Year 503 of the Emperor, Phoenix 01|01, Second year
The city was alive with activity. Banners hung in the streets and people were collecting food, decorations, and presents for the party to come. The young Lady Amena was to be wed, and Tremaine was rejoicing. There were some who condemned the marriage, having been arranged between the young lady and her second cousin Marrec, while other condemned it for the mere fact that the Duke himself did. Regardless, the wedding was planned to go ahead that weekend and for the majority of the people it was something to be celebrated.
In the years since Duke Brandon had taken control of Tremaine the city had slowly be suffocated. It was only in the last few years since Duchess Morganna's return that the city had begun to flourish once more. It was the very strong belief of the people that only with a Felandrison in control of the city that prosperity would come.
And yet, deep within the castle, the duchess herself stalked the corridors. As the wedding drew closer she herself grew restless. Brandon had refused to give his blessing at the the announcement he had scorned them all, but other than this he had done little but meet with important dignitaries. Morganna had driven herself mad trying to figure out his plan, going over the laws and even trying to interrogate and blackmail the dignitaries he had been meeting with, but none would divulge his scheme.
As she sat in her study going over a report from the customs offices, there was a chap at the door. She called permission to enter and an elderly woman entered. She had short, white hair which clung to her scalp and pale skin, wrinkled with years of laughter. Her face naturally crinkled into a smile and she wore lavish robes of sparkling emerald sequins, the like of which Morganna had only witnessed briefly in Glas Claddach worn by ladies of the court visiting from Dunn. She carried herself with such dignity and grace Morganna felt compelled to bow to her. Fighting the urge, she nodded her head respectfully and stood to greet her.
"To whom do I owe this honour?" She asked, indicating the seat opposite.
"You owe it to no one, it is long overdue," the woman smiled and sat in the chair. "My name is Ula Carnoustie. I knew your father, Ferris. He was my brother." Morganna's heart skipped a beat.
"You are Aunt Ula? I thought you lived in Dunn? What brings you back here?" Morganna asked quickly as she sat.
"Why this wedding of course!" She smiled, "I am sorry I never visited previously; ever since I moved to Dunn I have been occupied with the affairs of court, not to mention the entire Carnoustie House after my husband became the head of the family."
"Of course, no apology necessary...I must admit I hardly believed you were still alive." Ula laughed.
"Ah, I'm afraid I've outlives the rest of my siblings, but I'm still kicking," she smiled.
"What ever happened to Uncle Gildos?" Ula nodded slowly.
"He was sent to the northern provinces of Valtoros to serve the church. I received word while you were still an infant of his death. He was buried in a pauper's grave, as is custom for priests of the Creeper Sect. So Geoffrey and I arranged to have his grave sealed in the Cairn here. That was the last time I visited. Sadly, before I could see you I was called away for another matter in Dunn. I never did get another chance to visit." A soft silence enveloped them as they regarded each other with wonder.
"I am terribly sorry, where are my manners," Morganna said at last, jumping up, "Would you like a drink? Tea? Wine?"
"Ah, I haven't had a good Southern wine in the longest time! They never make it to Dunn; not enough pomp on the labels," Morganna laughed as she poured them both a glass and handed one to her aunt. As they settled down again Ula looked at her lovingly.
"I must say, you have your mother's eyes." Morganna smiled as she drank again, "But your father's nose. He had such a wee nose, even as a boy."
"Do you knew my mother?" Morganna asked.
"Oh yes, I only met her twice. The first was at their wedding, then again when we both visited her estate in Wysteria some years later."
"We have an estate in Wysteria?" Morganna asked.
"Why of course you do!" Ula smiled. "It is rightfully yours after all! It belonged to your grandfather. He died shortly after Rosaly came here and she hired the Carnousties to look after it. We've been managing it for years! We send all the proceeds here." Morganna nodded slowly.
"That's the Wysterian contribution to the wealth accounts. I never did figure out where that was coming from." Ula laughed.
"Yes, your mother had the proceeds injected directly into Tremaine's economy so as long as the mine flourished so would Tremaine. The paving in the throne
room is made from lapis lazuli from those very mines." Morganna nodded thoughtfully. Ula smiled at her again and lowered her glass. "I'm sorry, but you remind me so much of my mother."
"Your mother?" Morganna asked, her eyebrows raised. Ula nodded.
