Larkspur

by V. M. Jaskiernia

  “Now, my dear,” Pierre said. “I would like you to come with me to the feast.”

  “Me, Pierre? I have earned no such spot at the royal table.”

  He would be entirely well in three more days, if his estimate about the moon was correct, and by that point the roi and reine would be home as well. There was to be a royal family dinner staged for the return, and Pierre’s departure for Piques. He had insisted on the date, though some wished he would still stay a bed.

  “I insist. It will be in two days. And this is not an order, my dear. Do think about it, please?”

  “I shall; I will.”

  She left shortly after this, and Pierre was allowed to give her a kiss on the cheek. This time when his heart fluttered he was sure it was because of her. Trying to be patient, he waited until moment the door closed and he snapped his fingers, capturing her soul.

  If he wished with another movement he could place her in an unnatural sleep, never to wake by any medical procedure or prayer. He could end her life, forcing her into the land of the dead. He could take her to and bring her back from those edges.

  He moved his fingers as if fiddling with a coin. Hers was a gentle soul, one of duty, but mischief was inherent in her person. Perhaps he was wrong that there was no fée in her linea.

  He flicked his fingers to release his hold. Even so, for the next three days he could without being anywhere near her take control. In the back of his soul he felt the humming of her spirit, alongside the links that tied him to Pluta, Wolfram, and anyone else that had recently been made ingest his blood. Her spirit comforted him as much as her physical presence had, and he felt more at peace.

  His headache began once more; the crescendo of throbbing almost blinding him. He hid his face in the pillow and whimpered. He had hoped that the pain would lessen when he used cræft from now on, but it did not seem the case. After a moment he picked up his cards—just to check one last thing. He flipped over the card he had cut his finger on.

  He smiled and returned the Lovers to their place.

  ***

  “You are leaving the day after tomorrow as well, yes?” he asked Elizabeth the day before Springfinding, placing down the seven of wands to lose against the knave of pentacles in a game of War. She was sitting on the far edge of his bed to better play the game, legs dangling near the corpse that still lay hidden.

  “Yes. Brother is certain his child will be born by then, and as you are leaving yourself that day, Mother insists I return.”

  “And if you were to have other plans?”

  “Like?” She seemed curious, but unaware this was a suggestion. She won the next hand as well, picking up the ace of swords and his queen of cups.

  “I am leaving for Piques, as you know, which my brother is in his last year of governing. I have finished my studies a year early, and he too wishes I know how to properly run ‘his’ duchy. I would like you to be there as well.”

  She was already blushing. “My lord—”

  “Elizabeth,” he interrupted. He placed his hand over hers, and squeezed when she looked down. “I wish the company of a friend, and neither of our brothers, nor Ophion, may come with me just yet. You have proven a dear companion. And perhaps you shall learn how to run a whole duchy?”

  “I am the younger child, daughter, of a comte. I shall have no need to learn how to take care of an entire duchy.”

  Pierre smiled gently. “You are the beloved companion of a duc,” he told her. He raised her hand to kiss it, and tugged her towards him, catching her in his arms. When she looked up he kissed her.

  For a moment neither was certain of what to do, but his arms wrapped around her, a hand tangled in her hair, and she shivered in his arms and pressed herself ever closer.

  They pulled apart after several moments, Lizzy sitting back and touching her kiss-swollen lips.

  Pierre seemed almost surprised by his own actions. “My lady, I—”

  “I accept your invitation to spend the start of spring with you, lord Pierre. Dear Pierre. Though I shall need to ask and be granted permission by my family.”

  “Of course,” he replied. He brushed back some curls that had come loose from her hairstyle, and kissed her gently once more.

  ***

  Her mother was delighted that she had been formally invited to stay with the duc at his estate. Such arrangements were not uncommon for ladies if the lordly men of their affection was of a more distant land. The household would know to treat the lady guest with respect, as a probable future mistress, and there would not be a lack of chaperones.

  The pigeon with the lady comtesse’s message returned the morning of Springfinding, allowing for permission and also mentioning that Eglė’s time seemed to be upon her. With any luck another message would be sent soon about the child.

  ***

  The royal family dinner was to begin at moonrise. The roi and reine returned to court in late afternoon, visiting Pierre for a short while so as to be assured of his improving health. He had taken to sitting at his desk, bored of lying in bed, but was still forced to nap at least during the hours of high sun. The spirits had dispersed enough so that his journal was unreadable except for the spots about daily life and his legal education.

  “I am fine, Mama,” he assured the queen when she asked why he was up, hugging her. “Here, feel my forehead.”

  Wolfram was keeping him company at that time, and Pierre introduced him as his own student. He had decided to bring Wolfram along to Piques as well, stealing him from Ophion.

  “And Eichel’s daughter?” the roi prompted. He scratched at his auburn beard. “I do not see the girl who has become the topic of gossip and praise among my staff.”

  “She will be my guest tonight, Father.”

  “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Pierre had himself not seen her all that day, but Wolfram assured him that the lady was merely busy with tonight, and the departure tomorrow.

  “Well then, perhaps I should be busy as well. Help me pick out my attire.”

  ***

  Washed, dressed, and feeling healthy for the first time in a week Pierre left his room without trying to hide from the guards or his doctors. Elizabeth had sent a note that she would be waiting by the east entrance to the dining hall, and he made his way there alone. Even Pluta stayed behind, with Wolfram, who wished to try and see if he could feel his love’s soul with the limited knowledge he had.

