Immelda had a headache. The usual, gentle light streaming into the solarium was too much. So, she shut herself away in her room, comforted by its darkness. Still, she could hear every footstep in every hall of the manor. She could smell every perfumed oil on her dresser. She could taste the bile rising in her throat. She worked herself to the point of exhaustion, and now her body retaliated against her.
A mild knock at her door sent pain like shards of glass through her mind. Everyone knew not to disturb her. So, she knew this must be important. Grumbling, she moved her aching body off her bed and opened the door to see Sidra on the other side.
"What do you want?" Immelda snapped.
"I'm so sorry, Mi'Lady," Sidra apologized, holding out a letter with a royal seal. "It's an urgent letter from Queen Esamne. Her messenger says it's of utmost importance."
"It's all right, Sidra," Immelda said, rubbing her eyes and taking the letter from Sidra.
The letter was short and direct. Immelda let out a dramatic sigh while Sidra stood uncomfortably. Immelda gestured for Sidra to enter her room and closed the door once her housekeeper was inside.
"I have orders to come to The Capitol at once," Immelda explained, pouring herself a glass of water. "I just don't see how it's possible. There's so much to do here."
"Not truly," Sidra replied.
"What do you mean?" Immelda scoffed. "There's the gardens, the taxes, and the village matters."
"You mean the things that Lord Pleffort used to do?"
"Yes, Sidra!" Immelda snapped. "Why are you being like this?"
"Lord Pleffort didn't do any of those things," Sidra answered. "His manservant did them."
"Redor did all of that?" Immelda’s eyes widened, astonished. "Why isn't he doing them now?"
"Grief, he says," Sidra replied with a shrug. "Though, you seemed to have managed that and more, working through the same grief."
"I'll say!" Immelda slammed her glass down, spilling water everywhere.
"I can handle the taxes," Sidra said, wiping the spill up with her apron. "Everything else can be sorted out too. Queen Esamne needs you, and I know she is your good friend. Pecuna can manage."
"But, what about—"
"You lay down now," Sidra interrupted, guiding Immelda back to her bed. "I'll get you packed for your trip, and you can leave after you've had a nice dinner."
Rigidly, Immelda allowed Sidra to tuck her into bed. Why had Esamne sent an urgent summons? It would have to be something vital. Many questions and worries floated through her mind, and she doubted she could get the rest Sidra had insisted she needed. However, it took only a few minutes for Immelda to drift into a deep sleep, waking only to eat a hearty stew and clean herself before heading to The Capitol.
Given that she left Pecuna at twilight, she slept through most of the ride and was able to witness the sun rising over the city. It was a spectacular sight and worth the last-minute summons in and of itself. Immelda found herself excited to see her friends once again. Most of the courtiers were sleeping after another drunken, debaucherous night. Peg, however, was eagerly awaiting her arrival at the breakfast hall.
"Peg!" Immelda called out, pleasantly surprised. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone in the breakfast hall already!"
"You know I've always been an early riser," Peg responded with a giggle, giving Immelda an enthusiastic hug.
"How is Lord Welvine?" Immelda asked. "How are the wedding arrangements going?"
"Well, actually," Peg said, blushing, "Welvine and I wound up marrying right after…well, early this Spring. With everything so topsy turvy, we didn't see the point in a lavish ceremony. I’ve just come back from spending a few months touring his vineyards. Now, it seems we’re expecting a baby this Winter."
"Peg, truly?" Immelda's eyes shined with happy tears. "That is such beautiful news! I am so happy for you."
"We are thrilled!"
Immelda joined her friend for a simple breakfast. She ate mostly fruit and bread, as the carriage ride made her feel a little nauseated. Peg ate greedily. The fortunate girl wasn't experiencing any morning sickness with this pregnancy. Immelda felt very grateful that her friend was doing so well, but she couldn't help feeling a little jealous. She missed Tevin, her husband and best friend. This visit would be the first time since his funeral that she had to navigate the court without him by her side.
