Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 3

“Consequence?” My voice emerged an embarrassingly high squeak. Did Lady Delphine know about my constant rebirths? Magic was certainly involved. If anyone could discover the secret behind my cycle of deaths, it would be the Court Sorceress. And if she knew why I kept repeating my life, perhaps she could help me prevent the current one from ending.

“A consequence of what, precisely?” I repeated.

“Why, of growing older, of course.” Lady Delphine sounded amused by my obvious discomposure. “Maturity sits awkwardly for most at first. Although I’ve personally been impressed with how well you handle yourself.” She arched a sleek auburn brow. “I overheard your conversation with your father earlier. Quite the adroit bit of negotiation.”

My shoulders ached to droop in disappointment but I forced my posture ridged. “I get scolded quite frequently for being too willful.”

“Welcome to womanhood,” she said wryly. “You’ll find such scoldings become ever more frequent.”

“Lovely.” Unbeknownst to her, I’d learned that lesson seven times over.

Lady Delphine’s red lips curved into an almost-smile. She waved a languid hand towards the crowded ballroom, catlike in her grace and self-satisfaction. I suppressed a pang of envy as the jewels of numerous rings sparkled with her gesture. Jewelry, like love, was an indulgence I’d been forced to sacrifice on the altar of self-preservation.

“Even as we speak, they try to read our lips so as to judge and condemn what we may be plotting,” she said. “Power, Lady Vitrula, is as dangerous as it is intoxicating."

“Power is only intoxicating if you haven’t tasted its repercussions,” I murmured.

“Such wisdom for one so young!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I suspect you could become very powerful indeed.” Her shrewd green eyes narrowed, again giving me the unnerving sensation that Lady Delphine possessed some unacknowledged insight into my situation.

The prospect simultaneously uplifted and terrified me. I shifted my weight to my left leg, so that the desk key dug even further into the bottom of my foot. The discomfort forced me to recall the devastating fallout of the last time anyone else had learned of my condition. Some horrors, not even the deletion of time could erase. As much as I craved answers, my caution had to trump curiosity. At least until I learned more about the enigmatic sorceress and whatever cryptic mind games she might be playing.

I gritted my teeth but kept my tone mild. “Loath though I am to disappoint, my lady, I fear you overestimate me.”

She laughed, a crystalline burble that should have been charming but somehow rang hollow. “So jaded already! But then again, you are now old enough to be betrothed.” Her smile faded and her stare grew even more hawkish. “Rumor is your mother possessed a similar practicality. His Majesty speaks fondly of her to this day. Her passing must have felt overwhelming, given you assumed most her responsibilities.”

“I oversee our staff and occasionally assist my father with entertaining his guests,” I said, “but do not believe that my actions worthy of note.”

The sorceress rolled her eyes. “Humility is such a tiresome trait. Your reputation and rank give you options that other young ladies aren’t as fortunate to possess.”

She paused and took a fork and plate from the refreshment table. The attendant’s hand on the knife trembled as he cut her a slice of cake. Even more so than the rest of Verdan, the people of Kothe distrusted mages, even those licensed by Royal Writ.

“You must embrace your fate, or you shall be consumed by it.” She took a bite of cake, her tongue darting out to lick icing from the corner of her mouth. “Delicious.”

I swallowed back a wave of nausea as my stomach cramped at the recollection of being poisoned. At least the guillotine had been quick.

“Thank you for your advice, my lady. I’ll take your words under consideration.” My statement was a mannered platitude drilled into me by a long line of governesses since birth. From Lady Delphine’s mocking grin, she was well aware the format.

“I hope you do.” For the first time, she sounded sincere. “I’ll remain in Kothe until Prince Loren concludes his business in your province.” Her smirk deepened. We both knew Loren had only made the two-week journey from the capital in order to propose.

“I hope my family’s hospitality has been adequate,” I responded automatically. My mind was already half-engaged brainstorming a list of potential people to interrogate in order to learn more about the sorceress. Theo, perhaps, though he was more likely to make up some rubbish fantasy than be a reliable source of information.

“It’s been a delight. Right now, however, I believe my esteemed host would prefer to converse with you privately.” She inclined her head towards my father, who was stalking towards us with a peevish expression. Bending down slightly, she whispered in my ear, “Should you wish to take control of your life, meet me in the rose garden at sunrise tomorrow.”

With that final utterance, she pivoted away, leaving the lingering scent of cinnamon in her wake. My father promptly encaged me between himself and the refreshment table after her departure.

