Book Three - Chapter Sixteen (Patreon)

“I hate this,” Lily whispered against the broad expanse of Bergman’s shoulder. “All this lying.”

“I k-know,” he replied.

It was an empty reassurance, but one she’d desperately needed.

That was one of the things that had drawn her to him in the first place, all those months ago. For all his stuttering, Ivor had a way with words the likes of which she’d rarely seen.

Sometimes what he said was simple. He’d asked about her childhood the first time they’d eaten together, and they’d bonded over tales of family even though he’d spoken one word for every twenty of hers. Other times—most often in writing—he was quite verbose. She had a drawer in her nightstand filled with the most romantic letters that any man had ever written.

Lily knew that her Vitrian peers would find him unrefined, diffident, and above all, provincial. She knew that many of them would snicker behind her back as well. She couldn’t land a proper Vitrian husband, just a one-armed Ashadi with a rich family.

None of it mattered. Because he always knew what to say. And what she needed. His good arm wrapped tight around her shoulder, pulling her a little closer on the edge of their shared bed as he said, “W-Walk me t-through it one more time.”

She bit her lip, looked down at the letter in her hands, then sighed and began reading.

My dearest Lilith,

Your last letter was too short and too long in coming. I have decided not to hold it against you, but please remember that your grandmother is not as forgiving as I am. You are lucky that other matters still occupy her time.

Home is well. Your father is well, but lonely, I think. I have been running from one fire to another with no end in sight. I still hope to visit before the end of the season, but obligation ever impedes my desire. I do so wish we had been able to meet in the Principalities, and I remain utterly cross with you for leaving so soon.

You were raised better than that, you silly girl.

Work… well, there is no end to it. I am still working on that lineage piece, but try as I might I have hit nothing but dead ends. It is as though she vanished from the face of Ilun. I fear I have spent all this time chasing a spirit, but hope springs eternal. When you can spare a moment to write me, perhaps you can find some further insight?

Though speaking of digging. I have heard some very interesting rumors.

The Regethern girl will have arrived by the time this reaches you, so sadly I cannot surprise you there. A clever bit of work on her part to sneak around Williams’ restrictions, but you know how I feel about clever people—especially self-righteous ones.

Even so, do call on her. Early and often. The Regethern family may be pompous bleeding hearts, but given her mother’s backroom politicking, I would not be shocked if the scion returns to find her family in the Sunrise Palace, should an Imperator fall. This Anastacia would be a good friend to have. Even better if you position yourself as a mediator between her and that Orphan boy you are so perplexingly fond of.

If nothing else, you may be able to settle a bet I have with Samuel. All manner of rumors are floating about, but no one is certain why Ashad. I would like to know why. I wager she is there for Blue Ex.

Oh, yes. The other rumor.

Lyna Porte-Ath had a private meeting with Imperator Seric last month. A day later she set sail for Ashad with a military escort, and on her arrival she had a private meeting with the Governor. It is that time of year, and the 86th Regulars are mustering far earlier than they would for the short jaunt to the Principalities. I have it on rough authority that the Imperator has chosen Ashad for this year’s Blue Ex, and that you will be participating.

Needless to say, I am working to guarantee your safety. Your grandmother is still incensed that you took a military commission; she will not forgive me if something happens to you. Do not fight me on this. You are too precious to lose.

Honestly, with the coverage I have given the man, you would think Williams would have the decency to warn me directly. Perhaps he told you instead? All I know is that I am struggling to trust him of late. I feel his ambition is overriding his obligation. This business with your new officer, Blue Ex, the Grand Awakening—it is one failure after another.

Did you know he is considering waiving charges for that seditionist to push forward the trial date? Can you even imagine what would happen to Ashad if they bungled the trial in all that haste?

It petrifies me to know you are still there. But I am rambling and worrying.

Give my love to your boy. I do hope he remains safe.

I expect a new letter sooner rather than later. Yvares’ son is halfway through his Induction, and he still writes her twice a week. You can do better.

With all my love,

E.

E. Not for Ellaphane, but for Emmaline.

The illicit exchange had been Lily’s idea, back when she was firmly under Emmaline’s thumb. Acting the liar to work as Emmaline’s spy had put Lily at considerable risk, and written correspondence multiplied it. Letters sent by anything but a trusted courier ran the risk of interception by another House, and all documents sent into Ashad by mail were scrutinized by the Ordinate for hidden messages both magical and mundane.

If Lily were caught by another House, they could blackmail her as a liar, or expose her to wound Emmaline or Ellaphane. If the Ordinate caught her, there would be questions. If she were caught by Alarion—a risk she was ashamed to have thought so little about—he might have killed her outright.

But a trick could avoid all of that.

The spells and skills used to search for hidden messages looked for unusual quantities of mana and Sympathy. Emmaline’s letters were mundane, save for a flimsy environmental ward, but they brimmed with enough Sympathy to warrant inspection.

But then, one would expect such close ties between mother and daughter.

Ellaphane Hart adored her daughter, but hers was a distant love. She’d been present for the important moments of Lily’s life, but as a rich and successful woman she had little interest in the day-to-day drudgery of child rearing. That was what the help was for.

Spend your time where it matters most.

