As the letters went on the news only grew worse. Most were reports of the illness that had found Elizabeth, named differently in each area but always with similar symptoms. It was spreading, as doctor Hervé had warned, and was heading north. It would only be a matter of time before it found its way into the other duchies (though if Lizzy had caught it while at the castle, it may already be there). People were dying, so far in isolated areas, but villages became towns and then cities. One hurried note from a frightened maior was about a man whose grave was robbed after the illness had killed him, and the body had been taken. People were already beginning to panic.
The last plague had been almost twenty years ago and with a sinking feeling Pierre realized another might come soon. As good as the doctors and healers of Clandestina were, the spirits were not well controlled with only one ker and a handful of her chosen, and so once in a while chaos broke free. Whether Mora allowed these to happen because she, in her essence, was a spirit of pain, or if she alone could not do enough to control them was not something he knew.
And he could not ask because she still refused him.
The last of the newest letters was from doctor Hervé himself and thankfully held good news. He confirmed at least that some of his patients were surviving. He had asked blancmagi to stay by the sides of the afflicted and that, in addition to the medicines, met with success. The springtime helped as well.
Pierre replied his thanks first to Hervé, and then to the comtes, before beginning a pleasant letter to his uncle. He would write Aimé after he finished speaking with his advisors and ask what the prince knew and thought of this illness.
Vivien entered the room just as Pierre placed Ophion’s letter aside to dry, yet another letter in the steward’s hand. “This arrived a moment ago for you, Your Grace. I thought it best to bring it to you right away.”
“Thank you. And please, stay, I have questions. Allow me to read this and then we shall talk.” He would involve the two heirs after conferring with his steward.
The new letter was sealed with the county of Eichel’s insignia, though it was slightly altered. The seal a variation of the comte’s that he guessed meant was the heir’s, though Piers had never used it before. He hoped this did not mean more bad news. He broke the seal and began to read.
My dear friend, Pierre!
You had to do one better than I, didn’t you? I take my exams a semester early and you finish with a year to spare. And now you have taken my sister away for the summer?
I must, as is custom, warn you to treat her well and with the dignity befitting both your own and her station, or else I shall visit my wrath upon you! (And I wish you both my best as well, as I had hoped this would be the outcome when she took my place at your party).
In regards to that forgive me for not contacting you earlier. As I hope you know my darling wife has given me a son, and my days have been filled with work and joy.
Father says I cannot stall any longer and will be giving me the reins to the county soon. If only I had made a deal such as you with the dear prince. But even so, I am past my majority, and while father is not old, he wishes to retire.
Perhaps I can manage a visit to your lands before this happens?
Piers Francisque, To-Be Comte d’Eichel
By the end Pierre was grinning. He would write a reply later, giving Piers and his family an open invitation to whenever they wished to come along, and hoped it would be soon. He was beginning to know many new people here, but a familiar face—family—would help. He did not know how he would be coping without Elizabeth.
“Good news?” Vivien asked.
“Yes, a nice letter from family. Helpful, because the others did not hold such good things. What do you know of this illness?” He pulled out the opened letters that he knew Vivien had already read. “You are aware that Elizabeth suffered from it on the way here. Some call it consumption, others phthisis, but the common symptoms are all the same.”
“She seems fine, if a little underweight; I am glad she is well. I had not known it was survivable before now.”
He picked out Hervé’s letter and handed it to Vivien. “Blancræft and certain medicines keep the person alive long enough that it passes. It is not a cure, per say, but far better than nothing.”
“I fear that you already seem to know more than I, then. It has been reported in the south, starting near the border in autumntime and moving north as the seasons changed. I have not heard much as of late, and if this is correct, it is springtime that brings the aid. Perhaps by summer it shall eradicate itself?”
“I hope to try and find a better cure. There is no guarantee that it will end itself and it is spreading. What happens when autumn returns and it still lives but more widely?”
“I will inquire as to which doctors have the most knowledge of this and arrange a meeting with you. Along with those I know who practice blancræft. I do believe there is a letter in there already inviting you to see the local hospital soon.”
“Good, thank you. Have Tibault and Jourdain return so we may finish this meeting and I can write the summary to lord Elwin.”
***
“Before you go, I wish to show you something,” Pierre said to Wolfram. They had met and discussed Salome’s oncos after the meeting with the advisors. They concluded if she was brought back to life it was likely she would be healthy, or it could be made that way with a bit of skill because the tumors would be long dead and easier to deal with than while she had been alive. It also might be that the ritual of a familiar could override the illness if it would have otherwise returned.
“There are those who worry about you and Salome,” Pierre continued, passing Wolfram the letters he had saved. “Comte Bellotas has sent a message to keep him informed of your and her progress and health, mentioning specifically that the comtesse as well as his daughter, Viola, worry. Mind telling me why the family has such an interest?”
Wolfram for his part seemed uncomfortable. He glanced through the letters before folding them neatly and stuffing them into his own pocket. Suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands he put them into his trouser pockets and looked off to the side.
