Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 6

Father summoned me to the east parlor as soon as I arrived. Madam Catherine, his bride-to-be, blended into the room’s pastel palette, looking as if she’d been painted in watercolor with her near translucent skin and pale pink gown. Her blue eyes were narrow but observant, and her tight blonde bun streaked liberally with white. The widow of a wealthy trader, she had become even wealthier after taking over her husband’s business upon his death. She was rich in pocket but not in status, and her marriage to my father was meant to correct that shortcoming. Father, for his part, had never been one to pass up a chance to augment the family fortune. But it was Catherine’s daughter whom he was now introducing.

Letty curtsied low and peeped at me from beneath a lush fringe of lashes. Despite our similar age, she had already blossomed into her full beauty. I felt immediately self-conscious of my unwashed hair and drab brown travel frock with sweat stains forming under the arms, a consequence of having been trapped in an enclosed carriage on a warm day.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you!” Letty said. “Your—I mean, our father speaks of you so often that I feel as if we’re already bosom friends. He says that you’re very clever. Is it true that you’re to marry the Prince?”

I arched a brow over the unlikely image of Father waxing poetic about my many virtues. Still, I appreciated her effort to compliment me. Letty was as compassionate as she was dishonest. Even as she’d helped arranged my murders, she’d never let a single unkind word pass her rosebud lips.

Once upon a time, I’d been overjoyed my father’s marriage meant gaining a new sister. Despite the pecuniary nature of our parents’ union, Letty and I had quickly become inseparable. With her sweet disposition and cherub features, she’d been everything I’d wanted in a little sister despite being two months my elder. Others saw me as prickly; she called me fierce. She may have gently chastised me for my sharp tongue, but she had done so with one hand covering an unwilling grin at my snarky observations. In return, I had made sure that no one took advantage of her generous nature. Once upon a time, I thought our friendship would last forever.

Until I realized she wanted me dead.

“It’s true that Prince Loren and I are engaged,” I said. “Whether or not we wed remains to be seen.”

Letty’s eyes, a captivating hue somewhere between purple and blue, grew round.

Father rolled his. “Don’t make such ridiculous japes, Vitrula.”

I shrugged, concealing my anxiety behind an apathetic facade. Once I controlled Verdan, anyone I suspected of plotting against me would be banished. Including Letty. For now, however, it was best not to give my new step-sister any reason to become intrigued by my fiancé.

“I hope you’ve found Rhys Manor to your liking, Madam Catherine,” I said to redirect the conversation. “Has Father familiarized you with our family holdings? The tenants should meet their new duchess.”

Catherine’s pale brows almost disappeared into her hairline. “You’re right,” she said to my father. “She’s quite precocious.” She smiled at me indulgently. “Don’t worry, dear child, I’ll become knowledgeable about everything in due time. And please, do call me Mother!”

“Ah.” Despite having met Catherine in seven other past lives, I never became accustomed to this request. My own mother may not have been the embodiment of maternal warmth, but something in my gut rebelled at the prospect of calling another by her title. “I’ll try to remember.”

She embraced me in a haze of lavender perfume that made my throat itch. “Such a serious child,” she said upon releasing me from her cloying hold. “Losing a mother forces one to grow up far too quickly. Letticia has been more concerned with what color her dress will be for the wedding ceremony than expressing any interest in helping to run our family business.”

She frowned at her daughter. “You would do well to be as diligent as Vitrula.”

Letty flushed and became suddenly engrossed with the weave of the carpet. My protective instincts stirred before I could remind myself of the million reasons why she wasn’t worth defending. “Your dress is absolutely beautiful,” I told her. “Did you stitch the garlands around its hem by yourself?”

Letty dragged her gaze upwards and smiled at me appreciatively. “You noticed! Several spools of thread were crushed in one of our shipments and I begged Ma—Mother to let me keep them instead of sending them back. We didn’t have a garden at our last house, not like here, but I adore flowers and thought it would be nice to at least wear them.” She flushed as if embarrassed by her own enthusiasm and added, “Mother believes embroidery a waste of time.”