"Morganna, your namesake. And I must say you deserve it. What you've accomplished, and with Brandon to compete with," She shook her head. At the mention of his name Morganna's back stiffened. "Oh now dear," Ula smiled comfortingly to her, "I know it can be a burden; I watched my mother deal with Felandris for the longest time."
"I thought Felandris was a good father?" Morganna asked. Ula scoffed.
"So we made him out to be," Ula said simply. "My father was a very violent man. He wasn't always; when I was young he was kind and warm and everything we could ever have hoped for in a father. But then he got hurt in the nether and after that...well, Brandon should give you some idea." Morganna shook her head.
"At least he didn't try to kill his child." Morganna muttered.
"Hah!" Ula scoffed, "Tried? He almost succeeded!" Morganna stared at him. "Do you really not know the stroy? I would have thought Geoffrey would have told you!"
"Told me what?" Morganna asked. Ula sighed heavily and took a long drought from her glass.
"My mother hated him," she began again. "So she stole us all away to Glas Cladach, where my elder brother Murtagh was Governor. There we stayed for years until Felandris kidnapped Gildos and brought him back here. That was when Murtagh and Braven - my husband - marched an army down here to save him."
"What happened?" Morganna asked, stunned.
"My mother happened," Ula said simply. "According to history, Felandris invited his son to join him here and Murtagh and Brandon went down to visit as
well, purely on peaceful terms, though there are some still alive in Tremaine who remember that siege." she took a sip, "As history remembers it, when Murtagh and Brandon arrived, Felandris had died in his sleep." Ula looked at Morganna with mournful eyes, the first sign of sorrow she had displayed thus far. "In reality Murtagh and Brandon besieged the city. They camped outside the southern gate and while they argued with the Guarda my mother was hatching her own plans.
"Only a handful of people ever knew what I'm about to tell you. Murtagh was at the heart of it all, so only he knew the truth, but myself and Braven knew some of it, and Braven told Geoffrey as well - they were brothers - and King Scrios III knew, though I have no idea if he ever told anyone; I highly doubt it. After a while Gildos and Ferris found out but they never told a soul. My mother smuggled herself into the besieged city using the black marketeers. They blind folded her so she would not know the route she took, then she found her way into the castle and gave Felandris nightshade." The two women stared at each other for a long moment.
"She killed him?" Morganna asked.
"Well...I never really found out," Ula corrected her. "It was Murtagh who found them. He never told us the truth, but he covered it all up, though Scrios forbade him ever to become Duke. As a small kindness he forgave Ferris, who was completely innocent in everything, and granted him the title. So you see, Morganna did everything she could to protect her children, she even killed the man she loved..."
"How could she....how could she live with herself?" Morganna asked.
"She didn't," Ula looked at her sadly. "She killed herself, right at the foot of Felandris' grave. We told everyone she had decided to leave Perth as staying behind made her too sad."
"What happened to her body?" Morganna asked.
"Murtagh had her entombed beneath the stone steps beside Felandris' grave. He inscribed a tiny 'M' on the step to mark the spot." The two women fell silent. They regarded their empty glasses for a long moment.
"Would you like another glass?" Morganna asked, only half-heartedly.
"No," Ula said, also feeling drained. "I think I'll head to my quarters, freshen up a bit before the wedding."
"Of course, I'll have someone show you to your room."
***
The slumbering city echoed with the creeks of the old windmill at its centre. In the streets, a few guards patrolled and a cat scampered from alley to alley. The cool morning was disturbed only by the muffled sounds of work from the bakery beneath the windmill. The Bearded Bride's was the oldest bakery in Tremaine, and well known as the best. Owned by three sisters who never married, all with round bellies and whiskers on their chins, and the owners of the best recipe for muffins in the South of Perth. As the three women bustled about the bakery, preparing for the day ahead, the youngest, Marge, looked up from the counter as she heard footsteps running down the street. Frowning she stepped out from the counter and leaned over the wooden rail to look up the hill to the Upper City. An old man was hobbling down the street toward her, cane in hand and a flat cap on his head. With each step it threatened to fall back with the force of his running and he held it down with one hand until he reached the steps up to the bakery and scampered up them.
"Girls! It's old man Conner!" Marge called, smiling as he reached the top of the steps. He was an ancient old man who used to own the antique shop on Birch Square before his son took over. Nowadays he spent his time wondering the streets of Tremaine indulging in gossip and entertaining everyone with his wild tales from days long past. As he reached the counter he leaned against it, panting.
"'Ere Conner! You look like you've seen a ghost!" Marge smiled as she wiped some crumbs from the counter.
