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[Rough Draft] Chapter 47: A Bitter Revelation
Carina woke the following morning to a bouquet of blue flowers and an invitation from Viscount Rykard to a private family breakfast. Since Ivy was feeling under the weather with Hana looking after her, Carina reluctantly decided to accept the invitation.
She was not at all surprised to find Maura’s half-sister, Sophya Turnbell, along with her fiance, Asher Winslet, seated at the table. Lord Bromwell hastily rose to greet Carina and pulled out a seat between himself and the head of the table where Rykard remained seated.
“Thank you for joining us, Duchess,” Rykard said with pointed politeness. “You are already acquainted with your sister’s fiance, Lord Asher, I trust.”
“We’ve met,” Carina replied shortly.
“Didn’t I save you from that rude fellow at the funeral?” Asher remarked with noted smugness.
“By rude fellow, you mean your friend, Artemis?” Carina retorted coldly. “I had all but forgotten about you laying him out in the mud at my mother’s funeral.”
Asher blinked but held his tongue as he noted the frown on Rykard’s face. “Artemis was a mutual acquaintance of myself and Lincoln,” he explained hastily. “And not the sort of person I continue to associate with—especially after his regrettable action towards her Grace.”
“Indeed,” Rykard murmured with evident disapproval.
Sophya lifted her glass of juice silently and drank slowly.
Carina glanced at Maura’s half-sister and sat back as servants carried in platters of what appeared to be sausage and gravy with biscuits. After Kirsi’s warning concerning the effects of a vengeful spirit on their family, she wondered how much of Sophya’s actions had been due to Maura’s twisted nature.
‘She certainly seems calmer and more withdrawn now.’
“As I have already announced,” Rykard continued as Asher lifted his fork. “Bromwell will be taking over the estate and title when I retire. I will be training him on everything he needs to know until then and will hopefully settle upon a good match for him in the meanwhile.”
Bromwell choked slightly on his drink and hastily apologized behind his handkerchief.
Carina smiled at him sympathetically. She could only imagine what sort of demands Rykard would make of the young man before finally handing over Gilwren and his title.
“And what of your granddaughters?” Asher asked pointedly and frowned at Bromwell.
Rykard laced his fingers together as he faced the young nobleman. “Are you unable to provide for Sophya as a Baron, Lord Asher?”
“I—No, but surely—”
“You want to know what her dowry will be then?”
“Grandfather,” Sophya murmured with noted tiredness.
The Viscount glanced towards his granddaughter, and for a moment, his expression relaxed. “Sophya will receive a monthly stipend of 1,200 crescents that will continue through Bromwell once he takes over as Viscount. That amount will be deposited into a private account once each month that only Sophya and her husband will have access to.”
“That is—most generous,” Asher murmured quietly.
“Thank you, grandfather,” Sophya whispered, though she seemed less than thrilled with the amount. “Will I be able to make withdraws before my marriage?”
Rykard raised a brow. “You say that as if your marriage will not be taking place any time soon?” His sharp gaze turned swiftly to Asher. “Have you not yet set a date?”
“I—We were waiting until after the coronation,” Asher explained hastily.
“The King will be coronated next week! I had expected to receive news that you would be married shortly thereafter!”
“We have not had time to begin planning for the wedding since—the death of Sophya’s mother.”
Sophya squeaked as Rykard’s hand slammed down upon the table. The Viscount drew in a slow breath and exhaled before raising dangerous eyes towards the startled nobleman.
“My granddaughter has been living with you for the past several weeks. You have delayed putting out an official engagement because of Helena’s death—I will not allow you to sully Sophya’s reputation further by delaying this wedding.”
“That was not my intent, my Lord!”
“Enough!” Rykard snarled as his gaze swung between Asher and Sophya. “Since you have made poor use of your time with my granddaughter, Sophya will remain here in Gilwren until you are ready to officially propose and set an acceptable date for the wedding.”
“Viscount!” Asher swiftly rose from his seat. “I must protest! This is unnecessary and unfair to Sophya!”
“You think I’m being unfair to my granddaughter?” Rykard drawled sarcastically. The Viscount’s eyes settled for a moment on Sophya, who continued to stare at her plate, then turned to Carina. “Do you agree, Lady Kirsi?”
Carina raised her brows as she twisted the stem of her cup. “I believe the decision should be Sophya’s.”
Rykard snorted in disbelief.
“I agree with the Duchess,” Bromwell added firmly. “After all, you are partly to blame for Sophya having no one else to turn to for shelter after both her parents died.”
Carina held back a gasp of disbelief as the Viscount turned a murderous gaze towards Bromwell but then, unexpectedly, sighed and ran a hand down his face.
