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Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 27
🕑 Added 2022-01-30 06:26:22 +0000 UTCXander knelt on his hands and knees a few paces away from me, combing through the long grass off the side of the road. We’d been searching for the wardstone for over an hour, but to no avail.
I took a moment to study the brood line of his back, wondering what he was thinking, before I stood and peeled off a wet leaf plastered to my skirt. Good thing Emilia was still with her parents, or she would have my head over the grass stains. I squinted at the sky, where the sun was already beginning to retreat down the horizon. “It’s almost dark. Perhaps a bird stole it for a nest.”
Xander stood as well. “The wardstone isn’t exactly small,” he said. “But you’re right. If we haven’t found it by now, chances are it’s gone.” He sighed. “Damn.”
I averted my eyes, unable to meet his. Truthfully, it was a shook that he’d even agreed to help me search after I’d yawned his face last night. “I’m sorry I lost it after you and Lady Delphine both told me how valuable it was.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not as if you intended to be attacked.” His gaze was focused on the sunset down the road, his expression obscured by its glare. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke as we watched the setting sun. Its light dappled the rows of birches before us, tinting their silver bark amber and causing their gold-rimmed leaves to blaze orange. An early-rising owl cooed somewhere above, echoed by the chittering of a startled squirrel fleeing back to its den. It was beautiful, and peaceful, and hard to believe that it was where I’d almost died.
I observed Xander from the corner of my eye. The sunset caused his auburn hair to appear brighter, tinting it a distinctly rosy hue.
My giggle burst out before I could smother it. He turned, cocking a brow in my direction.
I gestured to my own head. “Your hair looks almost pink in this light.”
He laughed, not at all self-conscious. “Well, you look . . .” he trailed off, his gaze lingering on me.
My cheeks heated under the intensity of his stare.
He cleared his throat and turned away. “We should return.”
I nodded mutely, keeping a few steps behind him as we headed back to the castle. Proximity seemed dangerous at the moment. We walked in silence, a tension between us that hadn’t existed since the very first day that we’d met.
Once at the castle gates, Xander turned abruptly to face me, his features set in determined lines. “I bought this for you,” he said. “You should have it.”
He took out the box from before and opened it to reveal a delicate necklace. Instead of simple links, hair-thin chains of silver, copper, and gold braided together to create a chain of colors that seemed to shift with each movement. He lifted it from the box and gently fastened it around my neck. My skin prickled where his fingers brushed. Once clasped, the necklace fell almost to my midriff, long enough to keep the wardstone concealed beneath my dress if I still possessed it.
“Beautiful,” said Xander.
We both knew he wasn’t talking about jewelry.
I wanted to thank him but my voice abandoned me. We were alone, neither of us willing to walk through the castle gates and return to our regular lives. Him, as my uncle’s subordinate and my brother’s best friend. Me, as the prince’s fiancée. A role I hadn’t truly desired since my second death.
In that moment, I made a decision.
A decision that I would have never made a life ago, and had even attempted to avoid as recently as yesterday.
I wasn’t going to marry Loren.
He and I didn’t love each other. After our conversation, I would even venture to state that our mutual disinterest in the other was our only commonality. I had planned to go through with it nonetheless, but how could I? Xander looked at me the same way that Loren looked at Letty, and the King at Lady Delphine. As if I was desirable and wanted, instead of someone who needed to be removed for the sake of others’ happiness.
It had been easy to dismiss love as unnecessary when I’d never been offered the opportunity.
Regardless of what ended up happening with Xander, I could never spend the rest of my life with a man who looked at someone else the way that Xander was looking at me in that moment. Even if marrying Loren kept me alive, being bound to a husband in love with someone else would break me down as surely as waves beating against a cliff. I’d lose myself, little by little, in a vain attempt to be the perfect queen for a king who wanted another. What was the point of struggling to stay alive if I was too afraid to live the life I wanted? I’d never thought it mattered that Loren loved Letty: marrying me was his duty, and I wanted to stay alive. But I’d never met Xander.
Love mattered.
Perhaps Xander would return to Anterdon and we’d never see each other again. Perhaps I’d die despite our precautions. Either way, from now on, I would dictate my own future. On my own terms. There would be repercussions for this decision. A war, if I wasn’t careful. But for the first time in eight lives, I knew I didn’t have to solve all my problems alone.
I grabbed Xander’s neckcloth, pulled his head down towards mine, and kissed him.
My experience in the art of kissing was nonexistent, and when our lips first met, the pressure was too hard—more a militant declaration of intent on my part than romantic gesture. Xander, once he unfroze from his initial surprise, didn’t seem to mind my clumsiness if his low moan was any indication. His hands reached up to gently cusp my face as if trying to hold onto something precious. Our kiss sweetened and simultaneously intensified so that by the time we parted, both our breaths were ragged.
