Chapter Nine: The Dream

Previously: Sabotage

"Where is Edith?"

It was the morning of Matilda's wedding. All of Mireille's maids were up before dawn, except the one she paid the most.

 

Her maids exchanged looks before one answered, wincing, "Sleeping, madam."

 

Mireille stared at her. "Sleeping?"

 

They exchanged looks again before another answered, "She and Miss Rowena were up late, my lady."

 

"Doing what?" the Viscountess demanded.

 

"Well, Miss Rowena was rehearsing her role as a bridesmaid, but Edith was...drinking," a third maid hesitantly replied.

 

Mireille sighed. Edith was always drinking lately, and she'd ignored it because it hadn't been a problem thus far. And now, the one character literally programmed to be her guide in this game wasn't even showing up for work.

 

"Let her sleep," Mireille sighed, after a pause. "I'll deal with her later. And arrange a separate carriage for Miss Rowena. I need to have a word with her brother."

 

The maids exchanged looks again, this time with wry smirks. Mireille's cheeks heated as she realized her own household was gossiping about her and the knight. She was slightly annoyed, seeing as she actually needed to have a serious word with Adrian about his sister.

 

***

 

"The King has arranged for Adela Stoneleigh to marry Prince Vladimir of Orsyna. She is to depart for the capital in two weeks' time, and your sister has decided to up and go with her!"

 

Mireille hadn't meant to unload on him like that, but she couldn't stop the words from flying out of her mouth. Nor could she disguise her bewilderment. Never before had she gone into a simulation chamber armed with mods and cheat codes, only to watch her world unravel around her.

 

Adrian was pensive this morning, eyes fixed on the world outside the carriage window. "I'm aware," he murmured softly. "Rowena told me as soon as she heard the news."

 

Mireille knew he's solemnity was about losing Adela forever. She'd suspected he was probably still hoping against hope they'd somehow end up together, and his reaction to the news only confirmed it. And though she wanted to empathize with his feelings, now was not the time.

 

"I signed a contract with your mother," she reminded him. "Against my seneschal's advice, I set aside a rather large sum for Rowena's dowry. Not to mention the dancing lessons, the endless hours of embroidery—"

 

"My mother has agreed to release you from that contract," Adrian told her quietly, finally looking at her. "Miss Adela has assured her that once she is Princess, she will assume all financial responsibility for my sister."

 

"But it's Wintervale!" Mireille rasped, leaning in slightly. "Are you really willing to let your only sister travel so far north alone?"

 

He offered a weak smile. "My lady, your kindness and generosity is unlike any other. There are times when your arrival in Westervale seems like a dream. But even so, we all have to wake up at some point. My mother and I don't like letting Rowena move so far away, but this is good for her us... and for our family."

 

Mireille gawked at him. "Are you serious?"

 

"War is coming," Adrian reminded her gravely. "All the knights of Avenholt are about to be summoned for battle. Wintervale is furthest away from the conflict. My sister will be safe." After a pause, he added, "You might consider joining her, if only until the war's end."

 

Mireille blinked. That's actually not such a bad idea.

 

The war was inevitable, and Ravensbridge was about to be a ghost town. Matilda was going to be in the capital on her honeymoon, leaving Mireille bored and alone.

 

"Fine," she said, leaning back against the carriage cushions. "And your mother?"

 

"The Baron purchased what's left in our stable, freeing her to take a ship from Greenhaven back to Calderra," he replied, turning back to the window. "She leaves next week."

 

Mireille hesitated before delicately asking, "And you?"

 

"The Duke of Orvienne has mounted ten thousand men, and conscripted twenty thousand more from across Southern Valeronne. He marches on Avenholt."

 

She struggled to breathe. "How long?"

 

"Two weeks?" He shrugged. "Maybe three?"

 

"Can you do me a favor?"

 

He looked at her. "My lady?"

 

"Don't die," she said softly. "Whatever happens in the days to come, don't die."

 

He gave that weak smile again. “That may be the one command I cannot promise to obey.”

 

***

 

Despite the massive dowry, the Baron opted for a very small, brief wedding. Matilda looked magnificent in her simple white silk gown, her neck and ears glittering with gold and jewels. Alys and Rowena fawned over her, even shedding tears, while Mireille and Adela appeared numb, distant, lost in separate worlds.

