Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 21 (Patreon)

My breaths rasped in and out. Inhaling was hard, exhaling harder. Acid from my stomach burned my throat as I fended off a wave of nausea. My feet were rooted to the floor: I couldn’t sit down, couldn’t move. I could only stare at the message before me.

I’ll win.

Rereading those last two words managed to shake me out of my trance. I forced my leaden feet to walk towards my bookcase, where I retrieved my copy of Yainharrow. I turned the first page, where Xander had written my name in dark, even letters. It was the only page that remained—the rest I had gutted to create a hollow for my diary, rewritten after the fire had destroyed the first. It lay innocently inside the paper hollow where I’d last left it. My hands shook as I took it out and flipped to the page from my fifth death that the note had been written on.

Still there.

Which meant that my mysterious correspondent had my old journal, the one I’d thought burned a year ago. Had they stolen it from beneath my pillow as I slept? Or had it fallen onto the floor? I’d probably never know. The answer wasn’t important.

What mattered was the arsonist now possessed a book filled with new (to them, at least) ideas on how to kill me. Not only that, they had insight into how I’d survived in the past. Panic resurged, squeezing my lungs. I forced myself to breathe in, a great gasp that echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Nothing I could do about that. Not right now.

Instead, I needed to focus on what I could figure out. Why had they sent me this note? My murderer never made such contact in any of my prior lives. My journal had disappeared the night of the fire, which meant the arsonist had waited almost a year before using it as a threat. Why? To frighten me? The note came across more gloating than intimidating: they wanted me to know that they hadn’t given up on trying to kill me. Which meant that they had most likely learned of Emilia’s recovery.

Curses. Emilia.

I sprinted from my bedchamber and through my private parlor, to the door that joined her room with mine. I flung it open, too concerned to care if the noise woke her up.

She was gone.

I couldn’t pause to think. Couldn’t stop. If I did, I’d be unable to start again. I never should have agreed to let Emilia stay. My decision had been selfish, motivated by a pathetic yearning to feel less alone, and now she was in danger and it was all my fault. Again.

I ran, this time down the hallway and outside, across the exposed bridge that connected the Royal Residence with the servants’ quarters. A maid passed, yawning. I grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Where’s Hamen?” I demanded between wheezed breaths.

The maid’s wide brown eyes stared at me like a startled calf. Under her shocked scrutiny, I finally registered the cold stones beneath my bare feet. My nightgown fluttered against my legs in the breeze: it was no surprise if she thought me deranged.

“Where is he?” I repeated.

“Steward Hamen went home, my lady,” she stuttered. “Left early in order to travel with his daughter.”

My hands dropped from her shoulders. “With his daughter?”

The maid stumbled back as if eager to get away, before catching herself and dropping to a curtsy. Madwoman or not, I was still nobility. “Yes, m’lady,” she said. “On account of her being sick. I . . . I told you before, m’lady, when I came to fetch you. About how they thought she was poisoned.” She shook her head. “Turns out it was just spoiled food.”

Emilia was safe. She hadn’t been abducted; she’d simply gone home like I’d suggested. There was no reason for my killer to go after her—the poison had been meant for me in the first place. I would have realized as much had I not been so caught off guard by the letter. My body felt suddenly limp with relief. I wanted to collapse to the ground but instead drew myself to my full height, a vestige of pride straightening my backbone like a puppet’s string. The last thing I needed was for rumor to spread around Court that the future princess ran around half naked. I squinted at the maid, recognizing her for the first time.

“You’re the servant Hamen sent when Emilia fell ill.”

She bobbed another curtsy. “Yes, m’lady. I’m honored that you remember me.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it: relief, fear, and defeated amusement mixed until I couldn’t tell one emotion from another. The poor girl looked even more aghast by my inappropriate response, which only made me laugh harder. How must this charade seem to her from the outside, witnessing the corners of my life without understanding any of the pieces? At this point, even I was beginning to doubt my own sanity.

I did my best to reassure her once I managed to calm down. “Apologies.” A stray snicker managed to escape. “It’s been a long night.” I paused. “A long life, rather. Lives.”

She gaped at me uncomprehendingly.

“For you.” I tore a pearl button from my nightgown’s front—it was decorative and thus its removal didn’t threaten my modesty, but its price would easily equal a month’s worth of her salary. “You can sell this, or come to my chambers tomorrow and I’ll give you coin instead. Either way, I would greatly appreciate if you didn’t mention our encounter to others.” I dropped the pearl into her apron pocket.

“Thank you m’lady,” she said. For the first time, her eyes met mine, gratitude outweighing her fear.

I turned to leave. I’d embarrassed myself enough for one night, and her appreciation over something so trivial made me uncomfortable. Guilty, even. I thought back to the laundress from this morning. Even down a button, my pajamas undoubtedly still cost more than the clothes in all three of her hampers combined.

“M’lady!”

I glanced over my shoulder. The maid held her hands protectively over the apron pocket with the pearl. Her blush glowed in the moonlight, as embarrassed by her own audacity at requesting my attention.