  Turning the corner Pierre stopped and had to actually support himself with the cane. Lady Elizabeth Anne stood off to the side, wearing a very similar blue gown to what she had worn at the last party, but this time her sleeves were quite short and she wore long white gloves to compensate. Her hair was loose, with some of it over her shoulder, and sapphire earrings on display. A cream fan was being twisted nervously in her palms, but then she stopped and opened it to check whether she had damaged it. Pressed upon the parchment was the larkspur he had given her that night.

  “Oh, Lizzy..” Seized with desire, he did not announce himself, striding over to her while she was still occupied with the fan, and kissing her before she could fully realize what was going on. One arm wrapped around her waist, and the other held her hand and the fan, so it would not fall and be damaged.

  “You are the most beautiful creature,” he told her between a kiss to her lips and another to her cheek, and then brow. “Do not fret, for no one can feel ill will towards such a lovely being as you.”

  They entered the dining hall several minutes later, after stealing several more kisses before composing themselves.

  ***

  “News, my lords!” a courier entered the dining hall right before dessert, when everyone was seated more informally, some exchanging their glasses of wine for cups of tea. “From Eichel. Lady Eglė has born a boy this Springfinding, Gwythyr Été.”

  “Named after summer,” Hélaïse said softly. “What a wonderful name. Though it is springtime.”

  “But Summerfinding was exactly nine months ago,” P
ierre replied, and there was quiet laughter at the understanding.

  Aimé raised his glass. “To Gwythyr Été!”

  Pierre’s glass touched Elizabeth’s, and he whispered to her a congratulations for the new addition to her family. He took a deep drink of his dessert wine, and immediately tasted something wrong. The wine was bitter and a familiar burning coated his throat.

  Poison.

  Whether deadly, and if so how quickly fatal, he had no idea. But the lord wasted no time, curious though he was about the effects. He tugged at Pluta’s soul to gain her attention from his rooms, and bid her hurry. As the courier left his cat entered, and with a wave he made it known it was alright.

  “A family dinner without Pluta, whatever was I thinking,” he said. Elizabeth had not turned back to her food, and made to hold Pierre’s hand underneath the table.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, fine. Just a spell.”

  Pluta dashed to her master, the tablecloth fluttering much to Ancel’s delight. Pierre bent as if to give her some food from the hand that Lizzy did not hold, and she bit him. He gasped, taking his left hand back and placing the gloved finger in his mouth. He could still taste the blood, and the colour would be masked by the dark satin.

  “Pluta,” he scolded her aloud. “I give you the finest fish in the land and this is how you repay me?”

  Before he could do anything else, Lizzy had leant over and pressed a handkerchief to the bite.

  “I.. thank you.” he replied, and felt himself blushing. His right hand stayed in her lap, and their fingers twined together.

  Conversation began again. The prince discussed the duchy and the kingdom, and the duc offered his opinions while manipulating the spirits. Playing with Lizzy’s fingers was just the motion that they responded to as well.

  His unease slowly left. Whatever poison had started to attack his body became void. He did not drink or eat anything for the rest of the night, but not for a moment stopped thinking about what had happened.

  ***

  It was not a coffin, but as she was not staying dead perhaps it was more fitting. Pierre lay the girl in an elaborate trunk, legs tucked up so that she would fit. Her nightgown was different than the one she had died in. That had, for good measure, been consumed by Pluta as well, but it was thought immodest to leave her without dress. Wolfram made certain his love’s body was well kept, her head even rested on a pillow, and he hid her underneath a pile of silk. She would not decay as long as Pierre willed it.

  “Thank you again, my lord,” the young suitor said. The trunk was locked, and Wolfram given the key. “She really does seem just asleep.”

  “We shall find you an animal to become your Familiar after we arrive. Lessons shall be sparse at first. You are certain you wish to be the one to bring her back?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Very well then.”

  The servants were called in to gather up luggage, and Pierre made his way to the carriages. He had heard that Lizzy was already seated in hers and reading.

  He found the one with elaborate gold acorns, and knocked on the door with his cane.

  “May I be allowed in?” he asked. She smiled and opened the door, while he climbed in before a footman could move to help.

  “Pierre,” she greeted informally, and he pulled the small curtain to the window before he kissed her.

  “Lizzy, darling. I have something for you.” He took out a rectangular jewelry box from his coat pocket, and opened it so that she could see. A golden pendant in the shape of a larskpur flower, with amethysts to accentuate the petals.

  “Pierre, I—” He silenced her with another quick kiss, and hooked the clasp behind her neck.

  “I will finish monitoring everyone getting ready and return soon. Wolfram and Pluta shall be our company; I wished this to be done privately.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She fell back onto formal speech when unable to think of anything to say. He smiled to her, kissed her cheek, and went to finish checking the cortège.

  Elizabeth was smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt. She tried to continue reading, but had to stop every few sentences to look again at the pendant. Then something caught in her throat and she pulled out a handkerchief, one of Pierre’s dark ones, and coughed, not seeing the drops of blood that were left behind.

  Thank you for reading Larkspur! If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review on Amazon, I’d love to know what you think! Vol. 2 of The Courting of Life and Death is in the works, and for upcoming information, tidbits, and promotional days, please sign up for the Noctuinad mailing list. In addition to the current series, many other stories that take place in Clandestina (and in other realms of Noctuina) are planned and being written. You can also contact me through my blog, email, or twitter.