《Order and Sin》 Prologue The emperor, proud and imposing. I knew today he would be the death of me. I was not wrong. The wine he so graciously gave to my mother was poisoned. Sweet, delicious, and how grateful I was that I was the first and last to drink it. - Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik. 1638, the 32nd year of the rot The nightmares were becoming more persistent as of late. Patricia hated them. She hated having her own room. She hated that nanny Irene could only occasionally visit her in the mornings and evenings now; that, too, because she hadn¡¯t yet been given a lady¡¯s maid or governess. Why couldn¡¯t she stay in the nursery with her younger sister? What made turning twelve so special? Patricia sat up in bed, scowling in the dark. She could just barely make out the shapes around her. There was a blackish-blue thing in the corner that could be her vanity. No, it definitely was. The fireplace off to the side of her vanity was partially obscured by thick bed curtains, but she had no doubt it was still just that. A fireplace. Not a square monster waiting to attack. Nothing more than a simple fireplace. It was too warm for a fire tonight, which was just as well. A fire would only make the shadows dance and enhance her worrisome nightmares. Patricia leaned over the side of her bed, hand fumbling with the curtain. She finally managed to reach her bedside table, fingers wrapping around the elaborate drawer handle. It protested loudly as she yanked it open, and Patricia flinched. The sound made her imagine a wailing ghost, searching for something to eat. ¡°Stop it,¡± she told herself sternly, repeating it like a mantra, ¡°stop it, stop it, stop it.¡± She was old enough to know there was nothing to fear about the dark. It didn¡¯t make any sense to worry about things that weren¡¯t there, just because she couldn¡¯t see well enough to prove it to herself that she really was alone. Patricia snatched a large key from the drawer, deciding to simply leave it open for now. No reason to close it and listen to that awful sound again. Nanny Irene would scold her for being so silly. Then again, nanny Irene would also sing a pleasant song and read a story to calm her to sleep. She wouldn¡¯t be doing that any more. Key in hand, Patricia pulled her feet over the side of the bed, feeling about for her slippers with bare toes. The new rug beneath her bed was soft and thick. She couldn¡¯t make out the shapes in the dark, but she knew her feet were pressing into dark green vines and flower patterns. Finding her slippers, she stumbled in the narrow moonlight drifting through her bedroom window. Key in hand, Patricia gradually made her way to the heavy bedroom doors. Everything in this house was so very solid and strong. Too much so, maybe, but so were her parents. Tomorrow morning they would break their first fast together, and the thought terrified her. Perhaps more so than the dark. She often wondered whether she would be able to live up to the many expectations of being a future duchess. ¡°Thank you, nanny,¡± Patricia mumbled to herself, pushing the doors open with no small effort, key tightly gripped in one hand. Merciful light from the hallway sconces bathed her. Everyone was asleep now, no one would know of the skeleton key nanny Irene had left her. Visiting the library alone was strictly forbidden to both Patricia and her sister. Their father worried they might draw in something or make a fire with some precious books. She would never. Father simply didn¡¯t know Patricia well enough. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. She swiftly made her way down the hallway, warm air tickling her ankles and brushing at her silk nightgown. It wasn¡¯t far to the library, simply past a few doors and around the corner from the winding staircase below. Idly, Patricia wondered how many candles they went through weekly, eyes roaming over the sconces lighting her way. It must be awfully expensive. The simple thought of perusing a book or two tonight was already calming her nerves. The distraction would be welcome. Happily, Patricia stuck the skeleton key into the lock at the library doors, and firmly twisted it. She loved to hear the comforting sound of the lock thumping, and these doors seemed so much lighter than the ones leading to her new quarters. The difference between a familiar room and a strange one, she supposed. Unfortunately, the library was dark. She shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. Patricia frowned, a little nervous about leaving the doors open in case someone did happen to wake and see the evidence of her crime. Yet she couldn¡¯t handle any more darkness right now, so she hurriedly shuffled into the room towards a large desk at the very center. She fumbled through the drawers, finding a flint, striker, and stubby candle. The sooner she was able to light it, the sooner she could close the doors. There wouldn¡¯t be much time, judging by the size of the candle, but more than enough to grab a book or two and slip back to her room. This wasn¡¯t like her. Patricia was a very good girl. She never lied, never cheated, never did anything to draw attention to herself. Guiltily, she would admit that she didn¡¯t always do the right thing because it was right, but because she was afraid. She was afraid of being caught or looked down on, afraid of letting everyone down. Fear guided most choices Patricia made. If her mother even knew¨CPatricia had to cut off those thoughts before they got any further. Guilt and fear were a vicious spiral. Nanny Irene often told her that. ¡°Got it!¡± Patricia exclaimed in a fast whisper, having struck the flint and striker a few times to light the candle successfully on the desk. She snatched up a metal holder and shoved the candle on top of it to protect her hands from dripping wax. Slipping her fingers through the ring, she rushed back to the doors to close them. No sign of anyone yet, thankfully. Her heart didn¡¯t need to beat quite so rapidly anymore. This was the bravest thing she had ever done. The irony that all she was doing was sneaking a few books did not escape her, and Patricia couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. She was so very silly. Was this her first step into adulthood? Her very first rebellion? Maybe it would be the only one. Or maybe it would become a habit until she was caught. She struggled to conceive of anything else she may want to do. Hurriedly, Patricia sought the comfort of the many bookshelves lining the walls and running through the room. She wouldn¡¯t have time to pick a subject, she¡¯d just have to grab