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[Rough Draft] Epilogue {Part One}: The Death of Hope
Mary tried to keep a smile on her face as she trailed behind the noisy fledglings heading down the Fortress Castle steps on their way to the gardens. She still didn’t know how she felt about being assigned as the witch children’s guardian. On the one hand, the position had apparently been bestowed upon her by the Duchess shortly after Krisi’s elders rescued the Strom Witch and children from several cannibals witches just outside Hawthorne Forest. Mary was certainly grateful and might have been a little bit excited to live within the same Fortress the Duchess of Winter now called home—if she weren’t also dealing with the embarrassment of needing to be rescued in the first place.
The children were easy enough to look after. The older fledglings and true troublemakers, David, Sarah, and Jesse, did most of the herding, shushing, and reprimanding when they weren’t busy acting like children themselves.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Walker!” David called out from the bottom of the stairs.
Mary raised her gaze to where the officer in question smiled politely as David and the line of children circled past him.
“And where might you children be heading?”
“To get some sun and fresh air in the garden,” Mary answered, her eyes monitoring one of the small children who crept up behind the lieutenant while ogling the flintlock musket strapped across the knight’s back.
“Ahh, I thought you might,” Walker replied with a faint grimace. “I’m afraid the garden is occupied at the moment.”
“Oh?” Mary frowned as Sarah caught the naughty fledgling’s hand before it could so much as graze the musket’s steel-coated stock plate.
“The Lady of the Northern Tower has decided to leave her rooms for some fresh air and is resting in the garden presently,” Walker explained, his expression tightening with a subtle look of disgust.
“Lady Ivy has left her tower?” Sarah breathed excitedly as the small boy she had caught pulled impatiently against her grasp. “Can we visit her in the garden?”
“Well—” Mary began hesitantly.
“I’m afraid the Lady isn’t well. Too much company right now might overstimulate her,” Walter interjected apologetically. “Although—” His gaze returned to Mary with an almost pleading expression. “Lady Ivy could use some assistance returning to her room.”
‘Ah, so that was why he had come.’ The Storm Witch had been warned on more than one occasion since arriving at Bastiallano’s Fortress about the Veiled Lady who lived in the Northern Tower. The knight who had escorted Mary to her new rooms had cautioned her about the Duchess’s mysterious guest, who suffered from an aggressive disease that required her to live practically isolated in the tower. The water witches under Lady Larissa had managed Ivy’s care until they were recalled to Strugna by their Crown Prince. ‘And the knights have kept their distance since mortals are the only ones who can contract the witch plague.’
“Well then,” Mary murmured as she reached the bottom of the steps. “Why don’t I take Sarah with me to pay a visit and see if Lady Ivy requires any assistance getting comfortable in her rooms.”
The Lieutenant smiled in relief, then bowed his head in gratitude. Sarah’s hazel-blue eyes glowed with anticipation before they moved hesitantly toward her two companions. “Can Jesse or David come with us?”
“Probably best if they went to visit another time,” Walter responded with another apologetic smile.
“Oh,” Sarah murmured, her happiness dimming beneath an expression of guilt.
“It’s fine,” Jesse muttered with a dismissive glower. “It’s not like I asked to go. You’re the one who’s been pestering the knights all week.”
“I’ll watch the children until you get back, Lady Mary,” Walter offered, his somewhat anxious expression suggesting there was some urgency to his request. Meanwhile, the fledgling Sarah had caught earlier squirmed his way free and promptly wrapped himself around the knight’s leg. “Ahha! They seem to like me well enough.”
“Very well,” Mary murmured, resolved to fulfill the lieutenant’s request and return as quickly as possible. “David, you’re in charge until I get back. Keep an eye on the smaller ones.” She glanced pointedly at the greedy boy, draped beneath the knight’s silver cloak, his stubby fingers reaching once more for the lieutenant’s musket. “Let’s not let them touch things they shouldn’t.”
***
While most of the fortress’s small back garden had long since closed their blooms for fall, several brightly colored flowers remained around the central fountain. Mary recognized a few aptly named goldenrods, several bushels of equally vibrant chrysanthemums buzzing with the occasional honey bee, segmented by several towering giant sunflowers and tiny purple pansies.
The warm autumn sun and the lazy, gentle breeze only served to heighten the fatigue that lingered after last night’s tumultuous journey and lack of sleep. Mary smothered a yawn as she followed Sarah around the fountain to where a woman draped in a dark grey veil sat upon a sun-bathed bench that rested against the fortress’s inner wall.
Lady Ivy appeared to be sleeping. Her head dropped slightly, her chin resting just above her chest as the curtained shroud around her face barely stirred.
For a moment, Mary felt an uncomfortable feeling of panic as the wretched scent that had steadily overwhelmed the floral garden’s fragrant appeal clicked with the feeble, unmoving figure before her.
‘She’s not—dead—is she?’
“Lady Ivy?” Sarah called out softly as she hovered near the edge of the bench. “Viscountess? I think she’s sleeping.”
