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[Rough Draft] Chapter 46: An Ally of Truth
“You don’t look very pleased to see me, Lady Kirsi,” Llyr observed with a faint smile as he followed Carina back inside the ballroom.
“Perhaps I am merely surprised that you would choose to unveil me so openly without my permission,” Carina retorted, annoyed that this prince insisted on pestering her.
“I suppose I did get a bit carried away,” Llyr replied with a bemused smile.
The ballroom had been mostly cleared out. The royal platform moved to the far wall, where Nicholas resumed his seat with a pained grimace while Eleanora and Priscilla sat awkwardly on either side.
Situated along the ballroom walls were long cushioned sofas and chairs for the guests to rest while the musicians played a soft backdrop of Lafeara music in the background. Carina chose one such sofa and was relieved that it only seated three people as she, Ivy, and Hana took a moment to rest their feet.
Llyr was not at all deterred as he dragged over the nearest chair and sat facing the Duchess squarely.
“Is there something you wish to say to me?” Carina demanded incredulously, keenly aware of the numerous eyes directed towards them.
“Many things,” Llyr replied with a smile. “Mostly, I suppose I’m just curious.”
“About what?”
“Is it worth being a Duchess here in Lafeara when it means hiding who you truly are?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Carina replied with narrowed eyes.
Llyr snorted. “You hide your identity as Frost, for one.”
“That was necessary—”
“While you’re mother and step-father were alive certainly, but they have been dead for over a month.”
“It hardly benefited me to reveal that fact after becoming a Duchess,” Carina replied with a shrug. “Not to mention the Church has been looking for Frost with less than friendly intentions.”
“Ah yes, the Church.” Llyr’s smile did not falter, but his tone dipped with evident dislike. “Their ability to retain such power and influence over Lafeara over the years is very distressing.” He crossed his legs and leaned forward. “Imagine what Lafeara would be like if King Henri had kept his word and kicked them out after marrying Queen Catalina all those years ago.”
“I imagine it would be very different,” Carina replied neutrally.
“Hmm.” Llyr looked amused as his gaze turned slowly towards Hana. “Did you know I had a stepmother who went by the name Kirsi?”
Carina raised a brow but noticed when Hana’s grip on her arm tightened.
“She was a clever, ambitious woman and beautiful dancer,” Llyr continued as his gaze shifted to Ivy. “Beautiful—but with a rather cold, impenetrable exterior. I remember her hand—felt like the grip of winter….” He trailed off with an almost longing expression.
‘Is he talking about you, Kirsi?’ Carina wondered curiously.
“My father built her a beautiful castle by the sea. He covered the walls in beautiful shells the color of the sea, the floors in the smoothest, whitest stones he could find and draped the windows in strings of pearls.”
Ivy’s eyes widened with wonder.
“He never crowned my stepmother as queen, many people regarded her as a mistress, but my father treated her like a goddess,” Llyr continued with a wistful smile. “And then one day—she was stolen away—captured by Witch Hunters who broke down the walls of her palace, nailed her up inside a coffin filled with stones, and drowned her at sea.”
The weight of stones upon Carina’s chest was suffocating. Her chest still burned where the Witch Star had all but drained her magic away. Her wrists and ankles had gone numb from the enchanted metal chains that bound her. Only the faintest glimmer of light came through the cracks of the coffin she was now carried in. She could still hear and smell the sea, but the once calming scent was now mired by the coppery stain of those the Witch Hunters had slaughtered inside her palace.
The coffin tipped, the stones rolled and shifted, ramming into her ribs, chin, and face as the sensation of falling made her stomach flip, right before her prison crashed into the waves, and the salty churning water rushed inside to consume her.
“Why?” Carina asked hollowly as the memory filtered away. “Why did the Witch Hunters—”
“Because Kirsi was a witch,” Llyr replied with a muted smile. “Because my Father’s second wife resented her influence over the King and the other Water Covens.” His gaze turned once more towards Hana, who was trembling now. “But most of all, because Kirsi took in something the Pope was not prepared to lose.”
“Your story sounds a bit—like a fairy tale,” Hana interjected stiffly.
“Perhaps,” Llyr responded with another shrug. “I was too young at the time to remember the events. My stepmother, Queen Cordelia, would certainly have me believe that woman was but a figment of my imagination.”
The melody played by the musicians changed into a lively dance as Lord Alistair Kensington led Eleanora onto the dance floor in Nicholas’s place to start the first dance.
Llyr straightened in his chair as he cast a glance towards the dance floor. “Ahh, it seems the first dance has started, Lady Kirsi, would you—”
“No,” Carina interjected flatly.