something. Fiction, nonfiction, literature or textbook. It didn¡¯t matter. The words were what she needed. Words would guide her to sleep, replacing the images of disembodied hands reaching for her in the dark with something more mundane. Words were comforting. Words were a distraction. A blessing. She¡¯d much rather dream of diagrams of flowers or insects than ghosts and monsters. For a girl so disinterested in fairy tales, she had an exceedingly powerful imagination. The light of Patricia¡¯s candle guided her, a beacon to something wonderful. Sleep. Restful, deep sleep. Her fingers danced over book spines, some dusty and some cracked. A few freshly read judging by the evidence of how clean they looked. Father had a particular fondness for religious texts, Patricia noted. She¡¯d always known this, given that he had been a member of the empire¡¯s church once upon a time. It was still surprising to notice just how many of them he¡¯d collected recently. She knew these shelves intimately. It was impossible for Patricia to miss anything new or amiss. With wax collecting slowly at the base of her candle holder, Patricia browsed a little more leisurely than she¡¯d originally intended. In her safe space, her haven, her nerves had gradually calmed. She could truly be herself here, where the only rules and manners were dictated through grammar and not the people around her. Perhaps she could afford a little more time than she¡¯d originally planned. She scanned the shelves, the light still a little too dim to make out much, and she wasn¡¯t going to chance bringing her tiny flame too close to her father¡¯s treasures. She used her hand to guide her, hoping perhaps something interesting would grab her attention. Something did. It was warm, far too warm for a book. Warmer than it might have been even if she¡¯d left it on the fireplace bricks. It almost burned. Patricia recoiled quickly, her nerves immediately tightening again. This didn¡¯t seem right. Her forgotten fears slipped back into her mind, making her back rigid. ¡°It¡¯s a book,¡± she reminded herself, reaching again towards the hot spine and quickly snatching it from the shelf. Reason told her that perhaps she¡¯d held the candle too close to it without realizing. Reason also told her she was really stretching for that answer. ¡°The Story of my Death,¡± she read slowly, struggling to make out the words on the cover. They¡¯d worn down over what must have been a very long time, flakes of thread in the binding pulling away from the title as if someone must have obsessively roamed a hand over this cover again and again. Patricia gnawed on her bottom lip, not even noticing how much the light in her candle had begun to flicker. It died with a hiss. Chapter One Upon reflection, I felt rather silly. Lying in a pool of my own blood, I should have seen it coming. I had never really liked that dog. I don¡¯t know why I tried to save it from falling. At least one of us will make it out alive. - Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik. 1642, the 36th year of the rot Johanna took a half breath, quickly let it out, then took another. She proceeded to send her older sister an accusing scowl across the dining table. Their mother and father had yet to arrive for breakfast, so they wouldn¡¯t see their second youngest child throwing a tantrum. Patricia kept her infuriatingly placid smile, tapping a delicate finger on the table, ¡°elbows.¡± Huffing, Johanna pulled her arms back from their resting place and fiddled with the pink bows adorning the front of her bodice. She felt like a trussed pig. All she needed was an apple in her mouth. ¡°It¡¯s so easy for you, Patty,¡± Johanna whined, ¡°you¡¯ve been out of the nursery for four years and you¡¯re as high and mighty as the empress.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have an empress,¡± Patricia pointed out, glancing towards the wide open double doors where two servants awaited the arrival of their parents. ¡°Well we could some day, you never know,¡± Johanna snapped back, ¡°you¡¯d be perfect for it at any rate.¡± Rather than respond further to her younger sister, Patricia simply turned her full attention to the door now and placed her hands in her lap. Johanna mumbled a few snappy words under her breath and slumped as much as a corset might allow. Not very much. She had to straighten up again just to breathe. It was so uncomfortably silent in the dining room. So much larger than the nursery where only yesterday she¡¯d been supping with her brother, Elliot, and nanny Irene. The ceiling in here seemed twice as high to her, and there were no charming paintings of fairy creatures gallivanting in fields anywhere to be seen. Just dull, dark walls. Dark as mud. This was miserable. Why did she have to turn twelve at all? Distantly, she heard the clock begin to strike down the hall, swiftly followed by heels clicking on wood. Mother. ¡°Stand,¡± Patricia directed, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet. She towered over Johanna, just like their mother. Johanna stood, a thorn of jealousy nestled in her heart. They were polar opposites in every way. Whereas Patricia was tall and elegant, Johanna felt short and clumsy. Though they had used the same lady¡¯s maid that morning, the pile of dark and twisting braids piled on Patricia¡¯s head was a garden of shining coils - - Johanna¡¯s made her resemble a gorgon; a hideous beast woman with snakes for braids. Were they really even sisters? Or had one of them been switched at birth by a faerie? ¡°Johanna, look ahead. Stop fussing with your dress,¡± Patricia advised, tone even and soft. Johanna pursed her lips and let her hands drop to the side. She hadn¡¯t even realized she was doing that. Their parents finally arrived, arm in arm. Both wore their bright red riding uniforms, rather than morning dress as Johanna might have expected. She was a little taken aback. Judging by the fine sheen of sweat on their father¡¯s brow, they must have just returned from the stables. She had never seen them like this before. Their visits to the nursery were always so formal. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Patricia,¡± mother nodded at the elder sister, ¡°Johanna,¡± she turned her head in kind and gave Johanna such a smile. The younger girl didn¡¯t know what to think. She didn¡¯t really know these two well at all. They¡¯d always seemed very distant and strange. Inhumanly perfect. Intimidating. ¡°Mother, father,¡± Patricia acknowledged their parents with a curtsy. Johanna hastily followed in kind. She nearly tangled her feet in her skirts in the process. She wasn¡¯t used to so many layers, and certainly not a chest constricting corset. How could sitting and standing be so infuriatingly tiring? ¡°You needn¡¯t have waited,¡± their father chided, taking his wife by the hand to lead her to a seat at the head of the table. Against proper etiquette, he took his own seat around the corner beside her. Johanna knew it was improper, because nanny had stressed such manners so much over the last few weeks to prepare her for this. One of the servants standing at the double doors, hands crossed at his back, spoke up, ¡°your grace, do you wish to break your fast now?