All of the color drains from Bram’s face. His eyes go wide with horror as his mouth falls open. He looks like he’s suspended in time, not moving a muscle, not even breathing. Arcadia, meanwhile, appears to be coming back down to earth. Her breathing relaxes, the blush of anger slowly fading from her cheeks. But still, she stares at the lifeless form of Lord Snollis with scorn in her eyes.

I crouch beside the body, push away a few books piled on top of him, and reach down to feel his neck for a heartbeat. There isn’t one. He’s already lukewarm.

“Is he alright?” asks Bram, breathlessly.

I look over my shoulder at him, and shake my head no. “I’ll go find a shovel.”

I turn with a swish of my cloak, as Bram lets out a nervous laugh behind me. Evidently this isn’t how he was expecting his morning to go. Poor lad. At least he doesn’t have to worry about his sister’s honor anymore. There’s a door by the stairs that takes me into the kitchen, and from there I spy another door that leads me out of the manor house and back onto the grounds.

No sooner do I step out of that door, do I see the servant who let us into the house, the one who had his nose in the air when he let us in. He’s trying to sneak across the yard to the stables as quietly as he can, holding up the hem of his cloak so it doesn’t disturb the grass. But when he hears the door shut behind him, he turns to look over his shoulder fearfully.

I smirk at him. “Hi there.”

He bleats in fright and takes off running toward the stable. I break into a sprint, eat up the short distance between us in a few strides, and before he’s able to get but a dozen yards I’ve tackled him. He lands on the grass with a heavy thud, whimpers as I roll him onto his back, pinning him down with my hands on his shoulders. His own hands rise shakily in a gesture of entreaty.

“P-please, please don’t kill me!”

“Aw. Why not?” I say. “I was sort of looking forward to it.”

The look of sheer terror on his face makes me laugh out loud. I roll my eyes, give him a pat on the shoulder and climb off of him. Once I’m standing I lean over and offer a hand up, and at first he shrinks away from it. But, perhaps after realizing that I’ll catch him if he tries to bolt again, he reaches up and grasps my wrist, and I haul him to his feet.

“I’m not going to hurt you. But can you promise you won’t try that again?” I ask.

He frowns at me while he’s smoothing out the front of his tunic. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” I say, with an eyebrow raised. “I suppose you can share a grave with your Lord, if that’s what you really want. It’s no skin off my back.”

His answer is a gulp, a shaky breath and a nod of understanding.

It makes me smile. “Good. Now would you mind showing me where you keep your shovels?”

They’re in the stable, as it turns out. I fetch three, one for me, one for this butler fellow and one for Bram, and together we pick out a decent spot for Lord Snollis’s final resting place. Nothing clears my head like simple manual labor. I really ought to find more ways to get it in, though grave-digging probably shouldn’t become a pastime. The butler isn’t the best worker, but he’s trying. Maybe he’s wondering if this is going to end up being his grave as well. Bram, meanwhile, works his heart out. He can almost keep up with me.

When it’s done, I stick my shovel in the grass and return to the house, to drag Lord Snollis out onto the grounds and toss him in. He lands sideways, arms and legs contorted, but I really don’t feel like going down there to pose him. I just grab my shovel again and start to cover him up, and the two men with me join in.

By the time we’re finished with our grim task, the sun is beginning its descent from afternoon to evening. I’ve stripped down to my strophium, my cloak and tunic hanging on the limb of a nearby tree. Bram puts down the final shovel of dirt, pats it with the back of his hammer a few times, and looks between the butler and I with a little frown.

“Should we say anything?” he asks.

I shrug. “How about… Here lies Lord Snollis. He was an ass. I wouldn’t piss on him if he were on fire.”

That makes the butler laugh. But when I give him an approving smile, he looks away, mortified.

* * * *

“So. Let’s take inventory of the situation, shall we? We landed here looking for food, met a nice peasant family in need, and now we’ve accidentally committed regicide.”

That would be Posca, who’s sitting at Lord Snollis’s dinner table with the rest of us. Gredder came up as well, and Bram’s elder sister Lyselle too. Arcadia sits at the head of the table, the Lord’s seat, gazing sullenly at Posca while he’s speaking. That butler is in the kitchen, fixing us something to eat. At least he’d better be. Maybe I intimidated him into being hospitable.

Apparently we left Hook back at the village to babysit the little ones, and at the moment I don’t want to think too hard about how that’s going.

Arcadia sighs. "No, regicide would be killing a King. There's not even a name for killing a Lord, so it’s by definition less serious."

Posca smirks, as he reaches for the goblet on the table in front of him. He nods at me, like he wants me to pass the decanter, but I make him wait until I’ve filled my own cup to hand it over.

“Call it what you want,” he says, just before having a sip. “A crime of passion, unfortunate accident, whatever. It means we should be making a hasty exit. I’m thinking now-ish.”

Arcadia purses her lips, and for a long moment she simply stares at the crystal centerpiece in the middle of the table. Then she shakes her head.

“We can’t leave,” she says. “What do you think will happen with the King of Asgoph finds out one of his Lords was murdered by peasants? They won’t bother to chase us. They’ll punish these villagers instead.”

Bram and Lyselle, who sit next to each other at the far end of the table, go a little pale at Arcadia’s words. The relief I saw on Lyselle’s face when we told her Snollis met an ‘accidental’ end seems to have wilted away.