Just as Peg and she finished their meals, other nobility entered the room ready to eat. Eyes lit up to see the incomparable Lady Pleffort had returned. Countless noblemen greeted her, their lust and greed evident on their faces. Immelda, though widowed, was still a beautiful, young woman and had a fair amount of wealth now. Every man in The Palace would be after her, those scavengers.
Immelda made her hasty exit, explaining that she had urgent matters to attend to. On her way out, she stumbled into a small, familiar man. Just as she gave her apologies, she realized this was Farek Malphesent's assistant. She felt confused about why he freely roamed around the castle and was not being questioned in a dungeon somewhere. Perhaps, things were worse here than Esamne let on before.
After freshening up and dressing into a new outfit for the day, she made her way to Esamne's office. Immelda was one of the few people in the court who had permission to simply enter the office without waiting in the hall beyond for admittance. The glee on Esamne's face shone even brighter than the sunrise Immelda witnessed that morning. They embraced before Esamne even noticed Novem in the room.
"Thank Pecu, you're here." Esamne sighed on Immelda's shoulder. "Things are becoming so strange."
"I can imagine," Immelda replied, giving her friend a gentle squeeze. "Did I see Malphesent's assistant roaming the hallways?"
"There's a good chance of that," Esamne answered, breaking the embrace so that Immelda could see the serious concern on her face. "The Arch Dukes have all but announced that he will be the new acting ruler of Pescel."
"What?! Where are they? I'm going to kill them!"
"Wait," Novem interrupted. "Give Queen Esamne a little credit here. She's not taking this lying down."
"I should hope not." Immelda huffed. "Just who do they think they are?"
"They've held power over Pescel for so long," Esamne said, shaking her head. "They are reluctant to give any of it to me. They can control Pekor and hope to get what Farek promised them through his assistant."
"They can't just keep you away from your birthright," Immelda responded.
"Exactly, which is why we need you."
"We can't talk about it here, though," Esamne whispered. "Meet us in our rooms tonight to discuss it further."
After a little informal conversation about their married life, it became clear to Immelda that the couple wanted to be left alone to work through correspondences together. She headed from the room, feeling even more isolated than she had in Pecuna. Peg had Lord Welvine, Esamne had Novem, and Eya was somewhere in Hicares. She had no one and nothing to give her meaning.
She wandered the halls absentmindedly, not knowing what to do with the rest of her day. She rushed to The Palace only for Esamne to instruct her to wait. She couldn't help but feel a little irritated with how her friend had handled everything. She had things she could be taking care of in Pecuna. Actually, that wasn't quite true if Sidra told her the truth.
"No one needs me anymore."
Immelda sighed to herself, looking out a large window at the gardens where she once witnessed Viscount Ferron fall to his death. Courtiers talked and laughed there now, as if they hadn't all been screaming and crying over the pool of blood their friend spilled at their feet just a few months ago. That was the last place she shared a laugh and some gossip with her beloved Tevin. With these thoughts in her mind, Immelda knew what she wanted to do with her day.
It was somewhat tricky dodging courtiers as she made her way to the Pleffort tomb at the royal cemetery. Seeing only the ground to sit on, she made do by leaning against a tree near the crypt entrance. She meditated on the Pleffort crest above the doorway. It was her crest now, her identity, if not who she was by blood. She didn't even have a family name in Serenchea, being just another orphan of the factories. Immelda also wasn't the name given to her as a child. They'd called her Reacher because her arms were long and skinny. She was good at retrieving things that fell into machinery. Immelda had been what her benefactor called her. He wanted a beautiful name for the woman on his arm.
She thought back to her time as the mistress of a rich man. She found no pleasure in making love to him, but she had become quite adept at pretending he was fantastic in bed. He wasn't an ugly man nor terribly old. It was the act itself that repelled her. She had no idea why anyone would want to do that with any person ever. However, when she was on the run, she felt more than ready to use her charms and her skills to get by. It only served to convince her that sex simply wasn't something she could ever enjoy. She also thought that meant romance would be off the table until she'd met Tevin.
