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[Rough Draft] Chapter 85: The Scent of Ambition

 

“She was buried in the Dowager’s garden?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Percy replied somberly with his head still bowed. Behind him, two members of the Nocturnem coven with their faces concealed by masks knelt upon the gravel path in silence. “I had my men remove her engagement ring as proof.” He held out the simple diamond ring wrapped inside his handkerchief, but Kirsi remained where she stood, staring at the cathedral from beneath the gazebo’s doom. “Due to the toxicity of the Aconitum’s root so soon after a human sacrifice, it will be difficult to exhume the lady’s remains in their entirety. I believe it would be best to burn Lady Tiffany’s remains and the others buried there.”

“Your Grace,” Captain Silas spoke up cautiously as he moved up just behind the Earl. “What do we do—about the Dowager’s disappearance?”

“Nothing.” The Duchess slowly turned around and placed a hand on the chair, where Lady Delphine sat, collapsed against the table beside the remnants of the drink prepared for her by Kirsi with Aconitum petals. “You may bury the Dowager’s attendant in her garden—burn her with the rest. Make sure that every root, flower, and stem is destroyed.”

Captain Silas bowed and motioned to two waiting knights, who lifted and carried Lady Delphine’s limp corpse away.

“Your Grace,” Percy murmured as he took the two steps up into the gazebo. “Where is the Dowager?”

The Duchess gave him an assessing look that reminded the Earl to bow his head.

“Forgive me, I meant—is she still alive?”

“Octavia is not yet dead—”

Percy flinched, even as a sigh of relief slipped free. Years of meticulous plotting to avenge his father’s death and send the Dowager to the underworld himself flared awake, strengthened by Kirsi’s words.

“—but she will not live for much longer. A few days at most.”

The Earl nodded. ‘I don’t know how Kirsi disappeared before my very eyes, but I doubt her magic carried her far from here. I can summon a few crows to search for Octavia later. As long as she is within Lafeara, I can find her with a simple tracking spell and a piece of her possessions.’

“What would you have me do now?” Percy asked with a glance towards the Duchess’s hand, still resting on the chair.

“You had plans for the arrival of the Pope. Share them with me.”

The Earl blinked and then, with a permissive wave of Kirsi’s hand, straightened and met her gaze. “If you’re referring to my plans to kill the Divine Heir—are you sure you want to know?”

‘Maura was always resistant to the idea of bloodshed, and Octavia seemed convinced that Kirsi was gone along with Viktor—then the person before me must be Maura?’

“The Pope is also my enemy,” Kirsi replied as she tightened her hand on the back of the chair and then released, leaving finger trails of frost behind. “My position regarding your rebellion against Nicholas remains the same, but—I will not stand in your way if you mean to assassinate the Pope.”

“Unfortunately, it seems your cooperation will be necessary.” The Earl smiled as he circled the table towards her and then nodded in the direction of the cathedral. “Not only has the Pope secured a foothold for himself upon Holy Ground, but he has brought a few ancient artifacts, crafted by the Second Saint, with him.”

“Artifacts?” The Duchess thoughtfully pressed her pale fingers against her lips and whispered, “So that is why he took her by force.”

“Her, your Grace?” Percy arched his brow as he turned towards her. “You are referring to the Pope’s sister, our Lady Hana?”

A faint scowl and a dangerous glint crossed the Duchess’s face as she locked eyes with him. “Whatever your plans, you are not to harm Lady Hana. Is that clear?”

The Earl bowed his head in acceptance. “If that is your wish, your Grace.”

Krisi’s skepticism was evident, but she nodded, accepting his words. “So then—how do we get to the Pope?”

“We must give him a reason to come to leave the cathedral,” Percy replied with a faint shrug.

“How? The coronation is held inside the cathedral. Until the Pope’s business in Lafeara is done, and he returns to Zarus, he has no reason to leave the safety of its walls.”

“Nicholas’s coronation and Lady Hana are not the only reason for the Pope’s visit.”

“You mean the plague?”

“As well as the upcoming appointment for next Prime Minister,” Percy replied, unable to mask the tension in his words as he folded his arms. “The Divine Heir is backing my competitor, Earl Coldwell, and has already taken bloody steps to ensure the Royal Party wins the election.”

“How?”

He glanced towards the Duchess and blinked, struck by the faint glow of power that surfaced beneath her winter blue eyes. “By outright murdering several Viscounts who would have voted in support of me and replacing them with token heirs who are certain to vote for Earl Coldwell.”

“Ha! The politics of Saints,” Kirsi commented cynically. “How many have they killed.”

“Seven nobles, not including other members of their family who the Pope deemed unsuitable for inheriting their father or mother’s seat.”

“How many votes do you need to win?”

“The nobles families who meet the requirements to vote consist of 87 votes to date. Our estimation of their support was forty in support of Earl Coldwell and the remaining 47 in support of myself.”

“And the Pope has shifted those seven key votes to Coldwell.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

The Duchess scoffed and rubbed her temple, a flicker of fatigue visible upon her lovely features as she sighed. “But murder—”

“A bold choice, but one likely to persuade other nobles to shift their votes,” Percy commented bluntly.

