Chapter Thirteen: Consequences

Previously: Wintervale

 

Before either woman could speak again, they were interrupted.

 

Alys Hawkridge confidently strode into the dining room, followed by Rowena Thornmere. They were barely recognizable, having fully adopted the Orsynian-flavored fashions of the North. They wore their hair in milkmaid braids, with long bangs cradling their faces. Alys wore a purplish gray gown while Rowena's was very dark blue. Both women adorned themselves with silver jewelry and colorful gems.

"Are we late?" Alys asked, skin and hair still moist. "My maids bathed and dressed me as fast as they could."

 

"The meal is about to be served," Adela replied, and Mireille noted a slight scolding tone in her voice.

 

"Apologies, Highness," Rowena said, her voice stronger and more carefree than Mireille remembered. "It was a clear day and we didn't want to waste it. Zdravstvuyte, Mireille," she greeted suddenly, cheerily. 

 

Her former ward called her by her first name and no one was bowing to her anymore. Mireille worked hard not to flinch.

 

"Hello, my ladies," Mireille said, forcing herself to smile. "You are both looking well."

 

"And you are rosy as ever," Alys giggled, looking the Vicomtesse up and down. "How is Ravensbridge?"

 

You fucking bitch. In a room full of cooler shades, she felt out of place in her rose and golden tones. 

 

"Gloomy," Mireille told her honestly. "The young men have gone to war."

 

***

  

The roasted swan was served with vegetables and a number of other things Mireille didn't eat. Instead, she watched the others dine while she pretended to sip wine.

 

"Valeronnese?" she asked, recognizing the fragrance.

 

Adela nodded. "I started stocking it before the war. I have Calderran, if you prefer."

 

Mireille shook her head. She glanced out the window. The skies were still abysmally gray.

 

"You've all been studying Orsynian, I take it?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

 

"Of course we've been studying," Adela answered impatiently. "An hour a day, every morning. It's a difficult language, Mireille."

 

"But a beautiful one," Rowena insisted. "It rolls right off the tongue."

 

"I hear congratulations are in order," Mireille pivoted. She raised her silver goblet. "Countess, Viscountess."

 

"Oh," Alys scoffed, shaking her head. "I can assure you, we have acquired no great realms." 

 

"Alys is repairing an estate in Sleetford, our largest town," Adela explained. "And Rowena is building a manor in Deepfrost, our largest village. Sometimes I don't see them for days." 

 

"We still live at the castle," Rowena said laughing. "You should see my rooms, Mireille. I've already filled them with animal heads."

 

"Oh, yes," Adela sighed, briefly closing her eyes. "Just what this place needs." 

 

Mireille's brow furrowed slightly as she looked back and forth between the ladies. Am I... am I missing something here? she asked herself. Do they... not like each other?

 

Her eyes widened as she quickly remembered. No, they don't.

 

Alys had always been closer with Matilda. And Rowena was a commoner they were all forced to spend time with because of Mireille. They weren't here now because they were such good friends with Adela. They were here simply because they had nowhere better to be.

 

Mireille stopped herself from laughing. 

"Well, I don't know what else to say, Your Highness," she said, lounging back in her chair. "Your castle decor is impeccable, and even your maids look exquisite. You've done well, Princess. And when the war is over, you'll do even better." She glanced around herself. "Where is His Highness?"

 

Adela's hands stilled. "Vladimir went to war."

 

Mireille's eyes widened. "He did what?"

 

"He left right after the wedding," the Princess told her. "A very small, dull, rushed affair, mind you. Mostly signing papers and paying my parents my weight in silver. And Mireille, by that I mean they actually weighed me."

 

Mireille was visibly disturbed.

 

"An ancient Orsynian custom," Alys interjected. Mireille noticed she was drinking more than she was eating, reminiscent of Edith not too long ago. She probably drank to either stay warm or to better endure the boredom.

 

Inwardly, the Viscountess smiled. I love this for her.

 

Adela was suddenly somber. "We didn't even have a wedding night." She looked up from her plate. "I often wonder what will happen if he dies."

 

"If he dies, you'll be a fabulously wealthy widow who can leave Wintervale," Alys cackled. Adela shot her a look.

