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Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 24
🕑 Added 2021-11-10 23:28:49 +0000 UTCA moment passed. The falcon’s cries echoed from above as it searched for prey. Then a rustle of clothing, the gun being tucked away into a jacket pocket. I held my breath, fearful of breaking the illusion.
Armond addressed my corpse. “I’d say don’t take this personally, but you’ve always been a bitch.”
I don’t know how long I lay on the road after he left. Armond hadn’t bothered to move me, since the transition itself might have killed me in place of his bullet. Pain fogged the passage of time: now, in addition to my injuries, casting the illusion had left me with a splitting migraine. Part of me wished to succumb to agony and pass out, but my more practical side desperately clung to consciousness in case my assailant returned.
That Armond was Letty’s accomplice still felt unreal. My suspicion of him had always rooted more in personal repugnance than factual evidence, and confirmation of his guilt made me wonder what actual clues I might have missed.
I stayed alert with varying levels of success, wafting between excruciating reality and fevered hallucinations. A pebble dug into my cheek when I tried to shift—a smaller, softer pain than that which wracked my entire body. Something inside me had broken inside, more than just my bones. To lose again, to die again, after so much had changed . . .
How would Delphine react to my death? How would Xander? I regretted not kissing him now, back when I’d had the chance. Would there be some reality where he moved on without me, or did my death destine the world into an infinite time loop? The prospect seemed too narcissistic to contemplate, and yet I didn’t want to imagine a world where Letty became queen, where Theo mourned my death, and where Xander went on to kiss other girls.
I wanted to live.
Not just live; I wanted to live this specific life. This life where Emilia had become my friend, where Delphine had become my mentor, and where Xander had become my . . .
Fragments of my pasts merged with things that had never occurred. I imagined Letty with eyes red from weeping. She held the false letter from my second death and used it as a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks. It came away bloodied, leaving crimson streaks across her face in its wake.
“I didn’t know,” she sobbed. “Oh, Tru, I swear I didn’t!”
What hadn’t she known? How severe my sentence would be for the falsified conspiracy? Hadn’t Letty hoped for my death? Helped orchestrate it?
“I know her to be all that is honest and good.” Loren’s words, from my first trial, started as a whisper and ended as a howl. “Her word can be trusted.”
I’d believed the same, once. Believed that Letty was kind and loyal and would never in a thousand years harm a spider. But she’d been complicit in my murders, even she didn’t possess a devious enough mind to orchestrate events by herself. Or did she? Armond seem no likelier a strategist; he was a popinjay more concerned with his hair than anything of status. Which of the two was I underestimating?
Having been raised a commoner, Letty had never become fully comfortable with riding. Armond was the one familiar with horses: he must have released the hawk knowing that Dragon was still prone to spooking. He’d known that my fall would give him opportunity to kill me. For whatever reason, he thought his actions justified. There had been no hesitation to Armond’s words, no quiver of uncertainty.
The sky darkened, and shadows from the birches above fell like a shroud over where I lay. My teeth chattered from a chill that my body ached too much to register; I felt hot all over, burning hot.
“Over here!”
My rescuer’s face was a copper-haloed smudge.
“She’s still breathing, thank the Fourth.”
“No! Don’t move her. Look at the angle of her neck—it could be broken.”
I tried to respond, to tell them Armond’s name before he learned that I had survived but could only let out an airy whimper.
“Quick, fetch Lady Delphine.”
“Tru, can you hear me?” The blurred man’s voice was deep and nostalgic. “We’ll fix you up, little turtle, don’t you worry. Your mother would have my head if I let anything happen to you.”
It was only then, knowing that I was safe, that I finally allowed myself to slip blissfully unconscious.
*****
Armond tried to kill me.
