Talia invited her for lunch the following day, promising that, though they could discuss business if Lucia was alright with that, either way they’d be alone. It was just like her to completely miss the true meaning of Lucia’s confession—a rather subtle confession, but still—and invite her on a date in the very next breath.
And, yeah. She had to say yes, didn’t she? Damn it!
Lucia had it bad.
The Duke arranged for the carriage to pick them up at ten in the morning. The inn at which they were to dine was about forty minutes down the road, in an atmosphere Talia assured her was rustic but still respectable for their class. This particular inn, she added, would also afford them some privacy where they could discuss their further plans in secret.
All of these things sounded both perfectly fine and perfectly horrid, but so was practically everything for Lucia these days.
The carriage took the north fork of the road where it normally would have taken the south to make for Foxbridge. The ride passed with courteous conversation; Talia seemed her normal, guarded self, but nothing seemed especially out of the ordinary in her outward mood. Though, to be fair, Lucia wasn’t at her best.
The restaurant, named the Apple Orchard, was as Talia described; the gathered guests were concluding what looked like a sumptuous brunch in the common room.
Once secure within their own private (and quite tiny) dining room, Talia set down a single folder beside her on an empty seat. She had shown restraint bringing just the one, Lucia thought wryly. As soon as the appetizer had been presented, with a knock at the door before the server entered, and him leaving as soon as he arrived, Talia said, “The server is my man. He’ll ensure we are not overheard.”
Lucia shrugged, spearing a shrimp upon her fork and biting down.
“You’re … uh, supposed to cut the tails off first.”
“Mmm?” She pulled out the inedible tail from her mouth … in a way that was still polite, she thought. This was literally the first time she’d eaten the dish in a century, she figured—and back then, they had been pre-cut. Or whatever it was called. Fill-ayed?
“In any case,” Talia said smoothly, “I hoped to share with you a little more of what I am planning.”
“Just a bit? Not the whole of your master strategum?”
“Strate-gem, and that’s the thing,” she said, her voice light. “You read these fantastic stories in the broadsheets, epic tales of derring-do and hullaballoo. There’s always the sniveling villain with a fifteen-step master plan executed perfectly—save for the final portion, or sometimes the penultimate, which they always cock up because they didn’t count on heroes being there.”
“Yeah,” Lucia said slowly. “And?”
“And I hate those stories, because that’s not how you execute a master plan—evil or benign.”
“Be-what?”
“Benign? Uh, innocent.”
“Right.” At this, the waiter knocked politely again, then brought in a light soup before retreating as before. Lucia was doing well, she thought. As it turns out, food really helps to get her mind off—
Damn it! She blushed and looked down as her heart performed another backflip in her chest.
“So the point is—oh, are you all right?”
“Yes, fine.” Lucia was fanning her face, the thought of losing her cool bringing it closer and closer to reality. “Just, the last shrimp was spiced a bit strongly, I think.”
Talia nodded. “A true devious plot should really only rely on taking advantage of key moments—where a simple nudge will achieve your desired outcome. You can lay down elaborate preparation, of course, but only with the lowest possible risk.”
Lucia took a few deep breaths, stilling her heart. That made sense enough to her. Sure. “So, where do you want me to nudge?” Then, she bit her lower lip. That couldn’t be taken as a double entendre, right? Right?
“Well, this nudge will take the form of planting a little incriminating evidence.” Talia was getting a little excited, a smile sneaking onto her face unawares. The sun had come out, and it was brightening the Duke’s face. So to speak. Lucia had to look away from its radiance.
“The Prime Minister always throws a ball at the beginning of summer,” she said, opening the folder at her side. “And by then, we need every piece in place. I’m only working with a few key pieces, like I said, but their placement is … delicate.”
“We’ve already placed one,” Lucia said, remembering the forged letter she had handed to the Marchesa.
“Indeed, though I don’t think it will be enough. There should be a pattern of evidence we can point to in order to prove our ‘plot,’ however thin. Therefore … this.”
She pulled out a truly weathered piece of parchment impressively sealed. The red wax drew her eye immediately, and she saw it had been impressed with the head of a lion. She recognized the mark of the signet the Duke had commissioned from Cleft.
Something didn’t quite fit in her mind. “Isn’t that Forteza’s seal?”
“Excellent guess … but no, not exactly. This is the seal of the old reigning Merovian family, or dynasty rather,” the Duke was startlingly attractive when she started to lecture, “the last of which was deposed about seventy years ago—as you know your Commonwealth history. There have always been rumors that members of the ruling line survived the Parliamentary blade. Legends of the lost Lion Prince of Cavaline have always circulated.”
Talia’s eyes were shining. “It’s a romantic notion, no? And useful to scare parliamentary ministers in the dead of night—as you yourself proposed to me that night you played the Sable Prince.”