¡± Their mother, the Duchess of Shreik, waved her hand, ¡°yes, Palance. We do.¡± With that, both servants approached the table, and began to remove all manners of silver plated lids from a series of dishes lining the table runner. There were meats and cheeses, breads and fruits, steaming platters of herbed eggs, jams and jellies, and all manner of mouth watering dishes Johanna had seldom enjoyed in the nursery. Nanny Irene wasn¡¯t stingy, and none of the three siblings had ever starved, but her idea of nutrition was exceedingly bland. This was a far cry from oat cakes, lean cuts of unseasoned meat, and porridge. As if by magic, crystal decanters of brightly colored juices seemed to appear in the servants¡¯ hands and they were immediately filling glasses until they were dangerously full. Johanna¡¯s nerves relaxed and she took her seat again with an irrepressible smile. ¡°Happy birthday, Johanna,¡± their father said, giving the younger daughter a wink, ¡°damned if I haven¡¯t been looking forward to this for a fortnight.¡± ¡°Grayson,¡± their mother chided, ¡°language.¡± ¡°I apologize, dear,¡± he replied, patting her hand and snatching a cranberry scone from a platter, ¡°but sometimes a good curse is called for. You know full well how I despise these ruddy peerage traditions. Waiting twelve years to have a decent conversation with your children. Elevation, separation, delegation. Poppycock.¡± Without even pausing for breath, he began to slather a huge dollop of dark golden butter on the top of his scone, not even bothering to slice it open, ¡°and what¡¯s more, that one over there thought I was a bloody ogre the first time we ate together.¡± He waved his butter knife in Patricia¡¯s direction. Patricia was too polite to roll her eyes or make a remark, but she did draw a hand to her mouth to hide a subtle twitch of her lips. The duchess directed her attention towards Johanna, ¡°never mind your father. You will learn to tolerate him.¡± Was that a ¨C joke? ¡°Eggs, young miss?¡± One of the servants asked Johanna, and she jolted up with a surprise. She hadn¡¯t realized he was standing behind her. ¡°Uh, yes,¡± Johanna replied with a quick, jerky nod. The man reached forward towards one of the trays and grabbed a great silver spoon, giving her two generous scoops of herbed eggs. In no time he had urged her on to take some bacon, sausage, toast, and even a slice of what must be treacle tart. How on earth could four people eat so much? ¡°I suppose it¡¯s wise to address the elephant in the room,¡± the duchess spoke, shaking Johanna from her thoughts. She looked at her mother, more curious than ever now. ¡°What elephant?¡± Johanna asked, having picked up her fork and used it to poke gingerly at the food on her plate. She didn¡¯t know what to try first. This was just so much at once. Everything. Not just the meal. ¡°You¡¯re wondering why it took so long for us to finally sit together for a meal. Why neither your father nor I have visited the nursery more than once in any given week to check on you. Why this birthday is so important,¡± the duchess said softly. She wasn¡¯t touching her food. Johanna looked back at her mother, a dozen years of what felt like neglect and abandonment nibbling at the corners of her heart. She wouldn¡¯t let herself get worked up for these parents she didn¡¯t know. What they did was normal. All parents were like that. All parents of their class, nanny Irene had told her several times. It didn¡¯t make the tears sting any less when she was alone. ¡°This evening, we will go for a ride through the estates,¡± the duchess began, ¡°I wish to show you the burden that our family must shoulder for the empire. It does not make up for the decisions we were forced to make, but I hope you will understand. That is all I can offer you, Johanna.¡± The duke of Shreik nodded, ¡°and before that, let¡¯s get you a couple of nice dresses and a pony. Would you like that?¡± ¡°Father!¡± Patricia scolded. ¡°I¡¯ve always fancied my medicine with a bowl of sugar, personally,¡± the duke added, completely unashamed for breaking the tension. Somehow, Johanna felt like that was what she wanted right now. She¡¯d prefer to be happy than sad. Things were better that way. Chapter Two He could hear, and I could see. We had nothing to talk about at first. Perhaps if I had listened, or been less reckless, we wouldn¡¯t have found ourselves both beneath the ax. Oh but those nights we spoke together and those letters we shared ¨C How beautiful they were. - Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik. In the cupboard he called a room, Tristan inspected the seams of his breeches. Crisp. Clean. Not a speck of dust or lint to mar the black silk and gold thread of his livery. He tenderly reached for his matching jacket, fingers roaming over the buttons. His greatest treasure, brushed until it glistened. He took his time slipping the jacket on, worshiping the snap of every button sliding into place. ¡°From the gutters to the palace,¡± he told himself with no small measure of pride. Today was a very special day. ¡°You¡¯ve earned this, Tristan. You are truly magnificent.¡± Using a silk and cotton puff to pat a fine sheen of silver powder on his otherwise black hair, he was satisfied. Not a moment too soon. A sharp rap on his bedroom door alerted Tristan of the hour. Dawn already? What a shame. He¡¯d hoped to spend just a little more time planning. The door opened, and an ancient man with an overly large nose poked his head into the room. ¡°Are you ready?¡± The old man asked, voice crackling like a wave of static. ¡°Beauty,¡± Tristan explained, emphasizing each word sharply, ¡°takes time, Leopold.