“We lived just fine together on the streets when we were younger,” he began. “Me and my brother, that is. Father died when we were too young to remember, and mother when we were about eight. After that it was an orphanage and then the streets when we did not like the caretakers there. So I am not used to having guardians and people looking after me, you see. We looked after each other and that is it. But lady Viola, the comte’s daughter, became our friend two years back. She opened her home to us. We actually managed to live there in secret for a month before anyone else was aware.” He grinned at the memory and his shoulders relaxed as he told the story.
“She fell in love with my brother and he with her. I believe they are betrothed officially right now, until they can wed in a few years. Since then the comte has become as a father to us, allowing us to stay with him openly, giving us clothes, educating us. Then I met Salome, and shortly after she became ill so I left with her to go find Ophion.”
“Ah.” It would have perhaps been a better idea for him to have known this before taking the boy, but it was not a matter that could not be resolved. Lord Aldefonse was of Piques, from Bladeren (the younger brother to comte Hadrien) as well as a doctor. He had in fact taught a class one semester that Pierre had taken and so they knew each other in passing. He would write him a letter and explain the situation and the hopes that everything would be well soon.
“Could Lord Aldefonse not have helped Salome?” Pierre asked.
“He tried. He even wrote to Lord Ophion. But before a reply came I… took her and left in the night. I don’t know why, exactly, but I felt that I had to leave and find him instead of him coming to us. Or maybe I felt uncomfortable there. Somehow Brother liked it and I far preferred…” He trailed off, looking down at his shoes.
“Did anything displease you at the comte’s?”
�
��Non, not at all! I was happy. I just preferred being alone, or at least not so looked after. Lady Suzanne wanted to foster us even. Wulfric liked the notion and I… did not. So I left with Salome. I found Ophion, and he took me in as his ward, but he left me alone more often than not. I preferred that. Being a student rather than a son. And you, you helped me, and also leave me be unless I want to help you.”
This was the most the boy had ever said about himself and his feelings. He now stood stiff, as if waiting to be rejected for wanting contact on his terms. As much as he wanted to be left alone he did not wish to in fact truly be alone.
“Are you keeping in contact with your brother?” the duc asked instead, offering a smile.
“Not lately, non,” Wolfram replied. “He does not know the cræft I am learning. I do not like lying to him and so I instead stopped contact. I suppose he became worried and asked Lord Aldefonse to write.”
“Write your brother and the lord. Do tell him that we are working on Salome’s illness and that you are well.”
“Oui, Your Grace.”
As Wolfram turned to leave Pierre remembered the reason they had met, him asking for Salome’s death with no real plan as to how to return her to life until a loophole was found.
“Wolfram… what had you intended to do if I had killed Salome at her request and there was no means of returning her to life?”
The boy, the young man, who was not used to relying on adults, looked back into his lord’s eyes. “I intended to write my brother and Viola, along with his and her lordship, and Lord Ophion, express my deepest apologies, and then take my own life.”
Eleven
Lizzy too obtained several letters, one from her brother today and then a shorter one from her parents the day before. Piers’ letter spoke more of his family and newborn son, confessing things that he worried over and did not wish to impose on his wife. Her parents were glad she was well and warned her to act as a lady and a generous host.
She replied to her brother as best she could, offering advice and assuring him he was a wonderful brother and would be a wonderful father as well. To her parents she would write later, a little put off about being reminded to be a lady. She was perfectly aware of how she should act, thank you very much.
“Are fay children any different than those who are not?” Lizzy asked after rolling up her reply. Síofra was with her in the room as she read the letter, taking her new duties as lady-in-waiting quite seriously for all she took anything seriously.
“I have not really been around children of either bestia,” the half-fée girl replied. “But I do not believe there is much difference. Why do you ask?”
“My brother had his first child a few weeks ago, a boy. His wife is fay, from the Tuatha Forest.”
“Ah, the forest. Her magia would be passed down, but how and when it manifests is anyone’s guess. I presume it will be similar to hers.”
The Tuatha forest was a great forest in Clandestina, but outside of the Kingdom of Triumphe because of who lived there. It was fay-land, the people a mix of fée and human whose magics twisted in unique ways. It was not Faery, more of a land that was half-sunk into the other plane, blending the two into one, and a highly magical and volatile place.
“She can turn into a snake, any kind she wishes, great, small, exotic,” Lizzy said. “It can be a little unnerving, but she does not do it very often and keeps the secret to those close.”
“He might have an affinity for serpents, be able to take their form, or instead have a close affiliation with another animal as she does to snakes. Magic of one that is fée is more vague and close to a magician’s overall control of most spirits, though we have specialties.”
“Oh? May I know of yours?”
Síofra turned to the window and was silent for a moment. “I am not comfortable with answering that just yet, Lady Elizabeth. Maybe after we know each other better?”
“Oh, of course, forgive me the intrusion.” It had not occurred to her that asking such a thing would be rude. That Síofra left it open to tell her another day was a good sign, though, surly?
“Secrets,” Síofra said, turning back around. “We have many, and those we trust to tell them to must know their gravity and how to hold their tongue. Even then we rarely speak the entirety of knowledge.”
