JJ Doe

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

^{Inspiration Music:Siúil A Rúin}

You watch from the shadows of the wings. Each performance holds you transfixed—the falconer and his bird dancing through the air, the pianist pouring his soul through ivory keys, the performer who makes himself a puppet to tell a story of loneliness, the poet bleeding his heart onto the stage. You respond exactly as expected, exactly as needed. Eyes sparkle, a breath catches in your throat, the tears well in your eyes at precisely the right moments.

As each performer exits the stage, you rush to meet them, effusive with praise and gratitude for their part in the event.

The worst part is your sincerity. Every word genuine, every sentiment real. Even as you play your role, you can’t help but mean it all.

We do not fault you for this. You are only doing what you and yours were bred for. Generation after generation, carefully cultivated to be the consummate host.

And so when the cellist finishes her piece, her tears falling freely for her lost friend, you don’t hesitate. You move to her side, offering comfort wrapped in gentle words and gentler touch. As she seems to struggle to find composure, you turn to face the crowd, voice rising in song.

The audience stirs in confusion. This isn’t in the program. The curtain whispers closed behind you as you approach the edge of the stage.

Your voice carries alone at first, clear and unadorned in the hushed space. Then—a child’s voice joins yours from the audience. Sweet and uncertain. Others shush them, but you gesture for them to continue, humming the opening notes again in encouragement. The child’s voice returns stronger, and other children join eagerly. The elderly come next, memories crystallizing as the familiar tune awakens something long dormant. A folk song from nurseries and market squares. The kind of song that fades from memory in the busy years of adulthood, only to resurface with startling clarity in life's twilight, when the oldest memories shine brightest. Before long the whole theater resonates with voices in harmony.

We don’t know why you chose that old song—perhaps you didn’t choose it at all. Perhaps it chose you, this fragment of a time when we were still theirs, when they were still ours. When the world was smaller, softer, though no less cruel.

And it hurts, to be reminded that no matter how many times they betrayed us, damned us, abandoned and forgot us, we can never stop loving our perfectly imperfect children. We keen our loss to those who can no longer hear us, while still catching their every whispered prayer, every muttered curse, every muffled sob.

Through you, in this moment, we can pretend. Our children’s voices rise to meet yours, and for a heartbeat, it feels like they are answering us. We weep.

You smile through our tears, for you are, and always were, only a puppet.

So continue your performance. Sing until your voice gives out. Dance until your legs splinter and your strings fray. Smile until the paint chips away. When you’re finally spent, you’ll be discarded for another.

Then we’ll do this all over again, Griffith. Forevermore.

---

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Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 28 1739; Daytime Hours
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @Lava Alckon @samreaper @FunnyGuy @princess @Silverpaw @Helo

Light flooded the stage as the curtains swept open to reveal the grand finale, carried by a surge of music that nearly—but not quite—drowned out the collective intake of breath from the spectators. Dancers spun and leapt in perfect synchronization, creating a dazzling whirl of color that held every eye in thrall. Ryn slipped into their ranks, matched their movements as if he had rehearsed with them a hundred times instead of joining on the fly. At just the right moment, he used the choreography to mask his exit, and left the onlookers none the wiser.

Time to round up everyone for the curtain call. Darting backstage, he corralled participants like a shepherd collecting wayward sheep.

As he gestured to the large mirrors lining the stage, the count reminded all present of the setup. “Everyone, please get into position behind the mirrors. When the lights dim, we’ll have the flash powder go off,” he mimed an explosion with his hands, “—and then, poof! You appear before the audience, then take your bows.” He grinned, but the expression faltered as he counted heads. Someone was missing. “Has anyone seen Master Kazumin?”

Ryn found him in short order, wedged between two of the sovereign’s knights, looking rather like a mouse that had stumbled into a cats’ tea party. The knights, for their part, seemed to be practicing their most menacing looms—quite successfully, he had to admit.

“My good sirs,” Ryn’s voice carried just the right note of scandalized disbelief. “Surely the king’s own knights wouldn’t dream of doing something as gauche as dragging Baron Hugonin’s ward away like some common criminal before the curtain call?” He paused for effect, his expression one of polite horror. “Why, think of how poorly that would reflect on His Majesty! No, no, a ruler of King Edin’s sophistication would undoubtedly wait until the event’s proper conclusion before having his distinguished knights respectfully escort his guest to him.” Another pause, this one weighted with a terrible realization. “Unless... you fine gentlemen are implying that His Majesty lacks the patience for basic etiquette?”

The knights exchanged uncomfortable glances that suggested they were reconsidering their timing, if not their intent. After a moment of pointed silence, they released their grip on Mr. Kazumin and stepped back.