“Oh, very well, the decision is yours, Sophya.”
Sophya looked up from her plate slowly to look at Bromwell. Carina watched as uncertainty and turmoil worked its way across the young woman’s face as Sophya slowly turned to look at the Viscount.
“Sophya,” Asher whispered urgently as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Tell them you want to stay with me.”
Sophya glanced at his hand, and for a moment, Carina thought she saw a look of revulsion crossed the young woman’s face. Inexplicably, Sophya turned to Carina next, and for once, her forest-green eyes—the same color Lincoln’s had been—held not an ounce of hostility.
When Maura’s half-sister turned back to the Viscount once more, she straightened in her chair and replied, “I would like to stay at Gilwren with you, Grandfather.”
Asher retracted his hand as if he had been burned while Rykard grinned and nodded his approval. The Viscount then turned a challenging gaze towards Lord Asher, who stood as rigid as a tree beside his chair.
“Now that I think about it, I don’t believe that I invited you here to join us for breakfast,” Rykard said pointedly as he pushed back his chair and stood. “Since you are not yet officially engaged to Sophya, and this is a private family meeting—I think you should leave.”
Asher raised a trembling fist towards his face and pressed it against his lips as he exhaled. Then he turned and offered a stiff head bow to Rykard. “I apologize if I have disturbed your meal. I shall be returning to Winslet now.” He turned swiftly, but his footsteps slowed as he neared the dining room door, as if he hoped Sophya might change her mind and called him back.
She did not.
Carina turned from Sophya to stare incredulously at Bromwell, who leaned towards her and whispered, “I’ll tell you later.”
***
True to his word, Lord Bromwell escorted Carina back to her camp, which had all but disappeared into tidy piles of folded leather fabric, wooden pools, and wound-up piles of rope and metal stakes being loaded onto wagons.
“You’re not going to ask me what I know?” Bromwell teased as he led her to the shade of a nearby tree.
“I figured you would tell me on your own,” Carina replied indifferently. “You don’t seem like someone who’s very good at keeping secrets.”
“Are you implying I’m a gossip?” Bromwell managed to look wounded for a moment. “I’ll have you know that I’m very good at keeping secrets, but Sophya is your sister.”
“Half-sister.”
“The closest thing to a family that you have.”
Carina frowned at him and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Bromwell protested as he quickly caught her arm. “I know I am in no position to judge what sort of relationship you choose to have with your family, but hear me out. Sophya came to me yesterday at the ball to ask for my help.”
Carina turned to face him and looked down at his hand on her arm until Bromwell reluctantly let it go. “Help with what?”
“Breaking off her engagement to Lord Asher.”
Carina blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Her reasons?”
“It seems that while Sophya was left alone at the Manor with Asher’s cousin, Valarie Henrish, Asher and his other cousin, Rufous Henrish spent their days hunting with the Marquess’s group, and their nights—indulging in wine and women with Viscount Gladstone.”
“Ahh.”
“Sophya also said that she had long suspected Asher and his mother, Lady Florence, of postponing a public engagement until they were certain that she would inherit a suitable dowry from her grandfather.”
“Naturally,” Carina commented.
Bromwell paused and considered her for a moment. “You don’t seem at all surprised by this?”
Carina turned to look at him and shrug. “I warned Sophya a long time ago to avoid Asher unless she wished to be as unhappy as—our mother.”
Bromwell’s expression softened. “Yes, well—it would seem that the Viscount turning the cold shoulder to you both allowed Sophya to see the Winslet’s true intentions.”
‘Or perhaps time away from Turnbell and Maura allowed Sophya a chance to grow up and let go of her resentment and jealousy.’ Carina sighed and rubbed her temple. ‘But Sophya also burned Maura’s face in the previous timeline. Perhaps she hasn’t changed but finally realized that choosing Asher won’t make her happy.’
“I should head back,” Bromwell said abruptly as his gaze focused on something over Carina’s shoulder. “It would appear someone else wishes to speak to you, your Grace.” He presented a flourished bow and then swept up Carina’s hand for a brief kiss. “I hope that you will allow me the opportunity to assist you with learning to shoot the crossbow more confidently in the future, Cousin.”
Carina smiled and shook her head as the nobleman headed back up the path towards Gilwren Manor, bowing as he did to Earl Percy, who now headed towards her.
“Your Grace,” Percy said with a formal bow.
“Lord Percy?” Carina raised a smile. “Was there something you needed?”
“A moment of your time, if you would allow me,” Percy replied, head still bowed towards the ground.
“Please, rise, Earl Hawthorne,” Carina commanded uncomfortably. “And speak freely.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Percy straightened. His winter-gray eyes wandered over her comfortable travel gown then moved up towards her face. “Serilda told me she spoke to you at last night’s banquet before the dance.”
