Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 22 (Patreon)

I stiffened. My studies with Delphine weren’t a secret—it had taken a year into my residency at Bellcrest for other courtiers to cease ogling me as if horns had sprouted from my temples. As my behavior otherwise had given no sign of mental degradation, most eventually accepted my apprenticeship as an unfortunate character quirk that they deigned to overlook in light of my impeccable manners. Even Kothe’s citizens had begrudgingly reaccepted me, since their knowledge of my actions as Duke Rhys’ dutiful daughter predated what they deemed my peculiar lapse in judgement when it came becoming a mage. I hadn’t thought Colm aware of my identity, but nor had I tried to keep it hidden.’

Legally, Colm shouldn’t know any magic. The Uprising’s aftermath had banned anyone from practicing without dispensation from the King, which in practice (if not written law) meant that all mages were from noble families within the monarchy’s social circle (a result which I could only assume His Majesty found politically convenient). If Colm was an unlicensed sorcerer, as he seemed to be implying, he was taking a tremendous risk in trusting me. Even the suspicion of illicit spellcasting was punishable by death, as I could personally testify.

“You’re a mage?” I asked in as neutral a tone as possible.

Colm raised his fists and tapped them together, his shoulders straightening proudly. “Never needed anything but my hands to get through life. Wouldn’t care to dabble in witchery.” He gave me a hard look. “Even if it were allowed for folks like me.”

I shifted, uncomfortable under his silent judgement. “I’m aware. But King Eldin worries that loosening the bans could lead to another Uprising.”

Colm held up a hand to stop me midsentence. “His Majesty is a good man. With good intentions.”

I frowned at his familiarity before recalling that, of course, the boxer knew King Eldin. Xander had said that his father had introduced him to Colm in the first place. Colm probably knew His Majesty better than I did if the boxer been trusted to keep the secret of Xander’s parentage.

“But good intentions don’t change reality, not even those belonging to our King,” continued Colm. “Nothing changes until the Council agrees to pass new laws.”

I went over and shut the door which led to the staircase—ours wasn’t a conversation that others should overhear. I still wasn’t entirely sure what Colm was implying, but his words ventured dangerously close to seditious. While it was true that King Eldin could be overridden by the Council’s dictates, it was also true that no one was supposed to acknowledge that Verdan’s monarchy had been weakened following the Uprising’s aftermath. The last thing I needed was for an eavesdropper’s conclusions to lead to my eighth death. I leaned against the closed door, resting the back of my head against the wood so as to preemptively hear Theo and Xander’s (or anyone else’s) footsteps.

“The law is the law,” I said carefully. “Without it, Verdan would dissolve into anarchy.”

“Aye, and neither of us have any wish for that outcome,” agreed Colm. “Like I said, His Majesty is a good man. Not all who serve under him can claim the same.”

I sighed. Colm didn’t need to lecture me on the moral bankruptcy of certain nobles, as I grown up living (and dying) with their fallibility. All my executions had been legally ordained, after all. “Say what it is you mean before my brother and Xander return.” I stressed the last name to remind Colm of his pupil’s connection to the very King whom he seemed on the verge of critiquing.

Colm strode over to far corner of the basement, where several punchbags, their seams torn and middles sagging, lay stacked haphazardly atop one another. He knelt down besides the pile, then paused and stared directly at me. “You’ve met Henric?”

I frowned at his sudden change of topic. “The boy who answers your door? Yes.”

“Did he make mention of his past?”

“He implied he was an orphan,” I said. “It was kind of you to take him in.”

Colm grunted as he pushed aside the old sandbags. “His father was my friend. A competitor.” With the pile toppled, his fingers pressed the edges of the newly exposed floorboard; the wooden planked popped upward with a snap.

“Allan was smaller than most boxers,” he continued. “Relied on speed and wits rather than strength.” A smile flashed across his weathered face before darkening into something bleaker. “He was fast. Too fast, some thought. After one bout, a competitor said as much—I suppose it stung his pride to be beaten by someone half his weight.”

“What did the loser claim?” My voice was a whisper. Judging from Colm’s grimace and Henric’s own claim of not having a father, this story didn’t end happily.

“The other boxer accused Allan of using witchery to rig his fights,” said Colm. “Claimed he landed punches the referee couldn’t see, and backed up his claim with bruises from blows no one could remember Allan landing.”

“Did people believe the charge?”

“Enough were suspicious. Magistrate ordered Allan to house arrest pending an investigation. He and his wife were found dead in their bed the next day.” His expression tightened. “They found Henric bawling in the cradle nearby—his parents’ murderer must have drawn the line at killing a newborn.”

I gasped without intending to. “That’s horrific.”