Llyr chuckled at her blunt refusal. “I hope you do not intend to refuse me all night, your Grace,” he said as he rose to his feet. “I have some rather unfortunate information I wish to deliver to you privately regarding your project in Lafeara’s slums.”
“You can tell me now then,” Carina replied defiantly as she looked up at him. “I trust the ladies beside me more than anyone else in this room.”
Llyr raised his brows with a questioning look between Hana and Ivy but relented with a sigh. “Very well, I will tell you, but on one condition.”
Carina sighed, “Of course.”
“It is a very simple request, your Grace.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“I would like a private conversation with your Grace at another time, perhaps at your estate?”
‘He certainly seems determined to tell me something he does not want Ivy or Hana to hear.’ Carina turned to Hana questioningly as the Viscountess leaned towards her.
“Kirsi,” Hana whispered softly. “If you are looking for a cure for Ivy, then Prince Llyr may be able to help. After all, most magical poisons and diseases come from the Water Tribes.”
Carina blinked and narrowed her eyes warily at Llyr. “Very well, if your information is valid, I will agree to your request.”
Llyr smiled and held out his hand to her. When Carina raised her brow questioningly, he said, “I won’t ask for a dance, but surely a walk to the refreshment table and back would not be too much to ask.”
The Duchess held back a sigh as she smiled and rose to her feet. “Of course.”
As Llyr took her hand and wrapped it around his arm, a peculiar sensation crawled up the back of Carina’s neck. She turned on instinct and was somehow not surprised to find Percy and Serilda staring at them from across the ballroom. Llyr followed her gaze and snorted softly as he turned her towards the refreshment table.
“Your admirer seems persistent,” the foreign prince commented as they made their way around the edge of the ballroom as more partners moved onto the dance floor.
“The walk is short, your Highness,” Carina reminded him pointedly. “If you have something that you must say—”
“I admire your efforts in the capital and to prevent the spread of the plague,” Llyr interjected with a notably somber tone. “Which is why I was very much disturbed to learn that your hospital inside the slums was burned to the ground last night.”
Carina stumbled and nearly tripped but managed to catch herself on Llyr’s arm as she took in a shaky breath. “What?”
“According to the posted official report, local riffraff who have made the slums their territory learned about the plague and boarded up the hospital before burning it and the patients inside alive.”
Bile rose up the back of Carina’s throat, and she pressed a hand to her stomach as they reached the table spread of champagne and an assortment of desserts. The Duchess closed her eyes and turned away from the food as she tried and failed to form some sort of response.
“Did—anyone—make it out?”
“No,” Llyr replied as he picked up a glass of champagne and offered it to her. “But—curiously enough—the physicians were evacuated in the middle of the night right before the hospital was attacked.”
“What?” Carina echoed numbly as the glass beneath her fingers tinted with frost.
“Yes, I found that strange as well,” Llyr replied. “Also, it would seem that the plague has sprouted up in a few other provinces that surround the capital. All those infected were quickly boarded up inside their homes, which also—mysteriously caught fire last night.”
“Last night?” Carina drew in a slow, shaky breath as understanding dawned. “This was planned.”
“Meticulously,” Llyr replied grimly as he chose his glass and turned them back in the direction they had come. “It would seem that someone with knowledge of the plague, and great influence, is prepared to sacrifice lives if need be to prevent its spread.”
‘The only people with knowledge of the plague Cerberus, myself, and—’ Carina gazed across the ballroom to where Nicholas was applauding the end of the dance as Alistair escorted Eleanora back to her seat. ‘No, it’s likely that Nicholas told others about the sickness in the slums. One of them may have acted on their own, or perhaps—’
The Duchess’s gaze shifted back to where Serilda was tugging lightly on Percy’s hand with a coy smile as the Marchioness nodded towards the emptying ballroom floor. The Earl was watching Carina and Llyr with a determined expression that quickly made Carina look away.
“If you doubt Percy’s sincerity, then test him yourself. Ask him for anything you want, Lady Kirsi.”
“Alas, it seems the walk was very short,” Llyr commented as Hana quickly rose from the sofa to greet them. “I hope I may call upon the Duchess in the future to discuss other discerning matters.”
Carina removed her hand from his arm and offered a neutral smile. “How long will your Highness be staying in Lafeara?”
“Until after the coronation,” Llyr replied as he turned from her to Hana and extended his hand. “Lady Hana, might I have the next dance with you?”
Hana blinked at him in surprise, then glanced away from the prince with a worried look across the ballroom. “I don’t—”
“I am to be rejected twice?” Llyr managed to look hurt before he returned to his usual unbothered expression and offered his hand to Ivy. “Then perhaps, Lady Ivy would not be so opposed.”
