Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 5

“Do not dare enter my study wearing those muddy boots, Your Majesty,” said Delphine. “King or not, this rug is new and I won’t have you ruining it.”

Not many people could get away with chiding a monarch. In the year since I had moved to Bellcrest, I’d realized just how much power Delphine actually wielded at Court. She was a sorceress, yes, but her personality was the true force.

King Eldin sheepishly stepped back at her stern warning. Once freed of his offending footwear, he left them in the hall and reentered the room. He eyed the fringed carpet warily before stepping around it.

“Each time I visit, it’s a different room,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “A new rug, and I’m certain the walls weren’t red last time. Do you grow tired of everything?”

His eyes locked with Delphine’s. After a moment’s hesitation, she conceded, “No. Not everything.”

The tacit intimacy between the two made me feel like a voyeur. I turned my back so as to give them some privacy, under the pretense of perusing Delphine’s laden bookshelf. She owned an extensive collection of colorfully-dyed, leather-bound books that lacked any semblance of order, yet she somehow always managed to immediately locate whichever tome she needed. I suspected magic. She swore that her bookshelves were organized, but if so, it was by a system no one but she could comprehend.

King Eldin often stopped by during my lessons, allegedly to check on my progress. He would spend a few minutes asking me about what I had learned that day, and I would pretend not to notice the way his and Delphine’s hands brushed against each other when they thought my attention diverted. Even if he was only using me as a pretense to see my instructor, I enjoyed conversing with His Majesty. He had a political cunning similar to that of my own father, with the caveat that he also possessed a soul and cared for the wellbeing of Verdan’s people over his own self-interest.

Although he’d also been complicit in several of my executions, I didn’t begrudge his role. Someone had consistently orchestrated it so that I’d appeared a threat to both his child and his kingdom, and he’d done what he’d believed necessary to protect both. Ironically, I might have respected King Eldin less had he overruled the Table of Law’s verdicts of guilt, even if his interference had saved my life. The Council existed for a reason, and a king who refused to abide by his own system of governance was no better than a tyrant.

King Eldin coughed, letting me know I could turn back around.

“What have you been learning today, Tru? Has Lady Delphine taught you how to calm a storm and level a mountain?” His tone was playful but conveyed genuine interest.

“Unfortunately, no, Your Majesty,” I said. “Though not from lack of pleading on my part.”

My lessons with Delphine remained frustratingly simple. I’d learned little beyond how to sense the magic woven between the spaces of things. Living things, like people and plants, teemed with it; things that were man-made, with the exception of ensorcelled objects such as glowstones, emitted hardly any magical energy at all. If I focused and ignored the resultant headache, I could see the blazing tendrils that emanated from Delphine, brighter by far than anyone else at Bellcrest. “Threads of potential,” she called them. To cast a spell, you needed to know which thread to pull and which incantation would pull it.

Delphine frowned at the King. “Stop encouraging her,” she chided. “Haste breeds mishap, and I have no desire to sweep the ashes of my apprentice off the floor.”

“After all,” deadpanned King Eldin, “it wouldn’t do to ruin the carpet.”

She snorted in apparent disgust but her lips curved upwards as she stalked past me towards the bookshelf. King Eldin winked at me behind her back.

“Now, I know you’ll be returning to Kothe for the next several weeks.” Delphine plucked a slim black volume off the shelf and handed it to me. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep up with our lessons.”

I glanced down at the book with its ominously long title: Twenty-Six Theories of Magical Manipulation by Vesper Firnum, with Additional Commentaries from Masters Haverse and Bree. I groaned, not bothering to conceal my dismay. More theory. Only a few weeks remained until I turned fifteen and, much to my loudly advertised chagrin, Delphine had yet to permit me to cast a single spell. I didn’t know when exactly my death would arrive, only that it always occurred sometime during my seventeenth year. At this rate, I’d be lucky if I learned enough sorcery by then to chase away a rat, let alone an assassin.

King Eldin misidentified the source of my displeasure. “It’s understandable that you feel apprehensive about meeting your new stepmother, but I’m sure Duke Rhys has chosen his duchess wisely.”