¡± ¡°I¡¯m quite sure,¡± Leopold said in kind, stepping back into the corridor and stiffening his spine. A wonder it could even be stiffer than it already was. ¡°Come along. He is waiting,¡± The old man¡¯s dry tone implied that somehow they were already late to being early. A grave sin in Leopold¡¯s books. Tristan patted his front lapel pocket. The snuff box was there. Good. He could make a fashionable gesture in front of the emperor if necessary. Snuff was in vogue this season. Only the finest of peers used snuff, and the more elaborate the case the better. He¡¯d had his own specially crafted, and anyone else would have cringed at the idea of spending three month¡¯s wages so extravagantly. Not Tristan. To him, fashion was an investment, not an expense. ¡°Lead the way,¡± Tristan implored, hastily exiting the room and closing the door behind him with an extravagant flourish of his hand. Leopold shook his head, not even dignifying Tristan with a withering look, ¡°you are a peacock.¡± Tristan sniffed, ¡°when one has such bright feathers, they can not go unappreciated.¡± ¡°Yes, well, keep in mind what a delicacy those birds can be,¡± Leopold warned, grasping an elaborately carved cane and striding forward at a speed anyone who didn¡¯t know the old man might be taken aback by. Tristan followed, years of experience with Leopold¡¯s pace allowing him to keep up with relatively little effort, ¡°so, it¡¯s true then?¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°What¡¯s true?¡± ¡°The ball. For the autumn season. I¡¯m finally to become the emperor¡¯s ears?¡± ¡°You are,¡± Leopold agreed, ¡°the apprenticeship is finally over.¡± ¡°Thank god I¡¯m not his hands,¡± Tristan replied snarkily, ¡°the god¡¯s scales know what they must have to do.¡± Leopold rounded on Tristan, using the full force of seniority and decades of ill humor to level him with a very stern expression, ¡°don¡¯t think for even a moment that his majesty has a sense of humor. There are plenty of gibbet cages in want of fresh residents dangling from the palace towers.¡± He turned away from Tristan, moving forward again, ¡°think on that.¡± Tristan didn¡¯t visibly pale, but the thought was sobering. To die in a cage as a mere ornament dangling in the wind was a hellish fate. ¡°May you know the peace of balance, boy,¡± Leopold blessed him. Funny. It felt more like another warning than a blessing. They made their way down vast corridors and through doorways, the mazes of the palace almost dizzying at the pace Leopold took them. ¡°Recite the principles of the emperor¡¯s ears,¡± Leopold directed, cane snapping at marble tile. ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡± ¡°Gibbet, Tristan. Starvation. Sunlight and famished crows.¡± ¡°The ears must listen,¡± Tristan began, stifling a yawn, ¡°the ears are seen and unseen. First is the emperor, and then the empire. Balance and patience. Finesse and subtlety.¡± ¡°Go on,¡± Leopold urged, ¡°finish.¡± Tristan had the good manners not to utter a petulant huff, despite his instinctual urge to do so. He met Leopold¡¯s eyes, ¡°the ears must ensure that treason is never spoken twice. For the empire, root out all who dare speak against the rule of law. Friends do not exist for the emperor¡¯s ears, for they are no longer human. These are the principles we must follow.¡± Leopold nodded, tapping his cane on the ground, ¡°good. Good. I see these years of training haven¡¯t entirely been without purpose.¡± They had come to a grand set of double doors, elaborately gilded with images of all manners of creatures and battles. To some it might be beautifully gruesome, but to Tristan these were the doors to paradise. The moment he stepped through them, he would no longer be an apprentice to a retired servant, but one of the most important people in the empire. Someone to be respected and admired, if others could only know that he even existed. Too bad that would defeat the point of his role. ¡°Tristan,¡± Leopold turned to the young man, a solemn look smoothing his features, ¡°from here you are no longer to speak with me. Nor anyone without rank. You will have no name but what is given you in that hour by the emperor himself, and no will but his. You must not fail.¡± The young man¡¯s lips twitched, ¡°I mean, yes. Of course. No one can know that we are friends.¡± ¡°No. We aren¡¯t,¡± Leopold clarified with force, summoning forth the strength of his younger days and placing a firm hand on Tristan¡¯s shoulder, ¡°we will never speak again, my boy. I found you in the gutter without a family, raised you, and gave you the sacred knowledge you carry with you now. Make good use of it. Live the noble life you have been given.¡± ¡°Leopold,¡± Tristan whispered, ¡°no one will know if we write or - - or if I visit your rooms for a round of cards every now and again. It isn¡¯t that bad, is it?¡± The old man shook his head, ¡°never again. We do not know each other. We never have. You have no past. Only a very bright future..¡± With that he drew his hand from Tristan¡¯s shoulder and nodded towards the doors, ¡°they¡¯re not as heavy as they look. Go on. Go through. You won¡¯t regret it.¡± Tristan pulled back, unable to find the sting of Leopold¡¯s words. He¡¯d always been told these things, but to actually on the day hear them again from the old man¡¯s mouth - - it hurt. A fear like he hadn¡¯t felt since he was a child in the streets pinched at his heart and eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t have anyone else, Leo. Please,¡± he was panicking now. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Tristan¡¯s bravado and vanity disappeared for an instant, revealing the terrified young man underneath. Leopold shook his head and turned his back on Tristan, clicking his cane on the marble tile and slowly walking away. The energy to keep up his smart pace had left him. Soon, it left Tristan too. The young man looked back at the golden doors, and all at once the golden images were far less appealing to him. He regretted them, but he couldn¡¯t take back the vows he¡¯d made. He owed Leopold and the empire that much. ¡°The ears must listen,¡± he whispered to himself, pressing his fingers against the doors until they slowly creaked open, ¡°the ears are seen and unseen¡­¡± He barely registered his own voice now, though he knew he was still speaking. Tristan stepped through the golden entrance to his new life, knowing even as he did so that someday he would likely try to turn back. Even if it did get him killed. Chapter Three Heels. What a silly innovation they were. Perhaps I might like them better if our floors weren¡¯t so neatly polished. Ice simply cannot compare to pristine marble. Not so pristine now, with my blood staining the tiles. - Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik. Patricia watched the cobblestones crawl by through the carriage window, visibly patient and silently anxious. The coachman would stop soon, and then her younger sister and mother could see to their shopping today. Mind and heart racing against each other, Patricia tapped at the silk reticule beneath