I privately agreed but, confronted by Letty’s shy smile, couldn’t bring myself to vocalize the opinion. Letty had always adored sewing, even if the hobby wasn’t considered to be precisely ladylike. That’s what seamstresses were employed for, after all. Noblewomen at Bellcrest Court were expected to spend their time practicing archery or writing poems, not stitching pillowcases.

“You’re very talented,” I said.

Letty grasped my hands and squeezed. Her violet eyes met mine, luminous as they reflected light from the glowstone lamp nearby.

“I’m so thankful that we’re to be sisters,” she said. “I just know we shall be the best of friends.”

*****

“Mama, are you certain I can’t help?” offered Letty. “Such long lace at your sleeves is sure to tear. If we were to trim some off, I would have enough left over to edge your train.”

I repressed a sigh, knowing Letty’s suggestion would lead to yet another lecture from her mother. I didn’t want to trapped in Catherine’s dressing room, and wanted even less to be one of the handmaidens tasked with escorting the bride to our estate’s chapel. Not with Letty walking aside me. But several servants had already come asking for reassurances that their families’ rents wouldn’t be raised once the new Duchess of Kothe took over my responsibilities. As I couldn’t show them the section of my death diary that described the Catherine as an unexpectedly generous leader, my show of support was necessary to set people at ease.

The multi-tiered skirt of Catherine’s wedding dress was so voluminous that its waves of silk flooded the entire dressing room. Letty and I were forced to stand with our backs pressed up against the wall so as not to crush its bustle. The watery blue washed out Catherine’s complexion even more so than usual, and the sleeves completely covered her hands beneath a waterfall of cream lace. The style was traditional to Kothe, and my own mother had worn a similar gown twenty years ago. Nostalgia did not, alas, make the end result any less of an eyesore.

I disagreed with Letty’s proposed alteration, however, since the sleeves’ length successfully obscured the oathring on Catherine’s thumb that Father had given her. As was customary, the bride had designed the ring herself. The center pink diamond was size of a sun coin, the largest and ironically least valuable of Anterdon’s currency that Kothens used as well due to our shared border. Smaller cuts of the same stone embedded the band. Catherine’s ring was the most ostentatious thing I’d ever seen, and I’d lived the past year in a castle. Tradition dictated that both couple’s oathrings were buried with whichever spouse died first, symbolically leaving the other free to pursue a new love. If Catherine’s last oathring had been of similar design, I pitied her departed husband his funeral goods.

“The dress design doesn’t matter,” lectured Catherine. “Only what it represents. At noon, we join one of the most powerful families in Verdan. Every detail of this ceremony must demonstrate my dedication to upholding that ancestral responsibility.”

“Our tenets will be glad to see you honoring Kothe’s customs,” I lied. In truth, most cared more about her reputation for ruthless business dealings than the shape of her hemline.

Catherine smiled briefly at my flattery before frowning at her daughter. “Really, Letticia, sometimes I wonder how I raised such a hollow-headed child. You concern yourself overmuch with what’s fashionable and not enough with what’s important. Vitrula doesn’t even wear jewelry.”

Others failed to realize that the austerity of my garb had more to do with self-preservation than preference. No false witness would ever again identify me by a bauble or claim to recognize my sense of style in a dimly lit room. Instead, my wardrobe blandly mimicked whatever was currently in vogue at Bellcrest Court. Emilia had bemoaned my remarkably unremarkable fashion sense on more than one occasion.

Still, I recognized Catherine’s intent. She meant to hold me up as an example for Letty, who (per her norm) withered under the criticism. My new stepsister’s shoulders hunched forwards as if attempting to vanish inwards, and her small nose began its rabbit-like twitch that meant she was struggling not to cry. I felt a surge of unwilling sympathy—it was difficult to fight against my own emotional habits. Especially with this Letty, who hadn’t yet met Loren.

