Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 10

Weeks passed in a flurry of preparations for Letty’s presentation to Court. When I finally found the time to return the spellbook that I had illicitly borrowed and tell Delphine of my attempts with the tome, her reaction was the opposite of what I’d hoped. Her series of censorious lectures on the perils of unsupervised experimentation lasted for the rest of the month. Before I knew it, the day of Loren’s birthday and Letty’s debut arrived, and I was no closer to learning a spell to defend myself. My modicum of success at mastering the slowing spell had failed to win Delphine’s forgiveness, and in fact only infuriated her further.

“Do you even begin to comprehend the dangers?” she demanded.

I’d reclaimed my favorite seat in Delphine’s study from Xander, who was busy alongside my brother making travel arrangements for their imminent return to Anterdon. The chair’s pillows failed to cushion me from the sting of my mentor’s condemnation.

Delphine paced back and force across her newest carpet. Her bootheels stabbed the indigo silk as she stomped, leaving a trail of puncture wounds in her wake. “Had your focus slipped for the merest moment, you could have slowed your own heart to a stop. How many times must I warn you that magic is not a game? If you are unable to grasp this simple rule, Vitrula, then you are unfit to become a sorceress. I expect better from you.”

I ached to defend my actions. To explain the motivation behind my ceaseless urgency to master magic. During each of her lectures, I contemplated Delphine’s reaction should I reveal the truth of my situation. “I’m destined to die in less than three years,” I’d say. “It’s happened seven times thus far and I’m rather anxious to not repeat the experience. I know it’s unwise to rush but I quite literally don’t have the time for patience.”

Or perhaps I’d state it casually, to emphasize how normal my situation had become to me over the course of my eight lives. “Oh yes, I’ve died quite frequently. Do you think it will rain tomorrow?”

Perhaps Delphine would understand my plight. Maybe she’d assist me in deciphering the nature behind my cursed cycle of death and, well, not quite rebirth but re-life. She was, bar none, the most knowledgeable person in Verdan when it came to magic and its mysteries. King Eldin employed a handful of other mages at Court of whom I was aware: scholarly looking men and women with uniformly pasty skin, clad in high-collared black robes and heavy silver pendants stamped with the royal seal. Still more mages, I suspected, were anonymously deployed across the provinces in the homes of King Eldin’s political enemies and allies alike. The ones I’d managed to corner at Court gatherings happily blathered on about their divine responsibility to serve the Crown and their newest theory regarding the motivations of the Mages Guild for siding with the northern provinces during the Uprising. Most shimmered with faded threads of energy if I focused, and a few possessed no glow at all. None radiated magical energy even half as intense as Delphine’s, and none seemed capable of casting a spell great enough in magnitude that it caused time itself to rewind. Emilia reported they even ordered tea service brought to them, rather than magically heating the water like my mentor.

But I only needed to consult my journal, transcribed anew after each of my deaths, to recollect why confiding in anyone was a bad idea. Memories of my past life faded in the same way a dream does after waking; my journal ensured that I retained the most relevant information. I reread each entry until the events portrayed were completely committed to mind. Every new cycle since my third death had begun with me frantically rewriting the entire thing and adding an account of my most recent demise. I hid the resultant journal inside a hollowed-out copy of Baron Yainharrow’s notoriously dry treatise on Fengali architecture, after an awkward confrontation with Emilia during my fourth life taught me that she would read anything she discovered under my mattress.

No, the potential consequences of telling others were too dire for a confession to be worth contemplating. I ruthlessly squashed down any lingering regret: second guessing my decisions was a waste a time, and time was the one resource I was short on. Better to stay silent and act contrite.

“I shouldn’t have taken the book.” I kept my eyes downcast in order to appear guilt-ridden as well as to avoid meeting my teacher’s keenly aware gaze. “I won’t make excuses. What I did was dangerous and ill-advised. I apologize.”

Delphine sighed heavily and sat upon the edge of her desk. She crossed her legs and jogged one heel in the air. “I don’t know how to get through to you, Tru. Despite your fine words, I cannot help but suspect that you will keep attempting spells by yourself.”

I remained silent. I couldn’t deny the accusation, and Delphine knew me well enough to detect the lie.

“Part of me believes that I should ask His Majesty to rescind your learning permit.”

