Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 6.5

From the Journal of Lady Vitrula Rhys: The Second Death

I blame my second death on my own naivete. After the initial shock of my first execution and being cast back to my fourteenth birthday, I came to the conclusion that my new chance was a blessing. Legends spoke of fairies hidden in the Amberleen Hills, the abandoned children of lesser gods, who doled out equal doses of mischief and aide to mortals who caught their eye. Surely, some good spirit had undoubtedly been moved by the injustice of my demise and chosen to intercede.

I wrote down an account of my past life in my diary, and happily proceeded on with my new one. As my memories began to fade, I became increasingly convinced that the whole affair had been nothing but a dream. A dream of a terrible misunderstanding. One could even say my imagined conviction had been my fault. If I’d been less reserved around Loren, he would have trusted me enough to believe my innocence. If he had known how much I cared for him, he wouldn’t have fallen for whatever lying hussy had obviously set me up. All I needed to do was make clear the depths of my devotion, and we would be married and live happily ever after.

I was an idiot back then.

Convinced that I could thwart my dire future (which had only been a dream, after all), I set about to completely change my personality. Gone was the girl of the past, who had awkwardly vacillated between being too quiet and overly blunt. Instead of spending my evenings discussing trade and foreign relations with King Eldin over private dinners, I threw extravagant galas. My dedication to the decadence of these events was near militaristic: no detail was too small or insignificant for me to agonize over. I stayed a step ahead of everyone else in terms of fashion—oddly enough, I suddenly seemed to be blessed with an eye for what would soon be in trend. Not due to memories of a past life, oh no. But I conceded that perhaps my dream had been slightly prophetic. I pored over my record of it, memorized every detail about Loren and his friends that I’d written. As a result, the most popular nobles coveted my invitations. I had influence and more friends than names I could remember.

Letty ruled the social scene besides me. I’d been too insecure to attempt to take over Bellcrest alone, and had begged for her to accompany me back to the castle as soon as we met instead of waiting until her debut the following year. Who better than my best friend to help me navigate all the social pitfalls of Court? Letty mesmerized people with her natural charisma, so long as she could escape her mother’s miasma of criticism. All I had to do was follow my stepsister’s example and act the same way she did in order to come across as tolerably charming. I could also rely on her to take over as hostess when the press of courtiers became too overwhelming and I needed to escape to the library in order to avoid asphyxiating under their affections.

Loren attended each and every party that I threw. Granted, we didn’t engage in soul-bearing conversations as I’d envisioned, but I could recite the pedigree of every steed in his stable. And I was almost certain he knew that my favorite color was purple. Our relationship, if not exactly what I’d once aspired, was at least better than the one I’d written about from a supposed past life.

Or so I thought up until guards forcibly escorted me into the throne room. This time, it was midafternoon instead of the dead of night. All four Councilors (Venuda, Timons, Hargraves, and Wrenly) were once again present, as dourly disapproving as they’d been in my suppressed recollection of what I now realized hadn’t been a dream at all. It had been a nightmare, one from which I’d never awoken. I had died, and my history was repeating.

King Eldin himself didn’t bother to attend. I hadn’t been particularly close with my future father-in-law over the past three years, choosing instead to focus my time and efforts on winning over his son.

Loren looked as handsome as ever and was thankfully unharmed. But I barely glanced at him before focusing on the girl standing at his side. Letty’s eyes were puffy, the skin above her upper lip chaffed. She clenched a crumpled linen handkerchief one hand; Loren held the other.

“I didn’t know,” she sobbed. “Oh, Tru, I swear I didn’t!”

Wrenly grimaced. He stood on the dais, next to the King’s vacant throne. “Your Highness, must the girl be present?”

Loren crossed his arms, using the action to cradle Letty’s hand against his chest, so that her hand nestled over his heart. “This girl will be your future queen,” he snapped. “She stays.”

“Letty, what is this about?” I tried to laugh but there was a lemon stuck in my throat. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Loren’s behavior. Letty knew I didn’t enjoy pranks but perhaps Loren had persuaded her it would be funny to pretend that they were in love. Because she would never, never betray me. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Letty began to cry harder. Knowing her, she wouldn’t be able to speak until the hiccups subsided. I looked at Loren, who had begun stroking her hair soothingly.

“What is this about?” I repeated.

Venuda waved a piece of parchment in my face. “How long have you been in league with the Anterdonians?”