The truth screamed through my mind the instant I awoke. My eye snapped open, the crust in their corners testifying to hours spent closed. The low-hanging moon outside my window marked it deep into the night. Curses. Armond hadn’t bothered to disguise his voice—by now, he must have heard of my survival and realized that I’d be able to identify him. If Armond was smart, he’d have fled the castle. If he was committed, he’d reattempt to kill me. Neither outcome was ideal, and I suspected that Armond was more resolute than he was intelligent.
The bed upon which I lay in was my own, its blankets wrapped around me as if I were a swaddled newborn. I tried to sit up, only to collapse back onto my pillow with a whimper. Movement hurt.
“Don’t fidget,” ordered Delphine. She set a pitcher on the nightstand before pressing the back of her hand against my forehead. The contact felt blessedly cool.
“Armond,” I said. Or tried to say. His name came out halfway between a wheeze and a frog’s croak.
Delphine’s nose twitched in a rabbit-like way that would have been comical if I hadn’t recognized it as her attempt to hold back tears. She poured me a glass of whatever was in the pitcher; the liquid was too murky to be water, unless sourced from a swamp. Medicine, then. She held the glass to my lips, and I swallowed eagerly despite the bitter aftertaste. It tasted like tea, if tea were somehow capable of being burnt.
Delphine chastised me as I drank, her voice shrill. “Three broken ribs, a flailed lung, a dislocated shoulder, a sprained ankle, and your spine twisted into a lover’s knot. The less said about your arm, the better. Are you determined to test the limits of my ability to heal you? Do you realize how fortunate you are that there was no permanent damage?”
She lowered the glass from my lips, and I tried again.
“Armond.” This time, I managed to get his name out.
Her brows snapped together. “Your fall wasn’t an accident, then.”
I weakly shook my head. Delphine marched back towards the doorway and stuck her head out into the hall.
“Fetch Lord Errans,” she ordered the guard outside. “Report that his niece is awake, and that she remembers the name of her father’s tailor—the one who sewed the red cravat.” The guard’s boots clicked together in affirmation. Delphine returned to chair next to my bedside and glared at me.
“I desperately want to yell at you,” she said. “I will once you’ve fully recovered. If your uncle hadn’t discovered you on route to the castle . . .” Her voice broke. “How can I protect you if I’m not even aware that you’ve left?”
I blinked—it was the only reaction for which I had enough energy. I was so accustomed to looking after myself that it had never even occurred to me to inform someone else of my whereabouts. But Delphine had a point.
“I should have told you that I was going for a ride,” I conceded. Whatever had been in the pitcher, it was working. My body still ached, but more akin to the aftermath of a long day spent horseback than having been trampled beneath the horse. I flexed my fingers experimentally; other than a slight twinge in the tendons, it felt as if the bones had never been broken.
“Xander checked the stables after we realized you were missing,” said Delphine. “Your horse was in his stall, so we’d assumed you gone into the city square.”
My shoulders relaxed upon learning that Dragon was safe. “My horse spooked,” I said. “Armond must have returned him to the stables in order to delay my discovery.” Dragon was infamously ill-tempered when being handled by others, and I hoped he’d bitten the bastard’s overlong nose.
The door swung open, and my uncle entered the bedroom. Xander trailed behind, his hair disheveled and collar askew. His lips curved in a small smile as our eyes locked, before my uncle’s wide shoulders blocked him from view.
Uncle Alistair hugged me gently, but even his slight squeeze made me groan in protest. He released me with an apologetic frown. But for a few new silver wires curling through his hair and beard, he looked identical to when I’d first met him over two years ago.
“It’s good to see you, little turtle,” he said. “Although you’re no longer quite so little.”
“I’m glad to see you as well, Uncle,” I said politely. Yes, the situation was urgent, but that was no excuse to be uncivil to family. Especially since he’d been the one to save me. “According to Lady Delphine, I have you to thank for my rescue.”
Uncle Alistair frowned. “Xander said this isn’t your first, ‘accident’. Given Her Magicalness’s unsubtle attempt at subterfuge, I’m guessing that you can identify whoever caused this one.”