The phrase wasn’t a formal motto like those of more prestigious families and Houses, but Ellaphane lived by it. She’d visited when Lily had landed a tremendous client. She had written when Lily had Awoken unexpectedly. But she would never waste time inundating her daughter with letter after letter of guilt, rumors, and advice.

But Ellaphane would happily work as an intermediary, passing unseen letters between the two conspirators. For a price, of course.

“W-We need to find something to f-feed Syrus,” Ivor said after sitting with the implications. “We do not want your ‘grandmother’ looking too closely at us.”

“Spooked because his daughter is threatening you?” Lily asked with forced levity.

“B-Because she is threatening you.”

Ivor really did know just what to say.

The coded letter couldn’t survive even basic scrutiny once you knew what to look for, but it didn’t have to. No one cared that Lily’s grandmother was halfway senile, or that her father was such an introvert that the word lonely was not even in his vocabulary. They’d see the secrets they wanted on the page and never look an inch deeper.

“N-Not all terrible news, I s-suppose. A breakdown between W-Williams and Feln works to our advantage. T-Though I am worried that they want C-Centre kept alive,” Bergman continued. He took the paper from her and read through it once again, tapping at a passage near the top as he added, “We should let Alarion know about his sister.”

“Good news, Alarion! Your sister is probably dead!” Lily raked fingers through her dark hair and allowed herself a grim laugh. “Mothers, how is that not terrible?”

Ivor let the question linger, because they both knew the answer. If Alarion’s sister, Atra, were still alive, then Syrus Feln would do everything within his power to find, torture, and murder her. The best- case scenario had her running away with Alarion. The second best was that she was never found at all and lived a happy life in obscurity.

The the third was that she was already dead.

Ivor pointed to another paragraph, this one about their missed visit in the Principalities, and wondered, “W-Why does Feln want to see him so much?”

“I am not sure,” Lily admitted. “At first I thought it might have been guilt, but she does not seem to have known her cousin very well.”

“C-Cousin? I thought they were sisters?”

“Adopted,” she clarified. “That entire family line is cursed. Syrus married for love and struggled to have a child, only to lose her violently. His brother was named a liar and shamed the entire House with his behavior, while his sister—Emmaline’s mother—is rumored to have eloped with a…”

Bergman turned to look as Lily trailed off, then gave a sharp, bemused laugh as the realization clicked.

“A-Ah, she married a provincial. How c-cursed.”

“Quiet, you.” Lily failed to contain her own chuckle as she swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand. “It is not the same for an unseated family like mine. She was the oldest, and would have been second seat instead of Syrus if she had wanted it. Justiene Feln had obligations. No one expects anything of me.”

“L-Lucky me.”

“I think it is performative,” Lily said, returning to her original line of thought rather than let herself be baited. “Syrus has plenty of second nieces and nephews who he could adopt, none of whom have Emmaline’s unfortunate pedigree. She knows her position is vulnerable. Her father grieves and hates, so she must put on a show to keep in his good graces.”

“You w-would think he would see t-through that,” Bergman thought aloud.

“I am sure he does. But the willingness to debase herself shows solidarity in public and loyalty in private. And from experience, if you pretend at something long enough, eventually you find yourself believing it.” Lily smiled wanly, then shook her head. “I think she has become so steeped in her father’s grudge that she is convinced it is her own. Syrus confronted Alarion as a twisted sort of closure, so why not her?”

“Are V-Vitrians always so m-melodramatic?”

“We can be. Yes. We are a very passionate sort, if you recall,” Lily said in a soothing tone that was anything but reassuring. “Wait until you actually meet my mother.”

“I w-would really rather n-not.”

“You are going to have to.” Her eyes were like a prowling cat’s now, studying his expression as intently as he read the document in his lap. “A nice quiet dinner between your parents and mine.”

“S-Stop.”

“Or maybe you can come home with me? You can meet my ludicrously bigoted uncle. My aunt who is on her fifth marriage. We can bond with my shrieking young cousins over a few games of Exkema.”

“Please.”

Lily giggled a little, then leaned deeper into his arm. She bumped the crown of her head against his, and felt the sudden heat of his cheek where their skin touched. She’d always enjoyed toying with men, and she was fairly certain she’d still be able to torment him when they were both in their eighties.

He really was perfect for her.

“T-The only thing I do n-not follow is this,” Bergman said. “Why is a visit from Porte-Ath a sign of an upcoming military exercise?”

Well, almost perfect.

“I truly have no idea,” Lily answered, her tone softer and more intimate than before. Yes, she’d had a similar question when she’d first read it, but she’d already filed the thought away for research that could be done later. Ideally much later. “Put the paper down, Ivor.”

“W-Why? I… oh.”

And… back to perfect. Even when he made her feel a little guilty for her cruelty, it was easy to make it up to him.

Or at least, it would have been, without a knock at the door.

“Go away,” Lily said with the impolite elegance of a woman who was used to dismissing servants.

“W-Who—”

Lily shut him up with a finger across his lips, then leaned in to replace it with something better as the knock came again. Then a third time.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

That irritating, immature rapping was all too familiar.

“Just a second, love,” Lily whispered. She stood, drew a breath, and tried not to scream as the knocks continued unabated. She crossed the room with a few quick strides and threw it open to reveal an empty hallway as she said, “Someone had best be dead, Nessa.”

“Not yet,” the empty air answered in an amused, girlish tone. “But Dad is fighting Anastacia.”