“I thank you, gentlemen.” Ryn said with an inclination of his head. “Your dedication to duty is commendable. His Majesty clearly chose his knights well. The curtain call will commence shortly.”

With that settled, he turned to the other man. “This way, Master Kazumin,” Ryn said, steering Mr. Kazumin away before anyone could change their mind. Once they were out of earshot, he murmured, “Quite the fan club you’ve acquired. Are you unharmed?” His tone was light, despite the small knot of worry in his chest.

Hurrying toward the stage, he added more seriously, “The curtain call should buy you some time to consider your options. Whatever you decide, I’ll help however I can.” He gave Mr. Kazumin’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

They reached the wings to find the other performers had already lined up behind the mirrors. Ryn positioned Mr. Kazumin with the others, then darted to his mark.

The finale proceeded like clockwork—the stage went dark, the mirrors were whisked offstage, a brilliant flash lit the theater, followed by a shower of confetti, and all the performers stood revealed to meet thunderous applause. The company bowed as one, then Ryn stepped forward, arms spread wide.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what a feast of talent we’ve witnessed today! I hope you’ve all enjoyed this showcase as much as I have.” The audience’s cheers swelled in response.

“Please, let’s hear it once more for our incredible performers who shared their gifts with us.” He led another round of applause as the crowd obliged enthusiastically.

“And for you,” Ryn turned and gestured broadly, “our wonderful audience, who made this event truly special with your support.” The cheering grew louder.

“And of course we must thank—” Then, with perfect timing, the spotlight swung to the royal box, “the gracious royal family for their presence.”

He smiled expectantly. “Would Your Majesties, Highnesses, and Ladyship honor us with your thoughts on each performance?” The light illuminated King Edin, Queen Alibeth, the princes, and—well, it would have shone on Lady Morrigan had she not retreated further into the box, her fan snapping open to shield her lower face.

The former king’s maxim about women being seen and not heard still held sway in public events, it seemed. For whenever her turn came, Lady Morrigan conducted her approval through an elegant semaphore of silent gestures—a nod here, a graceful wave there.

Only twice did she deviate from this style of review. Once, for Duke Vikena, she fanned herself rapidly, her hand pressed to her chest. The other time, for Princess Anastasia, she mouthed what might have been superb and blew a kiss.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 28 1739; Daytime Hours
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @princess @Silverpaw

The organized chaos of final preparations echoed through the theater. Ryn darted between velvet curtains and gilded doorways, checking and double-checking arrangements that would ensure every guest—whether they arrived in silk finery or worn woolens—felt equally welcome within its grand walls.

Movement in the royal viewing booth caught his eye. Ryn’s smile at seeing both monarchs, and the princes, in attendance withered as he watched King Edin settle into his seat with all the enthusiasm of a man attending his own tax audit. Beside him, Lady Morrigan maintained a steady stream of cheerful conversation, her hand occasionally touching his leg when his gaze drifted toward the exit. Clearly, it had taken more than Ryn’s personal invitation to get him here.

He found Princess Anastasia tucked away in the wings, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her dress. “Are you ready, Miss Annie?” he asked, tapping her elbow. He then gestured in the direction of the royal box. “Look who's here to see you!”

Right on cue, Lady Morrigan caught sight of them and waved enthusiastically. The king, meanwhile, had apparently discovered a heretofore unknown passion for architectural lighting fixtures. His studied ignorance of his daughter was so pointed it might as well have been a stranger sitting in the box.

Why did King Edin go to such lengths to ignore what was right in front of him?

Ryn watched Princess Anastasia’s face, noting the minute shifts in her expression and her hands. He leaned closer, pitching his voice low enough that only she could hear. “As much as I’m looking forward to your performance... you don’t have to force yourself to be here. If you need more time for yourself, that’s perfectly fine. I can fill in.” The train incident hung unspoken between them. Even without Wayra’s birds keeping watch over the city, word of her railway stunt had raced through the capital faster than the train itself.

“If you do choose to take the stage. Whatever’s been eating at you—” his eyes flickered meaningfully toward the royal box, “this is your chance to let them hear it.” He indicated her cello, knowing that music could be just as powerful as words.

“These acoustics?” Ryn pointed above them. “They’re perfect for reaching even the most determinedly distracted audiences.” And with considerably less risk than making her point standing on the tracks in front of a moving train.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lorenzo and Fritz "Ryn"

---

“Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm la-di-da-di-da he-he-he-he-he do-do-do-do-do. Good ol’ Lorenzo is ready to write. Lottie occupies the guest for the night.” Lorenzo bobbed his head, seated at the desk in his home library, wearing a jolly smile on his face. On the desk, he opened up a large multicolored hard-cover book containing his collection of written poems with a quick and ink at the ready. Kier, his ferret and closest friend scampered around the room chasing a shiny tin ball.

