“If you are the vicar seneschal, then you can fulfill Seneschal Roux's duties, can you not?”
“Yes, Monsieur.” Dimitri inclined his head, “Whatever you may need.”
Councilman Dubois's thin lips broke into a wide grin, “This world relies on hope, does it not?” he said, leading Dimitri up onto the dais and behind the assembled tables. Seating himself, the councilman steepled his wrinkled fingers, “But this is not the world. This is my courtroom and it relies on absolutes, young Vicar. Tell me, do you know Duchess Mariett's script?”
“Yes, Monsieur.” he nodded, the Odette's sour eyes burning holes into his skin, “I've read many of her correspondences.”
“Very well, then. Mademoiselle,” the head councilman held out a palm, “your letter, please.”
The courtroom hushed.
“You—you want him to read it?” Reine spat, her voice exceedingly high-pitched, “There are...womanly matters in this letter, Monsieur! Only the very end speaks of who she'd seat upon the throne! Only the very end!”
Councilman Dubois pursed his lips as he bent his bony fingers, “Vicar—,”
Dimitri took hold of the letter, sliding it from between her fingers delicately.
“Read it aloud.”
Dimitri opened it. Skimmed it
My dearest Reine...he read, his gaze jumping from sentence to sentence...I enjoyed our night...
...Silk is an intoxicating fabric...
...Coal is a bit pricey this year, and yet...
...of course. I do plan to produce an heir—but not through my own loins. As a favor to a dear friend, would you...
I would like you to carry my child, and I will christen it as my own...
Dimitri brought his gaze up.
“Give it—give it back.”
Reine's dark eyes teared up as her soft sun-spun hair glistened in the dying light of the evening.
The entire courtroom held its breath.
“Read it aloud, Vicar.”
Dimitri's fingers clenched.
Reine snatched at the letter. Missed. She reached out again.
“It is Duchess Mariett's script,” he began, the councilman humming his approval, “yet—,”
Reine climbed over the table, clutching her skirts in one hand while reaching with the other.
Dimitri shook his head—warning her as he prepared to back away.
But she lunged, her screech cat-like before she screamed—plummeting towards the floorboards face first.
Thump.
Reine fainted. Limp upon the floorboards as Dimitri clutched the letter in both hands, unsure of what to do.
The courtroom erupted.
People stood—women screamed—a woman covered in a purple shawl threw herself upon the dais and cradled Reine in both arms. The woman murmuring to the girl before throwing an icy gaze upon Dimitri. Who simply glared back.
He hadn't done anything wrong, yet the people looked to him as if he had.
Strong hands clutched both of his shoulders, chateau guards emerging from nowhere to apprehend him.
Dimitri sized up the men before throwing the letter to the ground.
He spat.
They were his uncle's men.
The Seneschal's men.
Had his uncle seen it all?
THEY TOOK HIM TO SEE his father.
The chamber was dark. Barren. A long table stretched out before Dimitri. A single chair sat at its end, the high armchair flanked by towering windows of stained glass.
Soft white light poured from the three windows. The light creeping across the table and ending before Dimitri, who stood.
Behind him, the Seneschal's men slammed a heavy oaken door.
His father materialized from an attached corridor, a door of silky cloth billowing up as he entered.
He took a seat before Dimitri.
“You will stand.” he growled, steepling his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table. “Do you know why you're here, Dimitri?”
Dimitri could almost see himself as a little boy again, pissing his breeches before his father as the man bellowed at him. Angry at a situation Dimitri could not control. Letting Loris get away with it. The better son. All of this—five years ago.
He hadn't seen his father in five years.
It was in this very room that his father decided to banish him.
Dimitri stared at the stained glass of the center window. He pressed his lips together.
“Give me an answer, boy.”
Dimitri sighed, “I know what it looked like—,”
“I was there—you hit the damned Savatier girl! Hit or tripped or—,” his father brought his large hands to his forehead, his sigh heavy. Strained, “—all that matters is that, to the court, boy; to the court, it looks like you did something to her when she lashed out at you. It looks like you—,” he shook his head, the gray beret upon his bald spot tipping, “—the court loves its Odette, boy. And because of what it looks like, they're calling for me to do something about it. I,” he wheezed. He snatched a handkerchief from the breast pocket upon his quilted doublet and coughed into it, “I've banished you once, Dimitri. It's your turn now. Tell me what your punishment will be.”
He'd be glad if he could quit Safrana all together. But whatever Dimitri suggested for a punishment, he knew his father would demand he do the exact opposite—Dimitri knew this game. Years ago, he begged to stay at court—to stay with his mother and sisters. Instead, Dimitri was banished to the eastern citadel to live with his uncle, while is mother and sisters were sent to a countryside estate east of the Poudurac—far from Safrana. Whatever letters Dimitri sent in those five long years—his mother never replied to. He feared the worst—that they were angry at him. That they cursed him for forcing them away from their home.
They could also be dead.
“Today, Dimitri. Sometime today.” his father snapped.
Dimitri hung his head, “I will stay at court.” he said, his tongue twisting, “And I will aid you in your business.”
