Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 15 (Patreon)

“Happy seventeenth birthday, little sister!” Theo’s voice boomed from directly below my uplifted chair. “Enjoy your present!”

Suddenly, there was music, a stream of it, all flowing through the doors. A flute player trilled a fast-paced melody. Three acrobats followed in her wake, leaping over delighted guests on nearby couches. Human waterfalls, silver and blue ribbons streaming from their costumes as they cartwheeled round the room before meeting in the center. They formed a human dais with their hands and together lifted the still-playing flautist up to my own elevated position.

She caught sight of my face, and played a wrong note.

No one noticed. Letty laughed and clapped her hands in rhythm, and Loren handed off his cake to Armond in order to join her. Soon the entire parlor was clapping in time to the music, all eyes directed towards me but unable to see my terror. I wanted to look down, to scream at Theo to stop, but to move was to plummet off my precarious perch.

The fluteplayer’s eyes were sympathetic over her puffed out cheeks. Yet if she stopped playing, she risked ruining the performance and forfeiting her pay. Her jaunty tune continued, mocking my paralyzed terror.

I summoned just enough discipline so as to appear composed by the time Theo and Xander deposited my chair back onto the ground. The acrobats departed. The flautist moved to the corner, switching to slower compositions that gently blended with the sounds of conversation and laughter.

“Were you surprised?” asked Letty, bouncing in her seat. She and Theo shared expectant smiles, oblivious to my pale face and shallow breaths.

Xander, however, frowned. His brow furrowed with concern and he leaned down under the pretense of fixing the beak of Acouth’s paper swan. He was just a tall as I remembered, perhaps a bit broader in the shoulders, and his freckles more pronounced after spending the summer in Anterdon’s desert climate. “Not unpleasantly so, I hope,” he murmured, his voice low enough to escape the other’s ears.

“It caught me off guard,” I replied, relieved to find my voice steadier than my hands. “How long have you three been planning this?”

“It was Letty’s idea,” said Theo. “She sent me a letter a few weeks back, concerned with how low your spirits had been and wanting to cheer you up. She told me about the fire.” He glared at Xander then at me and then back.

Xander coughed into his fist and arched an eyebrow my way as if to say ‘I told you so.’

I sighed. “I didn’t want you to fret.”

Theo pulled me from my seat and embraced me in a bearhug. “I deserve to worry,” he said into the top of my head. “I’m your older brother.”

I patted his back. He ignored the cue and squeezed me tighter.

“I’m fine now,” I lied. “It occurred a long time back.”

Theo released a puff of air through his nose. “Well, I only found out a few weeks ago. Letty wrote than you’ve seemed down ever since it happened. She said that most your books were destroyed.”

“Please.” I tutted. “It takes more than charred parchment to break my spirit. One trip to the bookstore, and I recovered in full. Xander even sent me a few new copies to add to my collection.”

“Ah yes.” Theo’s glare returned. “Xander. My best friend. Who knew.”

I smacked his arm. “He asked me to inform you, and was respectful enough to give me opportunity to do so. Consideration is hardly a crime.”

Theo clapped Xander on the back, though from the volume of the slap, his forgiveness would leave a bruise. “You’re lucky that my sister is so persuasive. Note, she doesn’t specify whether she actually intended to tell me.”

“A born diplomat,” said Xander, who had impressively refrained from wincing. “Why was she not the sibling sent to Lord Errans? Your sense of humor is liable to start a war.”

Theo guffawed. “Uncle Al would agree, especially after the kilt incident. But Tru is too busy preparing to rule the country.”

Loren rose from his seat. He grabbed my hand and pressed his lips to its back, too briefly to be called a kiss, before bowing to Theo and Letty. Xander, he ignored.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “but I think I’ll join Armond.” Armond, along with all but a few lingering guests, had at Letty’s encouragement followed the acrobats into the outside garden, where ribbon-wrapped poles had been set up for them to perform.

Although Theo and Letty had been the ones to arrange the exhibition, neither showed any desire to join Loren. Theo casually rested his elbows on the back of Letty’s chair. He blew on the top of her head whenever there was a lull in our conversation, causing her to swat at him after each puff. Meanwhile, Xander slid into Loren’s unoccupied seat, beneath the portrait of King Ignatius. The family connection wasn’t immediately obvious like with Loren, but it was there, present in Xander’s cheekbones and brow. I’d have to warn him to avoid the portrait gallery, unless he wanted others to realize the secret of his birth. Not that he knew that I had learned about his father. Perhaps I could send an anonymous note?

