S. E. Aeghann
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Luther's Pride Part 49
🕑 Added 2025-12-24 13:17:53 +0000 UTCLuther awoke to the vibrations beneath him that jostled his head against the engraved pine. His eyes had to adjust to the dim lighting when he opened them.
“Criella?” he asked, looking for her.
“Well, he’s awake at least, but no less delusional.” Rhosyn’s voice was bitter and angry, and her expression matched her tone.
Luther blinked again, taking in the world and orienting himself. He sat inside a carriage, dressed in ceremonial finery. His black tailcoat had gold embroidery, lace, and epaulettes on his shoulders with a braided gold rope on his right side. He bore no weapons, which initially panicked him, but neither did anyone else. Still, he hadn’t prepared himself and bore only the rings he already had on his fingers.
Helena, on his left, wore a sleeveless golden gown even more elegant than she’d worn to Luther’s dinner party. Its neckline covered her prominent cleavage, but the lack of sleeves showed off her strength. A black armband across her upper arm matched the one on Luther’s. Everyone else bore one as well, marking them as in mourning. The golden silk gloves she wore covered her forearms, and her long skirt flowed to the floor.
Jowangshin, on his right, wore ornate red vestments of the Temple, reserved for high holy days and special events. The fabric puffed out over her legs and arms, cinched by her mourning armband. Her makeup and hair were impeccable, and she wore emerald earrings encased in silver.
Across from him, Eira and Rhosyn wore matching gowns of dark purple velvet, with black lace overlaying their busts, sleeves, and skirts, leaving a widening plait of purple at the front of the skirts from their gold chain belts. They wore ornate gold necklaces around their long, graceful necks.
Eira’s face held concern and worry across it, as did Helena’s and Jo’s. Rhosyn alone seemed furious.
“What happened?” Luther asked, holding his hand against his forehead.
“You tried to use my magic without my permission and without training,” Rhosyn said. “That’s what happened.”
“My head hurts,” Luther said, rubbing the sides of his forehead with his fingertips.
“Good.” Rhosyn crossed her arms. “I hope it teaches you a lesson.”
Luther looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to—”
“You’re not sorry,” Rhosyn said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re just trying to pacify me.”
“I won’t do it again,” Luther said, assuring her.
“No, you won’t,” Rhosyn said. She didn’t have to level a threat to make herself clear. She’d knocked him unconscious for trying. He could only imagine what she might do if he forced the issue again.
“Rhosyn said you were hallucinating,” Helena said, her voice soft as her hand wrapped over his, and she kissed his knuckles. “Are you feeling better?”
“I wasn’t hallucinating,” Luther said. “I saw Criella, or at least her spirit, in the library.”
His wives exchanged nervous glances.
“Her death was a shock to us, but Criella is at peace, husband,” Jowangshin gripped his thigh. “She has ascended to heaven and no longer needs to worry about earthly concerns. We’ll reunite with her in the next world, I have no doubt.”
The comforting words of religion were, as always, to Luther’s ears, spoken from a place of ignorance. Well-meaning ignorance, in Jowangshin’s case, which was preferable to arrogant ignorance or malicious ignorance, but still ignorant of the truth he’d seen with his own eyes. She didn’t know he’d switched her body with a decoy, or that her ghost wandered the halls of his father’s library. That he’d communicated with her, in a fashion, and knew it to be true.
“I saw her,” Luther said, his voice determined to inform Jowangshin of the truth. “I’m not lying about that.”
“We know you aren’t,” Jowangshin said, tightening her grip on him and hugging him.
“Her ghost is still with us; she’s still here. There’s a chance to bring her back,” Luther said.
“Is she with us in the carriage right now?” Helena asked in such a placating tone that Luther couldn’t help but press his lips into thin lines.
“I’m not crazy,” Luther said. “Nor was I hallucinating. Rhosyn, you can look at my memories, can’t you?”
Rhosyn glared at him. “I did.”
“And?” Luther asked.
“You’re even worse than I imagined,” Rhosyn said, nearly crying in anger.
“Because I saw her in the library?” Luther asked.
Rhosyn glared at him. “You know what you did. Do you really want me to lay it all out in front of everyone right now?”
Luther glanced at the others, who looked between him and Rhosyn just as confused as he was. He looked out the window of the carriage next, seeing trees roll past them. The sun was setting, the shadows were long, and they were moving northwest.
“I know I tried to use your magic to speak with her,” Luther said. “I was desperate.”
“Luther, even if you saw her spirit before she ascended, and I’m not saying that you did—that’s necromancy,” Jowangshin said, keeping her voice low as if someone might overhear them. “The gods forbid it, as does the empire.”