her hands to feel the satisfying crinkle of paper inside. She never left home without her notes, and today was a blessed day of few things to worry about. ¡°I¡¯d like to visit with the florist while you see to Johanna¡¯s wardrobe this afternoon, mother, if you¡¯ll allow it,¡± Patricia requested of the duchess without quite asking. Her mother sat across from her, as calm and pensive as ever. The woman always appeared to be pondering something deeply that Patricia couldn¡¯t quite fathom, and had long since given up trying to. ¡°Be sure to avoid any side streets, inform the footmen that you may use one of them as an escort,¡± her mother agreed after some time. She never truly denied her eldest daughter anything when asked directly. They were not close, but she knew now after enough time that her mother did love her in her own way. ¡°Thank you,¡± Patricia replied, grateful that they¡¯d had Anthony ride with them on the back of the coach today. A pint at the alehouse and the drink could babysit him for a short hour while she saw to her errands. She requested his presence specifically for just that, but he wasn¡¯t always available. Sometimes he was already too deep in his cups to even climb the blasted carriage. More than once he¡¯d had assistance from polite passersby. A wonder that the duke and duchess were so patient with him, but it worked out in Patricia¡¯s favor. ¡°Don¡¯t you want a new dress, too?¡± Johanna asked, surprised and very clearly nervous to be with their mother alone for the first time. She¡¯d soon see the woman didn¡¯t bite. Patricia did want to spend the day with her sister, but she couldn¡¯t. Not today. Not until the latest entry in the diary was properly erased. She was running out of time. ¡°I have enough dresses for now, Johanna, the modiste measured me for the season and ordered my season¡¯s wardrobe last week. My debut is in the capital soon.¡± Patricia hated to think of how many problems traveling so far might bring about. She¡¯d have to take extra quills for notes from her book. Just to be safe. Johanna¡¯s curiosity was piqued, ¡°your debut?¡± She turned to their mother, hesitant to ask, ¡°her - - debut?¡± The Duchess of Shreik nodded, ¡°you¡¯ll have yours as well when you are sixteen. It¡¯s an opportunity to form alliances and potential marriage agreements. Your nanny should have told you this.¡± She very likely had, and Johanna had simply not been listening. She¡¯d always been easily distracted. It was one of her charms, of which Patricia was too polite to point out. ¡°Mother, you describe it as if I¡¯m going to war,¡± Patricia said, a hint of humor in her voice, trying to calm the look of utter fear in her younger sister¡¯s eyes, ¡°I should rather think of it like I¡¯m just meeting a few people I might like to befriend.¡± Anxious or not, she had become very practiced at putting on a calm act for the benefit of others. ¡°I suppose that is another way to put it,¡± their mother agreed, a small smile playing upon her lips. Johanna startled in her seat, pinching her hands together. She hadn¡¯t yet come to understand their mother¡¯s sense of humor quite yet. It was very dry, rather like over-cooked bread without the jam. The carriage drew to a halt at long last, and one of the footmen opened the door, stepping back nobly to bow and offer a hand to the duchess, ¡°your grace.¡± She alighted from the carriage, quickly followed by Johanna. She was a little clumsy, unused to such rides. She¡¯d never set foot from their manor before. Patricia was the last to step down, giving her sister a polite nod. ¡°You¡¯ll have fun today. I promise. Perhaps you might even find things with fewer bows.¡± She was well aware of her younger sister¡¯s fussing at breakfast. Johanna did not like many adornments, and it showed. She¡¯d be happy to know that now she was old enough to express that opinion and decide for herself what sort of clothing she would wear, within reason. Personally, if she wasn¡¯t always so focused on preventing her own death in one form or another, Patricia would adore shopping. Anthony stood at a distance, awaiting direction from either the coachman or duchess. ¡°Anthony, I¡¯d like you to accompany me to the florist today,¡± Patricia called to him before her mother could decide which footman would do the job, ¡°I¡¯ll be picking up some new arrangements for my room this fall.¡± Anthony clicked his heels a little too sharply and bowed a little too quickly, ¡°as you wish, young miss.¡± She didn¡¯t miss the excited glint in his eye. The Duchess paid her eldest daughter no mind, having full trust in her to do as she¡¯d said she would and make no sojourns anywhere else. Instead, she took Johanna¡¯s arm in hers and patted it gently, ¡°come. Madame Jeune has been looking forward to this. You will want for nothing today, Johanna. That is a promise.¡± Slowly, the younger daughter¡¯s shoulders relaxed. Patricia assumed she was beginning to see that their parents were just as human as anyone else. It wasn¡¯t an easy lesson. She was already much faster on the draw than Patricia had been. Especially considering the book. Patricia almost flinched at that unwanted thought, remembering the beastly thing sitting on her writing desk at home. So far, the story of her death had changed one thousand and seventeen times. Today she intended to change it again. She still had a few hours. Once the duchess and Johanna had set off towards the high streets, Patricia took Anthony and made her way in the opposite direction. He did have his vices, but otherwise was a perfect gentleman and didn¡¯t question Patricia as to why she had her strange shopping habits. However, that didn¡¯t prevent him from expressing a thought or two, when she allowed. ¡°Young miss, er¨Cmy lady, I shouldn¡¯t like to ever risk your m¨Cher grace learning of these sojourns,¡± Anthony said with a nervous twist of his cravat as he trailed respectably behind her over the cobbled streets. It was too early for heavy foot traffic just yet, so there was no risk of them being separated without some effort. ¡°It is no secret to my mother that I like flowers,¡± Patricia replied, clasping her hands in front of her as she walked further and further towards the lesser viewed part of the city. ¡°Indeed, my lady, and there are many prestigious flower shops in the high streets that would be honored to have your presence.