyes arise!” Hethys laughed.

A din of voices speaking in renewed mirth and solidarity arose. Mara leaned against Torbin’s chair and crossed her arms. A corner of her lips twitched upward.

“Hm,” she uttered. “Very well.”

With the nascent Lord and the Ikoras in agreement, LeBaron Manor had its new name. Torbin led all his fellows, Hovaleans no longer, in a cheer to celebrate the occasion. He clapped Ars on the back for thinking up the idea, but the scrawny lad proved too bashful to glory in the achievement. Instead, he sheepishly cheered along with all but the silent Mara, all uplifting the name of Ikoria.

And in only two years’ time, it became a name known all throughout the land.