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Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2021-07-07 17:38:58 +0000 UTC“Happy birthday, my lady!” Emilia’s voice, usually inoffensive, was today obnoxiously shrill and cheery. She flung open the window’s drapes. After the fire, I’d done away with my bed’s canopy, leaving me defenseless against the piercing sunlight.
I pulled the sheets up over my head.
“Come now,” she scolded. “It’s well past the hour you normally rise. Are you not excited for your party?”
“No.”
“Lady Vitrula.” I could hear Emilia’s frown through the fabric. “I don’t know why you’re behaving like a child. It’s time to get up.”
“I could dismiss you, you know,” I said without uncovering my head.
“You won’t,” Emilia replied confidenctly, and yanked away the sheets. She loomed above me, fists on her hips. “Come now. Cook prepared a brunch!” She pointed over to where a small table had been set up, plates piled high with an array of sausages and pastries.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’ll eat it after you get dressed,” said Emilia. “But you will get dressed.”
I groaned and reached for the sheets she’d stolen. Emilia held firm. If I persisted, I’d end up in a game of tug-of-war with my maid. My dignity had already taken a blow after rumor had spread that I’d attempted to win back Loren’s affection from Letty by sneaking into his room. I didn’t know how much more humiliation my pride could bear.
I released the sheet and sat up. Emilia tossed it onto a nearby chair before she marched over to my wardrobe and pulled out a dark purple dress. Delphine had gifted me the garment for my last birthday, but I’d never had the courage to wear it. My taste in fashion had developed to help me go unnoticed and blend in with the crowd, and the deep-cut fabric clung to my figure in a fashion that was anything but anonymous.
I protested, “I’m not wearing that.”
Emilia stalked towards me, dress raised before her like the shield of a soldier heading to battle. “An entire year this has sat in your closet. You’re the same size now you were at sixteen, and I won’t allow you to hide yourself any longer.” She sat down on my bed and laid out the dress besides me. “You do hide, my lady, in dull colors and drab cuts. You’re seventeen now—a woman grown. In one more year, you’ll be wed. Today, I want you to be beautiful.”
I blinked owlishly at Emilia, taken aback by her impassioned speech. Why did she care so deeply about my appearance? We argued daily over my hair due to my insistence on wearing it in a practical bun that she claimed made me look like a governess. But she always followed my instructions, in the end.
“Why is this important to you?” I asked curiously.
Emilia ran her hand down the dress, smoothing away wrinkles. “You’ve been good to me and mine, my lady. I want you to be good to yourself.”
Certainly, Hamen was well on his way to retiring early thanks to the numerous bribes I’d plied him. Yet I suspected Emilia’s devotion arose more from my willingness to give her days off whenever my father (or more accurately, his valet) visited Bellcrest. She had been invaluable over the past few months assisting with my investigations into Councilor Timons. Though my research had yet to turn up anything incriminating, Emilia’s ongoing flirtation with Timons’ aide kept me informed of the Councilor’s daily schedule.
“Fine.” I still didn’t quite comprehend why my appearance mattered so much to her. But it did, and my compliance was a small enough favor. “I’ll wear the dress.”
Emilia clapped her hands together in delight. “You’ll look a sight, my lady. I’ll curl your hair as well.”
“No curls.” No need to give the gossipmongers yet another reason to compare me to Letty. Emilia frowned and I conceded, “But I’ll wear it unpinned today.”
She nodded, appeased. “Let’s get you ready then. You only turn seventeen once, after all. Today’s important.”
I had turned seventeen eight times, to be exact. Still, Emilia’s words were truer than she knew. This birthday was important. It marked the beginning of the year in which I always died. Which meant, despite things being thankfully uneventful since the fire, it was only a matter of time before someone tried to kill me again.
Emilia’s quick fingers styled several small braids into my long hair. When I didn’t protest, she grabbed an unopened pot of kohl and tilted my chin upwards so that she could apply it to my brows and lashes.
After the arson, I’d expected Letty and the Councilor to try again. But either Letty had been shaken by their lack of success, or her co-conspirator had realized that I was onto him. According to Emilia’s reports and my own encounters with him during Council meetings, Timons was fastidious, humorless, and distressingly uncorrupt. Still, my gut remained convinced that Letty was being manipulated by someone else, and Councilor Timons made the most sense, given his possession of the master key and his push for a conviction during my past trials.
“All done,” said Emilia. She stepped back and observed me calculatingly before plucking the pearl hairpin from her own updo and adding it over my ear. “Perfect.”
I opened my mouth to protest but she cut me off. “I know you dislike jewelry. But look at yourself.” She gently turned me to face the dressing room mirror.
I was confronted by a young woman staring solemnly back. My darkened lashes made my gray eyes appear large and soulful, and Delphine’s dress made the most of emphasizing what subtle curves I possessed. The girl in the mirror wasn’t pretty the way Letty was, but she was attractive. Striking even. Yet there was a crease between her brows and a tightness to her lips. She looked as though she never laughed.