I suppressed a snort. Father’s new wife wasn’t the one I needed to worry about.

“You’ll need to finish packing for your departure tomorrow,” continued the King, “but Loren should be returning any moment from his hunt. Should you wish to bid him farewell.”

His expression was depressingly hopeful. It was still the early days of my betrothal to his son, before Letty arrived and it became obvious that true affection would never exist between us. Despite the practical motivation for our engagement, King Eldin wanted his son to find the kind of love he shared with Delphine. He’d learn such hopes were futile soon enough; I didn’t have the heart to prematurely enlighten him.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” I said. “I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

*****

“Vitrula!” Loren sounded surprised by my presence in the stables. His blonde hair was tousled in charming disarray, and his wide smile said his recent hunt had been successful. Not that he’d brought back whatever pheasant or deer his hawk had taken down; hunting was pure sport for Loren and his peers. I made a mental note to tell Emilia to have her brothers check the Tinwoods for the abandoned carcass later. If my maid’s three siblings had appetites at all comparable to Theo’s, her family would appreciate the extra meat.

Armond, ever Loren’s shadow, handed the reins of their horses to the awaiting olster before targeting me with his customary sneer. Our dislike for each other had been immediate, and my hatred had only amplified after learning of his behavior towards Emilia in my past life.

At least now she had my protection. No matter how deep Armond’s animosity towards me, he wouldn’t dare to assault someone under my direct employ. I’d convinced Steward Hamen to let Emilia be my lady’s maid, claiming that I wanted a companion close to my own age. I hadn’t directly mentioned Emilia, of course, but I’d dropped enough hints about the prestige and pay that came from serving a future princess that Hamen had made sure his daughter was the only candidate presented.

As was my habit, I glanced down at Armond’s wrists. One was covered by an elbow-high falconry glove, but his cufflink on the other was the usual bronze shield imprinted with his family’s oak insignia.

I possessed few clues as to the identity of Letty’s accomplice and my likely future murderer. A ruby clasp, torn from an assailant’s shirt right before he’d pushed me to my fifth death, was one. Most noblemen wore cufflinks engraved with their family crests—a subtle way of advertising their status to others at Court. One look at a lord’s sleeve, and you knew exactly how deeply to curtsy or bow and whether his family owed yours money (or vice versa, necessitating lower prostration). To flaunt a gemstone in place of an insignia could be interpreted as the ultimate boast: either my killer’s family was well-known enough to make self-identification redundant, or he possessed a fortune but not a title.

Neither theory fit Armond. He was the third-born of a minor baron with no expected inheritance, but his thinly veiled contempt and my rampant dislike of the leech made me reluctant to cross him off as a suspect. He had ample motive. Without an inheritance, his future hinged upon Loren’s continued favor. Having Letty, the replacement fiancée, in his debt would help secure that goal since I had proven unamenable. Still, some of the plots against me had been admirably complex. If Armond possessed mental agility enough to be their mastermind, he hid his brilliance well.

Armond jerked his head down in the bare minimum of required civility. “Lady Vitrula. How rare, to see you venture into sunlight.”

“Lord Delos. Alas, my duties keep me busy. How freeing it must be, to be born without obligations.” I smiled demurely, enjoying the way his narrow nostrils flared at my slight.

Despite his insinuation that I was a bookish shut-in, I longed for the day when I was able to go riding again. But between my duties as Loren’s betrothed, attending daily Council meetings, and my lessons with Delphine, I barely had enough time to sleep. I was too busy hosting tea parties in the mornings, studying governance in the afternoon, learning magic in the evening, and obsessing over my next death every night. My gaze lingered longingly on Loren’s horse, a black behemoth of sinew and speed with a lively tail and intelligent eyes, before I forced my attention to its owner.

“I leave for Kothe tomorrow, and wished to bid you farewell.” More accurately, his father had wished it.

“Your father’s wedding.” Loren nodded absently as he handed his hunting rifle to Armond. “Have you already decided upon the guestlist for your birthday? I’ll need it before you go.”