His father grinned, white teeth flashing against the dark, “Oh, you will do better.” the large man steepled his fingers. Narrowing his eyes, his grin grew brighter, “You will stay at court until after the Chartreuse Masque. During the Masque, you will apologize to the Odette and you will make damn sure the entire court knows of your sorrow and flighty hand. Until then, you will wait on your brother—the soon-to-be Duke of Safrana.”
But we are not kin to the late Duchess.
“Are we clear, Dimitri?”
Dimitri hesitated before nodding, “Yes, father.”
“Then, begone. Find your brother.”
Dimitri turned on his heel. Reaching for the door's handle, he froze.
“Yes?” his father snapped, “Begone, I said!”
“What you've said is treason.” Dimitri muttered, “Loris is not next in line for the throne—none of us are—,”
“Ah,” his father sighed, a hint of laughter in his voice, “you've grown, haven't you? Turn around.”
Dimitri turned, his tongue tapping the inside of his cheek.
“Not a small boy to be ushered around anymore, eh? Not pissing yourself at my voice.” the old man stood—larger than Dimitri remembered. A bull.
His chair screeched against the floor.
Dimitri bit his cheek.
“But you're still a member of this family—a Couture! And by definition—my pawn.” slamming his hand upon the desk—a boom cut through the sudden silence, “Utter those words again, and I'll send you to a place infinitely worse than the eastern citadel! Have I made myself clear?!”
Dimitri's right arm twitched. He couldn't handle a sword—but he could throw a punch.
Clenching his fists, Dimitri ignored the urge to close the gap between himself and his father. It was tempting—tempting enough to make him take a single step forward.
“What are you going to do, boy?” the man scoffed, leaning upon the table, “Piss yourself again?”
FOUR<
br />
Reine
Reine groaned as another knock sounded at her door.
“Thank them, but do not let them in!” she called to the handmaiden who shuffled across the room, “I have enough flowers...candies...cakes—wait, no—tell them to take some! If they wish me well, tell them to take something!”
Her door flew open with a screech.
Is that agent doing absolutely nothing out there? I told her—I no longer wish to be bothered!
Heels clacked against the floorboards as a woman approached her bedside.
Reine refused to open her eyes, “Please, Madam...Mademoiselle...whoever you may be...”
“My, my, ever the princess, aren't we?”
Reine's eyes snapped open, “Florette?”
The mattress groaned as Florette sunk into it, seating herself at Reine's side, “I've come bearing gifts, dear Odette.”
Pulling the rose coverlet away from her chest, Reine sat up. She met her sister's wizened eyes, “I see nothing on you.” she sighed, “In fact—just this once—I'm glad you've brought me nothing.”
Florette smiled, her thin face tilting, “The court has shown its affection for you already, has it not?”
Reine frowned, her gaze roving to the end of her bed, “You tell me.” she shook her head, “Could it be possible that they love me too much?”
Piles of red roses and white hush petals littered the edge of her bed, spilling onto the floor like a waterfall of pure color.
“Non, not at all, dear sister.” Florette said, shaking her head. “Enjoy it while it lasts, most would say.”
Lying back upon the quilted headboard of her large bed, Reine rested her hands upon her lap as she brought her eyes to the white canopy above, “What have you come for, then?”
Florette giggled, “Must we always speak of business?”
Reine rolled her eyes.
“The new handmaiden you have—the short one, Mademoiselle Brandy, I believe she called herself?”
Reine shrugged, “What about her?”
Florette turned her gaze towards the white door, “She is very possessive of you, dear. She almost wouldn't even let me in.”
So, she was doing her job.
Reine grinned, “Ah, such is life.” she replied, chuckling as she wrung the soft rosy covers between her fingers, “What have you come to me for?”
“Matters of import.” Florette replied, her eyes slowly scanning the room.
Reine followed her gaze, her eyes falling upon two blond handmaidens who meekly kept their gazes planted to the floor. “Leave.” she commanded.
The girls scuttled away like roaches, closing the door behind them with a snap.
“As I was saying...”
“Is this about what happened in the courtroom?” Reine demanded, crossing her arms, “If so, bring me up to date, sister. I've been bedridden the entire day. Doctor Bernard is sure I have some sort of flu.”
“Truly?” Florette smirked.
Reine met her eye, “Whatever works.”
“The court is convinced that the Coutures are brutish. Instigating that young man, the vicar seneschal? Was a great move on your part, Reine—,” she giggled, “—dear Odette.”
“Should I bruise myself for good measure?”
“Oh dear,” Florette muttered, shaking her head, “I do not believe that will be necessary. The entire court loves you. Don't mar your beauty, sister, it is the only thing keeping you here.”
Reine's hand flew to her chest, “Excuse me?”
Florette pursed her lips, “I only speak the truth.”
Smoothing out the thin fabric of her blouse, Reine shook her head. Murmuring to herself as Florette grasped both ends of her lacy white shawl.
“But I digress,” Florette spoke, attempting to fill the abrupt silence, “would you like some light?”
Before Reine could say no, her sister was up and floating towards the soft white curtains at her right.