I smiled experimentally. My reflection unenthusiastically mimicked the expression before I let my mouth again fall flat. It didn’t matter what I wore or what I looked like. Only that I survived. If I were wise, I’d never leave my room without donning a solid suit of armor.
“Thank you, Emilia,” I said, almost meaning it. Nevertheless, I handed her back her hairpin. “Do you have his schedule for me?”
No need to clarify who “he” was, as this had been our routine for the past two month. Emilia handed me a slip of paper, delivered by way of besotted aide, with Timons’ plans for the day written on it. I opened it.
He would be at Loren’s party (though nominally it was my birthday ball). At least now I had a reason to attend other than being the supposed guest of honor.
I’d spent several weeks practicing a spell that, though it couldn’t force someone to immediately confess the truth, relaxed a person’s reservations enough that Timons might let something slip. The spell was primarily used to calm crying babies, but I’d repurpose it for my investigation. Emilia had allowed me to practice on her—she believed that the Councilor had refused to aide in my seduction of Loren by withholding his key, and had eagerly agreed to help in my supposed quest to learn his secrets in revenge.
As a result of her cooperation, I knew more than I ever wished to regarding her love life and the alternative talents of my father’s valet. Hopefully Timons would be more inclined to talk about his nefarious plotting than his romantic escapades.
I glanced fleetingly back at the mirror and squared my shoulders. Perhaps death had stolen my carefree smile, assuming that I’d ever had one to begin with. But the girl—no, the woman had an air of regal confidence. It wasn’t chainmail, but perhaps Delphine’s dress and Emilia’s makeup provided a different sort of protection.
I was seventeen. Again.
Finally.
And I was not going die.
*****
Timons wasn’t there.
Like everything in the Green Parlor, the twin settees upon which Loren and I sat were over-gilded and under-cushioned. But it was Loren’s favorite room in the palace and thus where he’d chosen to hold my gifting, arguing that it was the only other room large enough to comfortably sit the twenty-odd members of his inner circle in attendance. How many of them had been at my last execution, smiling and gossiping as if it had been nothing more than a diverting afternoon excursion? Now they gave me gifts. These were always opened later, in private, so that the recipient’s reactions didn’t impolitely advertise their favorite. Loren’s friends, however, had discovered another way to upstage one another, and each gift I received was more intricately wrapped and in more expensive fabric than the last.
I couldn’t care less: Timons wasn’t here. Where the hells was he?
“Thank you.” I smiled politely Lord Acouth. The gold cloth wrapping his gift had been starched and folded into the semblance of a swan, leaving me uncertain how to hold it. I set it awkwardly on the cushion besides me, crushing its beak in the process, and handed him a dried dreamroot petal from the clay jar in my lap. It was an old tradition, hardly celebrated outside of Bellcrest. But the Philosophy of Reciprocation was one of the Triad’s core tenets, and Lord Acouth thanked me gravely for the blue petal.
“Happy birthday, Tru!” The door swung open and Letty rushed in, the bounce in her steps setting her curls asway. She paused momentarily, caught off guard by the parlor’s defining feature.
The painting of King Ignatius took up nearly the entire wall opposite her point of entrance, forcing guests to stare directly into his cerulean glower as they walked into the room. It portrayed the former king valiantly battling a horde of Fengali archers (who, despite being directly underfoot of his horse, had for some reason not chosen to switch to swords). The oil’s subject was almost indistinguishable from his grandson, which was I suspected the real reason behind Loren’s fondness for the parlor. Letty seemed puzzled by the resemblance, and her lips opened slightly as she looked towards Loren.
“Lady Letticia!” Loren stood in a fluid motion and bowed, his elbow hitting Lord Acouth’s chin. “Armond, your chair,” he ordered.
Armond’s nostrils flared at being forced to stand. Nevertheless, he complied, and Letty claimed his vacated seat.
“I’m so sorry that I’m late! I had to make sure your surprise was in order.” She smiled knowingly, her lips puckering together as they could barely contain her secret. “It should arrive soon.”
“Your presence is worth waiting for,” said Loren solemnly.
She blushed and leaned in towards me. “You look perfect!” she gushed. “Did you have a new dress made? Oh, I wish I could wear such a bold color! But it would make me look quite pale, I think.”
I resisted the urge to tug my bodice upwards. “Emilia insisted.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “Did you pass Councilor Timons on your way in?”
“Is he the one with the cane or the younger gaunt one?” Her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “Tru, it’s your birthday. Can’t you talk politics with the Council some other time?”
“Hear, hear!” said Loren. “You only turn seventeen once.”
I almost laughed. People kept saying that.
“Timons is the gaunt one.” Was Letty feigning unfamiliarity or was her co-conspirator someone else?
She tossed her head, her curls somehow managing to fall back into perfect position after the movement. “Either way, I don’t know why you seek out with company so much older. I fear you find me uninteresting due to my lack of gray hair.” Her words were teasing, but her tone rose at the end as if in genuine question.
“Tru would rather spend her time with books than with people,” complained Loren. “She wouldn’t even let the court entertainers attend.”