I had lifetimes of practice keeping my expression neutral around Loren, yet he still managed to test the limits of my skill.

“The journey to my father’s estate takes two weeks.”

Loren nodded again.

“As does the journey back.”

“I know how long the trip takes. I made it myself last year.” He released an aggravated puff of air from between his front teeth. Their marginal crookedness, and the resultant gap, was his only physical flaw since Delphine had concocted a cream to clear his skin over the summer. Once, I’d been enamored by this subtle imperfection. It was, I’d believed, indicative of our relationship. Everyone recognized that Loren was handsome, but surely only Ihad observed him closely enough to be charmed by his teeth. Seven deaths later, the slight whistle it produced when he sighed annoyed me to no end.

“My birthday is in three weeks,” I clarified.

Horror dawned on Loren’s face as he did the math and realized that I would not, in fact, be at Bellcrest on my fifteenth birthday.

“But I’ve spent the last month telling everyone what a grand bash it’ll be,” he protested. “If you’re not here, we can’t throw the party. Armond even hired a Fengali firebreather.”

“They rarely perform outside their temples,” said Armond, ever eager to heighten Loren’s resentment of me. “More importantly, the entire Court is already expecting you and His Highness to host together. Your absence will reflect poorly upon Prince Loren when he’s forced to cancel the celebrations.”

I glared at him before turning back to Loren with an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you’ll find a worthier cause to celebrate. The new ambassador from Anterdon is scheduled to arrive a few weeks from now—hosting a celebration in his honor might make him more inclined to agree with the Table of Trade’s new proposal.”

“I can’t have a Fengali firebreather at a welcome party for Anterdonians!” Loren sounded scandalized by the very notion.

His point was, I conceded, surprisingly sound. Tensions between Fengal and Anterdon had risen to a new high in the past year, and the firebreathers might easily be taken as a deliberate insult by the Anterdonian envoy. I felt almost proud that Loren had realized this on his own.

“Then hopefully Armond’s father can receive back his deposit.” I was unable to resist one final dig. Armond’s grimace confirmed that it landed. No doubt he’d leveraged Loren’s gratitude for his family’s covering of the expenditure, and would get grief for falling short his side of the bargain. “But at least you’ll still get to have your party, as well as prove to your father that you can take lead on diplomatic issues.”

Loren waved his hand dismissively. “The Council is in charge of welcoming foreign guests. This ball was supposed to demonstrate our strength as a couple to the Court.” His voice trailed off in a note of doubt. Since coming back from my latest death, I hadn’t exactly treated Loren with the same starry-eyed reverence that he no doubt expected and that I’d once felt. No one shared my memories, so my demeanor probably came across as unduly frosty. Had my attitude made it easier for people to condemn me for crimes I didn’t commit?

Still, I’d been sweet and subdued my first several lives and died anyway. I might as well speak my mind.

“There will be other birthday celebrations,” I reassured Loren. Hopefully, I would even get more than two.

“True!” Loren’s expression brightened. “I turn seventeen in three months. Father promised to buy me a new stallion from Gefjun’s stable. We’ll have to hold races.” He turned towards Armond, excited to begin planning.

And just like that, my fiancé forgot me once more.

******

I spent the first day of the carriage ride back to Kothe briefly flipping through the text that Delphine had given me, then poring over the one that I had stolen. I’d snuck into the sorceress’s study early that morning before my departure, knowing that she would be taking her customary walk in the palace gardens with the King. The lack of discernable order to her shelves, and my narrow time frame before Delphine returned, meant that I’d settled on grabbing the oldest-looking book I saw, with the logic that anything dated from before the Uprising would likely contain the most dangerous, and thus most useful, spells. Once in the carriage, Emilia had curled up on the seat across and instantly fallen asleep, leaving me free to read my contraband without the distraction of her usual chatter.

The purloined volume’s embossed title had long ago faded to an illegible golden smudge, but the writing within looked as if it had been freshly inked, likely preserved by magic. Each chapter gave concise instructions on how to cast a different spell. Given the simplistic language used and the abundance of diagrams, the book appeared to be a primer for children apprenticed to the old Sorcerers Guild.