“How long are you in Bellcrest?” I felt oddly uncomfortable meeting Xander’s gaze. He and I had parted little more than strangers, only to grow better acquainted through our letters. Should I treat him informally as my brother’s friend? Call him by his title since he worked for Uncle Alistair? Or were first names fine, as we’d recently begun to use in our letters?

“Two weeks at most,” he said, stretching out his legs. “Your uncle should be arriving within the next few days. Theo and I rode ahead of the cavalcade in order to make it here in time.”

Theo groaned. “Now you can’t keep a secret? Uncle Al’s visit was to be a surprise!”

Xander’s green eyes met mine for a prolonged second. “I think your sister is the type who would rather know what to expect. Besides,” he turned his attention back to Theo, “I thought you hated secrets.”

Theo pulled a face. “Only when they’re kept from me!”

Letty and I laughed. In that instant, I forgot. I forgot about the fire and Timons. That the girl smiling besides me was my enemy, even if she was being manipulated by someone else. Forgot that Loren didn’t love me and my mother hadn’t wanted me, and that my father would think me mad and declare war if I ever told him the truth. Forgot that I would never be able to climb to the top of a tower again and look at the stars without hyperventilating.

For the briefest moment, I forgot about death and simply enjoyed being alive.

“Your hypocrisy is endearing, brother,” I chuckled. “Really.”

Theo flashed an unrepentant grin. He held out his hand to Letty and nodded towards the center of the room, where several others who’d chosen to remain indoors had pushed aside the furniture and begun dancing to the flute’s slow melody.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Letty dimpled and allowed him to pull her towards the other dancers.

“I’d ask for a dance as well,” said Xander once they were out of earshot, “but I have something to give you.” He pulled a small book from his coat’s lining and handed it to me. He sounded self-conscious when he added, “I’m sorry it’s not wrapped.”

I looked at the title. “Yainharrow! I can’t believe you found a copy.”

“You mentioned that it was the only book you hadn’t been able to replace. It’s almost as if booksellers don’t believe people will be interested in the difference between a pre-Empyrin Fengali squat hut and a post-Noratin mud house.”

I gaped at him. “Don’t tell me you read it?” Even I hadn’t gotten past the first chapter, and had indeed chosen it as the shell for my death diary because of its incredible dullness.

Xander grinned. “No. But now I know you haven’t either, since everything I just said was entirely made up.”

I laughed again. Forgot, again. “All the other authors in my library, I swear I’ve read. But Yainharrow is—”

“Boring,” finished Xander. “Agreed. I don’t suppose you had time to read the latest tract I sent you? It’s more interesting than post-Noratin mud houses, I assure you.”

“Which you just admitted don’t exist.” I smiled at him. “I read the pamphlet. You must have departed before my last letter arrived. Truthfully, I can’t decide whether Anterdon’s new policy is brilliant or insane. Legalizing piracy for crews that go after Fengali vessels provides extra protection for their own merchants, but it’s only a matter of time before Fengal catches on and instructs their fleet to run different flags.”

Despite my familiarity with the subject, I begun to feel painfully self-aware under Xander’s gaze. Why had I ever allowed Emilia to talk me into wearing this gown? I no doubt looked ridiculous, like a child playing dress up. “My written argument was much more eloquent, of course,” I continued. “In the end, it will only exacerbate tensions between the two countries.”

“Only if Fengal can prove that Anterdon has been granting clemency to those captains targeting their ships,” rebutted Xander. “Which is difficult to prove given that—”

“Given that the pirates sink the evidence.”

He smiled at my quick grasp of his point. “Exactly. Employing privateers is morally ambiguous at best and ethically corrupt at the worst. Nevertheless . . .” He paused, staring at me as if trying to decide something important. His unabashed perusal made me itch. Eventually he nodded, having reached some internal decision.

“Nevertheless,” he continued, “the King has asked for my opinion on whether to adopt a similar policy, given Fengal recently sunk three Verdan merchant ships.” His lips tightened. “They claim they mistook the ships for Anterdonian, but all three targets were transporting exceptionally valuable goods. His Majesty believes that Fengal’s military has found a new way to finance their aggression, and that privateers might provide a deterrent.”

“King Eldin asked you?” I repeated dumbly.

A faint smirk tempted his lips upwards. “That would be our monarch, yes.”

As well as Xander’s father. I hadn’t been aware that the two had any ongoing relationship to speak of—although given Delphine’s continued romance with the King, such a bond made sense. Still, Xander’s willingness to disclose that connection with me seemed to indicate I’d earned more of his trust than I’d realized.