"Water," he croaked. She scooped out a glass and poured him some from a pitcher, which he downed.
"You'll never believe it,"
"Believe what?" Marge asked.
"What's he believing?" Asked Mary, the middle sister, poking her head out the serving hatch.
"I don' know, he hasn't said yet!"
"Will you spit it out man!" Mary called.
"I'll spit you both out just now if you don' get back to work!" Called Kathleen, the eldest, and largest, sister.
"It's ol' man Conner! He's got some gossip!"
"Well the gossip will still be there in ten minutes, as will that dough in the oven!" Mary rolled her eyes and disappeared as Kathleen pulled open the door and stepped out, filling the space behind the counter with her vast cleavage. "And you, get those rolls in your oven now!"
"Wait, I still haven't told you!" Conner wheezed.
"He says we won' believe it." Marge pointed to him.
"You're not gonn' believe it cause you're gonnae get your buns in that oven!"
"If only father were around to hear that!" Mary cackled from within as Kathleen turned to Conner.
"Conner, it's busy this morning, we've got twelve batches to prepare for the wedding, you'll need to come back later," Kathleen ordered.
"No no! You don't understand!"
"What's he sayin' now?" Mary called from inside.
"What he's sayin' is GET THAT BLOODY OVEN EMPTIED!" Kathleen yelled back to her sister.
"Brandon is dead!" Conner called finally. Kathleen stopped and turned back to him as both sisters poked their heads out again.
"You wha?" Marge asked.
"The Duke is dead! They found him in the night." Conner wheezed. "I don't know if there will be a wedding now." Kathleen stared at him.
"He's right y'know," Mary smirked. "I don' believe it!"
***
Duke Henley was a thin man, with jet black hair and a thin, pointed face. He stood constantly, Morganna had yet to see him sit down, and the clothes her wore only accentuated his skeletal thin build, with a suit jacket that hung low behind him and hugged his form neatly and long, thin leggings. He was looking out the window of the main dining room where he and Morganna had been going over the events of the last few days in excruciating detail.
"So you say you found him like that?"
"Yes,"
"the glass already upon the floor?"
"Yes,"
"And he was already dead?"
"Yes."
"Humph." Henley was an impatient man. He had arrived shortly after the death of Brandon. The wedding had been postponed by royal decree until the investigation was complete and Henley was the man sent to do it. He turned to Morganna then and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He had a thin mustache which twitched when he was agitated. Right now the right side of his mouth looked as if it were at odds with the rest of his face and could not settle into a comfortable position. "King Scrios warned me about your family. Bunch of trouble makers the lot of you! I tell you, the few days I've been here this investigation has stunk from beginning to end. I don't like it, I don't like it at all."
"Then why not accuse me?" She asked.
"What makes you think I'd accuse you?" He asked.
"Lord Henley," Morganna sighed heavily, "You have been questioning me for three days now. You have interrogated my waiting staff, my family, you have overturned my castle and personally destroyed my bed chamber searching for evidence. You have interrogated me on four separate occasions."
"The incident in the kitchen doesn't count; I wasn't there to talk to you."
"Very well, three separate occasions. You have made it quite clear that you are aware of my troubled marriage and the problems we had while my late husband was still alive. I admit, yes, I hated him, I wished he had died a long time ago, but I promise you I did not kill my husband."
"So you say," Henley added. Morganna rolled her eyes.
"My Lord, have you found any evidence to condemn anyone, even me, of this crime?"
"No,"
"And have you even found any evidence of foul play?"
"The glass was smashed on the floor, it was obviously a struggle."
"It was half-filled with wine and when they cut open his belly there was enough in there to feed a city for a week! He drank himself to death!" Morganna yelled. "I accept that, the doctor accepts that, the whole city accepts that. The donkey that carries my dates from the market every morning accepts that. Why do you not?"
"Because I know it was you!" Henley yelled. "I know you are behind this and I know there is evidence here to prove it!" Morganna looked at him and took a deep breath.
"Lord Henley." She began calmly. "King Scrios sent you here to investigate. He gave your five days. This is the fourth day. I will entertain four fantasy and allow you to remain but as soon as the fifth day is up I want you out of my castle!" She yelled at him, then stalked toward the door. She paused as she held it open, then turned to him. "Good day," she spat, then slammed the door shut. She marched out of the castle and into the castle gardens where she fell onto the lump of diorite jutting out from the grass. It was perfectly shaped like a seat, she was told by accident. Ferris found it when he cleared this area for the garden and decided to keep it. The surface was rough and unfinished and she loved it; it reminded her of a memory she had from when she was a child, a man comfortingly holding her hand. She had no idea who the man was; her father had died before she was born and she knew it was not Geoffrey. She took a deep breath and sighed heavily.