She had been able to fool the others on the pleasure cruises easily. No one outside of Serenchea ever cared to visit the country famous for its sulfuric atmosphere. With her dress, manners, and eloquence, why would they question her status as a Serenchean noble bored with life at home? Tevin traveled to Serenchea often to connect with his spy network there, however. He knew the nobility there intimately. She had been so afraid he would reveal her con to the others, but he actually helped her.
He admired her resourcefulness in climbing out of the bleak life of the factory workers. Freeing the lower castes was a passion of his. For a time, she worked with him to help them flee. However, the memories became unbearable after a while. Every time she returned to the country, she feared she would get roped back into risking her limbs to keep the mass production of textiles on track.
It was around this time that she realized she had fallen in love with the spymaster. She knew he loved her back. He told her many times. Yet, he had never once tried to make love to her, preferring chaste kisses instead. She liked that their relationship remained this way, but it made her feel that perhaps she could lose him. Meeting Redor cleared up a lot of the confusion she felt at the beginning of her affair with Tevin. It was then that she felt comfortable divulging who she truly was deep down to him. She explained that, while she may look and act like a seductress, the idea of spending even one more night making love to any man or woman disgusted her.
So, they married. Redor received Tevin's passions, and Immelda received Tevin's heart. He admitted to her once that, if she had felt inclined, there was a time when he thought he could enjoy making love to her. He considered it just to have a child with the woman he loved, at least. However, he preferred men for the most part, and he knew of no other woman that would be happy to have his love but not his bed. He didn't want to tarnish their relationship with an experience she would find repugnant either. They weren't like Peg and Welvine nor Esamne and Novem. They were Immelda and Tevin. What they had was perfect, and now it was over.
Immelda contemplated all of this alone and in silence. For the first time in weeks, tears raced down her face like rivers of grief. She hoped they made her ugly, that her eyes would become red and puffy. She wanted her despair to etch lines into her flawless brown skin. She fantasized that she would lose her hunger and become gaunt from malnutrition. She hated her beauty, and she hated all the courtiers who would come courting her as soon as it was considered proper.
"L-lady P-pleffort?" she heard over her shoulder.
She turned around to see Pekor standing there, holding a hat in his hands nervously. She wondered whether he followed her here or had his own reasons to be in the cemetery. She didn't really care either way. She didn't want him around and was about to give him a tongue lashing.
"I-I'm sorry to d-disturb y-you," he stammered. "I-I was on m-my w-way to F-ferron's tomb."
"To rub it in?" she sneered.
"W-what?" he asked, bending his ear in her direction.
"What do you want, Pekor?" she said and sighed in response.
"I-I just w-wanted to g-give m-my con-con-condolences," he replied, looking downward. "I'll b-be on m-my w-way."
She watched him walk away. He seemed so meek. Was this how he had survived Farek Malphesent? Was this what attracted the Arch Dukes to him? What did he stand to gain from these interactions other than survival? He was a coward, but not unintelligent. It occurred to Immelda that getting to know him couldn't hurt, as long as she didn't ever let herself entirely trust the man.
"Pekor!" Immelda called out to him, rising from her seat. "I will come with you to Viscount Ferron's tomb."
Pekor looked surprised but nodded in response. Immelda walked up to him, and he took her arm in a gentlemanly manner. Immelda thought they must look like quite the pair. He was barely over five feet, and she was approaching six. His hand on her arm felt almost like a child's would.
"I don't want to scare you, Pekor," Immelda said, "but I can't help but wonder about your life before Farek Malphesent."
"Oh, I was n-nothing…"
"I would hardly call a priest 'nothing,'" she said, giving him a warm smile she hoped would prevent him from bolting.
Pekor's eyes did grow wide at those words. He froze instead of fleeing, however. He stuttered over his words, his hand trembling like a leaf on her arm.
