Chapter Fifteen - WytchFyre #2
“He’s the worst,” said Marianne and Rosamund was taken aback by the fire in the girls words, “a drunk, a lech and a gambler. Do you know he’s managed to burn through his own fortune and Elswyth’s? Osric says they would basically be destitute if the King didn’t keep bailing them out.”
The dresses, the furniture, the attempts to cover up a crumbling manor. It made sense now. Bastian had wasted their money on his own pleasure, leaving nothing for Elswyth.
“Out of all of them, he’s the worst. Well, maybe except for,” she glanced at Rosamund and quickly bit back what she was about to say.
Dorian. The Prince of Death.
“Sorry, I, sorry-” Marianne started to say, stumbling over her words until Rosamund waved a hand dismissively.
“Is it awful?” asked Marianne with a worried expression, but a curious spark in her eye.
With surprise, the first answer that came to her was ‘No’.
It had been. And there were still parts that she dreaded, parts that she hated.
Her dark prison and the monster that kept her there.
She wanted her freedom, but she had found that in her sanctuary, the restoration of the conservatory.
She had found companionship in the servants, in Gnash.
Even Dorian’s looming presence, the hum of his decay, grew less and less terrifying. He was just…there.
“It’s…not as bad as I thought it would be,” said Rosamund when she realised she had let the silence go on too long.
“Really?” said Marianne surprised, “Osric hates going there. It’s his least favourite of all the districts. He can at least stroll around the Velvet Tide, but he says no one is allowed to see The Veil. What’s it like?”
Her eyes looked up at her eagerly, hungry to know. Rosamund smiled sheepishly, “I’m afraid I don’t know either. I’m confined to the house when I’m not invited out. And even then, the carriage windows are shuttered until we are past the wall.”
“So you haven’t seen it?” her face falling, though, there was also a touch of relief, “I’ve heard such terrible things about it.
The way he treats his people. I hear they spend hours down in the mines beneath the city.
The dust filling their lungs, most of them in an early grave because of it.
And even when they do die, he raises their spirits and their bodies to keep on working.
He keeps them there, trapped, even after death. ”
It horrified Rosamund to hear what Marianne said.
Was it true? Was this what Dorian did? Was this how he had earned his title of Prince of Death.
The more she learned about him and the people around him, she found it harder to believe.
Then she remembered his coldness, his ‘mercy’ to Todric.
Did the means matter when the result was achievable? Was that who he was?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” said Marianne quickly, reaching out to grasp her hand.
Rosamund tried to shrug it off, but the images that Marianne had conjured haunted her. Why won’t he let me see the Veil?
“No I’m glad you did,” said Rosamund, giving her hand a squeeze, “but tell me about your husband.”
Marianne immediately tensed and withdrew her hand. Rosamund cursed herself for being so blunt. She knew very little about the two of them, for all she knew Marianne shared a similar dislike of her husband as Lavinia. Or worse, perhaps she too was in a situation like Elswyth’s.
“I…I don’t really know him,” she said quietly, “he’s, he’s very busy. His magic allows him to travel quickly, so, they keep him moving all over the kingdom. We, we don’t spend much time together.”
More wary this time, “oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Marianne quickly, and shrugged, “it…it could be worse,” she considered this, “it could be a lot worse.”
She tentatively reached out to take the girls hand, glad when Marianne let her, “it really is fine. Greyhaven has a beautiful library, and there’s an even bigger one out on the Isles so I’m…I’m okay.”
The girl sounded far from okay, but Rosamund got the impression that pressing the subject would result in her clamming up completely.
That was the last thing she wanted. Marianne had needed someone to confide in, and Rosamund wanted to be that person.
It was not going to happen with Lavinia, and Marianne needed someone to look out for her.
The same way Rosamund had looked out for her younger sister.
Having someone to care for her made her feel stronger.
She had forgotten that. The surge of strength and confidence when you were standing up for someone else instead of yourself.
The blessing of being an elder sister. This was something she wanted, and she would not be able too if she pressed the topic of Osric now.
“Good,” said Rosamund as she gave the girls hand another squeeze, “but you can tell me if you’re ever not.”
Marianne smiled at her gratefully, “thanks,” and quickly added, “likewise! Although…I’m not sure what I would be able to do.”
Rosamund shrugged, “we’ll figure it out together.”
“Figure what out?”
The two of them turned around to see Lavinia leaning against the arch, holding her golden goblet lazily in one hand. One eyebrow was arched as she looked down at them.
“I-” Rosamund had started to say when the redhead waved a hand.
“Actually, I don’t care,” the irritation was replaced with a smirk, “come inside, I have a surprise.”
I have a surprise.
The words made her feel uneasy. She had heard them before.
Right before Bastian had led them all to a courtyard to see her cousin hanged.
Marianne had not been there, but she saw the same fearful look in the younger woman’s eyes.
She gripped Rosamund’s arm tightly when she offered it.
Arm in arm, the two of them returned to the dark smoky room.