 

Mireille's hand reached for her bracelet. "Computer, fast-forward through this shit."

 

The scene skipped to the wedding feast. It was nothing compared to Mireille's feasts, but no one was complaining. There were roasted pigs, mutton, and endless casks of ale. The pork was said to be overcooked, the mutton was dry, and the ale was cheap tavern swill. But since most of the guests were nobles still in debt, free food was always good enough.

 

Matilda drank her weight in ale, and nobody blamed her. Though no one said it aloud, they were all dreading the wedding night on her behalf. The Baron was not a desirable man; he was loud and smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. He'd bought new clothes for the wedding, but they were garish.

 

Mireille sighed. "Computer—"

 

The scene immediately skipped ahead to evening at Roseward Manor, where Edith frantically rushed to meet her mistress at the door.

 

"My lady—" she began.

 

"Don't bother apologizing," Mireille told her bluntly. "Edith, I'm aware that my rules have been lax. That's on me. But if you want to drink yourself out of a position, that's on you. I won't stop you."

 

She walked past the red-haired maid and went to her chambers. They were thankfully empty as she closed the double doors behind her. Mireille closed her eyes and leaned back against them, sighing deeply. When she was ready, she opened a screen to spy on her servants.

 

"I warned you about the drinking," Godwin was saying, as he walked Edith to the kitchens.

 

"It won't happen again," the redhead bit out. "Besides, she's not angry."

 

"Why would she be?" the seneschal scoffed. "She's the richest noblewoman in Westervale, if not Avenholt. Do you know how easy it would be for her to replace you?"

 

Edith glared at him. "She wouldn't. She's not like that."

 

"She won't have to," he assured her. "I've watched maids drink themselves to death before, Edith. You will die in a pool of your own sick, and a new maid will take your place before your body's even cold."

 

Mireille's eyes widened. Damn. That's cold.

 

She had no intention of replacing Edith, but was grateful Godwin was giving her maid "the talk". Mireille was losing her friends as quickly as she'd made them and wasn't ready to lose Edith so soon.

 

I should bring her with me to Wintervale, Mireille decided. It'll be nice to have someone who's there just for me.

 

"Computer, summon Edith to my chambers."

 

The redhead arrived more quickly than usual. "My lady?" she asked nervously.

 

"What do you know of Wintervale?" Mireille asked her.

 

"It's cold," came the honest reply. "Cold to the bone. Why do you ask?"

 

"We have to finish summering there," Mireille announced. "The war is closer than I thought and since everyone else seems to be headed there anyway, I figured we might as well join them. Godwin will remain behind to tend the estate."

 

There was a knock on the door, interrupting them.

 

Mireille rolled her eyes. "Come."

 

A maid opened the door. "My lady," she said timidly, "you have a guest."

 

***

 

Mireille recognized the newcomer before he even said his name. In games where the player's character had existing family, the simulation adapted the NPCs to match the player's phenotype. And even with that knowledge, the gamer was still shaken to her core.

 

Thibault du Maurier looked like he could be her real-life cousin. They had the same complexion. The same black hair, though he wore his close-shaven. He stood in her sitting room, eerily looking at her with her own eyes.

 

"Mireille?" he asked, when she didn't speak. He even sounded like her, his accent modeled after the one she'd adopted for her role.

 

"Thibault," she whispered. When she finally managed to compose herself somewhat, she demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

"The Duke of Orvienne has seized all valuable assets to fund his war," Thibault told her. "Auremer is in Orvienne."

 

"I know Auremer is Orvienne," she snapped, taking a couple steps towards him. "What are you saying? He's taken our ships?"

 

"And quartered some of his soldiers in our home," Thibault informed her quietly. "I bought passage for my family to Calderra. They are safe for now."

 

"How nice for them," the Viscountess said angrily, blinking. "And you came here to, what, tell me that everything my father worked for—and all his ancestors before him—is gone?"

 

Thibault nodded slowly. "At least until the end of the war."

 

The whole room stilled as Mireille struggled to keep the veins from popping out of her own forehead.

 

"Edith," she hissed, "prepare a room for my cousin. And tell Godwin to meet us in his study. We have much to discuss."