“Daughter!” His voice was bright yet sharp, and his gray eyes glared above his politely curved lips. “It’s your own birthday ball, yet you are one of the few people not dancing! Let us find you a suitable partner.”

I sighed and took his arm. Ready or not, it was time to face Loren.

*****

“Any other steed would’ve balked, I tell you! But Dragon never faltered—he comes from Argyl’s stables, you know—and he leapt right across the river. A lesser rider would’ve been thrown, no doubt, but I . . .” Loren caught sight of my father, and his voice trailed off in the middle of regaling a group of young lords with an embellished account of his latest fox hunt.

He pushed himself off the wall he had been slouching against and nodded stiffly. “Duke Rhys. I’m honored by your invitation this evening. I presume this is your lovely daughter?” His voice was higher and scratchier than I remembered, given that he was now three years younger than when last we’d met.

Father bowed deeply, side-eyeing me to make sure my curtsy passed muster. “Your Highness, the honor is mine. Allow me to present my daughter, Vitrula.”

“Lady Vitrula.” Loren perfunctorily raised my hand to his lips with a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you.”

His greeting confirmed once more that, had his father not deemed me a suitable bride, Loren would never have noticed my existence. We’d already met last year when I’d made my debut at Bellcrest, albeit for no more than a minute. That minute had been one of many to Loren, just as I had been but one of the many faceless young noblewomen to whom he’d been introduced. Nothing about me stood out: I was neither exceptionally plain nor exceptionally pretty, and at thirteen had been too awestruck by his mere presence to utter a single word.

However, my father’s duchy controlled Kothe, the northernmost (and more importantly, wealthiest) of Verdan’s twelve provinces. A century past, Kothe had led the entire northern half of Verdan in a failed rebellion against the Crown. To this day, ties between our province and the capital of Bellcrest remained fraught. Loren’s marriage to the most eligible lady in the region (which was to say, me) would go a long way towards strengthening the Tivall family’s control over the rest of the north.

What I lacked in beauty, I made up for in bloodline.

“Your Highness.” I curtsied again, taking advantage of my head’s dip to train my expression into one of manufactured delight.

“Congratulations on your birthday,” he said.

“Being born is not a particularly impressive feat but I’ll accept your praise nonetheless, Your Highness.” Hopefully, my attempt at levity would distract him from the quiver in my voice.

Loren’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Unless—” He realized that his friends were laughing, and the crease between his blue eyes smoothed. “Oh, you’re joking! Most ladies don’t have a sense of humor, so I was taken aback.”

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. Loren was handsome, charming, and known for his prowess with both steed and sword. But he had never been the quickest wit. King Eldin would need to appoint clever advisors to guide his son after he ascended to the throne. As Loren’s intended, I’d dedicated countless hours studying politics in order to provide good council, only for death after death to prove how little he valued my presence.

My father gave Loren a meaningful look. The Prince complied with the unspoken request—he knew what was expected as well as I did.

“Lady Vitrula, may I have the pleasure of this next dance?” he asked politely.

“Of course, Your Highness,” I replied politely.

It was all very polite.

I wanted to scream. How could you order me killed? Did you not trust me even the slightest? Could you not have loved me but a little? How many times must I die because of you?

Instead, I smiled (politely) and placed my hands on his broad shoulders. Loren would most likely be the death of me, but he was an excellent dancer.

The dance required that our bodies press together, breaking apart only to allow others through in an intricately coordinated weave of couples. Despite our proximity, the tingle of breathless awareness I’d once experienced in Loren’s presence had long vanished. Instead, I noted the few spots marring his handsome features. Even princes were no match for puberty. It was fascinating, how much more I noticed about Loren now that I was no longer in love with him.

Once, I’d been convinced that Loren’s deep blue eyes reflected hidden depths. Nothing successfully kills infatuation, however, more than being killed. My feelings towards the love of my life had numbed to pessimistic disdain by death three. That life, I’d refused Loren’s proposal. Numerous ceramic statuettes had fallen victim to my father’s rage over my “selfish” and “irresponsible” behavior. Less than a year later, the Duke of Kothe and the leaders of the two other northern provinces declared their independence from Verdan. If his daughter foolishly refused the throne, he would seize one for himself.

Mine had not been the only death in that cycle.

The key in my slipper dug deeper into my foot with every turn, a painful reminder that I had yet to record my most recent death. Loren was content to waltz in silence, which was a blessing because one, I wasn’t ready to casually converse with someone who had so recently ordered me executed and two, it gave me time to strategize. If my past deaths had taught me anything, it was that the next three and a half years (give or take a season) would fly by with shocking speed.