Xander kept his hands on my cheeks after we pulled away. Despite the risk that a bystander had witnessed our kiss (we were, after all, but a few steps from the palace courtyard), his golden green eyes remained locked intently on mine. We stared at each other for a long time before he reluctantly allowed his hands to fall back to his sides. Even then, his fingers twitched as if aching to return.
“I’m not going to marry Loren,” I blurted out. I couldn’t bear the thought that Xander might consider my actions disloyal, especially given that I’d made my decision before our lips ever touched.
The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. I found myself fascinated by the shape of his smirk. “I’m glad.”
I nodded dumbly, unsure of what else I was supposed to say. Did he expect me to declare my love? Truth be told, I wasn’t certain I was in love with Xander—though I knew whatever I felt had to come close. But I wasn’t quite willing to state as much yet. Less than two hours ago, I’d been convinced that marrying Loren was the right choice. The only choice. Given that now all I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss Xander again, my decision-making process was obviously currently being commandeered by lust rather than reason. Staying silent seemed wisest. Besides, what if I did confess my emotions, nebulous though they were, only to have him awkwardly respond that he only considered this to be nothing more than an amusing flirtation?
Xander took my hand and squeezed gently. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised as we walked through the gate and back onto palace grounds. “First, we need to apprehend whoever is after you. Then you can talk to Loren.” He glanced around and, upon finding the Courtyard empty, lowered his head and gave me a kiss so light and swift that I hardly had time to mark its occurrence. “There will be time for us afterwards.”
Us. His words sent a bittersweet arrow through my heart. Unless we caught whoever wanted me dead, I had hardly any time left at all—let alone enough to fully explore my connection with Xander. Even if my death only succeeded in taking me back to my fourteenth birthday, he would lose all of our shared memories. Lady Delphine, Uncle Alistair, Emilia . . . my relationships with all of them would be wiped away, no more than sand beneath time’s tide.
I smiled blindingly at him. “Consider it extra incentive to keep me alive.”
Then I quickly turned and headed back to my chamber alone, before he could notice the tears welling in my eyes.
*****
Xander and I were given little opportunity to interact in the week leading up to the masquerade. Uncle Alistair roped me into helping him with preparations; most grand balls took over a month to prepare, and having only seven days meant that time flew by in a flurry as I arranged everything from invitations, decorations, the food layout, and even the night’s musical score. Xander meanwhile continued to research Hargraves and Drixton. My uncle steadfastly ignored my complaints that I should be more involved with the investigation; he argued (with annoying persuasiveness) that we needed to be careful not to give either Councilor reason to suspect me before I was able to interview them at the ball.
Instead, I was forced to play the role of excited hostess and make myself as visible as possible in order to avoid suspicion. I attended so many day parties that my blood turned to tea, all the while doing my best to avoid Loren. He and I needed to talk but that was a headache for another day. In what little spare time I had, I instead worked on drafting a proposal for Verdan’s increased autonomy similar to the one from my fourth death. Though I still doubted I possessed enough political clout to push through the agreement by myself, I planned on asking Lady Delphine to help sponsor the agreement. With any luck, her influence over King Eldin would help compensate for my lack of credence.
The evening of masquerade, Emilia returned to help me prepare. She’d gained back some of the weight she’d lost during her coma, though her figure was still noticeably trimmer than it had been prior to the poisoning. My maid, however, seemed not the slightest bit bothered by her new waistline.
“I’ve needed to have all my dresses taken in,” she said as she wove my hair into an elaborate updo. “The seamstress told me that I’ve become positively waifish.”
I arched a brow into the vanity’s mirror at her gleeful tone. “Resembling a starved child is a good thing?”
Emilia tugged harder than was necessary at my hair and smiled sweetly at my reflection. “Why else do you think they used to wear corsets?”
I shuddered, relieved that the whalebone torture devices worn by my mother’s generation were currently out of style. When I was a child, her hugs had been hard and unbending due in equal parts to the rigidity of her undergarments and her naturally aloof demeanor. I couldn’t help but wonder what she would make of my current predicament. She and my father had loved each other despite the fact that they were both inarguably taciturn individuals. Would she approve of my decision to jilt Loren? Or chide me for being a fool?
Either way, that was a problem for Future Vitrula, my hypothetical alter-ego who somehow managed to survive past eighteen. Current Vitrula still had to corner two of the most politically powerful nobles in all of Lonea, enchant them, and leave without anyone accusing her of nefarious witchcraft. Even my license wouldn’t protect me if people suspected that I was using my magic for ill.