“Please, Florette, my eyes—,”
“Oh—are you truly sick then?”
“I simply want some quiet, sister. If you've said everything you needed to, then please—leave me be—,”
Florette strangled the white curtains, her knuckles turning white, “I am not done.” she said, throwing open the curtains. Sunlight filling the room in a splash of white noontime light, “I am not.” she declared, turning on her heel, “Reine?”
“Has father put you up to this?” Reine hissed, covering her face with a hand. “You've turned traitor, haven't you?” Florette was her friend—her only friend at court and in the family. After the death of their mother, Florette was the only family member Reine could trust. Everyone else simply existed to exert the will of her father upon her, her cousins and aunts resembling puppets in gussied up expensive garments. Reine thought Florette would always belong to her.
Always.
“You are a daft child!” Florette screeched, her pointing finger accusatory. “Did you truly believe the council wouldn't require that the seneschal check your unsealed letter for forgery? Did you truly believe that the council would operate purely on your merit and goodwill, sister? Did you truly believe that because of your position at court they would simply take your word?”
Reine could call that agent—Marceline—to force Florette out, but what would that accomplish? Florette had to be put in her place.
“I assume those are fathers words?” Reine met Florette's eyes, “Because, the Florette I know cannot control her waggling tongue and simply lets information spill from her much like the sun spills through my windows now.”
“The letter you presented to the council—and all of Safrana's nobility—is lost, sister. Whatever contents you wished to keep secret—,”
Reine threw herself from the bed, “What do you mean—it is lost?”
“Exactly as I say. It. Is. Lost.”
Reine opened her mouth to speak, only to close it.
“Father sent me to warn you, and to tell you how asinine your plan was. Sure, it has stolen the love of the court—but for how long, sister? How long will it be until the contents of that letter blacken your reputation, hm? Will the new leader of Safrana take away your title? Will you no longer be the, 'Odette'?”
“You're punishing me.” Reine said, turning away, “All of you are. Father could have reprimanded the vicar and taken the letter back—it is not lost!”
“It is not my fault you acted without father's blessing.”
“But it is your fault that nothing has been done!”
Only the bed separated them, plush pink covers and an innocent white canopy acting as a barrier.
“Leave.” Reine demanded, raising a finger towards the door, “If you've only come to offer me father's words, leave.”
Lavender heels clicked against the floorboards, “You forget yourself, young one—,”
“It is not I who forgets her position—nor her station in life,” Reine snapped, standing before Florette with her chin raised. Her chest puffed out, “I am the court's Odette—the only Savatier woman to hold a high position at court. And you,” Reine scowled, lowering her voice to a hiss, “are used up. Useless to the family unless you spread your legs.” Reine took a step forward. Florette took a step back, “Leave.”
Florette took her time walking around her sister. Skulking towards the door, the clicking of her lavender heels reverberated around the constricting white room.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Leave!” Reine screeched, “Go—now!”
Florette paused, her hand resting upon the white door frame, “Find the letter, sister. It would be in your best interest to keep certain secrets...safe.”
FIVE
Marceline
A full moon graced the sky tonight. A midnight sun.
Stepping onto the balcony with her hands clasped behind her back, Marceline's stomach dropped.
There Reine stood, the translucent tail of her white gown spilling upon the pearly ba
lustrade she clung to. Marceline watched Reine pull herself up onto the railing, the woman's shoulders shivering as her chest heaved.
Marceline heard her hiccup.
Reine stood tall against the black backdrop of sky. The single star of the evening. A single patch of white.
Marceline took her time approaching the balustrade. From Reine's balcony, it was a long way down. Below, Marceline knew the girl would be able to see the white spires of the city. Far beyond, dark mountains shrugged off their capes of white mist.
The girl stood still on the balustrade, the thick white railing holding strong beneath her weight.
Marceline closed the gap between herself and Reine. With a breath, she snatched the girl's tiny wrist and yanked her back towards the ground. Reine tumbled from the balustrade and fell back, slamming into the stone of the balcony with a grunt.
Marceline clasped her hands behind her back as she let out a breath. She took a look at the sky, “You're being melodramatic, Mademoiselle.” she said matter-of-factly, “Stop.”
Reine scrambled to standing, heaving, and huffing as she pushed herself up, “And you—,” she huffed, clenching her fists at her sides, “—are not doing your job!”
“I just saved your life, did I not?”
“But not my reputation!” Reine screeched, her face burning.
Marceline cocked her head.
“My letter.” Reine growled, “Find it.”
Or you will do this again?
Marceline nodded as Reine seethed, her breath escaping her lips in angry white puffs. Kneeling, Marceline brought her thumb and forefinger to her lips.
Something was obviously off about her charge—she'd need someone to look after her. An agent she could trust. Lest she try jumping from the balcony again.
Gerard took care of her charge's sister. He guarded the adjacent apartment—perhaps he could...
Marceline whistled, her song mimicking the high-pitched melody of a starling.
For a moment, she waited. Behind her, she felt Reine's eyes boring holes into the back of her jerkin.
Above them, a window moaned open. A response came in the form of a starling's curt call.
Blade and Soul Page 3