Loren grinned down at me, no doubt interpreting my preoccupied stare for the enraptured idolatry to which he was accustomed. He either didn’t notice or deliberately ignored the whispers of the dancers swirling past. I had never been able to tell whether Loren was a master at masking his emotions or simply oblivious.

My second attempt to escape matrimony had been more deliberate than the first: I’d graciously stepped aside when Loren’s feelings for Letty became obvious, under the stipulation that Kothe and other northern provinces be granted increased autonomy and a tax reprieve on our lumber trade. The other northern nobles were thus appeased, had refused to humor my father’s vainglorious aspirations, and a bloody civil war was averted.

Everyone had been content (or, in the case of Father, resigned). Everyone except Theo, who’d idiotically challenged Loren to a duel in order to avenge my so-called honor. I’d been killed by my own brother’s misfired bullet.

Both incidents had led me to an irrefutable conclusion. If I wanted to break the continual cycle of deaths in which I was trapped, I needed to wed Loren. My family may have inadvertently caused my death twice, but it was the person behind the other five times that I needed to protect myself from. Once I became Queen (or at least, Crown Princess) the other, less coincidental, attempts on my life should stop as well—whoever was responsible for the majority of my deaths couldn’t avert what had already happened. Since their goal seemed to be preventing my union with Loren, my demise would cease to serve a purpose so long as I could survive until my wedding day. Furthermore, once crowned, I’d finally have enough resources to begin investigating how I continually went back in time instead of simply struggling to break free from the cycle.

All I had to do was figure out a way to not be murdered or framed for treason before my eighteenth birthday. But how?

Loren winced. I must have accidentally trod on his foot.

“Apologies, Your Highness.” I gazed up at him coyly through my lashes, though I suspected my harsh features made the expression more akin to a glower. “I fear that being close to someone so handsome makes me a bit nervous.”

Loren puffed out his chest at the compliment, his irritation forgotten as I knew it would be. “Your modesty is charming,” he said condescendingly. “I assure you it didn’t hurt at all.”

We traded a few more inanities before the chimbet players strummed the final note of the dance. As he escorted me back to my father, Loren asked the question that I’d once longed to hear but now dreaded. He’d been tutored on what to say, and his phrasing was identical each time.

“Lady Vitrula, I find myself completely taken with your grace and charming conversation. May I call upon you tomorrow? I shall bring a sprig of goldenblooms.”

Goldenblooms were considered sacred to Sen, the god of light who also oversaw harvests, families, and (though I cringed to think of it in association with Loren) fertility. They were the sole deity outside the Triad officially worshipped by the Crown, since to pray to the Silent Fourth was to pray for death. Sen’s priesthood had gained influence during the early reign of Loren’s grandparents, who had struggled to bear an heir. As a result, the gift of goldenblooms remained the traditional way for the nobility to declare matrimonial intentions. I’d been trained from birth to accept exactly such a courtship request.

“You will be warmly welcomed, and the blooms placed in sunlight,” I recited.

Courtly discourse allowed us to pretend that a visit was just a visit and that flowers were just flowers. Even when we both knew that we were no more than pedigreed goods in a royal business transaction.

Loren bowed, having received verbatim the answer he’d anticipated. “I shall call upon you this midweek,” he said, ostensibly to me but looking towards my father, who nodded in approval. Since etiquette prevented us from dancing twice in a row, Loren then left to find more friends with whom to share his foxhunt exploits.

Father beamed. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

I hummed noncommittally. Thankfully, with Loren’s courtship now guaranteed, Father was content to leave me alone. No doubt he went to boast about his daughter’s conquest to the rest of his guests. His foxhunt had been for a prince, and he’d trapped his prey.

Still, the waltz with Loren had proved unexpectedly productive, though not for the reason my father believed. It had given me time to figure out my next step.

I needed a way to defend myself. It wasn’t enough to try to remove Letty from the picture, especially when my last attempt had so spectacularly backfired. I needed to inspire fear, to make my ever-present murderer second guess their attacks on me. I lacked the coordination necessary for swordsmanship, and Theo’s accidental assassination had left me wary of pistols. Firearms only dated to after the Uprising, when magic had been functionally outlawed and people decided they needed an alternative method to kill each other. Pistols were bulky, noisy, and more prone to misfiring than not. I needed a subtler, more reliable arsenal, but one which would nevertheless make anyone cautious of confronting me.

I’d been executed for using magic. Perhaps it was time I learned.