Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 13

My hands flew to cover my mouth but did little to help me breathe. My throat burned and my eyes watered. Flames licked the roof of my bed’s canopy—if I didn’t escape, and soon, the heavy fabric would collapse and become my next burial shroud. But my route to the door was obscured in smoke.

Curses. Why hadn’t I learned a spell to extinguish fires?

Because I’d never been burned alive before. Because this was new. Because I’d been lazy, and only taken steps to protect myself from murder I’d already experienced. My mind was slowing from lack of oxygen. I needed to move before I passed out.

I reached for the only spell I knew that might help.

“Keyp,” I coughed. “Keyp, keyp, keyp.”

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then inferno’s spread slowed. Thank the Triad for my past larceny of Delphine’s tome. Smoke drifted lazily upwards instead of completely clouding my vision. There. A gap between my bed curtains only just beginning to smolder. Burning fabric seared my hands as I pushed aside the drapes. Sparks ignited the carpet, branded my bare feet. But the stone floor kept the flames from reaching the door and the hallway beyond. If I could reach the threshold, I would be safe. At least until the next attempt on my life.

I sunk onto my knees, choking on a pained shout as my burned palms hit the ground. The air was clearer here. I took in a deep lungful to avoid slipping unconscious, before slithering and gasping towards the door like an asphyxiating snake. The comparison, sprung unbidden into my head, was so wildly inappropriate that I would have laughed but for my lack of breath.

A bedpost snapped.

The wooden beam landed besides me, barely missing. Splinters pierced my cheeks and arms. I screamed. Hair burned, sulfuric. I rolled away, only just cognizant enough to do so towards the door, smothering the sparks before my nightgown could ignite. Agony flayed the raw skin of my hand but I managed to turn grab onto the doorknob just long enough to turn it open.

The hallway was cool. So blessedly cool. I stumbled closer to one of the archer’s keyholes that overlooked the courtyard. Guards would be on patrol below. I yelled for them, but the attempt left me wracked by dry heaves, the aftermath of too much pain and too much smoke inhalation. My vision blurred.

I clung to conscious just long enough to hear the pounding of boots against the ground, barely audible over the sound of my roaring heartbeat.

Someone was coming.

*****

I awoke in a panic, a scream on my lips before I realized that I was not my childhood bedchamber but an unfamiliar room. I was still sixteen.

My scorched nightgown had been replaced by a thin shift, and a delicate daisy chain was stitched along the hem of a linen sheet tucked securely around me. Something cold slid off my forehead and down my front as I propped myself up against the headboard. A wet towel.

Letty sat on a chair nearby, plucking nervously at her embroidery hoop. She set it down upon seeing me stir.

“Tru!” Her violet eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “How are you feeling?”

My throat felt raw, as if it’d been sanded by a whetstone. “Thirsty,” I croaked.

She passed me a glass from the nightstand. It felt blessedly cool in my hand, but the water burned as it went down.

“Who found me?” I asked as soon as I could bear to speak. “How long have I been asleep? Did they find who set the fire?” Stupid question—of course they hadn’t, given Letty’s presence. My sigh came out a hoarse creak.

Letty gently replaced the damp cloth across my forehead. “I’m going to go get Lady Delphine. Rest.”

I closed my eyes once she had exited the room. If she’d wanted a second attempt to kill me, she could have done it while I was asleep. No, it was too risky for Letty to act now, in her own room. Besides, my eyes stung too much to keep them open.

The door opened, but I kept my eyes shut even as my hand tightened around the glass in preparation to bash it across someone’s head.

Delphine tsked as she pressed the back of her hand against my cheek. “You have a fever,” she said. “My healing spells worked, but your lungs were badly damaged. It will take time for you too fully recover.” She set my glass back on the nightstand and curled my fingers into a fist. “Any pain?”

I shook my head and opened my eyes a crack to look at her. “How severe were my burns?”

“Like sautéed steak,” she replied.

“You shouldn’t jest about such things,” protested Letty. “Tru almost died.”

“As if my apprentice would succumb so easily.” Despite Delphine’s glibness, worry tightened her voice. “Speaking of which, you’ve been asleep for the past two days. How much longer will you steal your sister’s room?”

