Lady Death's Diary: The Fourth Death

From the Journal of Lady Vitrula Rhys

“Theo did what?”

I’d been unaware of my brother’s return from Anterdon until Letty came to me. She was barely able to gasp out her words due to have running all the way to the northeast tower from her (formerly my) quarters in castle.

“He challenged Loren . . . to a duel,” she managed to pant. “Because of the engagement.”

I unleased a stream of curses that drew knowledge from all three of my previous lives. Letty reddened, a combination of shock and affront visible on her face, but I felt too annoyed to care. I’d surrendered the Crown. My manners no longer mattered.

The danger was supposed to be over. Three years spent studying Verdan’s law, of becoming adept in navigating politically charged situations. All so I could play a direct role in negotiating the annulment of my own engagement and the subsequent betrothal between my fiancé and stepsister. Long reflection had led me to understand what had gone wrong my last life. Relations between Kothe and Bellcrest was like a boiling pot of water—the slightest increase in temperature and everything went bubbling over. In order to break my engagement, I had to turn off the stove.

I didn’t possess enough hubris to believe that my actions alone had caused the northern provinces to rebel. The so-called Mad Princess’s War had never been about me: it had been about over a century’s worth of resentment. So, after the guillotine had once again returned me to age fourteen, I’d insisted on accompanying Father to every meeting he had with nobles in Vintrid and Atlan, the provinces that had joined his rebellion. To better prepare me to rule, I’d claimed. Father had agreed, on the condition that I remain silent.

This arrangement suited me fine: I wasn’t there to speak. I wanted to listen.

Meeting after meeting, I heard the same complaints. Taxes were too high, trade was being stifled, imported bamboo from Fengal was hurting our lumber profits. I listened, and I remembered.

As soon as Loren’s wayward affection for my stepsister became noticeable, I went directly to King Eldin.

“Neither I nor your son will be happy if we wed,” I said, “and the northern nobility will be displeased if we don’t. I believe there’s a way to appease everyone while still allowing your son to marry who he wants.”

King Eldin had pressed back against parts of my proposal, and I was unable to get him to budge in regard to raising import fees on Fengali shipments or granting Kothe exclusive trade rights on luxury goods from Anterdon. His concessions to lower tariffs on exports and allow lords to broker independent trade agreements with their neighboring provinces, however, were enough to satisfy most malcontents. The engagement between Loren and I ended, with the only grumbling being from my father. I moved to our family quarters in the northeast tower. A month later, Letty took over my old rooms when Loren announced they would wed. Everyone was happy, or at least appeased.

Everyone, except my idiot brother and his misguided sense of honor. I didn’t need to be defended or protected. I needed my family to stay alive and out of my way.

I cursed again.

“Ready a carriage,” I ordered a servant.

Letty insisted on coming with me to the duel’s location. Everblue Field was a secluded grove just outside Bellcrest’s city limits, known for being perfect for trysts due to the dreamroot that bloomed year-round. It had also gained a reputation as the ideal staging grounds for illegal duels. Five lords had perished there in as many years, earning Everblue Field the significantly less romantic epithet of “Death’s Garden.”

I would not let my brother be the next victim.

We arrived just as the two men began taking their paces—each walking fifteen steps from Armond, who was serving as referee, in opposite directions.

Theo’s voice carried through the carriage window. “You can’t treat her this way. Being a prince doesn’t give you the right to trample over her wishes.”

Idiot, moron, dullard, halfwit, clod. My only wish was for both of us to survive. Too many people had died in my last life. I refused to let there be any more casualties. Especially not Theo.

I flung open the carriage door even as it still moved and half-stepped, half-tumbled out onto the field.

“Theo, stop!” I screamed. “Stop this right now.”

“Draw,” cried Armond at same time.

The sound of my voice caused Theo to swivel my direction. A loud crack echoed through the grove.

Theo hissed in pain as his shot backfired, scorching his hand in a shower of sparks that caused him to drop the smoking pistol.

“Damn it, Tru,” he exclaimed. “Why are you here?”

But I was already falling to the ground. Buds just beginning to bloom cushioned my body, their lives ending prematurely as stems snapped beneath my weight. I struggled to inhale over an unbearable pressure in my chest. Instead, I choked on blood.

The honeyed scent of dreamroot blossoms sweetened the metallic taste. I heard my brother yell my name, heard the carriage door slamming and Letty shriek.

At least Theo was safe. The jackass.