I bit down a cry of protest. Any wrong word would result in the termination of my apprenticeship—something I could ill afford to lose, given Letty and Loren’s recent introduction.

“Another part of me,” continued Delphine, “a foolishly soft part, wonders if it would be better to perhaps accelerate our lessons so that I might at least supervise your overly enthusiastic attempt to Court disaster.”

She rubbed her fingers against her temples, her painted nails flashing gold from beneath wavy strands escaping from her updo. Her pale lashes were bare of their normal kohl, causing her to look tired and frail. Delphine’s mannerisms and energy usually gave the illusion of eternal youth. Seeing her so concerned, I became suddenly aware that she was most likely the same age as Catherine. I had braced myself for her to chide me about taking the tome, but her weary resignation was making me feel guiltier than her lectures.

“I cannot deal with this right now,” she muttered. She stood and opened the door, motioning for me to leave. “Go prepare for the ball tonight. Our new curriculum begins tomorrow.”

I paused at the threshold. “Thank you.”

She shook her head. “Thank me if you survive,” she said.

*****

Letty’s grasp cut off circulation of my arm as we entered Bellcrest’s ballroom. Strands of hair-thin gold wire beaded through with tiny glowstones billowed above, connecting at the chandelier in the center making the ceiling appear starlit. It felt deceptively cozy. But feeling relaxed amongst Bellcrest’s elite was never a wise idea.

Laughter and conversation drifted through music played by two chimbet players, their stringed instruments twice as tall as most harps. They’d performed on a raised platform in the middle of the dance floor, so that music permeated even the most secluded balcony corners. Mages on each of these baloneys kept a breeze flowing into the crowded ballroom, although they themselves sweated under the exertion of the spell that Delphine would’ve no doubt found trivial to cast. Not one I had any interest in learning, since the wind generated wasn’t enough to be defensively useful. Unless spells could be amplified? I resolved to ask Delphine when she’d fully forgiven me.

“I have butterflies in my stomach,” whispered Letty. “I just know I’m going to trip or tip over the punch bowl. Or both. What if I tip into the punch bowl?”

Theo yanked at his freshly starched neckcloth. “How long do we have to stay? If Letty’s nervous, might as well make it quick.” His eyes darted about the ballroom as if calculating potential escape routes.

I glared. It had been his idea to have Letty make her debut tonight in the first place. “Loren will expect us to be present for the entire party. With luck, we’ll be out by dawn.”

“And without luck?”

I ignored him. There was enough for me to deal with other than Theo’s discontent. Keeping Letty and Loren apart, if only I could figure out how. I’d spent this life so far studying magic and attending Council meetings rather than cultivating social connections: it wasn’t as if I could simply ask an acquaintance to keep my stepsister distracted.

Loren straightened as he saw us approach, his smile widening as he took in Letty. Emilia’s careful hand had applied the faintest dusting of makeup to her lips and lashes, and the rose of her ballgown matched the natural tint of her cheeks. An hour with the hot iron had transformed her tumble of curls into a structured halo of ringlets. Around her neck, she wore small citrine heart on a gold chain. The piece was inexpensive, given Theo had purchased it with the small subsidy he made working for Uncle Alistair (Father had long since cut off his allowance due to some perceived infraction or another), but on Letty it sparkled like the crown jewels.

I fancied that my new ballgown of navy silk made my gray eyes appear almost blue, and that my let down hair somewhat softened my angular features. But my fiancé’s attention never wavered from my stepsister.

“Your Highness, I present my sister, Lady Letticia Rhys. She is new to Court and wishes to serve,” I recited the formal introduction as Letty knelt in a deep curtsy. Two months of intensive training under Emilia and me had transformed her wobble into a graceful dip. Several of Loren’s cronies craned their necks to better admire her figure, and Armond outright leered at her exposed cleavage. He wore the same bronze cufflink as always. No indication that he was my killer, much as I would have loved to find him deserving of exile for reasons besides than his personality.

Letty, as always, was oblivious. She dimpled charmingly at Loren. “Happy birthday, Your Highness,” she said.

“I hope that you find Bellcrest to your liking, Lady Letticia.” Loren nodded for her to rise. “As you are new to Court, might I have the honor of your first dance?”