“Did you notice how Letty tied the bouquets decorating the chapel?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Her use of black and blue ribbons on the goldenblooms was quite cunning—I never would have thought to tie in Rhys colors in such a way. She also recommended that Cook serve Kothen pastries for the wedding breakfast this morning.”

Letty cast me a grateful look. “I thought guests might like to try some of the local fare.”

“She’s being too modest,” I said. “Goodman Hesser approached me afterwards and expressed interest in buying wheat exclusively from Kothe’s granaries, provided Cook is willing to share some of her recipes to sell at his bakeries in Bellcrest.”

“I’ve been trying to convince that old goat to let me be his sole supplier for years,” marveled Catherine. “Well done, Vitrula!”

I shrugged apologetically at Letty. I tried.

Letty’s lips curved in a half smile. I know.

Catherine’s head swiveled between us. A crinkle formed above her nose as she tried to discern the reason behind our quiet amusement, but a lifetime as a merchant had trained her to be more observant than self-aware. She must have eventually dismissed our inexplicable giggles as the vagaries of youth, because she smiled. I doubt her mood would have been as benevolent had she realized the nature of our joke.

“You two were meant to be sisters,” she said. “This marriage must be fate.”

Her words immediately reminded me of all the reasons why it was unwise to grow closer to my future stepsister. Perhaps it was fated that Letty and I become sisters—it had happened seven times so far. But fate, as I had discovered again and again, was more sadistic than kind.

Our procession from Catherine’s chambers was silent. Traditionally, the walk from home to church was meant to be undertaken by the bride alone, so as to give her an opportunity to flee from an arranged marriage: to be married unwillingly by a priest of Sen was considered sacrilege. Catherine, however, had decided that Letty and I should accompany her in order to present a united front to the tenets. She marched towards the chapel with the resolve of a doll-sized army general. Despite my height advantage, I had to hasten my own pace to keep up with her.

Once we entered the chapel, Letty sat next to me on the front bench, her knees pressed primly together. She did her best to ignore the admiring gazes of the townsfolk behind us. “Is she a princess?” I overheard a little girl ask.

No, I wanted to reply. Not if I can prevent it.

Catherine continued onwards to the nave, where a gap in the ceiling allowed Sen’s light to shine through and where my father awaited beneath an arched trellis of goldenbloom. He was already glaring at the priest, who seemed to be suffering from an allergy to the bouquets Letty had so artfully arranged. His muffled recital of our parents’ marriage pledge was near impossible to understand, and culminated with a ginormous sneeze during his invocation of the Triad.

By time the priest concluded, Father’s face was white from clenching his teeth and Catherine’s sagging shoulders made it clear she regretted wearing a dress that weighed approximately the same as a bushel of wheat. The look they shared when finally pronounced husband and wife was less of true love and more one of mutual relief.

My placid expression didn’t break until we exited the church and I saw my brother.

“Theo!” I rushed to embrace him as he alighted from his carriage. “I didn’t think you could come!”

Theo’s hug lifted me off the ground. “We hadn’t planned on it,” he said. “Then several others at the embassy decided to travel with the Anterdonian envoy to visit family in Bellcrest, and we figured we might as well tag along for half the trip. I’d hoped to arrive before the wedding.”

“Be glad you didn’t.” My brother wouldn’t have survived the priest’s sniffling soliloquy without creating some mischief.

He laughed. The familiar sound washed over me and I permitted myself to smile, to really smile, for the first time since I had arrived back home.

Whereas I had moved to Bellcrest, Theo had spent the past year living with our uncle in Anterdon. Since Kothe bordered the country, our uncle had insisted it was important for its future Duke to gain firsthand knowledge of his neighbor. I assumed that Uncle Alistair was the robust figure currently struggling to squeeze himself out of the carriage.

“You’ve never come back before,” I blurted, by which I meant he hadn’t been present any of the other times Father and Catherine had wed in my past lives. Theo always stayed abroad for years (excepting the time he’d once returned to accidentally shoot me). With few exceptions, his first introduction Catherine and Letty would have probably been at my many funerals.