When we arrived at our inn for that evening, I locked the door of my room. Trying to conjure a small flame only summoned a migraine and a few blisters. A few days later, my attempt at turning invisible left an unsightly rash across my chest that caused Emilia to shriek in horror and insist I take milk baths every night thereafter.

After two weeks of unsuccessful experimentation, I began to worry that Delphine had been wrong. What if I didn’t possess the ability to cast spells? Delphine claimed, before the Uprising, proctors from the Sorcerers Guild had gone from town to town testing schoolchildren for potential apprentices. Only one in ten of those tested had been able to sense magic, and only half of those were able to manipulate it. What if I were a member of the impotent percentage, able to look but not touch or control? If so, I had just wasted an entire year of my rapidly shortening lifespan studying a useless discipline. Better to have taken up fencing. My lack of dexterity could have been improved upon, whereas no records existed of anyone having ever overcome their natural inability to work magic.

Only one chapter remained in the book: a spell to slow an object’s velocity. My stomach growled, resenting my decision to skip dinner yet again. I ignored the hunger cramps and locked the door with the key I’d quietly requested from the innkeeper while Emilia had been distracted flirting with his brawny son. She’d be annoyed when she discovered that I’d locked her out of the room, but it was better than the tongue thrashing she would give me if she learned I was experimenting without Delphine’s supervision. Like most Verdans, she considered magic to be fundamentally wicked and dangerous.

I brought over a chair and tilted it beneath the handle so as to further bar entry to the room. The deeper north we traveled, the more hostile people would be to sorcery. My writ of permission from King Eldin would mean little in the face of an angry mob.

Having assured my solitude, I retrieved the book from the front of my dress. I’d tied it firmly to my middle using my bodice’s laces, causing Emilia to frown at my increased girth and comment that, as seamstresses were in short supply at roadway inns, it might be best if I reduced my portion of rations. At least it kept her from arguing my decision to constantly skip dinner.

A slowing spell wasn’t quite as useful as summoning a fireball or going unseen, but it was the only one remaining in the book that I hadn’t already tried and failed to cast. The chapter began with a disclaimer that many beginners struggled to master the spell because it involved controlling man-made materials, followed by an encouraging note from the author that sedulous students would nonetheless prove successful. The steps themselves were relatively simple.

1) Begin by tossing and catching a handball, to a height not surpassing the learner’s forehead, until a rhythmic pattern had been established.

I hadn’t packed a ball. Unphased by this first obstacle, I grabbed one of my dancing slippers from my trunk. It was light enough not to make much noise if I dropped it. Good enough. I threw it. Up, and catch. Up, and catch. Pattern established.

2) Focus on seeing the threads of motion rather than of life.

Unhelpfully vague. I scowled, but closed my eyes in order to better sense the energy around me. Transparent strings of potential drifted downwards with each fall of the ball (or rather, shoe), and floated upwards with its rise. I reopened one eye to read the final step.

3) Bind the energy around the handball, so that its motion is impeded by its desire to move.

No wonder students had struggled to master this spell—the author’s instructions were abysmal. My shoe didn’t have desires, it moved because I threw it. I shut my eyes again and envisioned tying the luminescent strands around my slipper, knotting them so tight that it could barely move, and spoke the incantation.

“Keyp.” I leaned backwards, just in case the shoe ignited or turned into a lizard at my whispered command. Though even that would be better than nothing at all.

The shoe froze mid-air.

No, it was still falling, but at a fraction of its original speed.

My slipper took almost an entire minute before landing on the floorboards with a muted thump, its decreased speed having lessened its impact. By the time I unlocked the door for Emilia and collapsed into bed exhausted, I had slowed its descent to two. The spell still wouldn’t save me from poison or the guillotine, but with practice it might halt an assassin’s blade or a bullet. Finally, I was making progress.

That night, for the first time in a year, I dreamed of something other than dying. My sense of victory lingered until the next morning, when I once again met Letty for the very first time.