Carina raised her brows and nodded. “She did it of her own volition. I do not hold you responsible for her words, Lord Percy.”
“Nevertheless, she was right,” Percy replied. “I am—helpless when it comes to you. I don’t—know how to win your favor—or if I even have the right.”
The Duchess crossed her arms and looked away, already uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was headed.
“I want to prove myself to you. Prove that I have changed, that I can do better. I just want to be given the opportunity—some guidance?”
Carina licked her lips as she picked her words with care. “Serilda said that you would give up your ambitions to prove yourself to me.” She turned to face him squarely. “Would you? Give up your ambitions for Lafeara’s throne?”
Percy drew in a slow breath, then took a single step towards her. “Yes.”
Carina blinked and frowned. ‘No. Why would he agree? Is he lying?’
“You won’t make any move against his Majesty or the Crown Princess?” She pressed questionably.
“If that is your wish, I will faithfully serve Lafeara and the crown prince as a humble Earl.”
Carina stared at him incredulously, doubting his every word, and yet—hopeful that they were true.
“However,” Percy continued with noted frustration. “I am still convinced that you would make a better Monarch for Lafeara.”
The Duchess snorted softly and shook her head. “Did you have anything to do with Nicholas pardoning the Marquess and choosing Priscilla as his consort?”
“No.” Percy shook his head. “His Majesty made plans to deal with the Marquess before we left the Capital.”
“You knew—” Carina murmured. “And didn’t tell me.”
“You chose Nicholas as your ally instead of me,” the Earl replied with a hint of bitterness. “You wanted to give him a chance, so I stepped back to allow you to see him for what he truly is.”
Carina frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Percy tilted his head. “Didn’t Prince Llyr tell you about the plague victims being burned?”
The Duchess drew in a sharp breath as she folded her arms slowly. “You’re saying that was his Majesty’s doing.”
“The deed was carried out by Knight Commander Quentin and his—less reputable knights.”
Carina shook her head slowly in disbelief. “Why? I trust him. I took the news to him as soon as I confirmed that the plague—this sickness was contagious and life-threatening.”
“Nicholas can’t afford a plague. Not when he is days away from coronation and about to evict the church from Lafeara.”
“But to—burn them alive! Why not just quarantine them!?”
“If it had just been the Capital, there’s a chance he might have followed through with your advise and preparation,” Percy replied patiently. “But the plague appeared in other provinces around the capital, some with no apparent connection or relation to each other.”
“We don’t know why or how it’s spreading—but to murder people before we even get a chance to look!”
“That is the decision Nicholas came to after discussing the potential threat with the Prime Minister and members of the House of Lords. Kill a few hundred to spare thousands of others.”
“But surely—that would only turn the populace against him—especially the commoners! I very much doubt Nicholas will burn sick nobles alive, even if they contract the plague.”
“The populace’s fear of the plague will always outweigh any moral obligation they might otherwise feel,” Percy replied. “At least, the majority. If the plague cannot be stopped, they will blame it on the Witches of Lafeara, and then—Kirsi—where will you stand?”
“Is it—a Witch Plague?” Carina asked, deflecting his pointed question.
“It was spawned by magic,” Percy replied. “That is all I can say.”
“How do we stop it?”
“A Witch Plague is birthed by sacrifice and nurtured by great suffering,” Percy replied grimly. “It ends the same way it begins—with a sacrifice and great suffering.”
Confusion and fear twisted in Carina’s guts as she stared at him incredulously. “What sacrifice?”
“Only the witch or entity that created the plague would know—and the mortal she marked as its sacrifice.”
Carina felt her heart stop as the hair choked in her throat.
‘Marked as its Sacrifice?’
Her gloved hands tightened into fists as understanding swirled around her like a storm of bees whittling away at her consciousness.
“Your Grace? Kirsi?” Percy grabbed the Duchess’s arm gently and looked down with her in concern. “What’s wrong?”
Carina blinked back helpless tears as she looked at his hand and then raised her gaze to his. “If you want to prove yourself to me—then find another way to end this plague!”
The Earl blinked in confusion at the desperation in her tone and shook his head. “There are only two ways. The Sacrifice or the Witch that created the Plague must die.”
“Then find the witch—god—I don’t care! Just stop the plague, Percy!”
A flutter of dark wings pulled Carina’s gaze from Percy’s concerned expression. She stared at the large black crow with red eyes as Veles words of warning echoed through the storm in her ears.
“You are running out of time, Kirsi—we are all running out of time. Return Viktor’s heart—or suffer the consequences!”