“I hope you sleep well,” she said.

I laughed again, a near manic edge to the sound. I’d be lucky to sleep at all.

*****

“Whose face are you imagining there, Tru?” asked Theo. He had insisted upon joining Xander and I after hearing that we were headed to Colm’s gym.

“Yours.” I didn’t spare him a glance as my fists continued to rail against the suspended bag. Testimony to Colm’s instruction, my punches now made constant contact (more or less) with the black leather rather than swinging into empty air.

Theo staggered back with one hand over his heart as if mortally wounded. Considering that he had once killed me in a more or less similar fashion, I didn’t find his theatrics especially amusing. My scowl deepened, and he turned pleadingly to Xander.

“Under what dark star was I born to have be cursed with a sister so cruel?” he affected.

Xander remained focused on his own exercises. A sheen of sweat emphasized the muscles on his bare arms as he spared with Colm, holding his own despite the other man’s advantage in size and expertise. He grunted as Colm landed a blow on his shoulder, before returning the favor with a jab.

“I thought,” he grunted as he sidestepped Colm’s fist, “you were here to learn. Not soliloquize.”

Theo pouted. He’d refused to change into the provided clothes and looked ridiculously out of place in the gym with his embroidered jacket and elaborately tied neckcloth. When had my brother become so foppish? I threw another punch at the bag, trying to make sure my elbow remained level and below my chin like Colm had shown me.

“You said you were headed to a training gym. I presumed we’d be fencing,” Theo complained. “Not brawling like drunken sailors.” He inclined his head at Colm. “No offense intended.”

Colm snorted and hit Xander in the solar plexus.

Xander sliced the air with his hand, calling a halt to their bout. He winced as he bent over to collect his coat—Colm’s last punch must have been harder than usual. “Tru dislikes weapons,” he said as he gingerly shrugged on his jacket.

“Besides,” I added, “Colm says I have a better chance of defending myself this way than learning swordplay. It’s more about staying out of harm’s way than skewering someone back.”

Colm grinned at me. “Aye, skewering isn’t ladylike.”

“Why would you need to defend yourself?” Theo frowned in confusion. “The palace has plenty of guards.”

Xander gave me a pointed look. He’d begrudgingly abided by my wish not to let anyone else know about the murder attempts, including my goodhearted but loudmouthed brother. Seeking to avoid Theo’s question, I returned to the drills Colm taught me. Delphine’s wardstone swung rhythmically against my chest with each punch. Theo wasn’t the only one who I was keeping in the dark: I’d yet to tell either Xander or Delphine about last night’s note.

Right jab.

How could I? To do so would mean telling them the whole truth.

Left jab.

Which I hadn’t shared for good reason. I was unaccustomed to having allies. It was . . . “nice” felt too shallow a word.

Right uppercut.

It was nice to not feel completely alone. I wouldn’t jeopardize that by giving them reason to doubt my sanity.

Left uppercut.

Even my Triad-cursed murderer thought I might be mad after reading a journal filled with the myriad ways by which they’d killed me.

Right backfist.

At least Emilia was safe. Disregarding my overactive imagination, there was no indication that anyone else would be targeted.

Left hook.

Just me. But I didn’t want to have to start my life over again—I wanted to survive this one.

A hand caught my next punch. “That’s enough,” said Xander. “Abuse your muscles, and you’ll do more harm than good.”

I nodded, already feeling a bruise begin to harden on my upper arm from where I’d overextended.

Xander didn’t release my fist. “Is everything alright?”

I fixed a false smile on my face, pointedly ignored the furrow of worry between hid eyebrows. “Of course,” I lied. “With the exception of Theo’s presence, life is grand.”

My brother growled playfully and pulled me towards him, wrapping his arm around my neck in a mock chokehold. “Boxing prepares you for attacks, does it? Well, I demand your surrender!”

“Remember the advice I gave you earlier,” said Xander mildly.

“When in doubt, aim for the groin?”

Theo immediately released me and took a step back. His head swiveled between Xander and me. “Barbarians,” he proclaimed. “The both of you.”

“Pragmatists,” corrected Xander with a smirk.

Theo’s brow creased as he watched me unwrap the protective bindings around my knuckles. “Could you could use a spell to help your fighting? I bet you’d be a right proper monster then.”

Xander and I both stared at my brother. The idea was a surprisingly good one. He correctly interpreted our gazes.

“Stop looking so shocked,” he said crossly. “I think.”

“Arguable.” My parry was instinctive. “Still, I’ll ask Lady Delphine if she has any suggestions.”

Perhaps a healing spell to reinforce my muscles, or a haste spell to make me dodge faster. The slowing spell had been easy enough for me to learn—how much harder could it be to do the opposite? After last night’s message, I needed every advantage possible.

Colm stopped me as we started towards the stairway. “A moment, Lady Vitrula.” He nodded at Xander and Theo. “If you’ll excuse us, there’s a few new moves that I’d like her ladyship to incorporate into her daily exercises.”