“It’s not as if I could risk telling the guard that True recognized her attacker,” huffed Delphine. “The tailor was the best I could come up with on short notice.”
“Sartorial deceptions aside,” interrupted Xander when my uncle opened his mouth to retort, “we need to know what happened.” He sat down on my bedside, leaning in such a way that Delphine and Alistair couldn't see him placing his hand atop of mine.
There was no time for me to internally debate whether or not my uncle could be trusted. Every moment we delayed gave Armond opportunity to escape Bellcrest. Besides, it seemed Xander had already informed Alistair of the arson and Emilia’s poisoning. I was too exhausted and sore to even be upset that he’d done so without my permission.
I recounted the most recent attempt on my life as quickly as possible. When I finished, Delphine looked ready to stage an "accident" of her own for Armond. Xander muttered something in Anteren that I couldn’t translate but knew from his tone must have been a curse. Only Alistair didn’t react, his expression inscrutable behind his beard.
“Where in the castle does this Armond keep rooms?” he asked.
My reply overlapped with Xander’s. “The West Tower.”
Xander’s ability to reply puzzled me. I had good reason to keep track of Armond’s location, given my (now proven correct) suspicion that he’d somehow been involved in my deaths. Xander had no such motivation. Had he memorized living arrangements of the entire Court? Impressive, if so.
Alistair opened the door. “Xander and I will return shortly.”
I shoved off my blankets and pulled myself off the bed using one the bedposts. The mere motion of standing shot a spasm of agony down my spine, and my grip on the bedpost tightened as I fought to remain upright without vomiting.
“I’m coming with you,” I declared.
Delphine rolled her eyes towards my buckled knees. “No, she’s not.”
“I am.” Finger by finger, I relinquished my hold on the post until I stood upright without assistance. The seven steps from my bed to the doorway felt like an eternity, and my legs threatened to crumple beneath me with each agonizing step. But I made it to the door. “Uncle Alistair doesn’t have any authority in Bellcrest. If you run into Loren, he’ll never believe anything that Xander says. Especially an accusation against his best friend.”
“Then I’ll join Alistair, and Xander can remain here,” argued Delphine.
“Neither of you knows Armond by sight,” I countered. “It has to be me.”
Delphine scowled as she tried and failed to remember what Armond looked like.
“Lord Errans has the authority to—” Xander’s protest was cut off by my uncle’s hand on his shoulder.
Alistair’s unwavering gaze locked with mine and held. “Can you walk, Tru?”
I stepped through the door and into the hallway, gritting my teeth as pain splintered through my swollen ankle. I lifted my chin. “I can.”
Delphine pinched the bridge of her nose. “Muleheaded fools, the both of you.” She muttered an incantation and vanished
I stared at the empty spot where she’d once stood, and made an internal note to ask Delphine to teach me that spell.
****
“How much has Xander told you about my duties in Anterdon?” asked Alistair.
Despite my limp slowing our pace, we were finally drawing near Armond’s quarters in the West Tower. Glowstone sconces illuminated the hallway a dim blue, their enchantments weaker (and cheaper) than the ones in the main keep. Families like Armond’s lacked the prestige and wealth to quarter in any of the other towers. The hallway doors crowded close together in reflection of smaller suites, although each door was still elaborately carved and painted with the residing family’s crest.
“Xander has been somewhat tight lipped,” I replied, shoving down a speak of pain as I stepped on my ankle the wrong way. “Theo mentioned that you were his mentor.”
Alistair flashed a grin. “Your brother is a marvelous lad, no doubt. He’s not suited to following in my footsteps, however. Too honest.”
“Meaning?” I tilted my head. Bad decision. The movement sent the world spinning anew, and I tightened my grip on Xander’s arm to keep from staggering.
“Lord Errans is the King’s Spymaster,” said Xander.
Alistair’s head swiveled to frown disapprovingly at my escort. “I hadn’t planned on being quite that blunt.”