“Oh?” Ivy looked up at him in complete disbelief. “But I-I—”
“If you must,” Hana interjected with a sigh as she took Llyr’s hand. “But only for one dance.”
The Duchess studied the two of them as she sat down beside the somewhat disappointed Ivy.
“I can’t believe a prince asked me to dance with him,” Ivy said wistfully.
“He may ask again once he finishes his dance with Hana,” Carina replied distractedly as she stared into her glass of champagne, her mind on the sick and dying she had left behind in Physician Devin and Tobias’s care.
‘I need to get to the bottom of this. There has to be someone here who would know—’ Carina looked at Attwood, who stood talking to Acheron with a determined expression. ‘But would the Prime Minister tell me the truth if Nicholas is behind these fires?’ Her gaze returned to the royal platform and settled on the knight captain, who stood silently behind the Crown Prince’s chair. ‘Would Beaumont tell me the truth?’
Beaumont’s violet eyes shifted suddenly towards the Duchess. He blinked, then frowned quizzically at her. Carina offered a hesitant smile then looked down at her drink.
‘It’s worth a try. If only Stitcher hadn’t gone back to Ventrayna, I could ask him to dig into this.’ Carina sighed and raised her drink for a quick sip as she lamented her lack of an information system. ‘Perhaps I should try reaching out to Madame Maylea again.’
“Oh, Kirsi!” Ivy said breathlessly beside her. “I believe Lord Percy is coming to ask you for a dance.”
‘I knew he would eventually.’ Carina lowered her glass but refused to look in the direction Ivy was staring. ‘Perhaps I should put Serilda’s advice to the test.’
***
Beaumont studied Kirsi worriedly after the Duchess looked away from him. There was something in her expression, as if she were asking him for help, that had caught him off guard. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards Nicholas. The prince looked bored as he finished off his wine and raised the cup over his shoulder towards the knight captain.
“Would you like another cup, your Majesty,” Beaumont asked as he took the golden chalice.
“No, not now,” Nicholas muttered and turned his gaze to Priscilla. “You’re not dancing, Lady Priscilla?”
The consort started, swallowed, and offered Nicholas a hesitant smile. “I—You’re Majesty is unwell—”
“But surely your father could dance with you as Lord Alastair did with Eleanora,” Nicholas prompted with a gesture to where Marquess Borghese stood, surrounded by nobles congratulating him. “Or has he already forgotten all about you?”
Beaumont frowned as he set down the glass, surprised by the uncharacteristic display of cruelty from the crown prince.
“I—” Priscilla drew in a slow breath, “I’m sure Father simply does not wish to separate me from your Majesty.”
“Oh, but you must dance,” Nicholas retorted as he straightened stiffly in his seat. “In fact, I insist on it. Surely one of the knights—” the crown prince glanced among the knights stationed along the walls and settled upon Lieutenant Olund. “Sir Olund!”
Priscilla flinched at the name and stared resolutely down at the hands folded in her lap as the Lieutenant strode over promptly.
“Your Majesty?”
“Sir Olund, the Consort requires a suitable partner to dance with,” Nicholas explained with a gesture towards the pale consort. “Since I am unable to assist her, would you mind taking my place?”
Olund neutral expression hardly shifted as he turned and bowed his head to Priscilla. “If the Consort has no objection?”
“How could she object?” Nicholas queried with a cynical smile directed at Priscilla. “It is my wish to see her enjoy the ball.”
“T-thank you, your Majesty,” Priscilla murmured as she rose to her feet and curtsied to the crown prince.
Nicholas nodded and motioned dismissively at them both as he sat back with a sigh to return his attention to Lady Serilda. The Marchioness stood surrounded by a number of fawning young noblemen.
Beaumont rubbed his cheek and glanced back towards the Duchess. He frowned as Ivy grabbed Kirsi’s hands and said something which caused the Duchess to grimace. Following Ivy’s gaze, Beaumont watched as Earl Percy Hawthorne made his way around the ballroom towards the Duchess.
“If you’re going to stare at her all night, why not ask the Duchess for a dance?” Nicholas commented pointedly as he looked over his shoulder at the knight captain.
“Then, with your permission,” Beaumont replied as he reached up to the leather tether that secured the hilt of his sword and released it.
Nicholas blinked in surprise as the knight captain strode past him and stepped off the platform. Beaumont made his way through the crowded dance floor with nimble grace and agility as his violet eyes focused first on Percy.