I mulled over his proposal before responding. “Fengal is primarily a naval power,” I finally stated. “Their fleet dwarfs both Anterdon’s and our own. Anterdon can risk targeting their ships, since they’re already at war and have nothing to lose. But Verdan is allied with both countries, at least nominally. Rather than threaten that peace with outright aggression, wouldn’t it be better to enter into an arrangement with Anterdon where we provide them with . . . let’s call it a gift for any Verdan vessel their paid privateers defend?”

Xander took time to process my argument, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. I seized the opportunity to study his face. He wasn’t as handsome as Loren, but he was easily better formed than most the men in court. His lashes were dark and surprisingly lush, his nose straight if just the tiniest bit too long. I was inexplicably glad to see that his dusting of freckles fell across his cheekbones exactly as I recalled. I averted my gaze when he reopened his eyes.

“Your conclusion more or less mirrors my own.” He looked away. “You’ll make a wise queen.”

I didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.

He stood up and held out a hand, nodding towards the dancing. “Should we join them?”

More than anything, I wanted to nod. I deeply, desperately wanted to take Xander’s hand and proceed to dance the night away until I forgot I most likely had less than a year left to live. I could forget: I’d proven that tonight. My hand hovered in the air above his. We were on the precipice of . . . well, of something. I didn’t know what. But if I accepted, some intangible thing between us would shift.

I wanted to say yes.

“I can’t.” My hand, suddenly leaden, dropped back into my lap. “I need to find Councilor Timons.”

*****

My effectiveness finding Timons was impeded by what seemed to be every member of Bellcrest’s court under twenty-five, whom, spotting me separated from my family herd, pounced on the opportunity to corner me with their well-wishes. Several attempted to commiserate about my “stepsister’s shameless behavior.” I feigned cluelessness and scolded their audacity in implying such an obvious fabrication. I may have been lying, but I lied with enough conviction that the rumormongers eventually scattered with expressions that were half-cowed by my reprimand and half-confused by my apparent cluelessness.

After I managed to escape, I recruited several servants to help me locate the erstwhile Councilor. Without needing to search, and in the eerily presentient way of well-trained staff (no doubt, Emilia had not been as tight-lipped as I had hoped), they pointed me to one of the balconies, where Timons stood by himself overlooking the garden. His hands were clasped behind his back as he watched performance below. He bowed curtly upon as I joined him, his manner as brusque at a social event as it was during Council meetings.

“Happy birthday, Lady Vitrula.”

“Councilor Timons. You have no interest in joining the crowds?”

Timons graced me with a subdued smile. The moonlight cast his bony features in shadow, giving his hollow cheeks a macabrely skeletal slant. “You also seem to be refraining from the festivities despite this being a party in your honor.”

My laugh sounded strained even to my own ears. “I prefer quieter gatherings, I suppose.”

He inclined his head. “In that way, my lady, we are much alike. I, however, may seek solitude at my discretion. You will not have the same luxury, once Crown Princess.”

His words gave the opening I needed to begin my interrogation. “Remo,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” asked Timons. His hooded eyelids drooped even further and his jaw worked back and forth as he fought off a sudden yawn.

I faked a cough to cover up the spell I’d just cast. “A mild cold,” I brushed off his concern. It had taken me ten months to corner Timons, and someone would undoubtably come looking for me if I stayed away too long. “Would you trade your anonymity for the throne then?” No time for oblique references and hidden meanings. Timons might be dismayed by my candor after the spell wore off but by then I would’ve learned all I needed. Ideally, without being caught—enchanting a government official was hardly legal, even for a future princess. At best, King Eldin would only cancel my engagement to Loren. At worse, the Council would order that I revisit the guillotine.

“I haven’t thought of it.” Timons’ words emerged slow and ponderous, as if weighted down by his unwillingness to be forthcoming.

I stared at him intently, searching for any sign of subterfuge. He fidgeted under the scrutiny.

“I haven’t thought of it much,” he amended.

Thank the Triad. As with Emilia, the spell had successfully decayed his ability to lie. “Much?” I pressed. “You have considered it, then.”

Timons rolled his neck with an audible crack. Under the influence of the spell, his self-control frayed enough that he could no longer suppress a large yawn. “Every Councilor has considered it,” he admitted. “What we would do if we controlled it all. But I am loyal to His Majesty.”

“Are you loyal to me?”