¡± ¡°I was not aware, Anthony, that you were such an expert in the matter. Perhaps instead of escorting me to my own preferred establishment, then, you¡¯d like to wait in the coach? It¡¯s a shame. I had hoped to give you a few pennies for your trouble,¡± Patricia replied with her well-rehearsed speech she often gave him. Their little code language, really. ¡°Oh, of course not, my lady. After all, it is well-known that your tastes in flowers and the like are revered. I would not dare question your favored shops, as I know they must be of exceeding quality. In fact, I would go so far as to say that only one with such a discerning eye as yourself could truly see the value in the shops and roads less traveled. You are the most tasteful, refined, and mature¨C¡± ¡°Anthony, just take the money. Meet me on the corner at the appointed hour, and be sure this time that you can properly walk. I should think mother is smart enough to realize you can¡¯t have a sudden and devastating illness every time we visit the city.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Her attendant nodded, clicking his heels and bowing with a little more fanfare than necessary. His wig nearly slipped in the process. She reached into her reticule wrapped around her wrist and gave him the pennies in question with a practiced smile, ¡°thank you. You are, as ever, a loyal servant.¡± ¡°My life for yours,¡± he vowed, quickly pocketing the money in his breast pocket once he¡¯d finished his bow. He wasn¡¯t actually lying, despite his vices. Anthony did in fact have a deep seated loyalty to the Shreik family. ¡°You can be assured, Anthony, that if there was ever anyone in the world I knew I could trust, it is you,¡± Patricia promised. It was true, too. More than one of her journal entries had shown her things about Anthony that even he had no idea he was capable of. In another world, he would have laid down his life for her. Seventeen times so far, actually. He was a good man. Beaming with pride, Anthony nodded, ¡°thank you, my lady.¡± This was a routine, Patricia excusing herself from her mother¡¯s side and making her way through the streets to a halfway mark. Then she¡¯d send Anthony on his way, and head to a very unique shop tucked away through a deep alley where no reasonable shopkeeper should ever take up residence. An unconvincing front. A haven from the city watch. She had only chanced upon this place through an entry in her journal. Happenstance. A snippet of a girl staying by her side when the chunk of a building crushed her. Patricia had come to meet a lot of people through the written word before seeing them in person, thanks to that book. It had taken several visits to the city to figure out who the woman in her book was, tedious shopping trips with her mother, afternoon luncheons, and desperate crowd searching. The notes in Patricia¡¯s journal had described the lady wearing all green, with a flash of red hair so vivid she could swear it was made of spun fire. Hard to miss someone like that. When she¡¯d finally spotted her, Patricia very nearly dashed from the cafe with her scone still firmly gripped in her gloved fingers. Only last spring had she finally discovered the girl¡¯s name and residence. She was a florist. A botanist. A con artist. Most importantly of all, a scribe and a friend. ¡°Is that the lady Patricia I hear?¡± A voice chirped from the front counter at the sound of the door. ¡°No, you heard the bell above the door, Brinley,¡± Patricia replied with a soft smile as she entered the shop. As dirty as the street outside was, as dark as the alley, the shop on the inside was quite welcoming. It was filled to the brim with plants and flowers in a constant war with rickety shelves of tinctures and powders. Sooner or later one sort of inventory would win out over the other. Occasionally a plant might knock a bottle to the floor, and the liquid from the shattered glass would retaliate by splashing a nearby flower and setting it aflame. The resident products in the shop had a very tenuous existence. ¡°Well, well, look at you!¡± Brinley called out, ¡°dressed up like a real fancy piece today!¡± Patricia very politely did not roll her eyes. It was the same remark, the same poor joke every time she visited. The first time they¡¯d met, Brinley had mistaken her for an expensive albeit too-young courtesan. The misunderstanding had followed her all the way to Shreik manner where she¡¯d personally made a delivery to Patricia¡¯s maid. She¡¯d never forget the look of terror in Brinley¡¯s eyes that day. It was a far better joke. ¡°Brinley, I have a few pages for you,¡± Patricia began, pulling the papers from her reticule she¡¯d painstakingly tied together with several ribbons. Just in case someone was too nosy, namely Johanna. ¡°Same as always, I see,¡± Brinley nodded from her counter, leaning over the well-used wooden surface that had been stained a thousand times over with concoctions and spilt potting soil. ¡°Same as always,¡± Patricia agreed, turning back to reassure herself that the door was closed and sealed from any nosy passersby. She quickly approached the counter, skirts brushing at dust and greasy tile. ¡°You really should clean this place more often,¡± she pointed out as she offered the papers to Brinley. The woman rolled her eyes, rolling up her too-long green sleeves and greedily snatching the packet of papers. ¡°Bring one of those fancy ladies of yours to do the job or grab a bucket if it bothers you that much, my lady.¡± ¡°I¡¯d have to double their wages,¡± Patricia replied. They both stared back at each other silently for a good beat, before Brinley¡¯s face cracked into a wide grin. ¡°Triple if they saw what I had in the back,¡± Brinley agreed. She reached across the counter to a jar of sharpened knives and quills jammed together like a wood and feather bouquet, deftly snatching up one of the knives to cut open the ribbons binding the papers in her hand. Patricia took one delicate step back to avoid the carnage. The quick and clumsy way Brinley wielded a knife, a quill, or even a potted plant was at times unsettling. Patricia had nearly lost a quarter of her sleeve once when she wasn¡¯t paying attention. ¡°What do we have here? Poisoned soup? A falling clock? Dropsy?¡± Brinley mused, scanning through the papers. ¡°Nothing like that today,¡± Patricia replied. ¡°One of the horses threw a shoe yesterday. I broke a necklace and slipped out of an open window. Choked on an olive pit.¡± Brinley¡¯s eyebrows shot up as she read, ¡°well I was close with the soup, then.¡± She kept reading, flipping back and forth between a few of the pages and only occasionally laughing. ¡°Really,¡± she remarked, ¡°I¡¯ve never known someone as clumsy as yourself, my lady.¡± Patricia drew herself to her full height, ¡°Speak for yourself. I am not clumsy. These things never happened!