“Were you intending to wait until His Highness ascended to the throne to commit regicide, or did you plan on disposing of King Eldin as well?” demanded Hargraves.

I snatched the paper from Venuda. A letter addressed to Theo, written in a hand eerily resembling my own, laid out a plot to have Anterdonian spies tamper with Loren’s saddle before a hunt so that he met with a fatal accident. The letter proceeded to list all the things that its writer planned on purchasing after becoming the widowed Queen of Verdan, from a new carriage to a throne carved out of a single block of sunstone.

“You must be jesting.” My voice shook with rage. “You’re accusing me of writing this twaddle? Its author is an imbecile. For one, Loren is an experienced enough horseman to notice if his gear were sabotaged. For another, a stone throne would be terribly uncomfortable.”

Timons’ chuckle was silenced by a glare from Venuda. “How surprisingly pragmatic coming from the lady who ordered the palace fountains run with wine. Unfortunately, this ‘twaddle’ was found in your personal chambers, upon your desk, by Lady Letticia.” He held up a stiffened square of parchment, its corners bright with inked color. An invite to one of my parties. I’d written the information, and Letty had drawn flowers around its edges.

“We have already confirmed that the penmanship as yours,” he said.

“I see.” I didn’t see. Didn’t want to. “Letty?”

“I didn’t-hic-know,” she half-wailed, half-hiccupped. “But you-hic-said that Loren—”

“Letticia was concerned by opinions you shared with her regarding my supposed inability to govern,” interrupted Loren smoothly. “When she found this letter, she feared that you’d deemed yourself better suited to the task. She came to me, as was her duty as a loyal citizen of Verdan.”

I glared at their joined hands and didn’t bother to soften the snarl in my voice. “Yes, I can see how deeply that loyalty runs.”

Loren stiffened, and his knuckles whitened around Letty’s hand.

“Such a precedent cannot go unpunished,” said Timons, “lest other Northerners come to believe they too can defy the royal family.”

A cold prickle of déjà vu ran down my neck at his words.

“His Highness recommended we grant you clemency, in light of your past relationship,” said Wrenly. “Per his wishes, we shall be merciful.”

He cleared his throat with a phlegmy gurgle before delivering the final nail on my (literal) future coffin. “Vitrula Marianne Rhys, you are hereby stripped of your former title and rank, and exiled from Verdan. You have five days to depart the realm, after which you will be condemned to fullest extent of the King’s law for the crime of treason.”

During my journey to Anterdon, where I planned to seek refuge with my uncle, I came to a harsh yet inescapable realization. Letty had forged the letter to steal Loren. My last life had ended due to her false testimony as well—no one else could have been the woman in Loren’s bed. I didn’t know who had worn my ring and attacked Loren, but they and Letty had worked together. If Letty had fooled me into believing she cared, how many other of my so-called “friends” had hidden their twisted intentions behind smiles and flattery? When I’d left the castle in disgrace, none of the people who’d once attended my parties had come to wish me farewell.

I had always been alone. I just hadn’t realized it.

I was so preoccupied pitying myself that I didn’t even notice the carriage had stopped until the door flew open. The driver’s shout of protest was cut off by a muffled thud.

The man who had opened the carriage door leered at me. His hair fell in greasy clumps over mean eyes. My gut clenched in palpable fear.

“You’re a pretty treasure,” he cooed.

“Good evening, sir.” Years of keeping my emotions concealed at Court paid off. “I hope you haven’t harmed Horten. He’s an excellent driver.”

The man laughed and spoke to someone behind him. “You hear that? Our treasure’s a funny one.” His smile flattened, and he pointed a pistol at my chest. “Shame we can’t keep you. But someone is willing to pay a king’s ransom on your life.”

“If it’s money you’re after,” I said, “know that my uncle is quite wealthy and will be willing to pay handsomely for my safe return.”

He had the audacity to look offended by my offer. “Now, see here. It’s bad business to double deal. I have ethni—ethis—”

“Ethics?” I suggested.

He nodded eagerly. “I’ve ethics. Nothing personal, Treasure, but it’s the job.”

Of all the highwaymen potentially hired to assassinate me, I would be so unfortunate as to get the one who considered himself an honest business bandit. My mind raced to consider the various avenues available. I had no weapon, no money, and, under the pistol’s unwavering barrel, no way of escaping the carriage.

I opened my mouth to beg for mercy.

He fired.