Timons’ head dipped down in a nod, though he struggled finding the energy required to lift it back up. He yawned again. “I dislike your father.”

To be fair, my own fondness for the man was tenuous at best. Still, he hadn’t answered my question. “I’m not my father, Timons. Do I have your loyalty?”

“You are not your father.” His words were beginning to slur, and he grasped the balcony railing with both hands as if to prevent himself from toppling over its side.

A low growl of frustration escaped my throat. Patient prodding was getting me nowhere. I leaned in closer, until our noses almost touched and I could smell the coffee on his breath. “Did you set the fire?” I demanded. “Did you try to kill me?”

Timons recoiled. His mouth opened and shut. With visible effort, he let go of the banister and drew himself upright. “You are His Highness’s intended,” he said. “I would never harm the royal family.”

I evaluated him through narrowed eyes. His shoulders swayed slightly from side to side but he was obviously trying to fight against the lethargy caused by my spell. Despite being barely able to close his mouth, he was nonetheless making a valiant effort setting his jaw at a haughty angle. Our eyes locked, his glare unflinching but for a few drowsy blinks.

He was affronted that I had questioned his loyalty. Enraged even, despite his sluggish countenance. And no one could act that well when rendered magically vulnerable.

Curses. Timons was innocent.

*****

I headed back to the parlor, only vaguely aware of the celebrations taking place around me. My mind felt shrouded by a heavy fog; my eyes grew dry from forgetting to blink.

Timons wasn’t Letty’s accomplice.

I’d wasted time and resources tracking the man’s every move. I knew his favorite meals and when he ate them. Could recite the trajectory of his political career, beginning with his appointment as Wrenly’s second secretary, back when the Council’s leader had sat at the Table of Coin, which approved all laws related to trade and managed Verdan’s treasury. Timons had taken Wrenly’s seat after he had been promoted, before eventually ascending to the Table of Law alongside him. All evidence had pointed towards Timons being loyal—he had never embezzled nor voiced any discontent with the Crown.

Yet I had convinced myself that there must be something I’d missed. Because if there wasn’t and Timons were as law-abiding as he appeared, then I’d wasted several months of my increasingly short life.

An impact hit my shoulder. I mumbled an apology to the austere matron I’d run into, whose offended sneer morphed into a toothy smile once she realized my identity. I knew her face, deep wrinkles evident beneath a heavy layer of paint, but couldn’t remember her name. What if she were part of Letty’s plot? Perhaps it had been her footsteps I had heard. Perhaps there had been no footsteps at all. What if the entire night had been a delusion?

Hells, what if everything was a delusion? What if my journal was filled with the ramblings of a madwoman and I had never died at all and Letty was innocent and . . .

No.

The fire had been real. My memories, real. This was not an unfamiliar spiral, and I refused to capitulate to doubt. Not now, not ever.

I was Lady Vitrula Marianne Rhys, daughter of the Duke of Kothe. Betrothed to His Royal Highness. Apprentice to the Court Sorceress. Future Queen of Verdan.

And I was not insane.

I steadied myself with a deep breath and refocused on the noblewoman I’d crashed into, who had launched into an impassioned monologue on the health benefits of volcanic bath salts. Having calmed down, I could recall her name.

“Please excuse me, Lady Geneva.” I smiled politely. “But I truly don’t care.”

The Countess’s open-mouthed shock was amusingly fishlike. I dipped a curtsy before beelining towards where I had abandoned Xander. If I had only a year left to live, I would might as well dance with whoever I desired.

“Pardon me, m’lady.” A maid stopped me before I could reach the other side of the room.

“Can I help you?” I tilted my head, trying to catch site of Xander from over her shoulder. His chair was vacant but I caught a glimpse of red hair through the crush of people dancing. It disappeared, before reemerging next to lower blonde head.

Letty. He was dancing with Letty.

I inhaled sharply, my pained hiss causing the maid to start. Her hands twisted her apron nervously and her eyes darted around the room. I frowned at her, annoyed that she’d witnessed my displeasure. My jealousy? Best not to contemplate my reaction too deeply.

“Out with it, girl,” I snapped, “and stop looking as if I’m about to order you beheaded.”

Her eyes widened. In retrospect, that morbid joke had probably only been funny to me. Context and all that. “They said to fetch you m’lady.”

“Who did?” I prodded, bestowing what I hoped passed for a reassuring smile. The girl was trembling like a hare in a trap, as if she genuinely believed I’d call for her execution.

“Steward Hamen,” she squeaked. “His daughter—that is, your maid. She’s been poisoned.”