~ Vijfday, 2nd of Octombrie, 11831 ~
The lands of Triumphe were named after suits of cards. The four duchies were Piques, Trèfles, Carreaux, and Cœurs—Spades, Clovers, Diamonds, and Hearts. Counties, and even the borders between Faery and Cardinalis, had names of other suits in other tongues, reminiscent of the immigration of people to the land from other places in Kilenc. And they were all neatly gathered and controlled by the roi, who, like the dealer in a game of cards, had a hand in everything. And with skill, he could control who won and who lost.
But her court was like the atouts—the trump cards. Her favorite carried with him a pack of trionfi cards with a set of trumps; cards played in Italaviana and, at times, in the south of Clandestina. They were not more popular beyond that because the suit was reminiscent of her court to those that knew of her. They were titles, places, and concepts chosen by the artist from all walks of life—as she chose her suitors and confidantes.
The Goddess, Love, The Hanged Man.
Death.
The Student, The Priest, The Margrave.
The Duc.
And Clandeslys, the small part of Akhlys that gathered over Clandestina and its sister-realms, was her where she held court. Her kingdom.
Her prison.
She ruled over it alone, the borders in Akhlys unyielding after all this time, and she unwilling to cross through Cardinalis.
She knew there were more like her—daimons born of the mists, psychopomps, spirits of death and rot. Akhlys spanned all the realms of Cardinalis and most other planes as well. While there were exceptions, if you died, you were judged here in these mists of death. That needed order and rulers.
There were still even other keres living in other lands. Many had changed over time as the magia in the realms affected the inherent magic of their being, but some stayed as they were, with their control over violent death and murder, unburdened by her responsibility to manage all death and life.
But alone she was queen. Goddess. Death.
Yet with every suitor or confidante, she hoped someone would stay. Their last test, if they made it that far, was to kill themselves and see Clandeslys. See her. Her power, and her loneliness. They could stay with her and become like her, or resurrect themselves and be lords and ladies of death while alive.
No one had yet stayed.
Pierre had been the most recent, her favorite, the first in a very long time that she could truly see becoming as she was, and then perhaps being with her. After she told him last winter of her final test, to take his own life and come to her land, she also found herself beginning to want him as more.
But Pierre had not stayed either and had not reciprocated her feelings, rejecting the offer of being her consort. She no longer held a grudge or ill will towards him or Elizabeth for this, though, knowing they truly did love each other. He was happy.
She was still alone.
They lay in bed, curled up in each other’s arms. The pattern they had set the first night of deep discussion and making love between meals and sleep had not abated. Pierre had asked for water and a bath to be brought this morning, but until the servants knocked on the door, he had no interest in detangling himself from his bride.
“Why didn’t you write me after Piers came home?” Lizzy asked.
“I intended to keep writing to you after Piers left!” her husband said with some indignation. “I received your messages, and even started to reply to several, but there was so much work to be done! I was finishing up classes on medicine alongside a different set for surgery. Some of them overlapped, but not many.”
“I suppose that is a good enough reason,” she said, kissing his cheek.
“Why did you write me?” he asked. “I know we were friends, but we had not been close in some time. And I’m sorry about that, it was my doing. I got so caught up with studies and magic and cræft, I often put everything else to the side.”
“Did you not tell me that you had some fun at University?”
“Well, yes, I did,” Pierre admitted. “Piers encouraged me to go do things, and I couldn’t refuse him every time, so I was not a complete recluse. I had some other friends in the dorms as well—a younger student that I realize now Wolfram reminds me of. But if I am being honest, half the time when I was with them, I could not wait to return to whatever I had been working on alone. It’s why I spent my summers there as well—it was quiet with most everyone gone. I’m surprised Piers put up with me.”
“He worried about you,” Lizzy said. “Wrote me that you were spending less and less time with even him. It was his personal mission to make sure you stayed friends and didn’t drift apart, though after Eglė became pregnant, I’m sure his attention was split.”
“True, and he used that as an excuse to make me help him with lessons! I spent the year before last with him constantly so he could finish early and get home.”
Lizzy kissed his cheek. “And thank you, that was sweet, and both Piers and Eglė are thankful for that.
“As for me,” she said. “I fancied you already. Papa had begun to bring up the fact that an alliance could be made with a betrothal, and suitors began to come to our door to spend the day with me and perhaps win my heart. I think it was a way to distract me from missing Brother and you as well with you gone… of course, I did not want any of them. I wanted you. I wrote to you in hopes we could become dear friends again, and that you might fall in love with me. I dreamed about you even leaving school to come see me and insist on a betrothal so everyone would know I was yours…” She hid in his chest, embarrassed at the admittance, though true.
“Well, I did fall in love with you,” he replied softly. “And you are mine. It was not the letters that did it, though I am glad for them. I saw your blue dress at the gala, smelled your perfume, and I missed you. Then I saw you and how beautiful you were and I began to fall in love with you that very moment—”
Her kiss stopped him from saying more.
When she pulled away, her smile wilted into a frown, and before Pierre could ask what was wrong, she shook her head slightly and took a deep breath before asking another question.
“When did you begin to learn necrocræft?” Her voice wobbled on the last word, but her gaze did not.
