Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 20 (Patreon)

“That’s absurd,” I said. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

Delphine stared me down, her eyes slits of green disproval. “Do not insult my intelligence by pretending that yours is lacking,” she said softly, her voice like velvet over steel. “I regret keeping you in the dark regarding my own suspicions, which were so clearly inaccurate. It’s become obvious that the attempts on your life and the quelled rebellion are unrelated. I want to help. Let me.”

I shook my head mutely. At this point, even I wondered if my stubbornness bordered on folly. Delphine had figured out half the story—what harm could there be in telling her and Xander the entire truth? To my own surprise, part of me craved Delphine’s help. Granted, I would have preferred to solicit her assistance on my own terms rather than this ambush. But if anyone could survive involvement in my plight, it was Bellcrest’s Court Sorceress. Maybe she would believe me, or better yet be able to explain the curse I was under.

Memories from my third life kept my lips sealed: of the Mad Princess’s War, of the nurse who’d haunted my every waking hour, and of everyone who had died for a pointless misunderstanding and my father’s even more pointless pride. Of Theo’s body, never recovered from the battlefield, yet in my mind lying pale and mangled amidst a sea of corpses. How could I risk that history repeating, even if those events themselves had been erased from existence with my death?

I’d knot the noose around my own neck before I allowed another war to break out. Go back to age fourteen, even if it meant sacrificing these last three years. I’d lost friendships to time’s cycle before, especially after those lives where I’d attempted to leverage popularity into security. Still, this time felt different. As if, through lifetimes of trial and error, I’d only now found my place. I didn’t want to relinquish my newfound understanding of Emilia, my relationship with Delphine, or even Dragon. Nor could I guarantee my next life would play out the same way: there were too many variables, too many details that I would forget. Most likely, if I began again, I’d never meet Uncle Alistair . . . or the person he’d escorted.

I tried to surreptitiously peek at Xander from the corner of my eye, but of course he noticed. He smiled tentatively, obviously hopeful that I’d forgiven him for disclosing the truth to his mother. I didn’t smile back. Despite Delphine’s revelation that her son was, put bluntly, a spy, I struggled to believe Xander would be safe should he become involved with my problems. Two of my deaths may have been the fault of my family, but Letty and her accomplice had still succeeded in killing me five times. Xander had only ever lived the once. I bit my lip, conflicted.

“If it eases your concerns,” said Xander, “know that I’ve dealt with similar circumstances in the past. Many Anterdonians object to Lord Errans’ presence at their court, given his insistence on abiding by King Eldin’s neutrality.”

“Are you saying there have been assassination attempts on Uncle Alistair?”

“A few. Lord Errans is clever and proactive enough that most never become more than idle threats. I can assist you, as I have him.”

The sound I made wasn’t quite a laugh. More a dismissive “puh.”

Xander frowned. “Your ability to cast spells may be formidable, but you can’t argue that you’d be at a disadvantage if attacked outright. Today’s lesson with Colm proved as much. You only have a single set of ears, Tru. Permit me be a spare.”

I arched a brow at him and tried not to blush from his reminder of my admittedly inept flailing earlier today. I’d keep training at Colm’s gym, if only to prove Xander wrong. “I have dozens of ears in my employ,” I said. “Half of the castle staff provides me with weekly reports. Or did it not occur to you that I would investigate things on my own?”

Instead of acting offended by my icy rebuttal, Xander smirked, and I belatedly realized that I’d as good as confirmed the existence of a plot on my life. I gritted my teeth. What on Aelium was wrong with me, that I’d felt the urge to brag about my preparedness? Who cared if Xander believed me naïve and helpless?

Ever since his return, I’d been anxious whenever we were together, uncomfortably cognizant of every pore on my nose and the stiltedness of my smile. In the past week, I’d let more secrets slip to Xander than I’d shared with anyone else in the past three years. In the past three lifetimes, for that matter. He made me feel vulnerable.

I despised feeling vulnerable.

Yet I didn’t despise Xander. My logic was clearly flawed.

“Having prior contacts within the castle staff will make things simpler,” he said. “I won’t ask for their names.”