He ruffled my hair, though my tightly coiled braid mostly foiled his attempt at dishevelment. “Did you miss me?”

Uncle Alastair finally wedged himself out of the carriage. He was a bear of a man with ruddy cheeks and matching copper curls. Father greeted him with uncharacteristic warmth. They clasped hands; my father’s looked skeletal compared to the other’s massive paw.  “Alastair! You managed to miss the tedious formalities as usual,” said Father. “Allow me introduce my bride, Duchess Catherine.”

My uncle’s embrace lifted the new duchess slightly off the ground.

“I’ve met traders who’ve done business with you. They say you’re merciless,” he said once he’d deposited Catherine back on her feet. “My sister would’ve liked you.”

She gaped at the large man. Before she could formulate a response, he pivoted away and approached me.

“Truly, you must be Tru!” he boomed. “I’d recognize those eyebrows anywhere!” He poked my forehead with a meaty finger. “So stern, little turtle! I can see your mother glaring at me through those gray eyes.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace even more enthusiastic than the one he had given the new duchess.

I patted his back tentatively, my arms barely able to reach around his broad frame. The demonstration of affection felt strange but oddly comforting. I’d always considered Theo to be an abnormality in our family, warm and gregarious whereas Father and I were both reserved. Now, I realized where my brother had inherited his personality.

Uncle Alistair released me and stepped back, holding me at arm’s length and looking me up and down. “You really are the mirror image of her,” he said. “Julius, your letters never mentioned how uncanny the resemblance!”

My father chuckled. It was an unnerving sound, being entirely devoid of irony or malice. “Vitrula does look more like Marianne every passing day. Small wonder the Prince is eager to wed such a beauty!”

Considering Letty was standing less than six paces away for comparison, I grimaced at the false flattery. Then again, Father seemed half-genuine. Crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes that I had never seen before and his voice lacked its customary sarcastic undertone.

“Theodorus, your unexpected arrival is a delight!” said Catherine. She had recomposed herself from Alistair’s assault, and her lips compressed with determination to regain control of the situation. “Very unexpected. But I’m so glad to meet you.”

Theo’s smile widened: he’d noticed the rebuke in her repetition. Shame, however, was no more than an academic theory to my brother. He loped up to Catherine until he was close enough that she grew visibly nervous that he might share our uncle’s lack of propriety. But Theo left just enough space between them to dip in a perfectly executed bow.

“I see that Sen has blessed my father with a beautiful bride,” he said, “and I with a lovely mother.”

Catherine’s shoulders softened at the compliment. My father harrumphed. “Stop flirting with my wife, boy, and meet your new sister.”

Letty was hesitating near the chapel doorway, too timid to interject herself into the reunion. Theo strolled up to her with an easy smile on his face. His eyes widened fractionally upon observing her up close, but he managed to sweep another flawless bow.

“Welcome to the family,” he said. “Tru hasn’t been giving you too much trouble, I hope.”

“Oh, no!” Letty’s voice was uncharacteristically loud. “She’s been perfect.”

My brother arched a single black brow my direction. “High praise indeed, Tru.” He took Letty’s hand and pressed a slow kiss onto its back. “May I prove equally as deserving of your regard.”

Catherine eyed her new stepson warily. Smart woman. Theo had always been an indiscriminate flirt, and judging by the glazed grin on Letty’s face, the girl was already half besotted. They did make a picturesque pair. Whereas Letty and Loren were similar in coloring, Theo was her striking opposite. His features, like mine, were sharp where hers were soft, and the short queue at his nape as dark as her curls were fair.

The new development of their meeting made me nervous. I wasn’t able to remember everything about my past lives, but I felt certain such a scene had never happened before. What had I inadvertently changed that had resulted in Theo’s visit? Given her involvement in my deaths, Letty’s interest in my brother chilled me to the bone.

Now, I had to protect Theo as well.