“I hope to earn your trust.”
“I believe you shall. You know and understand more than you think. I think you would be liked and helped out of our forests if you were lost.”
“And if I was not liked?”
Síofra’s smile took upon itself that sharpness that sent a shiver up Lizzy’s spine. “You may be merely stranded until Faery decides to open herself and let you out. Someone may help you. But if you offend someone of Autumn or Winter you will be killed.”
Elizabeth could not hold her shudder at this and fiddled with her letter.
“Is murder not a crime in Faery?”
“It can be. But what is justified is different for us. We can be passionate and our emotions can be overwhelming when provoked. Joy, despair, anger—it is all far harder to control and there are consequences to this. I am seelie, so I tend to be happy and feel joy even when perhaps I should not. The unseelie caste may feel anger or sadness or a nothingness, though none of those are their sole emotion. Everyone has a line that might be crossed.”
Elizabeth nodded. It was something she had been taught, but never understood well. This explanation helped.
“Shall we go exploring?” she asked, standing up and grabbing her letter again. “I need to find the aviary to send this.”
“Let us go!”
They left her chambers arm in arm, continuing their conversation and changing topics from fairies to the land of Piques. Síofra had started to visit here with her parents a few years ago, but rarely stayed long. This would be her longest visit if she stayed two more days.
Suddenly they heard laughter down the hallway. Glancing at each other the women dashed over to see what was happening and to join whoever was having fun.
Two ladies, older than they by a few years, sat together in a sitting room with a pack of cards and colorful wooden board between them. They seemed ready to start a game as one took the deck and began to shuffle the cards. The other waited and nibbled at a tart from the dish of sweets.
The one shuffling was a women with thick blonde hair, lighter than Lizzy’s dirty blonde, tied up in two tails at either side of her head with the large curls bouncing with every movement. She was accompanied by a woman with stark white hair in single tail. Both wore fine clothes.
“Good afternoon,” Elizabeth greeted with a slight curtsy. “Is this a private game or may others intrude?”
“Good afternoon,” the blonde replied, putting aside the deck. “Of course, come join us! I have not seen you around, did you come with His Grace?”
“I did,” Lizzy said. “I am—”
“Lady Elizabeth Anne,” Síofra said, interrupting to bestow the introductions. “She is His Grace’s beloved, and I am her new lady-in-waiting. Lizzy, this is Lady Cordelia Mariette, Lord Jourdain’s wife.”
“A pleasure too meet you.”
“Likewise!”
“I am Perdita Belle of Bladeren,” the woman with white hair added, standing to curtsy. “Maoilaine and Tibault are my cousins, if that helps you. I am Lady Cordelia’s lady-in-waiting.”
Lizzy and Síofra sat and a few more pleasantries were exchanged before and the game was explained to them (Cribbage, which Lizzy had played before, but Síofra had not). Extra colored wooden pieces were brought out so that they could also keep score, thankfully the game could just as easily be played with four as with two. Or three, as they would play a round without Síofra so she could observe and then the forth girl would join in.
Perdita won, placing her peg in the winner’s section with a flourish at the end of the game. “Too bad we are not playing for any coin,” she said, suggesting it with her tone as perhaps that could be done in the next game?
/> “Oh no,” Cordelia replied quickly, grabbing the cards and shuffling them with a bit more force than necessary. “Perdy, we are not playing with money again. You at least let yourself lose once in a while when there is nothing on the line!”
Síofra giggled and said she believed she understood the game and would like to play the next hand. As Lizzy this time took the cards to shuffle a bit more and deal them there a knock on the doorframe. The women all turned around to see Charlot smiling at them.
“Your Future Grace!”
He walked into the room a few steps before bowing to them all “Ah, my ladies fair, it is a pleasure to find all of you in one place. If I may borrow one of you, Lady Perdita, for a quick moment?”
“Of course you may, monsieur.” She stood, excusing herself and walking over to the corner of the room where a shelf would hide them from view. Charlot followed her.
“They are courting,” Cordelia said in not much of a whisper, turning to try and see them. Even craning her neck they were well hid, and their whispers did not quite reach, but Perdita’s light laugh did. Cordelia turned back around with a smile and spoke to her new friends, “Charlot has said that he stays for His Grace Pierre, but I believe that he stayed as an advisor to be with Perdita until she agrees to wed and move to Rire. When Charlot becomes duc proper I believe Jourdain and I will return to the family estate, then I can send her off then without her feeling guilty that she left me in a new place alone. Though I consider Spadille Château almost the same as home now.”
“You have been here that long?” Lizzy asked.
“A number of years. I am from a town not too far from here, a day’s ride—my father is the maior. When I met Jourdain he was not yet an advisor and I did not even know him as the comte’s son. It was only after I had flirted with him that father asked me what I had spoken about with the comte-to-be. I was mortified, and hid the next time he stopped by. But he kept coming over until he caught me and expressed that my manner was refreshing. He invited me to dinner that night. We married right before His Highness came to Spadille and moved to the château when he came. Here I met Perdy and we became quick friends.”
Delphinium- or A Necromancer's Home Page 10