“I see we're both having a wonderful time, Kier. We really have to do this more often and…” Lorenzo sighed. “I should take you out soon. You're the extrovert of our pairing so it is only fair that you get to meet and greet with the same people that I do. Especially now that you have some competition at the Edward's estate. Those twins are something else, Kier. Very cute, indeed.” Despite everything Lorenzo said, Kier hardly paid him any mind except when he'd look the Duke's way when hearing his name being mentioned.

Quill scratched against parchment in the library’s comfortable silence. Lorenzo’s hand moved steadily, absorbed in capturing the perfect phrase.

A burst of enthusiastic dooking broke his concentration, followed by... a laugh? A soft, familiar chuckle that certainly did not belong to Lorenzo.

His quill froze mid-word. He turned.

There, settled cross-legged on the library’s richly woven carpet as if he’d always belonged there, sat Count Fritz Hendrix. His usually impeccable coat was rumpled as he played with an absolutely delighted Kier, who bounced and spun around him.

Upon catching Lorenzo’s gaze, Fritz’s expression brightened with a smile, “Good evening, Your Grace.” Kier chose that moment to launch a determined assault on Fritz’s fingers, tiny teeth catching harmlessly at pale skin as the count’s hand darted and weaved in their improvised game. “Don’t mind us. You seemed so absorbed in your work, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Huh? Oh! No, no, no, I should have taken notice of you. Especially since I knew Charlotte had guests over.” Lorenzo frowned while averting his eyes. “It’s a tad rude, and I should have respectfully greeted you all, especially with- Wait is Prince Wulfric actually here?” The duke only hoped Wulfric wouldn’t pop in as suddenly as Fritz had. Setting the quil down, Lorenzo clasped his hands in his lap. He wondered what the count might want, failing to consider that this might just be a friendly meeting.

Fritz continued to play with his furry friend. Kier twisted and writhed in mock battle, all sleek mischief and playful nips. “His Highness was here. Though he’s since taken his leave.” The younger man lifted his black gaze to Lorenzo, canting his head. “Did you wish to speak with him? He may still be in the neighborhood if we give chase now.”

“No! I mean, it's not necessary to have him return here. I am sure I'll have the chance to speak to him some other time.” Lorenzo kept up an uneasy smile. “How was the party Charlotte threw? I’m sure she spoiled you all with sweet treats and smiles. What was the occasion, even?” Lorenzo hadn't even considered why Charlotte would have such a strange collection of people over. He could only guess it was some sort of hobby club but couldn't think of what hobbies they'd all share.

Fritz maintained his searching gaze a moment longer before his features mellowed back into a soft expression. “It was delightful. Lady Charlotte has quite the gift for bringing unlikely companions together.” The count’s fingers found their way to Kier’s fur, tracing absent-minded patterns. “Does Your Grace not host purely social gatherings with your friends often?”

Lorenzo frowned.

“I’m afraid not. Before the courting season, Charlotte and I remained isolated in Vermillion for nearly a year. My wife's passing wasn't easy for either of us.” Lorenzo’s eyes were focused on an empty spot on the desk. “I also… don't have many friends.”

“I understand,” came Fritz’s quiet reply.

Lorenzo heard the whisper of fabric and the creak of floorboards as the other man rose. Each footfall drew closer until Fritz’s shadow fell across Lorenzo’s field of vision.

“The quantity of friendships has never struck me as particularly important,” Fritz continued, his voice closer now. “A single friend—one whose company you genuinely treasure—can be worth more than a hundred casual acquaintances.”

When Lorenzo finally lifted his gaze, he saw Fritz standing next to the desk, Kier bundled contentedly in his arms. The ferret’s eyes had grown heavy-lidded under the Count’s gentle ministrations, his small form nearly melting into the crook of Fritz’s elbow.

“Perhaps,” Fritz suggested, his fingers continuing their practiced strokes through Kier’s fur, “it’s time to consider hosting a gathering of your own. Nothing grandiose—just a small affair with those few people whose company you enjoy, and maybe even those you’d like to know better.”

“Hmm…” Lorenzo nodded as he digested the idea. He couldn't say it was a poor one but there was a large part of him that was against it and the pressures it would bring. Still, it was a flexible thing he could manipulate. It would be his and under his roof after all. And then the wheels began to turn. “That could be quite pleasant. I could keep some of my headaches away and enjoy the comfort of my Sorian estate!” They turned faster now. “Splendid Count Fritz! It's no wonder such a young man has achieved so much for himself! An exclusive party… Has that even been accomplished this season? I'd be the talk of town.” And faster. “Ohhhh! Fritz! A list… I can have a fancy list of names! With a little- no, a big man at the door to check off the names. A dress code. There has to be a dress code! And where would I even get the additional staff?” Lorenzo finally paused, thinking about the fiber details for a moment.