“I wouldn’t have disclosed them,” I retorted.

He ignored my outburst. “All I ask is that you allow me to conduct my own investigation. For my mother’s sake, if not your own. She’s exceedingly fond of you.”

Delphine’s groomed eyebrows lifted. “Indeed,” she said, looking back and forth between me and her son. “I’d be devastated if anything were to happen to my darling apprentice.”

Xander coughed into his hand, as he seemed to do whenever he grew uncomfortable. I rolled my eyes. What quality of spy had nervous tell?

“Yes, well.” He avoided his mother’s amused stare and addressed me. “It would be easier for us both to help if you shared everything you’ve already discovered.”

I sighed, cornered by my own inadvertent admission. How much of the truth could I safely disclose? There might be unavoidable consequences for telling others. Curses often came with such restrictions, at least in the old tales about the fairies who lived in the Amberleen Hills. In my third life, my decision to reveal my situation to my father had set into motion a future infinitely worse than any prior or since. Confiding in anyone, no matter how much they seemed to have my best interests at heart, simply wasn’t a risk I was willing to take, with their lives or my own.

Or maybe, a voice inside taunted, you’re scared that Xander will think you’re insane as well. My stomach churned at the hint of truth. Selfish motivations aside, it was still safest if I focused solely to recent experiences and omitted any details from my past lives.

I chose my words carefully. “I first sensed that something was wrong on my fourteenth birthday.”

“The day we met,” recalled Delphine.

“Yes. My betrothal to Loren led me to realize that not everyone’s well wishes were genuine. I hoped magic might protect me against their resentment.”

Delphine frowned as she tried to piece together my timeline. “Did someone threaten you?”

I shook my head. “I had only suspicions until last year’s fire.” It wasn’t quite a lie—nothing had been truly alarming in this timeline until the arson. “I’d used a glowstone that night, and the door was unlocked during my escape despite my having bolted it. Other than myself, only Emilia and Hamen were supposed to have the key.”

“Yet there were no signs of a break in,” said Xander.

“Councilor Timons had a key as well,” I added, “but after questioning him, I’m convinced that he wasn’t involved. Though it’s possible someone borrowed his copy without his knowledge.”

“You suspected Bertrand?” Delphine sounded surprised. “He and Eldin have been friends since childhood.”

She hadn’t attended any of my trials, where Timons always played a crucial role in my prosecution and subsequent verdict. Not that Delphine would recall his actions even had she been present. Timons had admitted under enchantment that he disliked my father: perhaps he’d believed the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Especially in my last life, when I’d poisoned a literal apple.

“I learned that he had a spare key from Steward Hamen,” I said. “It seemed a lead worth pursuing. But he’s innocent.”

“Your truth charm, I suppose?” she said. “Really, Tru, you can’t go around ensorcelling members of the government.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. Perhaps I should have hesitated, but the man had ordered my execution for nearly half my deaths. Second guessing my past actions would only make me indecisive in the future.

“Is there anyone else you suspect?” asked Xander. “Even if it’s only a hunch, such instincts shouldn’t be ignored.”

I hesitated. Should I reveal that Letty was my primary suspect? Letty was sweet and harmless and had beautiful eyes. Delphine adored my stepsister ever since Letty’s instance on taking care of me after the fire, even though Letty's devotion was likely the result of guilt or an attempt to conceal her own role in the arson. While it was true that Xander didn’t seem enthralled by my stepsister like most men his age, what if he were only being kind to me in an attempt to grow close to her? It wouldn’t be the first time in my lives that tactic had been tried. Pain stabbed sharply through my chest, and lingered even after I dismissed the possibility. 

Xander wasn’t that kind of person. I didn’t think he was, at least.

I shook my head as if I could shake off my own doubts. Either Xander and Delphine would believe me or they wouldn’t. So long as I kept silent about my past lives, they’d at worse believe me paranoid. Not insane. I could disclose a little more with being branded as mad and risking another war.

“There is someone,” I said. “Though I don’t have any proof.”