The Storm Witch nodded silently as her gaze trailed down the woman’s veil to where two bandaged hands peeped from beneath her covering. A strange sympathy and rage filled her at the sight of the woman’s fingers, some of which appeared far shorter than they should be. The bandages themselves were stained with a peculiar oily black substance that Mary suspected was the source of the rotting smell.
‘No wonder the knights don’t want to deal with her.’
“She’s been reading the book I got her from the library,” Sarah whispered as she pulled the leather-bound volume from beneath the veiled woman’s left hand, lowering it carefully by the wrist. “She’s rather curious about historical classics from the Isbrand period—for a mortal.”
‘I’m surprised she can read anything through that veil.’
“Try not to get too close,” Mary cautioned. While many believed the plague only affected mortals, the Storm Witch had seen enough of the pestilence in the last several weeks to recognize the Viscountess’s illness as something far more sinister.
“I’m fine,” Sarah replied, with the confident naivety of youth, before adding wistfully. “I really wish the Witch King and the Covens could help her.”
A strange tickle of magic pulled the Storm Witch’s gaze away from the pair back to the garden’s entrance where a man she didn’t recognize, whose uniform differed slightly from the rest of the knights, paused just out of full view.
“M-maura?” A faint, crackly voice that reminded Mary of the elders among the covenless, croaked weakly. “Is that you?”
“No, Viscountess. It’s me—Sarah.”
“Sarah? Oooh—Oh!” Ivy’s frail body twisted violently away from the startled child as the woman hacked loudly and painfully against the sleeve of her dress.
Mary caught a glimpse of black bile, bodily fluids, and even a stray tooth before the woman hastily rolled the long fabric of her skirt over the toxic waste.
“I must have—fallen asleep,” Ivy murmured, sounding equally frantic and defeated. “Th-thank you for waking me up.”
“Mary and I came to assist you back to your rooms,” Sarah explained, doing a surprise job of masking any discomfort to the woman’s illness. “I found this beside you—” she gestured with the book, “—have you finished reading it.”
“I—meant to return it,” Ivy replied hesitantly before another cough forced her to cower against her sleeve. “I’m afraid—my eyes sight—isn’t very good.”
“Would you like me to read it to you?” Sarah responded quickly. “I can come in the evenings while the children are taking their baths.” The girl glanced hesitantly toward Mary as if silently seeking approval.
“That would be—most kind—but I’m afraid—I have little strength—left in me.”
“That’s alright. I’ll just read to you until you fall asleep.”
The veiled woman turned to regard the patient fledgling silently, then shook her head. “I don’t think—I’ll be able to finish it—even with—your help.”
Sarah sat frozen for a moment, then sucked in a breath as she turned away from the Viscountess to glare at the book in her lap.
“But a visit—now and then—would be welcome,” Ivy added gently as the silence stretched uncomfortably.
Sarah nodded but continued to blink rapidly before rubbing against her eyes. “Can I—bring Jesse and David?”
The Viscountess appeared to perk up momentarily. “As long as you have permission from your guardian.” her limbs twitched awkwardly as she turned towards Mary, as if each movement came at a significant cost. “Is Jesse doing well?”
“He’s almost fully recovered and doing well at school,” Sarah replied eagerly before prattling on about each of the other witch children currently housed inside the Fortress.
Ivy listened quietly, barely stirring beneath her veil, while Mary did her best to subtly filter the wind around them to decrease the scent of rotting decay.
The Viscountess appeared to recover her strength after a while and rose stiffly to depart. She flinched away from Sarah’s offered assistance but accepted the girl’s request to walk back to the north tower together.
“I hear Lady Kirsi is away at a Royal Ball?” Ivy wheezed out, sounding both curious and lonely.
“Yes—” Mary replied hesitantly. She wasn’t sure how much the veiled woman knew of the Coven’s plans for today’s coronations celebrations but chose to feign ignorance to avoid worrying her.
“The Knights say that you grew up alongside the Duchess, that you practically raised her,” Sarah chattered, hugging the leather-bound book to her chest as she eyed the fortified tower wall before them.
“I was her maid,” Ivy replied wistfully. “My Lady was always—kind and clever. Always thinking of others—even in that horrid house.” She drew in a slow, hampered breath. “Those days—feel like such a long time ago.”
“Her maternal family are mortals, are they not?” Mary inquired curiously.
“Yes.” The Viscountess nodded, briefly pausing to lean on a beautifully polished white oak cane engraved with flowers and butterflies. “Most of them are gone now—dead and buried. Only Lady Sophia remains, Mau—Lady Kirsi’s half-sister.”
“I see.” The Storm Witch pressed her lips together. She had assumed the Duchess had grown up under happier circumstances, given how much the ice witch had invested into aiding those mortals stricken by the plague. But judging from the veiled woman’s vindictive tone, that did not seem to be the case.
“How did they die?” Sarah pressed curiously as the knight on guard outside the tower’s ground entry turned to open the door ahead of them before giving the tower’s residence a wide birth.
The Viscountess tilted her head ever so slightly before muttering in barely a whisper, “Providence.”