“Aye,” said Colm. “No one wanted to go near the house, sure they were that Allan had cursed it. Magistrate refused to investigate on account of Allan being a suspected witch—blighter suggested that a spell had backfired.” Colm’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Spells don’t wield daggers and slash throats. Spells don’t break windows in order to enter a house.” He sighed, his anger siphoning away to defeat. “I bought the deed and opened a gym in Allan’s old house. I put the purchase price into a trust for Henric when he’s grown.”

I gripped the door handle to keep myself propped upright; my legs felt too weak to bear the heavy weight of the tragedy. “I’m so sorry. Do you remember the magistrate’s name? Perhaps I can talk to the Council, and justice can still be served.”

Colm’s moist eyes met mine, and he shook his head slowly. “An investigation would do more harm than good.” He reached into the hollow left by the removed floorboard and pulled out a small brown book, its cowhide cover stained and fraying around the edges. “I found this hidden in the floor a few years later, when one of the bags fell and crashed through a board.”

I reached out for the book but he held firm. “A secret for a secret,” he said. “What has you so desperate to defend yourself?”

My mouth twisted in a bitter smile, even though I understood his motivation. Of course, Colm’s charity was conditional. He no doubt wanted insurance that whatever the book held wouldn’t be used against him, at the very least. But how much of the truth could I safely reveal? I turned my head so that my ear pressed against the door and, upon hearing no footsteps, took a deep breath.

“I am engaged to Prince Loren,” I said.

Colm stared at me unblinkingly, unphased by my revelation. Perhaps Xander had already informed him, or the boxer had remembered my name from the public proclamation three years prior, which decreed a holiday be celebrated on my eighteenth birthday when Loren and I wed. Many girls in Verdan inherited their first names from their maternal grandmothers, but ‘Vitrula’ was considered archaic even by traditionalists. My identity likely hadn’t been difficult for Colm to discern.

“I want to become Queen,” I continued. “I want to guide and protect Verdan’s people, and I’ve been educated to do so. But my marriage has . . . detractors.”

“Xan told me about your servant.” Colm squinted at me. “You fight like someone whose been knocked down more than just the once.”

I spoke haltingly. “I have been hurt in the past. By the same people who poisoned Emilia. I don’t know all their identities.”

Colm let go of the book. I flipped through the yellowed pages: it was a grimoire, the oldest I’d ever seen, older than anything in Delphine’s expansive collection. Or perhaps decay made it appear more aged than its years. Most the pages were stained from water damage and time; one, marked with a folded upper corner, was still mostly legible. I glanced through the instructions—they were similar to the first spell I’d mastered, but meant for the opposite effect. An incantation for speed.

“The other boxer was right,” I said. “Allan used magic to fight.”

“Any new investigation will end with Allan being declared guilty. I can’t allow that to happen—for Henric’s sake.”

“The money you paid for the deed would go to the Crown,” I realized. No wonder he had wanted to secure my discretion.

Colm nodded grimly. “Henric’s inheritance would be lost, and the house might be taken as well.”

I nodded. Unlicensed sorcerers had their property seized, so the sale of Allan’s house had never technically been legal.

“The boy is like a son to me,” Colm continued gruffly. “I’d take care of him no matter what. But that money is his inheritance from his folks. I don’t condone Allan’s cheating, but he’s paid for his crimes. I won’t let his legacy to his son be stolen over a few dirty fights.”

The full magnitude of what Colm had just entrusted to me took away my breath. Any magistrate to whom I brought this spellbook would persecute Colm for withholding information on an unlicensed sorcerer. He’d lose his gym, at the very least, and likely be sentenced to prison for holding onto an illegal text rather than immediately relinquishing it to authorities.

Colm had risked everything to give me a better chance to defend myself. He’d trusted me.

I made a vow then and there: the law would change. I would change it, as soon as Loren and I were coronated. No one would be determined guilty, their deaths left uninvestigated, simply because they’d been accused of magic. And magic would no longer be restricted and feared—it would be taught and properly monitored, so that it could no longer be considered justification for murder.

Hearing footsteps, I hastily tucked the journal into my skirt pocket. The door opened, and Theo barged into the basement. He thrust a clay bowl, filled with shaved ice and sticky with dark syrup that melted down the sides, into my hands.

“Thank you,” I said.

Colm smiled, knowing that the words were meant for him.

****

I made Theo carry the bowl after I finished the blackberry ice inside. He’d flipped it upside down and spun it around his index finger, laughing despite the residue syrup that spun out and splattered his coat. My brother hadn’t changed so much after all, despite his newfound vanity.

The bowl had unbalanced and shattered onto the mosaic tiles of the castle Courtyard during our return. Theo had grinned evilly and waggled his fingers at Xander and I, threatening to flick droplets of black syrup onto our clothes and hair. Having successfully splashed Xander, he was now begging to be released from the other man’s headlock.

“Vitrula!”