Xander shrugged while steadying me. “Your niece needed to know.”
“Did she,” murmured Alistair.
Xander coughed into his hand. Luckily for him, further chastisement from my uncle was delayed by a woman’s cranky interjection.
“About damned time you arrived,” snapped Councilor Venuda. The retired general leaned against a dark ironwood door, its emerald paint chipped and faded. The image was still recognizable as the Delos family oak, however—the same crest that Armond wore on his cufflinks. “Delphine said the situation was urgent when she forced me awake. My misunderstanding. Apparently ‘urgent’ actually means ‘feel free to take your damn time.’”
Alistair smiled at her benignly. “I trust Delphine explained the situation?”
Venuda grunted an affirmative, although her disgruntled expression softened as her gaze fell upon me. “It’s good to see you up, my lady.”
She tried the door, then cursed under her breath after rattling the handle and finding it locked. I marked down a few of her adjectives for future use.
“I’ll get the master key from Timons,” she groaned, “since the brittle bastard would ignore any of my men who tried to wake him up at this Triad forsaken hour.”
“We’ll wait for you here,” said Alistair.
Venuda levelled him a disbelieving glare. “Just . . . limit the property damage this time, Errans.”
He bowed slightly, although with his left hand placed over his chest rather than the customary right, a courtier’s signal of false sincerity. “Anything for you, dearest Councilor.”
She groaned again but departed. Alistair waited until her footsteps no longer echoed before nodding to Xander.
Xander took two steps backwards, then spun his leg upwards in a forceful kick. His foot hit next to the handle with a hollow thud, and the door swung open. The two men stepped inside, heedless of my astonishment. No wonder Venuda had been reluctant to leave them unattended.
The Delos family quarters were luxuriously appointed, though the furniture was unfashionably antiquated, and the velvet tapestries faded. Whatever riches Armond’s family had once possessed, their fortune had long ago dwindled. Perhaps Armond had agreed to kill me for payment without a deeper ulterior motive (other than his and my mutual dislike). Letty possessed a small inheritance from her father, though most her family’s wealth had come after Catherine took over the business and her current allowance was no larger than mine. I couldn’t imagine that sum being incentive enough for Armond to risk being caught for murder, no matter how deep his gaming debts or his dislike for me. But maybe Letty had leveraged her future role as Loren’s wife.
“Armond Delos,” my uncle called out in a playfully sing-song voice. “You have visitors—be a proper host.”
No one replied. Alistair frowned and tilted his head to the side as if listening for something. Silently, he ventured further into the apartment, down the hallway and out of my view. I heard a door quietly close, and then he returned. His expression was now solemn, laugh lines deepened into a solemn furrow.
“Wait with Tru in the hallway,” he instructed Xander.
Xander nodded silently and reached for my arm. I shook him off. “I’m not leaving.” I pushed past my uncle, almost falling as my ankle wobbled from the effort. “If Armond’s not here, I can at least help you look for some indication of where he’s gone.”
I limped across the living room and into the hallway, using the furniture and then the wall to brace myself between each excruciating step. I stopped at the nearest door, too weak to go any further but too stubborn to ask for help. Thankfully, the door was unlocked.
The door swung inwards to reveal a small office. Unlike the sitting room, this area was spartan--a true testimony to Armond's lack of finances. Instead of glowstones, there was a recently depleted tallow candle, its melted stub smoking, and the desk was a spindly piece more suited to a school boy's classroom than a lord's office. Across that desk slumped Armond, the moonlight streaming through the window turning his pale cheeks even paler. Spilled ink dripped from the upturned pot at his elbow into a black pool on the threadbare carpet.
Armond didn’t react to my intrusion. He couldn’t.
My murderer was already dead.
Comments
zennano
Armond, you little shit.
Yali
Ah, never liked him anyway 😬 Better choosing your master next time, Armond ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