¡± ¡°You¡¯ve very nearly killed me three times with the way you wear those heels of yours,¡± Brinley pointed out. ¡°Which is why I¡¯ve told you to clean this place more often,¡± Patricia replied in kind. ¡°Besides, I only nearly killed you once, and the other two times were in the journal. I¡¯ve also saved you at least a dozen times.¡± ¡°I¡¯d never have been in danger if you weren¡¯t there,¡± Brinley insisted. ¡°Not true. You¡¯re lucky you were even mentioned in the book, and just so happened to nearly die when I did.¡± Brinley did not have Patricia¡¯s patience or self control. She did not resist an intense roll of her own eyes as she placed the papers back on the counter. ¡°You should get rid of that book. I still say if you didn¡¯t have the damn thing, none of the near deaths you¡¯ve read about would even be possible. That thing is causing it. It¡¯s dark magic.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t know that for certain. I don¡¯t want to take the risk. I also don¡¯t want to retread this conversation, just put the papers with the others for me, will you? You¡¯re the only person I can trust to keep them safe.¡± Brinley nodded, her displeasure plain on her face, ¡°sooner or later, you will need to do something more than just recording these entries and cataloging them. If you found it in your father¡¯s library, he must know something more. Or a priest of the scales might.¡± She wasn¡¯t going to drop the subject so easily, and already Patricia knew she was in for a lecture. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be your right hand woman, my lady. I truly am. Still, I worry,¡± Brinley continued, no longer the humorous friend, but now the woman twenty years Patricia¡¯s senior, ¡°this is something neither of us understands, and it¡¯s getting worse. You used to only have to write these once every month or so. Then it became every other week. It¡¯s getting more frequent. Yes, you can stay in your bedchambers afraid to move or speak or live, but isn¡¯t that the same as just letting one of these pages come true?¡± Patricia looked away, her hands primley tucked together, worrying at the fingers of her gloves, ¡°if I tell my father, that¡¯s a much larger conversation.¡± ¡°Yes, he may be disappointed,¡± Brinley replied with a frustrated tone. ¡°I disappoint my own father every year I¡¯m not married and pregnant. That doesn¡¯t stop me from telling him things that are important.¡± She tapped a finger on the counter to illustrate her point, ¡°this is important.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with it fine for the last four years,¡± Patricia replied softly. ¡°All you did was find a book in a room you¡¯re not supposed to be in at night. It would have been fine enough if you¡¯d told him the truth when you did. The longer this goes on, the worse it¡¯s going to get.¡± Patricia turned her head towards one of the shelves, suddenly fascinated with a brightly-colored flower that looked like a mixture between a daisy and a snake, teeth included. ¡°What if he didn¡¯t know it was there?¡± She asked softly, ¡°I¡¯d be dragging him and the rest of my family into this. The book might¡­¡± She trailed off, afraid to even speak the words. Brinley¡¯s face softened, and she leaned against the counter now as if she¡¯d exhausted herself beyond her limits. Her shoulders slumped. ¡°The book might drag them into it? Is that what you¡¯re worried about?¡± ¡°Mother saw it once. She thought the pages were empty. She couldn¡¯t see the words writing themselves,¡± Patricia replied, almost but not-quite changing the subject. ¡°So you¡¯ve told me.¡± ¡°They might not even believe the truth of it,¡± Patricia added, ¡°or they might think I¡¯m mad. What if I am?¡± She turned her head back to meet Brinley¡¯s eyes, ¡°what if none of this is really happening?¡± Brinley shook her head, ¡°you aren¡¯t mad at all. I know you aren¡¯t. You¡¯ve proven it a thousandfold to me. Remember the south-end fire?¡± Patricia shook her head, ¡°it didn¡¯t happen.¡± ¡°Not anymore, it didn¡¯t,¡± Brinley pointed out, ¡°you prevented it. You and me.¡± ¡°Only because¨C¡± ¡°My lady.¡± Brinley held up a hand to quiet her, ¡°I was there with you. I saw it.¡± Chapter Four He smiled so sweetly, pressing the ring into my hand. ¡°A gift, now and forever.¡± ¡°Forever,¡± I agreed. A good final word to share. Then the guards came, and together we jumped. - Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik. Somehow, he¡¯d expected to be blinded by some sort of regal light emanating from the emperor¡¯s chambers. Instead, Tristan found himself bathed in darkness. He stepped beyond the heavy doors that marked his passage into a new life. A chill soaked his skin, biting deep through the blood and muscle straight to the bone. He did not speak. He had the presence of mind to remember the rules of the emperor¡¯s ears. Until he was commanded, no words may leave his mouth any longer. He was to be silent, and he was to - - listen. The doors behind him slammed shut with a thunderous crash. They seemed rather too heavy to close so swiftly, but he was more concerned about the darkness around him. He could not see. Only feel. Only listen. ¡°Walk forward,¡± a deep, commanding voice intoned. The force of those words was powerful enough to make him wonder if they were laced with magic. His feet followed the orders of the voice, while his mind steadied his heart. Only one man should be here in the dark besides Tristan, so he should have nothing to fear. ¡°You¡¯re very young,¡± the voice remarked. Tristan bit his tongue before it betrayed him with a swift answer. Silence, he reminded himself. Listen. ¡°You may speak. Until I tell you to stop. I want to have a conversation,¡± The voice went on, ¡°I¡¯ve had so many ears. Between you and myself, I prefer the more interesting ones.¡± All at once, sconces along the walls came to life with rich, warm light. Tristan shielded his eyes, squinting at the sudden change. He was in a massive, elegant chamber filled to the brim with riches. Portraits of heroes and famous rulers lined the walls, painted with pigments of crushed jewels and pearls. A vast, elaborate rug stretched across the floor, covering the marble floors. The rug itself was embroidered with the scene of some ancient war long forgotten. At the far corners of the room, chests and mountains of coin were haphazardly stacked. Tristan wondered if their only purpose was to reflect the light from the sconces more attractively. In the midst of all the riches and decadence, a large throne rested. In that throne was a man Tristan had only ever seen from great distances, parading down the main city street on a horse, or giving grand speeches from his balcony. He was twice as tall as Tristan even knew a man could be. His fingers dripped with gold, his fur-lined cloak crafted from some long extinct pure-white beast. Perhaps from the north. The man himself, in his black-silk knee-breeches, stockings, red leather boots and matching silk vest over his white tunic, was the very image of fashion and excess. The powder on his sleek blonde hair alone must have cost a fortune. Tristan¡¯s own wardrobe paled in comparison to even one of the emperor¡¯s boots. His pride was mortally wounded. ¡°I said you may speak,¡± the emperor repeated himself, patience wearing thin quickly. He waved a slender hand in the air, gesturing at Tristan, ¡°I thought I made it perfectly clear to Leopold that a mute was useless to me.