My head swiveled towards the call: Loren sauntered towards us from the stables. Xander immediately let go Theo, who rubbed at his neck with a beleaguered groan. I echoed his groan internally, remembering yesterday’s encounter with Loren. My curtsy was polite but my demeanor frosty as I greeted him.

Loren’s eyes narrowed briefly at Xander before his attention relighted on me, his expression shifting from annoyed to uncharacteristically nervous.

“I wanted to talk to you.” His gaze flickered again towards Xander and back. “May we talk?”

I sighed and addressed my companions. “I’ll join you later.”

They both nodded, though Xander’s came slowly and with obvious reluctance.

“Is something amiss?” I asked Loren once they’d left. The last several days had left me too exhausted to keep up the pretense that I was happy to see him. Besides, he was already in love with Letty. A year sooner than usual, given her early arrival to Bellcrest. But so long as I refused to step aside and gave him no excuse to end our engagement, the only thing I had to worry about was defending myself from Letty and her accomplice.

He opened his mouth just as Lady Geneva walked by. Seeing me, her face flushed with remembered indignation and she spun her head away, giving me the cut direct. Seems she had yet to forgive me for my breach in manners from my birthday.

“What did you do to offend her?” asked Loren in an amused voice.

“It doesn’t matter.” My own tone was flat. “What is this about, Loren?”

Loren sighed and ran a hand through his perfectly tousled blond locks. “Join me in the stables? We’ll have less of an audience.”

I followed. But for the horses and a few stable hands cleaning tack, we were alone. Loren meandered over to Dragon’s stall.

“I heard he can bear a rider again,” he said idly. “I didn’t think it possible.”

Dragon snuffed at my hands and sleeves searching for his usual apple. I murmured an apology for my lack of an offering and stroked the top of his velvety nose.

Loren looked at me. I waited.

He averted his gaze, using the toe of his boot to shuffle at the scattered hay on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up. “I was . . . inconsiderate yesterday. You were understandable eager to see your lady’s maid, and yet I delayed you. It’s just—” His eyes met mine, his voice suddenly impassioned. I arched a brow and he halted.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I know that we don’t have much in common.”

“Not unless you consider our engagement to be a shared interest,” I said lightly.

Loren laughed. As he did, I was struck by the realization that I rarely witnessed him in a true moment of joy. Now, caught off guard by my unexpected comment, it was as if he lowered an ever-present shield that I’d hardly realized existed. His open smile made him look even more boyishly handsome, like a free-spirited knight errant rather than a burdened-down King-to-be. For a moment, I could understand just why Letty was so determined to have him, and recalled why I’d once believed myself in love.

Before he’d let me die.

“So, our friendship will blossom once we begin planning for our wedding?” he asked, still chuckling.

“We’ll bond over table arrangements and choosing our coronation crowns.”

“Over which stationary should be used for invitations.”

“Over avoiding Lady Geneva’s well wishes.”

Loren groaned. “Has she cornered you about her newest ailment yet?”

“The one which can only be treated by expensive volcanic bath salts?” I grinned, feeling both uneasy yet somewhat hopeful by this new dynamic. Which wasn’t new, per se, but also wasn’t something Loren and I had shared since engagement number three. “Why do you think she snubbed me in the Courtyard?”

He smiled back. “Do share.”

“I’m afraid that I don’t emerge from the story very flatteringly. My behavior was somewhat callous.” In my haste to go dance with your brother, I didn’t add. Thinking of Xander caused me to recollect how unpleasantly Loren had acted yesterday despite my obvious distress. Given the amiable mood between us, I dared to be honest with my fiancé. “What made you apologize?”

“Ah.” Loren became reabsorbed with arranging the hay on the ground into a pattern with his boot. “I ran into your sister later that evening. Lady Letticia relayed how anxious you’d been over your maid’s illness, and how relieved you felt now she’d woke up. Her words made me realize that I’d been inconsiderate.”

My stomach dropped. Of course it had been Letty. The novelty of getting along with Loren had almost caused me to forget his inevitable betrayal. Had they really just bumped into each other, as he claimed? Or were they already arranging private rendezvous? I should request an additional guard to monitor the hallway outside my room—I’d claim my nerves had been disquieted since the fire, and gain both extra security plus an eyewitness who could confirm my nightly whereabouts in case of an attack on Loren.

“I appreciate you coming to speak with me,” I said stiffly.

Loren’s voice called after me as I exited the stables. “Vitrula—be wary around Lord Brant. He’s not the kind of person you should trust.”

Armond entered just as I left, smirking as we passed each other. No doubt the weasel had been eavesdropping under the pretense of waiting for Loren. I scowled at him.

“Your smile is as delightful as ever, Lady Vitrula.” Armond’s compliment dripped with heavy sarcasm. “His Highness must be so eager for your wedding.”

I didn’t deign to respond.