“So,” Lucia passed back the sealed letter, realizing her blush was reaching her forearms. “Not exactly hers?”
“Forteza is related to the royal line, but her ancestry diverged from it about two hundred years ago. That’s why she wasn’t booted out of the country the moment she set foot here—though there are, of course, paranoid ministers who would be delighted to do so if given half the chance. The evidence here would line up with certain prejudices against Forteza. I’ve been sure to implicate our Snake and Butcher as well.”
“What does it say, exactly?”
Talia blinked, then looked off into the middle distance. “I don’t remember the precise wording … but, essentially, royal greetings from the Lion Prince of Cavaline, I’m working through other quite-guilty people in the Commonwealth but I need an army, here’s a promise of gold if you secretly pick me up in a few months, present this letter to ensure I know it’s you. That’s the long and short of it.”
Lucia nodded. “So, where would I be planting such evidence? And what does the High Summer Ball have to do with it?” Don’t think about Talia’s broad shoulders, her firm grip, her … ugh! Lucia closed her eyes for a moment, seeking composure, but when she opened them again, Talia was marching on in her explanations without noticing a thing.
“Two questions, two answers. The second answer is this: the ball is where I’ll be exposing the vile ‘plot’ to overturn Parliament and reinstate the monarchy. Lindell will have a similar letter of evidence linked to him, and really, it’ll be a damned dramatic scene you’ll not want to miss.”
The Duke smiled evilly. Lucia didn’t know how much she needed that precise smile in her life. Dead god, this woman had layers. Talia continued, “But for your first question, this is merely some corroborating evidence that will help seal their fate. You should be able to deliver this to a certain mercenary captain quartered just north of Cavaline. I believe the company about to ship out with their next contract in a month or so—once the winds are blowing fair.”
“And? Why me?” Lucia found it very easy to watch Talia’s mouth. Very soothing.
“Well,” said Talia, “put it this way. We wouldn’t want the Marchesa with even a shadow of a suspicion that we’re moving against her. This should seem like it comes from the Lion Prince himself, or a close representative. And if there is anyone I know that could best pull off a convincing disguise, wouldn’t it be you?”
***
Talia, apparently, was not content to leave her apology of the previous morning stand on its own. Having concluded lunch at the Apple Orchard, she took the carriage on a longer route back to Fallmire. The road wound through actual orchard fields, where pink and white blossoms clothed trees lined in patient, perfect rows. A gust of wind would sometimes pluck petals from their flowers, strewing them ahead and behind the carriage. The smell was sweet, fleetingly so.
Up a hill the lazy carriage climbed, as Talia and Lucia talked the afternoon away. Then, an hour in climbing the slope, it leveled out, and the Duke called the carriage to pull to the side of the road. Stepping out, Talia guided her wife—no, her ‘wife,’ for this was all a fiction, Lucia recalled in despair—and showed her the view from the hilltop. The country spread out below them, great rolling hills of forested green along the curves of the earth, gently adorned with jewelry of white orchards and country hamlets gleaming under the bright sun.
Talia put her arm around Lucia, then, and it was almost too easy for the succubus to forget the fiction—forget who she was, in that embrace. In that moment she was a simple country wife to a simple country Duke. But only for that moment.
The journey back was like a peppermint candy melting on Lucia’s tongue—sweet, sharp, and all too brief. Dinner was held in the manor, which Talia attended as well. Does this woman know what she’s doing to me? Lucia wondered. She had decided just a few days ago that her heart was to be guarded, fenced in like a castle keep. But not for a single moment could she raise a single block of stone in her curtain wall before Talia tore it down with her attentions.
And, Lucia concluded as she thought through the golden afternoon, the woman had no idea she was doing it.
After dinner, they took refreshment under the stars. Amid the clear sky strewn with the nameless candles of eternity, Lucia almost went back on her earlier decision. She could build a life with this woman, couldn’t she? In the silence of the Duke’s arms, it nearly seemed possible, against all logic.
But then Talia said, “I’ll miss you, you know. After all is said and done.”
Lucia shifted her weight and turned her head back to look at Talia. The earlier fluttering of her heart returned, but she weighed it down with the woman’s words.
“I will too,” she managed. Talia looked at her then, a curious expression on her face, but she said nothing more. They held each other’s gaze for a long, indrawn moment.
Soon afterwards, Lucia retreated from her Duke, pretending to be tired. She ascended slowly to her chamber, candle in her hand. Her mind spun with possibility, but such possibilities could not help but slowly spiral her into a quiet despair.
They would never be together. So, perhaps, she should treasure the time she did have with the woman. She hesitated on the top step, wondering if she should descend and return to the Duke’s side. But she decided against it, biting her lip.
Her bed found her within ten heartbeats, and sleep not long after. As soon as that golden day and night had come, it was done and gone.