The Earl staggered to a halt with a look of surprise, his feet glued to the floor as the crushing weight of heightened gravity locked him in place.
Beaumont smiled and continued towards the Duchess, who had noticed his approached and now regarded him curiously over the glass of champagne she held absently. The knight captain could feel the Earl’s gaze burning into the back of his head as he bowed before the Duchess and offered his left hand.
“Lady Kirsi, might I have this dance?”
Ivy blinked up at him while the corner of the Duchess’s lips twitched with amusement.
“Well,” Kirsi murmured as she passed her glass to Ivy. “As it happens, there is something I wanted to ask you, Captain Beaumont.”
Her hand was cold as it slid across his offered palm. Beaumont gripped it gently and placed his right hand on her waist as he escorted Kirsi to the ballroom floor.
Percy’s winter-grey eyes were filled with confusion and rage as they glared at Beaumont. The knight captain smiled as he released Kirsi’s waist, placed his right hand behind his back, and snapped his fingers.
The Earl staggered free as Beaumont and Kirsi bowed to each other, then joined hands as they circled each other around the dance floor.
“You wanted to ask me something,” Beaumont reminded her after they found their place amongst the floor filled with dancers.
“Yes,” Kirsi replied as her clear ice-blue eyes studied him intently. “Have you heard any news regarding the sickness in the slums?”
Beaumont tilted his head curiously. “Your Grace has asked me this before. I believe I told you that his Majesty should be the one to answer that question.”
“But I am asking you,” Kirsi replied pointedly.
“It is against my oath to repeat anything I overheard in confidence as his Majesty’s bodyguard,” Beaumont replied tensely. “In any case, his Majesty receives frequent correspondence from the Capital in regard to the sickness your Grace uncovered in the slums. That is all I can tell you.”
“Do you know if his Majesty ordered for the people afflicted with this sickness to be burned?”
The ballroom whirled around them as Beaumont lifted Kirsi by the waist and spun her around, mimicking the other dancers on the floor. ‘So that is why you agreed to dance with me so that you could interrogate me.’
“I have not heard his Majesty give such an order,” he replied honestly.
Kirsi frowned but nodded.
“You’re—not going to question me further?” Beaumont pressed curiously.
“If you don’t know, then you don’t know,” Kirsi replied with a dismissive shrug. “I choose to believe you—since you promised that you would not lie to me.” She arched her brow at him as the knight captain smiled.
“I am glad that you believe me,” Beaumont murmured as he shifted his arm around her waist and moved closer. “I have no desire to lie or hurt you, Lady Kirsi.”
The Duchess looked away evasively, but her cheeks appeared flushed. “Then can you tell me what is going on there,” Kirsi said with a nod towards the royal platform.
Beaumont waited until they switched positions and frowned. Serilda was sitting in Priscilla’s vacant seat, laughing and flirting with Nicholas as the two leaned towards each other across their respective seats.
“His Majesty decides to choose Lady Priscilla as his first Consort before his coronation, yet appears to be even more infatuated with the Marchioness of Berxely?”
“His Majesty and the Marchioness had a close relationship while Nicholas was still young—”
“And Serilda was his father’s Mistress,” Kirsi interjected, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Nicholas’s behavior also appears to have changed of late as well. Would that have anything to do with the Marchioness?”
‘Undoubtedly, and yet—’
“Your Grace believes his Majesty to be under the Marchioness’s spell?” Beaumont inquired solemnly.
“You put it very bluntly—but yes.”
Beaumont sighed as he spun her through another twirl then held her close to him as the dance slowed in tempo. “While it’s true that certain witches can influence men’s hearts and minds with their words. The truth of it is that they do little more than draw forth what already exists in a person’s soul.”
Kirsi frowned as she spun away and then took his hand. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t like the Marchioness influence on Nicholas, but she is not forcing him to make any decisions he would not otherwise choose.”
Beaumont understood the surprise behind Krisi eyes. While her other half would have already known this, common superstition among those unfamiliar with the extent and limits of magic often assumed the worst.
‘It is easier for mortals to push the blame of all evil that exists in this world on those who make an easy target, rather than accept their own compliance in creating that evil.’
The song slowed and moved to its conclusion as Beaumont removed his arm from Kirsi’s waist but held onto her hand.
“Has his Majesty—ever done anything—that you disapproved of?” Kirsi asked hesitantly as she looked up at him, ignoring the dancers already leaving the floor. “Anything that—hurt someone.”
Beaumont glanced over to where Lieutenant Olund stood beside Priscilla, who trembled with humiliation as she watched Serilda flirt with the crown prince in her seat.
“Yes.”