 

"How is my brother?" Rowena asked, changing the subject.

 

"I haven't seen him," Mireille replied, shrugging slightly. "I was in Brambleford, on family business."

 

"St. Osric's?" Alys's eyes widened. "That's why you were in Valemont?"

 

Mireille was suddenly uncomfortable talking about her family with these three. They clearly didn't like her, and had likely been harboring resentment all this time. And she knew she couldn't trust them with the truth about Marguerite.

 

"What's St. Osric's?" Rowena asked, ever the outsider.

 

"A convent," Alys said, hazel eyes fixed on Mireille. "Where nobles dump their bastards. Good God, Mireille. Did you find a sister?"

 

"No," Mireille replied, laughing, even though it rankled whenever one of them said her name like that. "Nothing like that. I just had to take care of some things." She looked at the Princess and said as earnestly as possible, "I am sorry for missing your wedding, Highness. I wanted nothing more than to be there for you, same as I was for Matilda." 

Adela proffered a slight, stiff nod, but said nothing. Mireille realized there was nothing she could say or do now to make things up to this woman. Her resentment was cemented at this point. She would always blame Mireille for her marriage.

 

No doubt the computer's way of getting back at me, the Viscountess inwardly grumbled. 

 

"Wintervale seems like a delightfully wild place," she remarked. "On the ride up here I got a breathtaking view of the river."

 

"The Greywater," Adela said glumly. "Looks like it's teeming with ghosts."

 

"That's most of Wintervale for you," Alys said, laughing. "Every village, every town looks like it just survived a plague."

 

 Rowena's brow furrowed. "Sleetford is impressive, considering. Over seven thousand people. It has proper estates, befitting the most refined lords. And there lively taverns and beautiful inns."

 

"Those estates are vacant," Alys reminded her. "And a lady shouldn't frequent taverns, Viscountess. It's not safe."

 

"Northerners are kind," Rowena insisted. "There's no crime here, Mireille. Even though the people are forced to make do with so little, no one's stealing chickens or skipping out on their tab. In Deepfrost, the people do everything together. They farm, fish, and build together."

 

"As they should," Alys mused. "Seeing as they're all probably related."

 

Well, well, well, Mireille smirked, leaning back in her chair. There's trouble in paradise after all.

 

"Will you be accompanying me back to Westervale then?" she coyly asked, lazily running her finger over the rim of her goblet. "It sounds like you miss your old life."

 

Alys shot her a look, as though seeing that old life flash before her very eyes. The past hung between the four of them like a dirty secret.

 

Alys would have to either go back to following Mireille around or attending Matilda, all the while praying for a suitable match despite her family's debts.

 

Mireille relished the look on her face. It must have been intolerable, she didn't say.

 

"I like Wintervale just fine, Viscountess," Alys bit out coldly. She relaxed slightly, glancing into her now empty goblet. "It's a hybrid culture, Avenish and Orsynian. We've had to learn to eat pickled herring and turnips, and to value silver more than gold."

 

"And we have so much freedom," Rowena piped up. "A title, an income, a home—all without having to get married."

 

"Same as you, Vicomtesse," Alys dryly said. "Up here, we finally get to understand what it's like to be you."

 

Mireille smiled back at her. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Countess. The consequences of my freedom finally caught up with me, and they're waiting for me at home."

 

Alys and Rowena exchanged confused looks.

 

"Her cousin came to visit," Adela explained helpfully, with just the faintest hint of snark in her tone. "Apparently, the Duke of Orvienne has seized her family home and ships."

 

"Auremer is crawling with soldiers," Mireille said, nodding. "I fear when I return, my home will be in flames."

 

They were surprised. "You would leave Westervale?" Rowena asked. "Leave... my brother?"

 

Mireille didn't miss Alys and Adela's tiny smirks as they glanced down. She hated how much her embarrassment stung, even worse that she cared what these holograms thought in the first place. All she knew now was that she needed to cut this trip short and return to Roseward before the snows came. There was nothing more for her here.

 

She raised her goblet. "As I said, my ladies," she toasted. "Choices have consequences, and not even I can escape mine."

Next: Knives