Yes, necromancy in its various forms was forbidden. To affect the dead by magic, to speak or commune with them, was illegal, taboo, and the gods forbade it. What was it Criella had said about the Dark Lord? The victors of history painted him that way. Prejudice, fear, and obstinacy led the empire to outlaw the study. Luther didn’t care. He might try to overturn the empire’s laws, but it was easier to ignore them.
“It’s a good thing Rhosyn stopped you,” Helena said. “The duke could strip your title if he found out you attempted to communicate with Criella after she died. If you’d succeeded, he’d have had to execute you.”
Luther frowned. “She’s still here, or there, rather. In the library.”
“Well, I didn’t see her when I carried you out of there. None of us has seen her,” Helena said.
“It’s best if you don’t mention this to anyone else tonight,” Eira said, joining the conversation. “Please?”
Luther frowned, looking out the carriage window. Lights bloomed from the castle on the hill. Dark rising stones formed towers overlooking the area, and Luther’s confusion faded. The duke’s country estate. His oaths of fealty, and the duke’s damned pomp and ceremony.
“We explained to His Grace that we couldn’t host the ball after you gave the servants the day off,” Eira explained.
“Unfortunately, he’d already planned on hosting us, so we had to dress and wake you,” Rhosyn said. “If it were up to me, you’d still be unconscious.”
“The servants, most of them anyway, think you’re a coward for running from Criella’s pyre to cry in the library,” Helena said. “I didn’t even see you leave.”
“I’m not a coward,” Luther said, his tone bitter.
“I didn’t say you were,” Helena said, her voice stony. “But the servants have every right to think that of you after you left us at her pyre.”
“The Duke took it as an insult that you didn’t attend the Feothe’s pyres as well. He’s asked us to talk some sense into you,” Jowangshin said. Her grasp on his trousers remained firm. “He wants you to drop your vendetta against Branan and Lucas.”
“Mercy is—” Helena cut herself off.
“Mercy is foolishness,” Luther said. “Branan would only marry the Duke, or if the Duke refused him, he’d marry a small army of mercenary rabble, then come knocking for my title at his leisure.”
“Branan isn’t a threat to you anymore. Criella made sure of that,” Rhosyn said.
“No, Branan and Lucas are not threats to me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t make them into examples for others,” Luther said.
“Why so adamant if Criella’s not dead and just waiting for you to bring her back?” Rhosyn asked, her eyebrow arched in challenge. “Or are you recovering from your delusion?”
Luther glared at her. “I still have Criella’s arcana,” he said. “Her spirit remains with us.”
Jowangshin frowned. “I wish that were true, Luther, but—”
Luther vanished from the carriage. As soon as he said he retained Criella’s arcanum, he began his spell in his mind and melded with her spirit. His earlier training with Helena and Jowangshin had helped him practice the speed of taming and reforming his spirit, enabling him to hasten his spell.
He reappeared beside the carriage, on the roadside. Helena and Eira crowded their windows to see him fall butt-first onto the dirt beside the road, pick himself up, and brush himself off. He watched the carriage continue its winding drive toward the duke’s country castle, and he walked after it until it joined the train of carriages.
Nobles from the valley and its surrounding lands gathered at the castle. His oaths were a minor item on the agenda of the duke’s welcome ball. The other carriages carried as many servants as occupants, with footmen and valets in attendance. His carriage had a single driver, young Wyll dressed in every bit of finery he possessed as a new valet, which wasn’t much, but matched the carriages ahead in luxury and refinement. He’d given up his day off to do his duty, but Luther wouldn’t have asked him to if he’d been conscious when they left.
Luther acted as a footman, climbing onto the rear of the carriage as it slowed and joining the shuffling line. He couldn’t hear their muttering inside the carriage. Still, whatever they might accuse him of, or whatever opinions they had of his unresearched ability, he trusted them not to mention it after they left the carriage. He stepped down as if he were the footman when it was their turn.
He astonished the guests filing into the castle from the drive. Some of them laughed. No doubt the eccentric half-fey lord would be the subject of much gossip tonight. He opened the door for his wives and offered them his hand. He helped Helena descend from the carriage. Jowangshin followed. Then Eira and Rhosyn made their descents. Rhosyn was the only one not to take his offered hand, but gathered her skirts in both hands and descended herself to the carpet rolled along the stone walk to the castle doors.
She marched forward, dropping her skirts, and Eira kept pace with her. Helena and Jo took one of Luther’s arms each, as if not trusting him not to vanish or make an even worse spectacle of himself to prove a point. Still, they couldn’t comment on it now with so many strangers within earshot. Luther’s arcanum was a secret, and that secret was an advantage they wanted to keep against anyone who might seek to challenge him.