"Tough day at the office?" Ula asked. Morganna turned to see the elderly woman standing a few feet away. They smiled to each other and Morganna turned to her as Ula knelt on the grass, her flowing dress forming around her so she looked like a giant flower ready to bloom.
"Just Henley," she shook her head. "He refuses to believe i didn't kill Brandon." Ula nodded.
"As I understand it, you'll have a tough time arguing that one with anyone."
"Thanks," Morganna scoffed. Ula smiled comfortingly to her. Morganna sniffed, then looked back to her. "You don't think I did it, do you?" Ula inspected her for a moment,t hen shook her head.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because of my mother," Ula said simply, looking up. "You are more alike than you will ever realize. When she killed Felandris...it tore her apart. I look at you...and I don't see that. You are still you, the same you that you were when I first got here. No, I do not think you killed him." Morganna nodded, warmed slightly by her comparison to her grandmother. "Still, I thought you should know I found this," Ula stood up and moved toward her. She took Morganna's hand in both of hers and she felt something small and cool in her palm. "Don't let him see it." Ula winked, then bowed over and kissed her forehead before moving away. Morganna watched her go, then looked at her palm. There was a tiny glass vial, empty, but upon the label was the word 'nightshade'. Morganna's thoughts raced as she stashed the vial away, then stood and moved away from the rock, disturbed.
***
Duke Henley had gone and Morganna was racing up the stone steps to her daughter's room. As she reached it she knocked and Amena called from within. She pushed open the door to see Amena standing in a whit gown which trailed behind her, a veiling over her face. Morganna stopped in her tracks, her heart fluttered.
"What do you think?" She asked. Morganna stammered, unable to speak.
"You look beautiful," She smiled. Amena smiled in return and then turned back to the mirror. Morganna walked toward her slowly and reached out a hand tentatively. She touched her arm and drew it back as if she were stung. It hurt to touch the dress, it made it so much more real. Instead she moved her hand beneath the veil and petted her daughter's hair.
"I can't wait, now that Henley's gone the wedding is back on, right?" Amena asked. Morganna looked at her in the reflection.
"Honey, I wanted to speak to you about that." Amena frowned. "Now...with Brandon gone...there is no threat to your inheritance. You could...not marry Marrec."
"What?" Amena asked, fury in her voice as she pulled back from Morganna.
"I thought perhaps you'd want to wait, to meet someone you truly loved, perhaps then you could..."
"Someone I loved?" Amena asked, confused, "Mother, don't you see?" Morganna looked at her blankly. "I love Marrec! I don't care about the relation, I don't care if Brandon is dead, I love him, and I would do anything to be with him." Morganna stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.
"Okay...then the wedding's back on." She smiled. Amena sighed with relief as she stepped back in front of the mirror. Morganna touched the dress again and it hurt a little less, but deep inside her chest squirmed. She took off the veil and picked up a brush, tending her daughters hair for a moment before lifting it and looking in teh mirror.
"You could have it up?" Their eyes met and they both shook their heads. Amena laughed as Morganna smiled, continuing to brush it. In her mind she pondered Amena's words. For a long time neither of them spoke, then Morganna put down the brush and began to weave her daughter's hair from the temples backward to join at the back of her skull in the Aethen tradition.
"So what did he say to you?" Morganna asked at last.
"Marrec? He told me he loves me too." Amena smiled. Morganna looked at her daughter's face in the mirror, her shining face, and it broke her heart to say it.
"Not Marrec, Brandon." Amena met her gaze and her smile faltered. "What did he say to you?" Understanding flowed between them and Amena took a deep breath.
"He...he said he would killed Marrec on our wedding night...and that he would..." She trailed off. The room felt very cold as Morganna finished pleating her hair. She replaced the veil carefully and placed her hands on her shoulders.
"And where did you get the nightshade?"
"Great Aunt Ula...she needs it to sleep...I stole it." Morganna nodded slowly. Amena turned to her then and their eyes met. Silently, they fell into each other's arms and Morganna petted her head.
"It's over now," she said simply. "I love you."
"I love you too mum," Amena mumbled through her shoulder, sniffing.
_________________ Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings. "The Crippled King" "Flanders"
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