Chapter 13 - The Trials
As soon as the palace guard opened the wall into the Hyton family quarters, Brietta passed in front of us.
She wore puffed sleeves and skirts that flowed like seawater—dressed too splendidly to be pacing in the hallway alone.
Her brown eyes went wide and she unclasped her hands. “Ah, Serafina! I have been looking everywhere for you. We are late for tea with Her Excellency!”
She was never a good liar. She had obviously been wringing her hands with worry ever since the General demanded my audience.
Brietta might have looked the part of the future Duchess, but she still needed me to give her radical ambition some fangs. She might want to disguise the interrogation as a midday tea, but I had no time to waste on pleasantries.
If the loose lips of a drunk woman were my best lead, I would get Freya to talk our way to freedom.
The guard gave Brietta a dutiful bow before leaving us alone. Brietta reached for my hand but drew back.
My heart sank a little at the reminder that nothing was the same between us.
She refused to look at me, but quickly moved further down the hallway. I followed. Brietta stayed quiet and stopped at a door near the end of the hall. She opened it to reveal a dark bedroom and quickly beckoned me inside.
She shut the door with both palms and clicked the lock. “What happened?”
“He questioned my arrival and I told him the truth.” I looked up at her. “You may have noticed my new…form does not allow me to refuse direct questions.”
Her face paled, but I stopped her before she could spiral. “He asked nothing about you.”
She sighed with relief and I turned to see where she had taken me. Unlike Annalisa’s bedroom that was a rainbow of pastel shades, the room had dark wood furniture, a lush green bedspread, and a curved white chair with a matching footstool that sat by the sunny window.
Simple and comfortable—a sharp contrast from everything else in Hyton Palace.
I eyed a small tapestry decorated with maidens and raven feathers on the wall. “Whose bedroom is this?”
Brietta crossed over to a polished wardrobe, not meeting my eye. “It was supposed to be yours.”
She flicked the latch and opened the doors. Dresses in shades of Hyton Blue filled the wardrobe, but glimpses of earthy green and creamy ivory peeked out in between. I walked over and touched a green sleeve—the fabric was so soft, I immediately wanted it on my arms.
I bit my tongue. Only Derrick knew how much I loved gentle green colors. The chair at the window was perfect for hours of comfortable embroidery. The room was far enough away from the stairs that noise would not have invaded my peace.
Derrick gave me the perfect refuge and it all went to waste. I was never going to be his Duchess.
Brietta stepped away from the wardrobe and folded her arms. “Look presentable. We have to go into town after tea, then we have dinner with the entire House of Hyton afterward.”
I pursed my lips and rifled through the wardrobe. “I did not realize you would organize a full schedule for me.”
She bristled. “ You were the one who said we did not have much time. Besides, the dinner was all Derrick’s idea. He wanted to celebrate your…safe arrival.”
Meaning he was elated that I had come back to the palace without Riyan.
I selected a deep purple skirt and bodice that was embroidered with creeping ivy. Brietta kept her arms folded and stared at the willow leaf pattern on the wallpaper as I dressed. Every garment fit perfectly, even the slippers.
I had just finished tying back my hair with an ivory ribbon when Brietta spoke up. “Freya has already had a bottle of wine. She is ready to talk.”
The teacup’s glaze glistened in the sunlight from the tall windows. Eiders cooed outside as they glided over the waters of the Western Sea. Magnus the Bedwarmer softly purred in Freya’s lap.
Freya slurped down the rest of her wine and set the empty bottle on the table with a sigh. “You will have to pour your own tea, kittens, I banished the servants. Cannot risk any hungry ears around.”
Brietta and I glanced at each other from across the small round table. Both of us had our hands clasped firmly in our laps as we silently choked on the risk Freya was about to take.
Freya looked from Brietta to me and sighed. “Fine, I will say it.” She took a breath. “Ilsa! Ilsa! Ilsa!”
Brietta and I recoiled as her words echoed around the small sunroom. Freya nonchalantly reached for the steaming teapot in the center of the table.
“See?” She poured herself a cup of fragrant tea. “No one is running in with an axe. Unclench, will you?”
Brietta and I still held our breaths. Freya scoffed and grabbed Brietta’s teacup. She produced a small vial from between her breasts and poured a few drops into the cup. “Here—a little gift from the faeries. Mix it with the tea.”
Brietta’s saucer rattled as Freya clumsily set the cup down. She snatched my cup and gave me a helping of whatever was in her vial.
Freya shoved the cup back in my hands and gave me a wink. “Made by the Viper, the best potion maker in Lycaster.”
Nothing made by someone named “the Viper” seemed trustworthy, but Freya still upended the rest of the vial into her own cup. “All right, ask. Which one of you is braver?”
Brietta cut me a fearful glance. I supposed the brave one was me.
My hands trembled slightly as I poured my tea. “Did…the former Duchess really murder Alastar the Wise?”
“Might have.” Freya took a loud slurp from her teacup. “She only loved her Little Diamond.”