Theo groaned. “Haven’t we been here long enough.”

Xander met Colm’s eyes. The boxing instructor gave him a terse nod, and Xander’s brows rose in brief surprise before he turned to my brother. He threw an arm over Theo’s shoulders. “You know, there’s a vendor nearby that sells flavored ices,” he said. “I believe Tru would forgive us for briefly abandoning her if we promised to bring one back.”

“She doeslike lemon syrup,” said Theo.

“Actually, I’d prefer blackberry,” I said. “Just make sure to get it here before it melts.”

Theo grabbed Xander’s arm and half-dragged him up the stairs as if afraid I would change my mind and force them to remain. Unlike in Anterdon, where single women were chaperoned (much to Theo’s vocal chagrin), Verdan had no such stigma between men and women socializing. Still, most courtiers would consider it mildly compromising for Prince Loren’s fiancé to be alone with a commoner, believing honor and trustworthiness to be a matter of heritage rather than character.

I arched a brow at their retreating backs. “Is there truly an ice vendor?” It would be disappointing if they returned empty handed—I could almost taste the sweet tartness of blackberry syrup. I directed my skeptical gaze towards Colm and crossed my arms. “No matter. What is it you actually wanted to discuss?”

Colm chuckled. “You doubt my excuse?”

“You taught me several new moves at the beginning of our session. Unlike my brother, I’m not so easily rendered forgetful by the thought of sweets.”

“Good lad, Xan, to give us the time alone.”

“Xander knew you wanted to talk to me?” I asked. “Does he know what about?”

“No, but he trusts me,” said Colm. “As I’m about to trust you, once you answer a few questions.”

“I’ll answer honestly, if I can.” I had an inkling of what this was about but couldn’t figure out Colm’s desire for secrecy. It’s not as if Theo or Xander would have disproved of my actions.

“This morning, a man came round the neighborhood. Knocking on folk’s doors, asking if they could spare their sons or daughters for the promise of a good wage.” He stared hard at me.

“I see,” I said. “And did he deliver on his promise?”

“Aye. Gave them a day’s pay upfront and set them to repairing the main street. Came prepared with a cart of bricks, and claimed there were funds for more should anything else in the neighborhood need fixing. Even said he had a benefactor willing to give people loans, interest free.”

“Did anyone accept his offer?”

“Fenton Byrn. Got a loan of twenty moons.”

Good. I’d broached the issue of the neighborhood’s dissipated roads at the last Council meeting, only to have Wrenly make a note for the issue to be discussed the following week—the Councilor’s way of politely refusing to address someone’s concern. It would be put off week after week, until the matter either resolved itself or became too grave to fix. I’d decided it best to provide the neighborhood with resources directly and let residents figure out where it was allocated. Even if I was not yet Queen of Verdan, it was no more than what I’d done for villagers in Kothe as the Duke’s daughter. Hamen had promised that he’d hire someone trustworthy with the money he received from pawning several of my mother’s necklaces. I’d sell the rest if need be, but selfishly hoped that I’d be able to keep the sapphire ring. In my first life, before it had been used to frame me for Loren’s attack, I’d worn it almost every day. Maybe, someday, I’d be able to wear it again.

Colm must have read something in my expression, because his lips curled in a satisfied grin. “I guessed it was your doing,” he said. “You spot things, pick up on new moves quick, even if you can’t quite copy them. You noticed that our part of Bellcrest is in a bad shape.”

“Xander explained the war has been hurting businesses,” I admitted, “after I got called a harlot by a local laundress.”

“Must have been Leandra. Tongue like a viper, that one, but heart of a saint.” Colm smirked. “Not so dissimilar to yourself, my lady.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded with a small smile. Maybe the laundress had lived multiple lives as well, and was just as fed up with the whole ordeal as I. Or maybe some people were just born exasperated. “Regardless, I’m pleased that the funds are being put to good use.”

“They are. In return, I’d like to help you.” Colm nodded at my knuckles, red and swollen from today’s practice. “People don’t throw themselves into training the way you do, unless they’re spooked by something. Or someone.”

I couldn’t deny his allegation, especially after the arsonist’s threat. I shivered as my sweat from earlier began to cool.

“Your concern is appreciated,” I said, “but I’ll be fine.”

He snorted. “No offense, my lady, but enthusiasm won’t win a fight. You have spirit but lack skill. Skill in fisticuffs,” he amended at my offended glare. “I’m sure you’re plenty proficient in other endeavors. My point is: your brother is smarter than he looks.”

I laughed, but my amusement was dampened by confusion. “I’ll pass on your compliment,” I said, “although your confidence in him outweighs my own.” Not that Theo was stupid—just frivolous. He would never intentionally neglect Kothe’s people once he became duke, but nor would he realize when they needed his aide. Hopefully Father and Catherine found him a more observant wife.

Colm shook his head. “The young lord was right. A few lessons with me won’t transform you into a trained pugilist. That takes years and, put bluntly, talent. Both which you lack.” He held up a hand to belay my protest. “You need magic.”