They waited for me to elaborate. My throat went dry and my palms itched with sweat. I should have kept quiet. No one would take my concerns seriously: Letty was too . . . Letty for anyone to view her as suspect. I’d died once before discovering her involvement, and still wouldn’t have figured it out but for her presence at my second trial.

My silence caused Delphine to reach across her desk and clasp my hands between her own. “Xander and I are on your side, Tru. No matter what.”

All the air in my lungs expelled in a single breath. Fine. If her support was unconditional, it was about to be tested. “Letty,” I revealed. “She and Loren are in love, so she has the most to gain by my death.”

Delphine’s rogued lips parted but she seemed too stunned to speak.

Xander’s forehead creased. “You think she’s in love with Loren?” He sounded dubious.

“I’m certain of it.” Their disbelief was disheartening but expected. If not for the memories recorded in my journal, I’d be skeptical as well.

To my surprise, however, Xander didn’t argue further. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I can see it on Loren’s part,” he mused aloud, then grimaced and cast me an apologetic look.

I snorted. “Loren is worse at disguising his feelings than she is,” I said. “But trust me: his affection is returned.”

Xander’s lips pressed together. “Do you have any reason to believe she visited your chamber on the night of the fire?” He clearly wasn’t fully convinced, but at least he hadn’t dismiss my accusation outright.

“I told you: my suspicions are merely that. Suspicions. If I possessed any proof, I’d confront her.” My hands balled into fists. I already longed to return to Colm’s gym and take out my frustrations on a punching bag. Resolving to do so as soon as possible, I flexed my fingers in an attempt to relax.

Delphine noticed my fidgeting. “I know this can’t be comfortable to discuss,” she said. “But it’s important that we all are on the same page. Xander has agreed to postpone his departure until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Things will be easier once Lord Errans arrives,” added Xander.

I cocked my head to the side. Xander had claimed Alistair had experience with death threats, but I found it hard to reconcile my jovial uncle with his description of a cunning politician.

“In the meantime, take this.” Delphine rummaged through her desk drawer and withdrew a necklace. The flat ring of polished black stone hung from a simple hemp cord which looped through its center. It looked more like a weight used measure goods at market than jewelry. I took it, turning it over curiously in my hands. The stone was unexpectedly heavy despite fitting snugly in my closed fist, and my palm tingled as if from cut off circulation.

“Magic?” I asked.

“A wardstone,” said Delphine. “It won’t shield you from a dagger but it will prevent anyone from hexing or otherwise casting magic on you.”

The hemp chafed against my neck as I slipped the cord over my head, the stone settling comfortably between my breasts. “Will it prevent me from casting spells?”

Delphine smiled. “It wouldn’t be very useful if that were the case. You won’t be able to cast spells directly upon yourself so long as you wear it, but your magic will otherwise function as usual.”

“I never heard of such a thing.” My fingers circled idly around the stone’s smooth edge.

“They’re rare,” said Xander. “Even before the Uprising, the Mages Guild limited how many were in circulation. Some say the stones came from outside Aelium, but no one remembers how they were made.”

Delphine waved her hand dismissively. “Well, the thing was of no use gathering dusk inside my desk. Be sure to wear it at all times.”

Despite my apprehension on wearing jewelry, I agreed. It was only later, as I headed towards my bedroom to get some much-needed sleep, that a disturbing thought occurred to me. What if the wardstone nullified my curse? If I died wearing it, would I wake up at age fourteen? Or would I truly die? The wardstone was a generous gift, but was accepting the protection a risk worth taking?

Such contemplations preoccupied me as I went through my nighttime ablutions, so much so that I almost didn’t notice the envelope laying on my pillow, unmarked but for the red wax sealing it closed. I opened it eagerly. It would be just like Xander to leave a note reassuring me—we communicated best by pen, after all.

As I read the unfolded page, however, my fingers numbed. The parchment drifted from my hands, waltzing lazy spirals in the air before settling face-up on my bedspread.

Xander wasn’t the author of the message. I was.

A page from my own journal lay before me, its jagged edge showing where it had been ripped from the book's spine. The only new addition was a note, scrawled in large looping letters across the bottom in black ink.

“Either you’re insane or we’ve played this game before.

The end will be the same: I’ll win.”