The grand doors swung open wide into the throneroom, and in stepped Elodie. She stood tall, her back straight, her shoulders squared and even. Her chin was raised slightly as she gazed around the room in the half-second before she took the next step. As she took another confident stride forward, she lowered it, her eyes training on the center of the room.
There, on her hands and knees, a young woman sat quietly, weeping.
She couldn’t have been much older than Elodie herself. Her bright, fiery orange hair hung in heeps over her face, an unbrushed mess. When the doors thudded shut behind the Queen, the girl raised her head and gazed wearily up at her through a part in the mop.
Her eyes, the same fiery hue as her hair, met Elodie’s. Something about the girl caught Elodie off guard. Perhaps it was her youth, or the features that set her apart from the others in the room, or perhaps it was the blood staining the front of her uniform, or trickling down the side of her head, darkening her hair and staining her mouth.
Before Elodie could take another step, or say a word, or think any further about it, the guard standing by the girl’s side reached down and struck her harshly on the back of the head, barking strictly to keep her eyes on the floor, then fixed his hands behind his back again.
Elodie squeezed her wrist a little tighter. She wanted desperately to turn and look back at Bishop for reassurance. Instead, she continued forward, trying to maintain the air of untouchable poise with which she had entered the room.
She stopped in front of the girl. Bishop came into view in her right periphery, and she glanced sidelong at him before looking down, regarding the girl without expression.
The guard beside the girl, an older man with a short, puffy beard, stood at attention. On the other side of her, his eyes darting around the room nervously, stood Lane.
Without a word, he produced the necklace. Six interconnected solid gold chains, with a woven lace of links and – she counted – nine deep, maroon gemstones. Two smaller than her pinkie nail, two slightly larger, and one, in the center, the size of an egg.
Somewhere in the castle, there hung a large, solemn portrait of Elodie’s mother. Her face was stolid, impassive, her hair pinned into elaborate braids and curls atop her head, and the same necklace that now rested comfortably in Lane’s palm, hanging around her neck.
Elodie reached out, relief falling over her shoulders. It cascaded down her back like the curls of her snow-blonde hair, and she found herself audibly sighing at the release of tension. She took the necklace into her hands and carefully cradled it. She held it to her heart, closing her eyes, and then handed it to her right, setting it gently into Bishop’s waiting hands.
Now, she thought. Time to deal with you.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what her mother would’ve done with a girl like this. It wasn’t hard to imagine what everyone in the room thought she ought to do.
It was hard to find a reason not to do exactly what she wanted to do.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Elodie asked, her voice strong, carrying more authority than even she’d expected. The girl flinched.
“I didn’t take your jewelry, ma’am, I swear,” the maid said softly, pleading. She lifted her head again, but only to stare at the bottom hem of Elodie’s gown.
Elodie looked at Lane.
“We found the necklace among her things,” Lane argued. “Wrapped in a doily, along with a teacup saucer from a tea set that doesn’t often see use.”
The girl shook her head. “I don’t know how it got there! I swear, somebody must’ve put it there, it wasn’t me-”
“Who?” Elodie demanded. Her patience was thinning. “If not you, then who? Who would you like to accuse, half-blood?”
The girl’s head shot up as if someone had snatched her by the hair and ripped it back. Her eyes were wide, filled with desperation and fear, but her voice was silent in her throat.
Half-blood.
Everyone, it seemed, had been thinking the same thing. Elodie glared down into her imploring eyes and frowned pitilessly.
The guard beside her reached out and struck her across the back of her head, again, this time with enough force to make an audible crack that echoed around the room. She fell, near-limp for a split second, and then regained her balance, dropped from her hands to her elbows.
Elodie wondered how many times he’d hit her.
“What were you going to do with it?” Elodie asked, her voice hard.
“Wh-what?” The girl asked softly. “I… I didn’t take it.”
“You’re a disgusting liar,” Elodie spat. “I know your kind. You’d pawn off priceless jewelry for a fix.”
“A fix?”
Elodie felt her features contorting into a look of disdain. She couldn’t stand liars. Especially not if she’d been feeding and housing them, and they’d stolen from her mother.
Was this punishment enough? Sitting here, beaten, being scolded?
“Our name is an ancient one. Stained in blood.”
Elodie took a deep, slow breath, steeling herself to make her choice. She stared at Lane until he met her eyes. Did she believe in him?
Did it matter what he said? The necklace was back. Did it matter who took it? Or did it matter only what happened to the person suspected of taking it? She needed to make an example out of this.
Especially now that she’d seen the girl. Her distinctive red hair marked her for judgment already.
“Your word is law. Make it so.”
There was only one thing to do. The only thing that would make her mother proud.
“To the gallows with her,” Elodie declared.
The girl let out a halting sob and pushed herself forward, her hands grasping at Elodie’s skirts.
“Please, gods, your Highness,” she wailed. “Mercy! Mercy!”
There will be no such thing. Elodie vowed.
It was Lane that bashed her in the face this time. The guard who had previously done so grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her away a few feet, before another guard took her by the other arm and together they lifted her off the floor. She continued to wail and beg as they took her away, her voice slowly fading until it was gone.
The only thing left of her now was the blood. She’d left a smear of it across the floor, and a single wide handprint stain on Elodie’s gown.
Elodie looked down into the slick red stain on the floor. There, looking back up at her, was the familiar reflection of the ghost. She smiled down at her, and received an approving nod.