I stood and allowed Emilia to help me put on my costume. For the first part of the masquerade, I would be dressed as Queen Andrane. The decision was as much political as it was personal—by going as the conqueror of Verdan, none could doubt that my loyalty lay first with the Crown rather than my home province. And since Andrane had never married, I privately considered it to be my declaration of independence as well.
Loren and I both deserved a chance to be happy. Just not with each other.
My costume gave the appearance of a single skirt, though the midnight blue velvet actually split and gathered around each of my ankles in the faux pants style most portraits of Andrane depicted her wearing. A mask of stiffened black lace covered the top half of my face, attached to my head by an ornate silver tiara that my father had gifted me upon the announcement of my engagement. Emilia stepped back once she finished adjusting my belt, a heavy silver chain knotted so that the ends trailed down my right leg. She pursed her lips.
“No other jewelry, my lady?” she asked, already sounding resigned.
I hesitated. If I were going to embrace this bolder version of myself and abandon my plan to become queen, I might as well take one more small risk.
“Actually, there is something.” I went over to my jewelry box, another unused gift from my father. Its hinges squeaked as I opened it. Xander’s necklace lay coiled atop of a collection of unworn jewelry. My fingers hovered over my mother’s ruby ring, the same one that had been used as evidence for my first execution. Despite my reckless desire to be bold, eight lifetimes worth of caution wasn’t easily dismissed. I did, however, put on Xander’s necklace. The shimmering gold chain didn’t quite go with the rest of my assemble but wearing it made me feel instantly more confident—a physical reminder that someone other than myself was invested in my survival. Besides, I wanted to see Xander’s reaction when he realized I wore his gift even without the wardstone.
Emilia cocked her head to an angle. “Well, it’s not what I would have chosen but at least you’re wearing something, my lady. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a few strands of pearls? I could weave them into your hair as well.”
“Just this,” I said firmly.
Someone knocked at my door before Emilia could argue. She opened it to reveal my brother, dressed in an uncharacteristically somber brown suit. He grinned at me and lifted up an orange demi-mask over his eyes—when he did so, his entire face transformed into that of a smiling orange fox, and his suit rippled with the illusion of auburn fur.
“Enchanted masks are all the rage in Anterdon—not as many restrictions on the mages there, you know,” said Theo, lowering the mask. He spun around with arms outstretched. “I daresay I cut quite the dashing figure.”
I laughed. “How will the ladies be able to resist?”
“Indeed, my allure is notoriously devastating. Apparently, it runs in the family!” He nodded appreciatively at my costume. “You look stunning, sis. Your maid must be able to work miracles.”
Emilia giggled at his compliment. I stuck my tongue out. Somehow, I was never able to mature past age twelve when in the presence of my brother, no matter how many years I relived.
“Did Uncle ask you to escort me?” I asked.
Theo bowed. “None other. He said we needed to be there early given that our family is hosting.” He pulled a face as he rose. “No one with good tastes ever shows up to a party early.”
“Then be thankful you’re not known as an arbitrator of fashion,” I said tartly, taking his arm. “Though you have become somewhat foppish of late.”
“Being conscious of my attire hardly renders me a fop,” protested Theo.
I patted his arm condescendingly. “Whatever you say, dear brother. Where’s Letty, by the by?” As our stepsister, she was technically a hostess as well.
He rolled his eyes. “Still getting ready. She claimed she’d meet us there.”
I nodded but didn’t respond. Unbeknownst to my uncle, Drixton and Hargraves were not the only ones I planned on confronting tonight. I also meant to corner Letty and get the truth from her once and for all. If it turned out that she hadn’t played a role in these most recent attempts on my life, I intended to apologize. I doubted we could ever go back to being close friends—even if this itineration of Letty was innocent, she’d been complicit in my death too many times for me to ever fully trust her again. But maybe I could begin to move past it. If not for her sake, then for my own.
*****
Under my direction, Bellcrest’s ballroom had been transformed into an enchanted forest. Trellises of live ivy laid against the walls to give the appearance of being outside, wild flowers embedded artfully throughout the leaves. Thin copper wires threaded with tiny glowstones webbed across the ceiling like indoor constellations, the effect completed fabric swaths of black and gray to give the illusion of a cloudy night sky. Small circular tables, each with their own unique floral centerpiece, lined the walls, as well as two larger tables laden with various respites and drinks in crystal chalices. The majority of the interior, however, was left empty for dancing. The musicians themselves were concealed behind some of the trellises throughout the ballroom, so that music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Uncle Alistair pulled me aside as soon as Theo and I arrived. “Xander will wait for you in the library with your new costume,” he said in a low voice. “If for whatever reason he’s unable to linger, he’ll leave it for you near the west-facing window. Greet Drixton and Hargraves and make your rounds, and I’ll let you know when its time for you to slip away.”