"Your r-reputation as an in-in-intelligent w-woman isn't ex-ex-exaggerated," he responded.
"Is that what you do when you're afraid? You compliment the one that you fear the most?"
Pekor said nothing. His mouth opened and closed, unable to form a word that wouldn't prove her point. Immelda felt a little bad for him and realized she needed to play a subtler game with this man.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," she whispered, a steadying gaze locking onto his frightened eyes. "I'm a squire's widow, nothing compared to most of the nobility here. I am familiar with the necessity of making others feel flattered in order to survive this court. We can be friends."
"Friends?" Pekor asked.
"Yes, friends," Immelda answered. "We can be those people who are nice to each other just to be nice, instead of using each other to get a leg up on the competition."
"R-really?" Pekor asked, amazed. "With me? Why?"
"I don't really know, Pekor," Immelda said truthfully. "Call it intuition."
The answer seemed to appease him, and they continued their walk to the Ferron Tomb. The cemetery was a lovely place for two nobles to avoid courtiers all day. In time, Pekor opened up. He became a priest for the Cult of Pecu as a child. It was abnormal for children to join the cult. However, his was an unusual situation.
Pekor's father had a terrible temper. Whenever any of the children spoke out of turn, he would throw them around like rag dolls. They barely ate, causing Pekor to grow up malnourished, keeping him a man of small stature for the rest of his life. Still, he was a crafty child and learned how to pick pockets in The Capitol so that he could care for himself and his siblings. His father blew up when he figured out Pekor hadn't been giving the money directly to him. So, his father sold him to slavers bound for Serenchea. That was how he met a priest running errands for the Cult of Pecu and joined them. The cult was often a refuge for those who didn't fit in anywhere else.
His life there had been pleasant if a little confining. He didn't necessarily care about Pecu or magic. He appreciated that he had regular meals and a safe place to sleep. Expectations of him were consistent.
"Malphesent," Pekor explained, "was a lot like my father."
"So, you knew exactly how to act," Immelda replied, nodding her head and noticing his stutter had eased. "Now, you have the Arch Dukes to contend with."
"Y-yes," he said and sighed. "They think I have his answers."
"What will you do when they lose patience with you?"
He said nothing, only looking at her with a resigned expression. She realized he fully expected to die here. He had no more plans for survival. Her heart burst with empathy for the man. Like her, he had nothing left; only his life was on the line.
"I will be your friend, Pekor," Immelda whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. "Don't you worry about a thing."
When the sun set, it was time to part. Immelda dressed for dinner and suffered through the countless hints of flirtation the noblemen attempted. She understood now that she had given the courtiers too much credit before. They weren't going to wait until it was proper to woo her. They competed for her hand already. No one was going to stall just to have someone else jump in and sweep her off her feet. The false smile on her face hurt. The charming laugh burnt her throat.
As soon as she undressed from dinner and wrapped in her robes for the evening, she made her way to Esamne's quarters. She hoped whatever her friend had to say would be worth the evening she spent dealing with the nightmare of court life. She knocked on the door to find Novem on the other side. It made sense for him to be there, but she felt surprised to see him anyway. It would take some time to get used to Novem always being by her friend's side.
"Thank you for coming, Immelda," Esamne said in the sweet as honey voice she reserved for the few close to her.
Novem closed and locked the door behind Immelda.
"Of course," Immelda said. "Anything for a friend."
"I know it hasn't been easy with Lord Pleffort gone," Esamne continued. "I wouldn't have called you here unless I absolutely had to. I hope you understand that."
"I do. Please don't fret. What do you need from me?"
Esamne gave Novem a long look. There was an entire conversation happening through their glances, and it was in a language that Immelda didn't speak. She remembered having that kind of connection with Tevin. Novem gave a little nod, and Esamne moved so close to Immelda that she could feel her whispers on her ear.