As if I needed to see the jester whose ferret I’d inadvertently poisoned.
“I worry that you miss out on life sometimes,” said Letty. “Between Council meetings and your studies, you hardly make time to fun.”
I bristled. Why was everyone pretending to be so cursed worried about me today? My energy needed to focus on staying alive—tea parties and friendships be damned. “Books are fun,” I snapped. “As you would know if your head weren’t too empty to read.”
Letty reeled back, a hand flying over her mouth. Hurt tears brimmed in her violet eyes. “You sound like my mother,” she whispered.
Loren glared at me.
A tendril of guilt unfurled in my stomach and snaked its way upwards. Letty had attempted and would continue attempting to have me murdered. She’d stolen my life (and fiancé) not once but seven times prior. She didn’t deserve my kindness. And yet . . . I knew full well my comment hadn’t been fair. Perhaps Letty wasn’t a reader, true, but she was usually too occupied with her own hobbies to even have time. And she was far from stupid. My very sequence of lives was testament to her ingenuity: she’d always won.
“I’m sorry.” I surprised myself with how genuinely I meant those words. What was wrong with me, to feel compelled to apologize to my would-be murderer? “I find parties taxing, but my words were uncalled for. I only need to look at your sewing to know your mind is filled with imagination and beauty. You’re an artist. I recognize it, even if your mother cannot.”
“Do you really mean that?” she asked with a sniffle.
“I do.” Murder aside, her needlepoint was inarguably excellent.
“Oh, Tru, of course I forgive you.” Letty leapt up from her seat and embraced me. “I don’t know why you’re so cross today, but I promise that something is going to happen soon to make it all better. We—” she stopped herself and grinned. “I promised not to tell."
Her genuine delight concerned me. What scheme had she and Timons concocted that caused her to be so overjoyed? The sooner I cornered the Councilor, the better.
I allowed Letty to cling to me for a few more moments before prying her arms off from around my neck. Seeing her now, wearing a cheery yellow dress and an even sunnier smile, it felt ridiculous to think that I’d ever believed her to be the sole culprit. Perhaps if Timons confessed, Letty would leave me alone.
“I really do need to find Councilor Timons,” I said. “I have some questions concerning the safety reforms that he and Councilor Bernise intend to institute for theaters.”
“What safety reforms?” asked Loren, his mouth filled with a bite of the cake that Armond had handed him. His friend had been unable to find another chair and looked distinctly annoyed as he reclined against the wall.
“The reforms you convinced King Eldin to institute,” I said. “You must remember that night at the opera two months ago. You promised to speak to your father and get new regulations passed. They’re finally scheduled to happen.”
Loren shoveled another bite of cake into his mouth. “Forgot about that. Turned out well in the end though—Council knows what they’re doing.”
“You never mentioned it to King Eldin?” It seemed impossible that I could become any more disillusioned with my fiancé (he had, after all, sentenced me to death on multiple occasions). But I still felt disheartened by his lack of concern over people’s safety. “You should care more about conditions that commoners are faced with. Especially since the Bellcrest Opera is run by the Crown.”
Loren shrugged. “Council knows what they’re doing.”
But things would get done much faster, I wanted to argue, with a ruler who bothers to pay attention. King Eldin was, on the whole, an excellent monarch. He was widely beloved by his subjects, had instituted relief programs for better living conditions in the slums, and funded a new drainage system that had all but done away with the problem of Bellcrest’s annual flooding. He’d even managed to somehow keep Verdan neutral despite pressure from both Anterdon and Fengal to pick a side in their ongoing war.
All of this, Loren found boring, changing the subject whenever I tried to engage him in debate. His father was a good leader but not omniscient—if Loren discovered a problem, he should have shared it.
I sighed. I could waste the next hour preaching to an unreceptive audience or I could go look for Timons. Only one option would help ensure my survival.
“I’m going to go find the Councilor,” I told Loren. “I’m sure Letty will be more than pleased to keep you company.”
“Oh, but you can’t leave!” An odd note of desperation edged Letty’s voice. “Please, stay here just a little longer. Your surprise is due to arrive any moment, I promise!”
Her small hands gripped mine tight enough to cut off the flow of blood, and her eyes met mine pleadingly.
I groaned internally. “Just a few moments more, then,” I conceded, settling back into my seat.
Letty’s entire body relaxed in relief. “Oh good! I wanted to see you when . . .” She stared at something behind me, her speech tapering off and her cheeks flushing with rosy pleasure. Before I could turn to look, my chair was being lifted up off the ground.
I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. My fingernails dug into the armrest, as if I could physically merge with the chair to keep myself from falling off. I’d hated heights ever since my fifth death.
No, it wasn’t hatred that I felt. It was fear. Undiluted, steal-my-breath-away terror. I sent a silent prayer up the Triad, not that they had ever listened: Anyway else. Kill me anyway else. Smother me with a pillow, drown me in a lake. Cut off my head once more. Just not like this, not again.
Don’t let me fall again.