“I see. Then I will find a way to bring you thirteen votes and dissuade the nobles from bending to the church’s intimidation.”

The Earl blinked and took a step back as he turned to face her fully. “What—do you mean?”

“They must be a Viscount or Viscountess with over 20,000 acres of land to vote,” Kirsi replied calmly as she tapped a finger against her lips.

“Well—yes, but the lands of both Dukedoms have already been divided to uphold the current noble families. There is no more land to give, let along enough to satisfy the requirement for 13 new Viscounts.”

“Then I’ll take the land required from Duke Stryker’s territory.”

The Earl’s brows rose higher still as disbelief, understanding, and his own cunning ambition took hold. “If you go to war against Duke Stryker, you will be starting a civil war, your Grace.”

“Yes,” Kirsi replied dispassionately before her lovely, cold eyes left the cathedral and turned to face him. “If Nicholas will not stand against the Pope’s tyranny, I will have no choice.”

‘So you will let Nicholas decide whether to save his kingdom and Lady Hana in the process; or watch it be destroyed.’ Percy exhaled quietly and then bowed his head with a smile of admiration.

***

“There is—one last thing you should know, your Grace.”

Carina tilted her head and looked up at the Earl, bracing herself for more bad news. “What is it?”

“At the end of the Crown Prince’s prayers—the prince’s Mistress, Lady Rosamund, made an appearance,” Percy explained neutrally. “And the lady claimed before all the nobles present that she was pregnant with the prince’s child.”

The Duchess blinked, then laughed as she turned away. ‘So—another fragment of the past timeline reemerges.’ She pressed her lips together as Maura’s memories flashed before her eyes. ‘But which are lies and what is truth.’ Carina turned and silently walked around the table and its abandoned tea tray towards Captain Silas.

“Your Grace?” The Earl’s footsteps followed close behind.

“His Majesty should have returned by now,” Carina explained dryly. “We should speak to him tonight if possible.”

“Your Grace, you know Nicholas will not do anything that would jeopardize his coronation!”

“Still, he should know just what lengths the Pope is willing to take to bring Lafeara back into the Church’s fold.”

“Nicholas needs the Pope’s blessing to ensure the loyalty of his people.”

“They why are you letting him be crowned king?!” Carina snapped as she whirled around to face the Earl. “Isn’t your grand ambition to become King of Lafeara yourself?”

Percy offered her a placating smile as he stopped less than a foot away. “Now is not the right time, your Grace. Take the throne too early, and we would be forced to squash an uprising of the people—which is something your Grace is eager to avoid.”

“Y-yes,” Carina replied hesitantly. ‘But since when was that a concern of yours?’

“You asked about my plans, your Grace.” The Earl lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers. A thin wall of air materialized around them. “Allow me to illuminate you. The Covens intend to allow Nicholas to become King. We will even allow the Pope to coronate the prince and his chosen Queen. Soon after, we will enable the people of Lafeara to see how far the Kings of Havardur have fallen from grace before exposing the sins of the church and its Pope.”

“You want the people of Lafeara to rebel with you?” Carina whispered in surprise.

“That is the best course to minimize our internal losses—although Nicholas may be less concerned with a public massacre when it comes to protecting his throne.”

“And what of the plague? How do you expect the faithful of Lafeara to turn their back on the Saints if the Pope lifts the plague?”

The Earl’s winter-gray eyes narrowed curiously. “Can he?”

‘If Jericho can force Hana to become the Saint, he can do that and far worse.’

“I don’t know—for sure. But—I believe he will try.”

“That would have been part of Nicholas’s negotiation with the Pope,” Percy murmured thoughtfully. “But it was still the church that spread it within Lafeara.”

“Not the church—but one of their Witch Hunter’s,” Carina corrected. “I doubt the Pope and his Cardinals will accept any personal blame when they have so many disposable dogs on hand.”

“Then—” Percy stepped closer. His sharp eyes, focused upon her face, shown beneath the moonlight. “Can you stop the plague, your Grace?”

The Duchess blinked, then stepped back as she folded her arms defensively. “There might be a way, but it will require time.”

“How much time?”

Carina shook her head and shrugged helplessly. “A month—perhaps more.”

“But it can’t be done?”

She sighed and then nodded. “It’s the only to stop the plague—without the power of the Saint.”

The Earl folded his arms and studied her quietly for a moment. “How?”

“I find the plague witch who created the plague—and kill them.”

‘Before the Pope and his hounds track down Ivy.’

***

“Your Highness!” Lady Evelynn and Lady Meredith both curtsied before the carriage as the Royal Consort opened the door.

“I am tired,” Priscilla murmured weakly as she accepted the royal knight’s hand and all but leaned against his shoulder as she stepped down from the carriage. “Has a bath been prepared?”

“Yes, and a light meal as well, your Highness,” Evelynn replied as she and Meredith stepped forward hastily to support the pale consort. “Where is Lieutenant Olund?”