“But if you stay, won’t you be the ones facing punishment?” she asks Arcadia.

Arcadia’s gaze shifts to Lyselle, studying her as if she were a puzzle commanding her full attention. Lyselle blushes a bit and glances away under the directness of it.

“We would, if they knew what really happened,” says Arcadia. “We need a cover story, something to tell anyone who comes asking after him. Like, he fell ill or something.”

Posca, meanwhile, has been watching Arcadia and Lyselle with a shrewd smile on his face, running a fingertip along the rim of his glass slowly. He glances at Lyselle. “This Lord Snollis. He… Wanted you, yes?” he asks.

Lyselle grimaces, and nods. “He did.”

“And he made some kind of arrangement with you, over this money your late father owed?”

“Aye.”

“Did anyone else know the details of this arrangement?”

Lyselle cocks an eyebrow at him. “No. Why does that matter?”

Posca laughs, pumps his fist in triumph and has a hearty swig of wine. “Excellent!”

That makes both Arcadia and Lyselle look at him quizzically. And me as well. “Feel like sharing?” I ask. He answers by holding up a finger to make me wait, while he continues to gulp, gulp, gulp down his wine.

“Ahhh,” he grins, smacking his lips when he’s finally done. “Yes. Yes I do,” he turns his grin on Lyselle then, and does a sitting-down version of a bow. “My dear girl, today is the day you inherit this entire estate.”

Lyselle splutters. “What?”

“The Lord of these lands was in love with you, was he not? It’s only natural for such a thing to take its natural, legal course.”

Lyselle stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, but a grin sprouts on Arcadia’s face. "Posca, that's brilliant."

She turns to Lyselle and says, "You see, he wooed you and poured gifts on your family, until you finally agreed to marry him. And sadly, not long after the marriage, tragedy struck. The lord fell ill leaving all his estate and assets to his next of kin, his wife."

Posca raises his finger again, to add something. “But not before he sent for Arcadia, his dear cousin from Ecea. Because we all know he was in declining health, and he wanted someone with you who could help you take the reigns.”

Apparently Lyselle is catching on, because her eyes grow wide with dawning shock. “So… I’m going to be…”

Posca grins from ear to ear. “The Lady Lyselle, ruler of. Err. What’s this place called?”

“Avendale.”

“A toast to Lyselle, Lady of Avendale!”

He raises his glass, as do Arcadia and I. Lyselle and Bram hesitantly follow suit, sheepish smiles on their faces. Gredder is the last to join us, chuckling as he does so.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” he asks Arcadia.

Arcadia shrugs, wearing that lopsided grin of hers. She turns her gaze to me and I wink at her, making her blush and look away, grinning even harder.

“Not anymore,” she says.

Then we drink to Lyselle and, most auspiciously, the butler emerges from the kitchen flanked by maids at his left and right, all three of them bearing big silver trays of food and drink. His mood doesn’t seem to have improved much from this afternoon, but the quality of the meal he’s serving doesn’t seem to have suffered for it. He lays out a huge roast on the middle of the table, surrounded by steaming vegetables and rolls of freshly baked bread with butter on the side. Next to it, a maid sets down another tray with a spicy-smelling stuffing made with ground beef, and a big serving bowl of golden mashed potatoes. The other made has pies. A whole tray of them.

I could eat this entire table, but I restrain myself. Arcadia invites the butler and the maids to sit and eat with us, and while they all look quite shocked at the invitation, they end up joining in as well. They might as well, they made enough food to feed a small army. Posca is a light eater, as usual, but he has more than his share of wine. He ends up explaining the situation to the butler and the maids, who, after the initial shock of it, seem rather pleased with this turn of events.

Lord Snollis must not have treated his help well. Imagine that.

After our meal, Bram and Lyselle get up to excuse themselves. The butler objects, what with her being the new Lady of Avendale and all, but she insists that they return to Detton and Lannie. More can be done tomorrow, after it all sinks in. Arcadia elects to remain at the manor house, in part to have a break from sleeping in our cabin on The Dove, and in part, I suspect, to keep an eye on this butler in case he has a change of heart. He shows us to a comfortable guest bedroom on the second floor, and the moment I’ve shut the door behind us she huffs out a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping a bit.

I walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in against me, placing a kiss on the side of her neck.

“You’re handling this well,” I say.

Arcadia makes a soft noise, and nuzzles into me. "Why wouldn't I?"

“I know you don’t like using your magic for violence,” I say, snugging her a little tighter against me. “Even if it’s deserved.”

Arcadia hums softly and says, "No. I don't feel bad about hurting monsters. People that treat others as property."

That makes me grin, and put another kiss on her neck. This one’s a bit higher up, near her earlobe. “We’ll have to start calling you Arcadia the Liberator.”

She squeals and shivers. Then she giggles and says, "No! I'm done with titles."

My grin widens. I kiss her again, in the spot that made her squeal. “But they’re not done with you, Arcadia the Vanquisher,” I kiss her again. “Arcadia the Emancipator,” another kiss. “The Rescuer. The Champion. The Loveliest Sorceress in All the Land…”

She's giggling madly by the time I reach her fifteenth title. Her body writhes around in my embrace as she whines, "H-haha shut up!"

Mm. Tonight’s going to be a good night.