They joined the march of the many into the castle, where servants bowed to them and offered brushes and services to clean their shoes, hands, or whatever else their travel might have dirtied. Luther took advantage and used a cloth to wipe the dust from his trousers that he’d collected from falling on the road. The servants didn't inquire, and he didn’t offer the information on how he had collected so much dirt on his backside.
Helena and Jowangshin afforded him privacy, standing behind him so the guests arriving behind them wouldn’t make inquiries themselves. Then they entered the castle arm-in-arm with Luther and followed the train of people deeper into the castle.
Flickering candles and chandeliers dripped with clear glass and crystals. They glittered like promises above them.
Luther paused at the threshold of the ballroom, taking in the spectacle that the young Duke Beaudivere wrought upon the great hall.
Gold shone from every surface and corner—gold leaf slathered every cornice, trim, and column, and gold thread wove through crimson silk draped from the vaulted ceiling in swooping arcs from the magnificent gold chandelier in the web’s center. The decadence threatened to suffocate Luther, and he realized the young duke had no sense of restraint, only excess.
Thousands of roses, forced into towering arrangements, lined the walls. The cloying perfume was thick enough to choke his nostrils and nearly his throat. Red roses, naturally, to match the swooping silk, and to give in to the obvious.
The gold and red colors had nothing to do with Beaudivere’s family colors, and clashed with the purple and silver banners bearing his crest. The servants had hung the banners too frequently, so Luther could barely see the ancient stone of the castle behind them. It was almost as if the young duke had to remind everyone under whose roof they danced.
Musicians played too loudly from the gilded gallery, and too much food sat out on the tables along the walls. The people surrounding the dance floor carried small plates with portions too large to consume with any sense of propriety. If Luther didn’t know better, he’d think the chefs wanted to embarrass the guests.
Every guest wore their finest, of course. Hundreds of jewels caught the light of the thousand candles burning throughout the hall in silver sconces.
Grotesque and magnificent, which was what Luther expected from someone who inherited more power than sense. Or perhaps his servants didn’t like the young duke any more than Luther did and made their efforts to embarrass him.
The young duke and his fourteen spouses sat at a long table at the far end of the hall. The table was on an elevated platform, raising its occupants above their guests. Beaudivere sat sprawled on his throne with one leg hooked over the armrest, laughing too loudly at someone who approached the table to welcome the duke to the region.
Luther wished Wulfric or Criella were here to provide him with the information on who everyone was. There were too many faces and too many people to name, and that was just at the duke’s table. Fourteen was a grotesque abundance of spouses, but grotesque abundance seemed to be the duke’s favorite display.
Eira, Rhosyn, Luther, Helena, and Jowangshin descended the marble stairs, past the already melting ice sculptures, after the herald announced them to the hall. The poor man’s screaming voice was no match for the too-loud music, and no one cared. The arrivals had been going on for a while, and all attention had turned away.
“Have some food and some drink tonight,” Helena said, whispering into Luther’s ear. “Restore your strength. You start training in the morning.”
“We’re not here to mingle,” Luther said. “We can swear my fealty, and then we can leave.”
It was rude to leave early, but Luther had no interest in hanging around. He had three days to train with his ability and ensure Lucas and Branan’s deaths.
“Well, it seems we need to wait until after everyone’s arrived,” Helena said.
Jowangshin tugged on Luther’s sleeve, making him bend to lower his ear to her lips.
“You should ask Rhosyn to dance,” Jo said. “And apologize to her. It’s clear your grief over Criella and your confusion about having her arcana made you desperate. We’re willing to forgive you. We know how much you loved her, and we all hope you’ll come to love us just as much. Show her that you haven’t forgotten she’s your wife, too.”
Luther looked at Jo. Her wisdom was unrequested, but he couldn’t deny the wisdom in her words. No doubt his obsession with Criella had been something of a slap to his other wives. Rhosyn was young and likely insecure. She’d hooked her life to his with no guarantees, but with hope for romance and happiness. Now she was tethered to a man who allowed grief to drive every thought and action down a dark path the others found unthinkable. She deserved better from him.
“Rhosyn,” Luther said, moving toward her and Eira with a quick step after they reached the base of the stairs.
Eira and Rhosyn stopped, turning to look at him.
“Would you like to dance, my lady?” Luther asked, offering her a confident but apologetic expression as he gave her his hand.
Rhosyn glared at him a moment longer, took his hand without speaking, and left with him for the dance floor. Eira and Helena followed, while Jo hung back, taking a glass of wine from a passing servant and joining a conversation to the side of the dance floor with a respectable vicar.
Comments
Flamethrow
The skill of your writing draws the reader in and refuses to grant him any escape from this entrancing story.
Patrick Olsen
I need 100 chapters :D its so damn exiciting