“Technically, I suppose, when I was fifteen and a half,” he said, ignoring the cold that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He had promised her everything, he could tell her everything. “I was doing very well with my studies in medicine, and kept asking Ophion to teach me more. That autumn, he began showing me how to feel spirits of illness and health, and how to guide them. He told me to use a single drop of blood to do this if I had to, but never tell anyone about it. I had already been taught about necrocræft from Father, and how it was an evil magic that some used to take the lives of others, or worse, drag the dead away from their resting place. I never thought for a moment that Ophion would be a practitioner of such a thing, much less be teaching it to me.”
“He taught you the noircræft and blancræft parts of the magia,” Lizzy said in understanding.
“Mmhm. He thought he could turn what he knew into something else without the darkness. But, as he had never learned noircræft or blancræft by themselves, just necrocræft from Mora, I think there was some overlap. I had headaches and did not know why, and when I asked about using more blood, or how he could do this magic, he told me not to speak of it. He never wanted me to learn true necrocræft, as much as he wanted me to be happy with my studies… Mora can and does ask for many terrible things, after all, and I am his dear nephew.”
“He wanted to protect you.”
“Oui, he did. And for a while, it worked. But almost two years later, Pluta was hurt. I did not lie about her eating the fairy mushrooms and staying young, by the way, but she could still be injured. It was summer, and the first nice day in weeks, so I went out with her. She ran away, chasing after something, and did not come back when I called. I went looking… she had been run over by a carriage. She was still breathing, but barely. I cried and held her and tried to comfort her, but I could not save her as hurt as she was. I-I let her have some of my blood and guided her to her death. I killed her.” He stopped, the memory still something that haunted him.
“That was enough,” he said. “That was the nekrocræft part I had never learned before, and I met Mora for the first time. She appeared out of thin air and knelt in the grass with me, petting Pluta and not minding the blood she was getting on her hands. She told me I could bring her back and told me how, so I did. Pluta became my Familiar, and I learned about the fullness of necrocræft.
“I confronted Ophion after I got home. He did not deny it. He told me, though, that the roi was right—it was a very dark magic where I would likely take more lives than I saved. I demanded he teach me properly, and we argued. He finally relented when Mora showed herself. She was actually quite impressed Ophion had managed to teach me as much as he had without her knowing, but any further and the spirits would begin to harm me if I did not know what I was really doing.
“It was like he had been trying to teach me to read, but only let me know half the alphabet. Once all the pieces were put together, and he wasn’t trying to hide anything from me, it made so much more sense.
“You remember the story Aimé told at dinner, about being ill when he wanted to see Hélaïse? Ophion was gone, and I wanted to help my brother, and Uncle had been teaching me necrocræft properly for a few months. It took me the whole hour of enticing the spirits for them to go, but finally they listened. The headache I had after was horrid, and the purging tea Ophion made me after he got back made it so much worse. But I take to take it and pretend I had caught Aimé’s illness, lest someone realize the connection. But I was proud that I healed him.”
A few months later, he had killed someone for the first time. And certainly not the last. He would save that story for another time.
“After I had learned all Ophion knew, I studied with Mora directly.”
“You and she are close,” Lizzy said. It was a statement, and not a question.
“We are,” he confirmed. “Mora cares for all of her suitors and confidantes, and she has called me her favorite for a few years now. But I have never thought of her romantically, if that is what you are worried about. She is my lady in the same way that Hélaïse is—my superior, someone familiar and close, but not someone I desire. But… she kissed me the night we met again at the gala. I was finishing her last test.” He quieted, unsure of how much to say, but the weight of his beloved on his chest, and the wedding ring on his finger, gave him courage to continue. “She offered me the position of her consort when I was in her realm. I rejected her and told her I was not hers. I was already starting to fall in love with you. If she had asked me even a day previous, I would have accepted without hesitation, and learned to love her, but once I saw you, I could not. This upset her greatly, and I feared she would harm you because of it during the summer.”
“I’ve met her,” Lizzy said after a few moments of silence. “And not just a few days ago, but several times when we were in Piques. She was kind to me. Some of what she did was frightening, but she seemed to want to make certain I understood her cræft and morality. I am sure that was for your sake.”
“You… are not upset that she wanted me to be with her?”
“No, of course not. Not anymore than you being upset at the suitors that Papa brought home to me while you were at school.”
When thinking of Mora and thinking of Lizzy, the contrast was stark. Elizabeth loved and encouraged him and gently pushed him when he needed. She accepted him and tried to understand him. Mora was often harsh and moody, prone to drastic reactions. Though he forgave her for it and even understood it. Her magic was of violence and death, after all.
“I kissed one of the suitors that Papa made me see,” Lizzy confessed. “You had stopped replying to my letters, and I was heartbroken. He was nice, and the kiss was nice, but when he asked to see me again, and I thought of perhaps being his betrothed, I asked Papa to send him away for me. That poor boy. I didn’t know what to do!”
Pierre laughed. “I will have to thank your father for that. Maybe send the young man a letter too—”
“No!”
He kissed her, and she bit his lip, rousing him instead of shaming him, and they did not hear the servant when he knocked. By the time they noticed, the water had gone cold, and they needed to have it warmed before being able to bathe together.