“You’re sure that you can get them alone?” I asked anxiously. It wouldn’t do for me magically interrogate the Councilors in front of a crowd.
He waved a hand, brushing aside my concerns. “Leave that part to me. A few drops of Anterdonian whiskey in their punch cups, and they’ll need to escape to the gardens to settle their stomachs.” My uncle laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Despite being the masquerade’s official host, he’d refused to dress in costume. His sole concession to the night’s theme was a black domino that did little to conceal his beard or identity. When I had asked him to wear something more suited for the occasion, he’d simply replied that the best disguise was always one that didn’t bother to hide its face.
Guests soon began to arrive, every new entrance stridently announced by a footman stationed by the main doors. I made sure to greet each in turn so that my presence would be fresh in everyone’s minds, until the number of guests exceeded my ability to socialize. The spacious room filled with nobles in an array of costumes—from beaded masks and antiquated clothes favored by the older generation, to elaborate getups that had most likely taken a small army of seamstresses working night and day in order to be readied within the week since the masquerade had been first announced. A few of the faster crowd, like my brother, even had magically augmented disguises. I saw no less than five identical foxes, losing sight of Theo in the skulk. Though Uncle Alistair’s pretense for throwing the ball had been to celebrate my engagement, I missed Loren’s arrival completely.
I made sure to greet Hargraves as soon as I witnessed him enter—even his mask couldn’t obscure his signature disapproving frown, as if he were constantly forced to smell something unpleasant. Drixton had been harder to find given that I’d rarely interacted with the man but I did eventually stumble upon him at the refreshment table where he seemed to have permanently stationed himself since arriving. Several stains already dotted his pale peach neckcloth, rather ruining the effect of dandy for which he’d obviously been striving. His thick lips had been cold and wet as they kissed the back of my hand, like dead slugs that left a trail of slime. I instantly disliked him.
Soon after escaping from Drixton, Lady Geneva managed to corner me. She apparently had decided my social status made my past breach in etiquette worthy of forgiveness. Dressed in a bustled dress popular nearly a century past, her wrinkled bosom was pushed up to nearly her chin and wobbled like plum pudding whenever she spoke. I couldn’t help but grin at her costume, recalling my conversation with Xander where I’d teased him for implying my ballgown would be lowcut. Little did he know that my style would pale in comparison to the risqué fashion of a hypochondriac octogenarian.
“So I told my doctor,” Lady Geneva was saying, her volume rivaling that of the announcing footman, “that he was fired of course because clearly my foot pain was something more than gout. The next doctor I consulted—who was recommended to me by Lady Verdana, do you know her? —said that my humors were . . .”
I nodded along at her rambling, all while keeping an eye on my uncle out of the corner of my eye. Since I’d greeted Hargraves and Drixton earlier in the evening, I now only had to wait until Uncle Alistair signaled me to leave. Finally, he gave me a pointed nod, just as Lady Geneva launched into a nauseatingly vivid description of a rash on her lower leg.
I interrupted her mid-adjective. “Apologies, Lady Geneva.” I grinned, unable to resist a sudden impish urge. “But I still don’t care.”
I curtsied primly and slipped through the crowd, not bothering to witness her no doubt affronted reaction.
I dodged through the press murmuring excuses right and left to those I pushed by. Finally, I reached the hallway. The library where Xander waited with my change of costume was just around the corner. As I neared the library door, I could hear a hushed conversation happening within and an unmistakably feminine giggle.
“We should head back,” came Letty’s voice from the other side of the door.
Her companion groaned and must have whispered something to her, because she giggled again.
“I know! But I think Tru already suspects, and I’d rather we tell her ourselves than be discovered like this.” She laughed again, followed by a brief pause and rustling noises. Kissing, I assumed, given the breathless quality to her voice when she again spoke. “I do love you. Even if—” her voice faltered. “Even if our relationship won’t be accepted.”
Their footsteps approached the door so I quickly tucked myself behind an oversized plant in the corner. I heard the library door open and close as they left. The leaves of the fern I hid behind obscured my view, but I didn’t need to see their faces to know their identities. My suspicions had been confirmed the moment I’d heard Letty’s voice. This cycle of my life was playing out no different than the last seven.
My stepsister and fiancé were in love. Again.
I needed to uncover the identity of my murderer by the end of tonight, before my history repeated itself in other, deadlier, ways, and I ended up like Armond.
Comments
Brilliant Purple
So happy Xander and Tru finally kissed! Idk who trying to kill her but hopefully it ain't Xander 😂 I like them together lolol.