“Stay as long as you need, Tru.” Letty smiled at me benevolently, as if she had not just failed at burning me alive. “I’m fine sleeping in Theo’s chambers while he’s gone.”

“As if she’s slept at all since you were hurt,” said Delphine. “You’re lucky to have such a devoted sister.”

Lucky. Not quite the word I’d use, given that Letty had most likely set the fire. Guilt, not love, motivated her tender administrations. If she could even feel guilt. More likely, her actions had been to maintain her pretense of a concerned sibling. My life wasn’t supposed to be in danger this soon; the parallels between the opera and her own thwarted love must have roused Letty to early action. What grander act of passion than arson? None of this I could say, however, without revealing my prior deaths. As confessing thus had ended with me branded a lunatic in my past lives, I refrained.

“Who found me?” I asked instead.

“One of the guards,” said Delphine. “We think the fire burned for at least an hour before she passed by on her nightly patrol.” She bit her lip and shared a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, most your belongings were unsalvageable.”

My journal. I’d have to completely rewrite it. I had the pages memorized, but it helped to see the events on paper. Letty misinterpreted my groan and patted my shoulder. “We can go to the modiste together. I’ll help you pick out some new dresses! Not that you need help,” she hastened to add, “but I do think you’d look wonderful in some brighter colors.”

I allowed my thoughts to drift as Letty went on to rattle off several suggestions regarding which styles and hues might be most flattering on me.

Delphine claimed the fire had been burning for an hour by the time I was discovered, and that most of my possessions had already been destroyed. But I had heard someone before then—when I had escaped my room, the flames hadn’t yet reached the door or bookshelf. How long had I lain unconscious in the hallway? Whose footsteps had I heard? Letty’s? Her accomplice’s?

In addition, I distinctly remembered locking my bedroom door in order to read my journal in privacy. Yet it had been unlocked during my escape. An oversight on the arsonist’s part, to be certain, but a welcome one that had enabled me to survive. But it begged the question: how had Letty gotten inside? Only myself and the castle steward should have possessed a key. I needed to speak to Hamen as soon as possible to learn if he had misplaced his or made any additional copies.

I interrupted Letty’s oration on the benefits of tapered skirts for someone of my build. “Do we know how the fire started?”

“The guards found the stub of a candle. They assumed you’d left it burning.” Delphine’s eyes bore into mine. She’d gifted me with my own personal glowstone after I’d complained that reading by flickering candlelight hurt my eyes. “They said a breeze from your window must have caused the flame to spread.”

Letty clutched her arms and shuddered. “I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t escaped,” she lied. “Really, Tru, you must be more careful.”

*****

My plan to interrogate Hamen, the castle steward, on the subject of the key, was delayed by Letty’s insistence that I be fitted for a new wardrobe as soon as I was capable of standing upright, and by Delphine’s determination to interrogate me about the fire’s true origin. I sidestepped most her questions but eventually conceded that I didn’t recall lighting a candle. Delphine’s rouged lips had flattened and her pupils narrowed to the effect of making her eyes appear even greener. She’d dropped the subject after I’d begged a headache, but soon after, new protective wards appeared etched above the doorframe of my refurnished chambers.

After a week of being prodded and poked at by a battalion of dressmakers, I finally managed to corner the castle steward in the castle library. Hamen didn’t seem to recognize me at first, given that I’d been forced to borrow dresses from Letty until my own were ready. I didn’t grieve for the loss of my wardrobe the same way I mourned my burnt book collection, but I loathed having to wear the clothes of my assumed arsonist in the interim.

Dressing like Letty only emphasized our differences. The gown’s bodice hung loose and its hemline fell several inches short my ankles. Letty shared her mother’s fondness for pastels, which only served to make me look pale and corpselike. My current seafoam green frock gave my complexion a vaguely nauseous tint. Hamen’s gray eyebrows rose past his nonexistent hairline when he recognized me beneath the flounces.

“My lady.” Concern deepened his already sonorous voice. Hamen sounded precisely as one expected a castle steward to sound; I was half convinced it was the reason he’d chosen the career. “How are you faring today?”

Hamen was Emilia’s father and had proven a valuable source of information in the past. Like his daughter, he thrived for gossip. Since it wouldn’t do for my would-be murderer to learn I was onto them, I needed to choose my words cautiously.