Mary hid a smile as Sarah’s brows creased in confusion.
“I shall be fine—from here,” Ivy announced as she turned on the path to face them and bowed her head in gratitude.
“Are you sure, Lady Ivy?”
“My room is—on the second floor—it’s not too far, Miss Sarah.” The Viscountess’s veiled face turned to face the Storm Witch. “Thank you for looking—after the children. I am relieved—that they are with someone—better suited—to helping them grow.”
Mary shifted uncomfortably but bowed her head silently in reply as the veiled woman turned. Her gray veil and dress blended into the dimly lit interior that gave off the faint stench of death.
“Will she—be alright?” Sarah whispered anxiously as they watched the knight return to shut the door firmly.
Mary couldn’t think of a suitable truthful answer. She also knew better than to lie to a fledgling, as most air witches were intuitive enough to discern truth from lies. So she settled on something positive instead. “We can pay her a visit later today with one of the boys. Perhaps we can bring her fresh flowers from the garden and some picture books from the library.”
Sarah appeared to brighten momentarily, but her smile quickly faded as she thumbed the corner of the leather-bound book the Viscountess had left behind. “Do you think—the Duchess will find a cure to help Lady Ivy?”
Again, the Storm Witch struggled to find an acceptable answer to ease the girl’s concern. “I’m certain that her Grace will do everything she can to help her friend recover as quickly as possible.”
‘But only the Saint can cure something as corrosive as the plague.’
Sarah appeared to arrive at the same conclusion as they turned around. As the ominous tower receded behind them, the silent girl reached out silently to grasp the Storm Witch’s hand. Mary squeezed her small palm and fingers silently in response.
‘Perhaps Lady Kirsi will perform yet another miracle.’
***
Ivy hugged the tower wall as she made her way slowly up the winding staircase. Her lungs burned. Her vision swayed and blurred, but she pressed on, determined to make it to her destination before collapsing.
Once the tower door shut loudly below, the Viscountess pulled off the suffocating veil, grimacing as it clung and tore at what little skin remained along her neck and cheeks. The little sunlight that filtered through the narrow windows of her tower stung against her tired eyes. She blinked the tears away, her breath tightening as her salty tears burned down the blisters and open wounds on her face.
She barely flinched as a foot scraped against the tower step below her. Fear was a long-gone illusion. It wasn’t at all difficult to embrace the idea of death when every hour, every minute of her existence, brought nothing but pain and humiliation.
‘The children don’t need me anymore, and neither does Maura.’ The muscles in her jaw and cheek cramped painfully as the corner of her withered lips arched into a crooked smile. Ivy focused her blurred vision on the shadowed steps before her that slithered and shifted like the back of a giant serpent. Her knees and legs were trembling on the verge of collapse by the time she reached the second landing and found her bedroom door open.
‘I don’t remember—leaving it that way.’
Ordinarily, the knights and servants of Bastiallano avoided her quarters. Under Lady Larissa’s command, the water witches had done their best to ease Ivy’s suffering with herbal sponge baths, rejuvenating clay, and some curious salve that helped numb the pain briefly. But once the Viscountess rotting skin began to fall off, they limited their treatment to only gentle oils and sponge baths while cleaning and airing out Ivy’s bed sheets, mattress, and room daily.
But now they were similarly gone, drawn away by some political power struggle in their native kingdom. Their absence had left Ivy to drown in the suffocating silence of hopelessness.
‘There’s no one left to worry about me—and little reason to hold on.’
Kirsi had seemed confident that Ivy would recover with Hana’s help once the foreign Viscountess had been rescued from her tyrant of a brother.
‘Even if Hana’s blood can keep me alive—what is the point of living when I look like this.’ She glared at the covered mirror tucked behind a dresser in the corner of her room before collapsing into a chair beside the sealed stained glass window. ‘And now there’s a man following me to my room. Why would anyone bother to send an assassin to kill someone who’s practically already dead?’
Her haggard breathing filled the tense silence as the Viscountess observed the shadow of a man sliding across the threshold from the corner of her eye. The uninvited visitor appeared to study Ivy for a moment, wavering from his unknown purpose, drawing a dry chuckle from the Viscountess’s parched throat.
“I’m the one rotting away—and yet you reek of death.”
The man flinched, perhaps startled to discover she had seen him.
‘I suppose, given my face and my struggle on the stairs, he might have thought me blind.’
“Well, out with it—either introduce yourself or—get on with your business for being here.” Ivy’s tired lungs and the built-up exhaustion of her outing were working against her as the Viscountess struggled to keep her eyes open.
When the man finally approached her, he did so without a weapon in his hand. Ivy swallowed her disappointment and blinked in surprise when he knelt before her on one knee with his head bowed.
“My name is Sir Declan. I serve as one of his Majesty’s knights.”
The Viscountess drew in a slow strained breath as she struggled to make out the features of his face, which—even with her poor vision—appeared young and handsome. “Why are you here—Sir Declan?”
“I’ve come—to ask for your forgiveness—my Lady.”
Ivy smiled through tears of pain as the glimmer of hope returned.