“Clean this up,” Elodie barked. And without another thought about the whole terrible ordeal, she left the room.
“How do you feel?” Bishop asked, hurrying to her side and matching her stride with ease.
“Good,” she replied assuredly. “...Very good.”
Bishop paused for a moment, and then mirrored her smile back at her.
“That’s good,” he hummed. “I’m glad.”
212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡamTNESekGc
The sun’s rays had long since left the garden, bringing a chill to the stones. It had been two days since they’d found the thief, and Elodie was standing alone among the wilting flowers, watching as the darkness covered the petals and leaves in a layer of frost, a sure sign of the impending winter. Soon the entire garden would be dead.
“I should have known you’d be out here.”
Elodie turned and there stood Amayella, arms crossed, bundled up in a thick fur coat and a wool skirt. Her hair was hanging long over her shoulders. The transition from pinned up braids to free-flowing locks was another indicator of the movement from autumn to winter.
“Why’s that?” Elodie asked, sitting herself down on one of the stone benches. She could feel the cold stone like ice through her thin cotton skirt. “I don’t come out here that often.”
Amayella shook her head. “Just when you feel proud,” she explained, her tone disapproving. She remained standing stiffly among the roses. She looked widow-like, nearly blending into the shadows in her black wool dress, and a thin lace veil covering most of her hair. She wore no jewelry, save for the thin golden chain that held the necklace Mother had given her; a gold-cast charm in the shape of the Cenobium’s holy symbol.
Elodie picked at a stain on the stone bench beside her, hoping that if she looked sufficiently disinterested, Amayella might simply decide to drop it and leave. “What’s wrong with pride?”
“What do you have to be proud of?” Amayella snapped, her eyes narrowing in disgust. She pointed an accusatory finger at Elodie. “You didn’t accomplish anything. All you did was send a girl to her death.”
Elodie groaned in annoyance.
“I knew you’d have a problem with my decision,” she grumbled. “She was a thief, Amayella. You should’ve seen her.”
“I did see her,” Amayella retorted, crossing her arms again With a smug smile, she continued, “She reminded me of you.”
Elodie stood up suddenly, her mouth open in indignance. “That little half-blood rat-girl? How dare you.”
Amayella’s eyes softened, and she frowned, her arms falling to her sides. “What’s happened to you?”
Elodie bared her teeth at her sister. “Nothing’s happened to me. I’m doing what needs to be done. What you wouldn’t have the strength to do.”
“Do you even realize what you’ve done? Have you even thought about it? She had a family. A mother, a father, brothers and sisters. Friends. And now she’ll hang in front of them. How does that seem like justice to you?”
Elodie threw out her hands, looking for something to say. What did Amayella want to hear? It’s not like Elodie could just change what she’d decided, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She spoke without looking at her sister. “And what would you rather I have done? Let a thief go into the city like she didn’t take our mother’s necklace?”
Amayella ground her teeth. She then took a deep breath, turning her attention somewhere across the garden, shutting her eyes. After a moment, she shook her head, and refocused on Elodie.
“This… is not why I came to talk to you,” she huffed.
“Well, then, what else did you want to criticize me for?” Elodie complained.
Amayella rolled her eyes, lowering her shoulders reluctantly. “I’m not looking to attack you, Elodie. I need to talk to you about Bishop.”
Elodie began crossing the distance between them. She placed her hands firmly on Amayella’s shoulders and turned her, pushing her back towards the door.
“You can very well leave, then. I won’t hear another,” she growled. “You never have anything kind to say about him and he’s the only reason I’m still…”
Elodie had stopped herself. She’d planned to say ‘sane,’ but was she still sane?
“...standing.” She finished.
Amayella took a step to the side and planted her feet, refusing to move further. “You’re going to. Why do you think so highly of him? Has he done anything to figure out who killed Ma and Pa? Has he brought it up even once?”
Elodie growled. “You’ve never trusted him! Do you remember who did trust him, though? Father. Father trusted him. Do you really doubt our father that much?”
Amayella’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. A light shimmer took over her eyes and she turned away, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves.
“Do you care at all what Mother and Father would think of the way you’ve been acting?” Elodie scolded, jabbing an accusing finger into Amayella’s chest. “Walking around, lecturing me about every little thing I do and constantly saying such disrespectful things about Bishop. What is it? Are you angry that I’m Queen and you aren’t? Are you angry that I’ve been too busy to play all your stupid little games like I used to? I’m so sick of the way you’ve been acting. Father would be so angry with you.”
Amayella looked back at Elodie, her eyes narrow and filled with painful tears. She took a deep breath, then nodded slowly.
“Fine,” she replied simply. “You won’t hear another word from me.”
“Thank goodness,” Elodie snapped impatiently.
She took one last second to stare at Elodie, the pain evident in her face, before she shook her shoulders, squared them, and retreated quickly back into the castle.
Again, Elodie stood alone in the garden, satisfied. Perhaps, now, Amayella would finally leave her alone and stop giving terrible advice unsolicited. What made her little sister think that she could rule better than her? It had always been her birthright, and it had been what she was preparing for most of her childhood. While Amayella was allowed to spend time playing in Father’s study, Elodie was with her mother, learning the ins and outs of the duties of the Queen.
Who did Amayella think she was, trying to tell her how to rule?212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKtBI3dwD8b