After a long, hushed conversation, Immelda returned to her room. She should have slept like the dead that night, given she barely rested on the carriage ride to The Capitol. She walked all over the cemetery that day and fended off would-be suitors all evening. However, it took hours for sleep to come to her, and even then, she had several dreams about courtiers growing fangs and weaving spider webs. Esamne was planning a coup, and it was up to Immelda to win the courtiers to her side.
In the morning, Immelda got ready with the help of one of The Palace's servants. She didn't have Eya's skill for choosing an outfit, and Immelda wound up giving her step-by-step instructions on how to style her hair. By the time the young girl left, she wondered why she even bothered a servant at all. She could have done everything herself and been ready faster.
Still, she was ready in time to meet Peg at breakfast. This time, Lord Welvine was with her, and Immelda tried not to feel envious of their newlywed joy. Instead, she sowed seeds of distrust about the Arch Dukes into Welvine's mind, all the while feeling like a terrible friend to Peg. Still, she had a job to do, and she had no time to waste. She managed to talk to half the people attending breakfast that morning, and a rumor was already beginning to spread about Arch Duke Gretzen by the time she left. Once again, she bumped into Pekor in the hallway just outside the breakfast room.
"Good morning, Pekor," Immelda said with a polite curtsy. "You're at breakfast late."
"I was detained," Pekor answered with a perfunctory bow. He kept his tone clipped, but his eyes beseeched her. He had a role to play in front of the others, and Immelda could accept that. She noticed the ease of speech again and hoped that was her doing. Quickly, she slipped a note she'd written on a small piece of paper into the palm of his hand. "I hope that your duties here do not keep you too busy to enjoy the pleasures of the gardens," she said sweetly. "Summers in Pescel shouldn't be spent indoors."
"Indeed," he replied, closing his hand around the paper.
Immelda made her way to the spot she gazed at the morning before. Yet again, the courtiers milled about, as if they hadn't mourned the gruesome murder of their friend in that spot on that warm Spring night not long ago. She played her role and wove her stories among them. Fyin, Lopal, and Aruik were subject to insidious remarks, but never from Immelda's lips. She was careful never to say anything, only to imply just enough for others to do the talking for her.
Soon, she was walking past the labyrinth towards the cemetery. She found the Pleffort Tomb again, this time with arms full of flowers she gathered in the gardens earlier. She braided them into a long garland while she spoke to her deceased husband about life in Pecuna.
"How come you never told me that Redor did all your work as a squire?" she admonished him. "Do you know how many headaches you could have saved me? All these years, I thought you were some kind of demi-god who could manage his duties to the crown and our village."
She tutted at him and tied off the end of the garland. She draped it over the entrance of the tomb. It brightened up the grey stone with its bold blooms, making Immelda smile. Tevin always enjoyed colorful scenery. He would have hated how gloomy his tomb looked before. She hoped he wasn't here, despairing in its grimness. However, if he was, he now had something pretty to enjoy.
"That's very b-beautiful," Pekor said, joining her at last.
"I'm glad you finally read my note," Immelda said, turning to smile at her new friend. "I had no one but the dead for company."
"B-better company than those inside The P-palace," Pekor joked, and Immelda responded with a full-bellied laugh. "I was being w-watched. The Arch Dukes are s-scared."
"Of what?" Immelda asked.
"King Novem," Pekor answered. "He d-doesn't listen to them."
"That makes sense," Immelda replied and nodded. "Novem isn't used to taking orders from anyone. Hicares is a different country."
"I know, I'm from there."
"You are?" Immelda asked, confused.
"Yes," he answered. "That's where the Cult of P-pecu came from until we moved to P-pescel."
"Why would they move?"
"They wanted to find the S-seat of P-pecu's p-power," he confided, moving closer to whisper, "b-but it isn't here."
"Where is it?" Immelda whispered back, intrigued despite herself.
"The tomes say it's with the enemy," Pekor revealed with a shrug. "Whatever that means."