Little Diamond? “Did she have some jewelry that she was fond of?”
Freya snorted. “Yes, but that is not what I am referring to. The entire Dukedom called Ragnar the ‘Little Diamond’ because he was so damn pretty.”
I bit my tongue to keep from smiling. General Hyton was handsome, sure, but I could not imagine anyone considering him pretty…or little.
Freya rested her cheek on her fist. “Ilsa had iced Derrick out from the beginning. I cannot imagine why.”
I furrowed my brows just as Brietta piped up, “Derrick?”
“Alastar Derrick Pervale Hyton, yes,” Freya slurred, emphasizing every part of the name. “I named my Midnight after the best damn Duke that Lycaster ever had.”
Midnight? She used my Derrick’s secret name too?
Freya hiccupped and smacked her fist on the table. “And yes, I do include the Conqueror in that statement!”
No one ever dared to say Alastar the Conqueror was anything less than wondrous. He founded the Dukedom, reigned for sixty-five years, and became a legend. All of his mighty accomplishments flooded to the front of my mind as if I were about to write yet another exam at Ashmore.
Freya lazily stirred her tea. “When everyone else saw me as just the vessel of a potential heir, Derrick saw a brilliant mind. We read together. Played table top games. Discussed new ideas. I was the daughter he never got to have.”
She sniffed and raised her spoon, watching intently as droplets of tea dripped back into the cup. “But even I can admit he had a monster in him, all the Dukes do. ‘Spirit of the Conqueror,’ and all that.”
Alastar was not a true name but a title, traditionally earned in a series of trials to determine who would be the next Duke of Lycaster. Whoever won had the “spirit of the Conqueror” and would become the Alastar.
The spirit of the Conqueror was merely an idea that defined what it meant to be an “Alastar,” but Freya described it as if it were a living, breathing thing.
Drunk old fool.
I took a sip of the foul tea out of politeness, though I wished Freya would steer the conversation back to Ilsa. How was learning about a dead Duke going to help us?
Brietta huffed out a breath. “I never understood the ‘spirit of the Conqueror’ idea. Why should our next ruler be determined by who could perform the best feats of strength in an arena? Alastar the Steadfast was right to end them.”
The Alastar trials might have ended, but the Hyton peasants still craved entertainment. Heaston filled in the gap, creating a Spring Exhibition where the noble boys would show off their dueling skills. I only remembered the history because Endre had talked about the Spring Exhibition all the time—he was certain he would duel circles around the entire school once he was old enough to compete.
I had no idea Brietta had paid so much attention in history lessons. Maybe she really was scribbling notes instead of lines of poems.
Freya snorted so loud Magnus hopped off her lap. “Feats of strength in the Alastar trials? Oh, I forgot that is what those biddies at school teach you.”
I put down my teacup. What else could the trials have been other than feats of strength? Although…our lessons never mentioned the Hyton sons who had lost the trials. Maybe they traveled to different kingdoms or became adventurers? Or maybe…
“They all died.” My stomach was hollow as I said it. I looked up at Freya. “The Dukes of Lycaster were not merely declared winners…they were just the last brother standing.”
Brietta’s mouth fell open.
Freya’s eyes gleamed. “There is only one bull in a herd.”
I gripped my hands as I imagined Derrick and Riyan facing off against each other in an arena…
Derrick would not have stood a chance.
Freya took another sip of her tea. “Derrick…er, Alastar the Wise, was the first Duke of Lycaster to not have to fight in those bloody trials, but his six older brothers killed each other anyway—like they still had to prove themselves strong enough to rule.”
Freya scratched Magnus’s ruff and smiled. “The irony—all those centuries of fratricide and the crown ended up with the quiet brother who hid amongst the books.” Her smile fell. “But even he could not hide from the cold hands of murder.”
I seized the opportunity. “But how could Ilsa have murdered—”
“But the trials returned!” She took another slug from her teacup. We were losing her. “Sure, Anders did not have to murder anyone in an arena, but he became a performer on a stage with no end—constantly having to prove himself worthy of the crown. And when men of Lycaster cannot have blood, they crave sex instead.”
I squeezed my knees together as I tried to think of how to steer the conversation back to Ilsa.
Brietta’s lip curled and she avoided Freya’s eyes. “They lock us up in Ashmore for seven years to keep our chastity intact yet immediately expect us to be receptive to—”
Freya’s booming laugh startled Brietta so much that she jumped. “Oh, am I the first to tell you the chastity requirement is all a lie?”
Brietta’s face hardened and my stomach dropped.
It…it was a lie?
“What?” Brietta cried. “But they would not let us see or talk to any men because our chastity was necessary—”
“Necessary to not get pregnant,” Freya replied with a dry laugh. “Do you think the Heaston boys were kept on a chain? They get to play around just like all boys do while you get to spend your early fertile years in a cage.”
Brietta’s eyebrows creased and she let out a low breath.