“His Majesty required his services temporarily,” Priscilla replied dismissively. She leaned against the attendant’s arms and grimaced as she took her first step forward. “Those blasted kneeling pillows are a joke—ah! How is anyone supposed to walk after—ahh—praying on their knees—for a full day?”

“Should I fetch a royal physician?” Meredith inquired with a worried frown as the Royal Consort stumbled to another painful halt.

“No—not a royal physician—” Priscilla hissed and pressed a hand against her back with a faint whimper. “F-find Lord Norley—have him send in a physician—he knows someone—trustworthy.”

‘If I complain now, it will only tarnish all the effort I put into looking humble in front of Nicholas.’

Evelynn looked confused while Meredith nodded and turned sharply to the royal knight who lingered by the carriage. “You! Lieutenant Corbin! Carry the Royal Consort inside.”

Priscilla frowned but held back a protest as the lieutenant stepped closer. As much as she hated to admit it, she somewhat regretted leaving Olund behind at the royal palace.

‘No, this is for the best. If Olund can win back his place beside Nicholas, he will continue to be my eyes and ears.’

“With your permission, my Lady,” Corbin murmured with a polite bow.

“You have it,” Priscilla replied stiffly, then grimaced as the royal knight easily lifted her in his arms. “You may carry me to my room.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

Priscilla frowned at his polite but distanced tone as they proceeded up the gravel path to Coldwell Manor. A butler greeted them at the door and discreetly led the Royal Knight up two flights of stairs to rooms the Earl had prepared for Priscilla and her attendants.

‘It’s not the palace, but it will have to do until Nicholas makes his decision.’

“Please set her Highness down here,” Meredith commanded with a gesture to the cushioned chair beside an already steaming bathtub.

A few minutes after the knight left, Priscilla sighed in relief as she slipped into the warm, fragrant bathtub. Meredith sprinkled rose petals and scented oils into the bath while Evelynn fed the Royal Consorts small bites of lemon cake.

“When you’ve finished your bath, would you like me to massage your legs and back, your Highness?” Meredith offered as she put away the remaining petals and oils.

Priscilla opened her tired eyes and stretched her sore limbs carefully. “Perhaps. That will depend on when Lord Norley and his physician get here.” She then turned her attention to the next bite of cake that Evelynn held out to her. A glint of light upon the engagement ring which the attendant wore pulled Priscilla’s gaze. “And how are things with Lord Acheron?”

Evelynn’s expression soured as she looked at the ring, then cut out another bite of cake. “I haven’t seen him since the Prime Minister’s funeral.”

Priscilla nodded. “It’s likely he’ll try to push the wedding off for a while using that excuse.”

“I’d be happier if Acheron found a way to break the engagement off completely,” Evelynn muttered as she held out another bite that Priscilla waved away.

“What if I found you a different husband?”

The attendant blinked and then glanced worriedly over to where Meredith was laying out a nightgown and robe for the Royal Consort. “I—would be grateful, your Highness, but—I am still engaged.”

“Through no wish or your own or Lord Acheron’s,” Priscilla retorted.

“Still—” Evelynn set her plate aside and then moved to sit behind the Royal Consort, where she rubbed oil into Priscilla’s damp strawberry blonde hair. “I believe it would be more appropriate for your Highness to secure a marriage for Lady Meredith. The Staffords have far more influence to offer than my father and—”

“Duchess Verity already has a proposal in mind for Lady Meredith,” Priscilla interrupted as she closed her eyes beneath Evelynn’s gentle fingers.

“Oh?” Meredith, who had clearly been listening to their conversation, swiftly laid down the Royal Consort’s garments and returned to kneel beside the bathtub. “Am I to be engaged to a member of the Duke’s family?”

“That is what Lady Verity proposes, but—” Priscilla leaned forward to allow Evelynn to wash the ends of her curls better, “—you are aware that the Duke has no heirs, only bastards.”

The delight in Meredith’s eyes dimmed as her expression turned thoughtful. “That would mean—my future husband would be either Lieutenant Leo or—Captain Beaumont?” She shivered, plucked the saint’s medallion beneath her bodice, and kissed it.

“Would that not make Meredith the next Duchess of Hargreve?” Evelynn murmured as if to ease the concern visible on Meredith’s face.

“If Lady Verity supports the engagement and adopts Leo officially as her son—then it is likely,” Priscilla replied, then wrapped her arms around her bent knees and tilted her head back as Evelynn rinsed out her oiled hair. “The Duchess has always shown considerable favor to Lieutenant Leo—”

“But Leo is engaged,” Meredith protested anxiously.

“And engagements may be broken under the right circumstances and with the right amount of influence.” The Royal Consort smiled at the look of relief reflected on bother of her attendant’s faces. “I promised that you would be rewarded for all your hard work, and I will keep that promise.”

“T-thank you, your Highness!” Meredith gushed out.

“We are you your debt,” Evelynn added somberly before returning to her task.

Priscilla smiled benevolently as she leaned against the side of the bathtub and plucked a rose petal from her exposed knees. “Your thanks are not necessary. All that I require is that you uphold your promise to assist me in removing that bothersome barbarian princess—once and for all.”