“I’m much improved,” I replied, “and greatly appreciate all the work Emilia’s done making sure my quarters were repaired and refurbished after the fire.”

Hamen’s shoulders straightened with pride and he was unable to keep from smiling. “Serving you is her honor, my lady.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better lady’s maid. She found the most beautiful crystal doorknob for the new door. Did you help her choose?”

“Picked everything by herself. She was resolved to make your room twice is grand, after everything you went through.”

I smiled brightly and tilted my head to the side. “Well, I simply adore her selection. Do I need a new key, or will the old one work?”

“No need to change, my lady. Emilia gave the old knob to the jewelry smith to copy.”

“I only ask because I’m ever so forgetful,” I fibbed. “I’m always losing my key. Thank the Triad that Lady Delphine charmed it to always return to my desk. I don’t suppose you know of anyone else who’s as clumsy? Who may have asked to borrow your keys recently after misplacing their own?”

Hamen’s hand darted to his pocket, which jangled as he covered it protectively. His voice deepened further. “My lady, I guard the steward’s copy with my life. Let no one say that Hamen Wayfar ever neglected his duty.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “I would never think otherwise.”

He nodded, appearing satisfied by my prompt response. “If that will be all, my lady.” He bowed again and made to leave.

Curses. I frantically reached for an excuse. None came to mind. Except one, inspired by my first death but which I was loathe to use. I took a deep breath. “May I be honest with you, Hamen?”

He halted and turned back around. “Of course, my lady.”

“I wish to become . . . closer. To my fiancé.” My cheeks burned, and I could barely force the next words past my dry lips. “Would it be possible to borrow the key to the Prince’s bedchamber?”

Better the court gossiped about this, mocking me over my fake desperation for Loren’s attention, than for Letty to discover my suspicions. To his credit, Hamen managed to keep his expression neutral despite how much my request must have surprised him. Not that dalliances didn’t happen at court or were particularly condemned, but I’d established a reputation for prudery early on due to my disinclination (and inability) to flirt.

“Alas, my lady, my oath as steward prevents me from giving the key to anyone,” he stressed the last word.

I ducked my head as if embarrassed by my own forwardness. “As it should be,” I said in a soft voice. “But perhaps someone else has a copy of the castle keys? I wish so dearly for us to become closer.”

I peeped up at him through the fringe of my lashes. Hamen’s brows knit together in sympathy but his mouth twisted as if torn. I needed to be more convincing.

I continued, “It’s just that . . . after the fire, I realized how short life can be. I don’t wish to have any regrets.” Like not stopping my murderer.

Hamen took my plea exactly as I had intended, however. Who could resist stepping up to defend true love? His eyes softened and he laid a fatherly hand on my shoulder in a rare breach of etiquette.

“I would give you the key if I could, my lady. Your love for His Highness is truly inspiring.” He licked his lips as if uncertain whether or not to continue.

I sniffed as if about to cry.

“Perhaps someone else can assist you,” he said. “The Council has the master key for most rooms in the castle. Used it when Lord Throckmore locked himself in his rooms to avoid arrest four years ago.”

My chest felt tight, my ribcage too small to contain the hammering of my heart. “I see. And who keeps this key?”

Hamen stroked his gray goatee thoughtfully. “I believe it’s assigned to a member of the Jury Council,” he said. “The one who schedules trials. Councilor Timons—slender fellow with dark hair.”

“Thank you, Hamen.” My voice came out surprisingly even.

“I can’t guarantee that the Council key will work.” He sounded apologetic. “Only His Majesty has access to every room in the castle. But I will pray to Sen for your success.”

I pressed a sealed envelope into his palm, thick with enough banknotes to cover an additional month of wages. What better use for my allowance, than to ensure future cooperation? The steward slipped it into his jacket’s inner pocket without bothering to look.

“I’ll remember your kindness,” I said.

“I wish you well, my lady. In all things.”

Long after he left, I remained in the library, too dizzy to dare move. If Hamen was correct and the Council had the only other key, then one of its members had helped Letty break into my room and set the fire. A Council member had helped try to kill me.

Such a precedent cannot go unpunished.

The words sprung unbidden to my mind, echoing in Timons’ mocking timbre. Why would the Councilor be working with Letty? What grudge did he hold against me?

I intended to find out.