Of all the lies the Ashmore matrons told us, the chastity requirement hurt the worst. They held us prisoner, suppressed all of our…urges, and told us all of it was necessary to have any place in society.
Worst of all, they had lined us up in front of Fraleigh and forced us to endure her “chastity examination” so we were allowed to get married.
“That is disgusting,” Brietta hissed. “The boys got to have as many lovers as they wanted?”
Freya licked her teaspoon and tossed Brietta a look. “Do not tell me you are ignorant of the oldest laws of men. Sex has always been power to them. The more they have—or say they have—the more powerful other men believe they are.”
I stirred my tea just to distract myself from the fire that raged beneath my ribs. I wanted to sprint back to Ashmore and kiss a guard just because I could.
“But Derrick never had to play that game—he owned the Diamond of the North,” Freya said. “She was the most beautiful and valuable woman anyone could possess, so men respected him for that alone.”
Back to Ilsa. I opened my mouth for another question, but Freya barked out a laugh. “But Anders? I am no diamond. Constantly being pregnant gave Anders some credibility as far as his virility was concerned…but then I only made daughters. He had to seek out…other venues for validation.”
Her blue eyes slid over to me and my stomach turned over. “Of all the things I will never forgive my husband for, buying your Mother is at the top of the list.”
That could not be true. Freya was just drunk and rambling. Mother was…intimately involved with the Duke, sure, but she was married to my father. Duke Hyton could not just buy her!
A feline smile grew on Freya’s face. “Oh, you think I am lying, little kitten? Are you ready to hear the truth of just how replaceable we all are?”
As much as I did not want to believe Freya, I thought back to the shining blue wax of the Hyton seal on top of Father’s desk seven years ago.
A bad deal with the Hytons.
No. Father had always kissed Mother’s cheeks and told her she was the honey in his tea. He bought her new and foreign seeds for her herb garden. He never even so much as raised his voice to her.
I shook my head. “He loves her, he—”
Freya threw her head back and cackled. “Loves her? Do you think that would stop a Duke from getting what he wanted?”
I looked over at the once romantic Brietta as warmth drained from my face. Her eyes were wide and she covered her gaping mouth with her hand.
Freya slowly shook her head like she was swimming through a cloud. “It was my fault. After Derrick died, I…lost myself. I could not leave my room. Could not face the public. Could not do…anything.”
Her hands curled into fists. “But your father was the one who fucked up. He pleaded that Anders take care of the giants at a meeting of the Baron council. He embarrassed Anders, making him look like he did not have complete control of the Dukedom…idiot! Frederick had always wanted to swoop in and play the hero, but what did that get him? He lost everything…and so did she.”
Before I could change the subject back to Ilsa, Freya suddenly rose from the table. She grabbed both my wrists and leaned down.
Her eyes watered as her wine-stained breath skated across my face. “You listen to me—men are always the most dangerous when they think they do not have control. It all goes back to control—always! The monster consumed my husband, all it wants is control!”
My eyes darted across Freya’s face. I did not know what to say, or even what to think. Was the faerie potion warping her mind like it had with Annalisa? What was the monster she was talking about?
Freya gripped my wrists harder. “Anders is a catapult—he will do as much damage as possible with one move. He does not care about consequences. He has no limits. He is going to eat my baby too!”
I had no other choice but to follow her logic. “Who is going to eat your—?”
“Stay away from the monster!” she cried. “Run! Run!”
Her hands started to shake and I caught a glimpse of Brietta behind the Duchess. She put a hand on her shoulder. “Freya, please—”
Freya released me and turned to Brietta, gripping her arms just below her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with urgency. “You have to do it, Brie. You have to run! You have to keep the dream alive!”
Brietta’s lip trembled as she tried to hold Freya upright. “Yes, we are trying. We are trying—”
Freya broke into sobs and collapsed to the floor. The faerie potion had finally overtaken her.
I knelt beside Brietta as she rubbed Freya’s back.
“Freya, get up, please,” she begged. “We still have more to learn.”
I lowered my head as I tried to meet her eyes. “Your Excellency, what more do you know about Ilsa—?”
Freya’s head snapped up and her eyes locked on my face. “Adalia, I am sorry!”
She thought I was my mother. Was she going mad, or was the faerie potion that strong? “Your Excellency, I am not—”
“Save him, and then do what you have to do,” Freya sobbed. “End it, once and for all. Let the kittens run. I should have been stronger for you. I am sorry. Sorry! Sorry!”
She fell into a delirious babble. Magnus pawed at Freya, nuzzling into her side as his fluffy tail swished across the floor. Brietta and I tried to calm her, but her cries got louder until a group of maids burst into the room to collect her.
Freya shook as the maids helped her out of the room. Brietta and I exchanged weary, defeated looks. Our tea had turned cold, and all we had to show for it was the tears of the Duchess.
We had to find another door to the truth, but if Freya was too far gone and the General was too close to his brother, where else could we even look?