¡± ¡°M-many pardons, your majesty!¡± Tristan hastily yelped in the smoothest squeak he could muster, bowing deeply. ¡°I talk, I assure you. Quite a lot, if it pleases. I was simply in¨C¡± he paused, trying to find a very simple word just out of reach. He hadn¡¯t expected to be so flustered. He¡¯d spent his life preparing for this, and now his tongue seemed to have purchased a single passage ticket to the north. He didn¡¯t know what to say. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Awe, yes,¡± the emperor agreed impatiently. ¡°You are in awe, wonder, a sheer apoplexy of joy, etcetera. I am quite aware.¡± He looked bored. Bored! Tristan was mortified. He¡¯d always thought himself as something of the life of the party, even if he¡¯d never had the opportunity to go to one. The young man was still bowing, waiting for the emperor to command him to rise. He did not. ¡°Your majesty,¡± Tristan continued, staring at the rug beneath his feet. A panicked head on a pike stared back to him, face forever frozen from what must have been a very abrupt death. Tristan hated to identify with such a picture. Yet, here he was. ¡°Your majesty,¡± he began again, ¡°the ears must ensure that treason is never spoken twice. For the empire, root out all who dare speak against the rule of law. Friends do not exist for the emperor¡¯s ears, for they are no longer human. These are the principles we must follow.¡± The emperor leaned back, legs sprawled on his throne as he stifled a yawn, ¡°yes,¡± he replied, ¡°are you to recite your basic math charts to me next? Perhaps some sort of limerick that cleverly includes all seventy-eight characters of the imperial language? Give me some conversation, you cotton-brained child.¡± Tristan hesitated, still bowing. ¡°If that is your wish,¡± he replied. ¡°It is not!¡± The emperor snapped. Would Tristan be the shortest-lived on the emperor¡¯s ears? Leopold would scream curses up at his cage on the tower and lecture him for days until the blessed crows pecked out his eardrums. That wouldn¡¯t do at all. ¡°Rise, and speak,¡± the emperor commanded. Tristan did so. ¡°Your majesty, if I may be so bold, it is difficult to hold any manner of conversation staring at the ground. Moreover, how am I to tell you something interesting if I¡¯ve received nothing to follow?¡± Tristan could feel his ears heating up, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball right then and there, but he pressed on, ¡°you command me to stand here and speak with you as if I were a jester. Had I known that was my purpose, I shouldn¡¯t have bothered to memorize the principles of the emperor¡¯s ears or any manner of basic math. Forgive me for misunderstanding my place. I promise I shall learn to juggle knives and petticoats if that is your wish so that you may be thoroughly entertained.¡± He hoped his cage had a good view of the courtyard. At least it could be a scenic death. The emperor tapped his fingers on the right arm of his throne, a slow and almost contemplative rhythm. Judging by the look on his face at the outburst, Tristan could very confidently say that he had absolutely no idea what the man was thinking. His smile was not a pleasant one. There was no malice or promise behind his thin lips, however. The emperor simply had a certain air about him which carried through from that smile. The air of boredom, irritation, and regal distaste for nearly anything around him that just so happened to breathe. ¡°So you do have a mind,¡± the emperor finally spoke, ceasing to tap his fingers. ¡°Good. There will be a ball soon. Several debutantes of the high houses will be announced,¡± he waved his hand dismissively, ¡°at some point they began to think their brats deserved my attention just because they¡¯re being put on the market.¡± The emperor let out a deep breath, while Tristan continued to hold his, ¡°so, boy. I assume you¡¯ve been schooled in dancing and etiquette?¡± It wasn¡¯t really a question. Of course Tristan had. It was expected. ¡°Leopold did his job well,¡± Tristan replied. He would do his best to keep talking. False bravado was still bravado, even if he was confident he¡¯d faint the moment he left the emperor¡¯s meeting chamber. ¡°Good,¡± the emperor nodded. He was pleased. Perhaps. Or bored. Or considering the best form of execution to suit his mood. He wasn¡¯t especially easy to read. When he leaned forward, casting his silhouette from the throne onto the rug below, Tristan swore he¡¯d never seen a man so much larger than his own shadow. ¡°Then you¡¯ll have your first assignment. Your wardrobe will be prepared and laid out in your new quarters the morning of. You are to be dressed and prepared before sunrise. Meet me behind the false wall near the throne room.You will have your face then,¡± the emperor continued, his smile unwavering, though maybe just slightly less¨Cevil wasn¡¯t the right word. A man could lose his head by comparing the emperor to anything of the sort, but Tristan wasn¡¯t entirely sure he could think of what the right word really was. ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan caught himself before his thoughts could steal his tongue, ¡°of course, your majesty.¡± He clicked his heels together and bowed deeply. Even more deeply than the first time when he¡¯d made his entrance. ¡°Good,¡± the emperor said, ¡°well, then. I¡¯ll be looking forward to it. You changelings really are entertaining, if nothing else.¡± Tristan didn¡¯t flinch, as much as he might like to. He hated that word. Even moreso, now that he¡¯d met the emperor. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Tristan realized all too quickly he hated this man even more. ¡°You may go,¡± the emperor dismissed him, leaning back once more on his throne. ¡°The candles will lead you to your quarters. Wait there until you are summoned.¡± Just like that, Tristan¡¯s life truly had changed forever. Why, now, did it feel so awful?