Letty glanced at me. Technically, Letty was expected to dance her first turn with Theo, given he was a member of her family. The Prince should have asked his fiancée for the opening waltz. I flattened my face to a mask of indifference even as I seethed internally. Despite having foreseen his rude request, I found myself humiliated by Loren’s public slight—especially after catching the smirk on Armond’s weasel face.

Despite Loren’s lack of propriety, one didn’t refuse when the heir to the throne asked you to dance. Especially if you were conspiring to steal said heir from your sister. Letty gave her consent and Loren led her into the crowd of dancers. As they passed, Loren signaled the musicians, who interrupted their current song to begin a slow waltz. He’d no doubt instructed them beforehand.

“Loren must’ve figured dancing the first turn with Letty would help ease her into Court’s good graces,” said Theo. “Care to join, sis?”

I ignored his doubtful lilt and stoically took his arm. As we danced, I caught glimpses of Loren and Letty over Theo’s shoulder. Loren leaned low to whisper something in her ear; his hand on her back pulled her closer. A strict dance instructor as a child meant that I managed to keep up with the steps, but Theo could read my obvious distress. His eyes followed my gaze as we turned.

“You’re too good for him, you know.” He spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard by couples dancing nearby.

“You venture scandalously close to independent thinking,” I said. “Father would be appalled by such behavior.”

“Can’t share my opinion with him, of course.” His grin was half-hearted. “But you deserve better.”

“Have I told you recently that you’re my favorite brother?” I appreciated his sentiment, even if it changed nothing. People very rarely received what they deserved.

Theo gasped in mock shock. “You’ve finally forgiven me for the frogs in your bed?”

His joke pulled a reluctant laugh from me. My concern over Letty and Loren couldn’t be entirely vanquished but I attempted to enjoy the rest of our dance. Midway through, someone tapped Theo’s shoulder.

“May I cut in?” asked Xander. Delphine had obviously played a hand in choosing his attire, a tailored forest green suit that matched his eyes. Lace rimmed the cuffs and carved horn buttons ran up the doublet. It was more flamboyant than his usual dark attire, but suited him.

Theo handed him my hand. “I’ll go find the food.”

“He’ll be fleeing to the kitchens now,” I said as Xander pulled me closer. Our palms pressed flat against each other; his felt pleasantly cool.

He tilted his head in the direction of Theo’s retreat. “He left before I could tell him that we depart tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?”

“The Ambassador was called back early due to a family matter, and we’re to be his escort. Not that roads in Verdan are overly dangerous.”

They had been, for my mother. And for me. I squashed the memory of my second death and instead thought back to Ambassador Leonidas’ impassioned dispute with the bookseller during the Festival of Bells. “You’ll help arrange things at inns and make sure he doesn’t cause a diplomatic incident.”

Xander chuckled. “More or less.” He hesitated. “We haven’t had much opportunity to converse much during my stay at Bellcrest.”

“We’ve both been busy,” I said. “I with my family and you with work.”

“It was kind of you to guide your sister through an early debut.”

Kindness? Hardly. Loren and Theo hadn’t given me much of a choice. They’d intended to introduce Letty to Court regardless of my agreement—all I could do was oversee her debut to minimize her alone time with Loren. Although I currently faced away, I could hear my fiancé’s overloud laugh and Letty’s respondent giggle.

Not that my involvement had helped much. I repressed a snort and inclined my head at Xander’s intended compliment.

“I’m glad to have this opportunity,” he said. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

Again, he seemed to mule over his words. “For keeping your promise. Court gossip can be a vicious thing.”

I wanted to shrug but risked our hands separating if I did so. “I fail to see how your past is anyone’s business but your own.”

No need to mention that I’d asked Emilia to dig into his parentage. He’d most likely consider it a breach of trust, when in reality my only concern was learning about an unknown variable. I had no interest in most people outside of their usefulness to my survival. Why should Xander be any different?

He wasn’t, I told myself.

“Regardless, you have my thanks,” he said.

Xander’s resemblance to Delphine was so strong that it was almost impossible to see traces of his father. But it was there, evident in the angle of his cheekbones and his square jaw. Even more evident when I had seen him and Loren standing side by side that day of the festival, though I hadn’t pieced it together until a week ago upon hearing Emilia’s report.

Xander hadn’t lied to me, but he’d been deliberately misleading. His father wasn’t a nobleman.

It was the King.