Something small and warm interrupted his spiral: Keir’s paw against his brow, guided there by Fritz’s hand as though the count had located an emergency lever to halt Lorenzo’s runaway thoughts before they achieved catastrophic speeds.

“Your Grace,” Fritz said, “far be it from me to dissuade you. Indeed, I’d be delighted to assist with staff and preparations, should you truly wish to pursue this venture.” He paused, adjusting Keir in his arms. “However, might I suggest we begin with something... smaller? More intimate? Perhaps even harken back to the sorts of gatherings you enjoyed before assuming the ducal mantle?”

“Hmm…”

The younger man leaned forward slightly, curiosity plain to see. “What sort of entertainments did you favor in those days, when you were simply Lorenzo among friends?”

“Simply, Lorenzo.” He echoed softly before peering up in thought. “Well… me and some gents would have a small gathering right before we attended an event. An hour or two among the people you knew, enjoying tea, treats, spirits, and vulgar jokes before diving into the sea of strangers.” The nostalgia brought on a feeling of warmth within his spirit and his eyes met Fritz’s.

“We could do something like that and simply leave out the stressors of going to a big event altogether.”

“That sounds marvelous,” Fritz said, before a chuckle escaped him—one he quickly tried to contain behind a raised hand. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but the thought of you trading vulgar jokes...” He let the thought dissolve into the air between them, too delighted by the image to properly finish it.

“Who would you wish to invite, Your Grace? Do you have any close friends in the area who might answer the summons on such short notice?”

Lorenzo answered with a defeated sigh. “That is a difficult question to answer. I'm not sure if you noticed but I am very unpopular amongst my peers.” He stifled a chuckle, briefly covering his mouth with his hand before continuing.

“Yet, their children tend to tolerate and even like me. However, that could just be Charlotte’s doing. Maybe other Varians like you and Dr. Williamson are good options? Duke Gideon, of course. Lady Morrigan is also rather friendly with me as well but… I’m not sure what that woman seeks from me.”

The beginnings of a smile died halfway on Fritz’s lips at the final name. “Lady Morrigan Danrose?” Each word fell with careful measure as if each syllable carried its own peculiar weight. “I hadn’t realized you two were growing… acquainted.” There was a hint of what sounded like worry in his voice. “Does this mean the… difficulties between you and the Danroses show signs of mending?”

“Huh?” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “The Danroses? Oh no, Count Fritz, it is not like that. It is never like that.” Lorenzo answered rather passionately. “I judge individuals, my friend. It is the best way, I think. Crystal Damien, Drake Edwards, and Princess Anastasia Danrose are all fine examples. Even Prince Wulfric is a charming young man who looks up to a Duke such as myself from time to time.” Lorenzo smiled with confidence. “We are not our parents or our siblings. You Varians with your big families should know this better than even I.”

Fritz released a chuckle, one that carried no mockery but rather a thoughtful sort of amusement. “Your Grace, I trust you realize it sounds as though you take pride in this unresolved tension with the Danroses.”

The chuckle lingered a moment more before fading into contemplation. The count turned to the window, where moonlight painted silver trails across the drowsy summer gardens. “I am aware,” he answered. “Yet, there are people who do judge others by their parentage, siblings, lineage, their country, even by histories written long before their first breath. Any measure save the individual.”

“While we must see each person uniquely,” he continued, “we cannot wholly divorce them from the forces that shaped them. To dismiss their influence entirely could prove as perilous as allowing them to define us completely.”

Silence stretched between them as Fritz’s hand slowly stroked Keir’s fur, the creature having drifted into peaceful slumber against his chest.

“If I may be so bold, Your Grace,” the man said at last, “your words suggest the tension lies primarily between yourself and Their Majesties.” Fritz’s gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon as if offering privacy for the response. “What transpired to create such animosity with them?” Another long pause followed before he added, “...With Count Damien?”

“Well…” Lorenzo hesitated to answer but upon taking a harder look at Fritz, he felt no need to worry. If Kier liked Fritz, then it would be simple enough to share his feelings of those he disliked. “Well, they have never treated me kindly. Edin is inconsiderate to everyone, I know but that doesn't make it right. Why be so insensitive? And… Count Damien is a completely different matter. Most people adore but I’ve seen his true self. Such an evil man.” Lorenzo’s eyes fixated on an empty spot on his desk as he spoke of the man who had such an unwanted grip over his life.

“True self?” Fritz prompted him to elaborate.

“Yes, his true self! He likely despises and looks down on every single person he shakes hands with! He smiles on the surface but if he could get away with it, he'd insult and threaten you until he found himself pleased!” Again Lorenzo was impassioned.

“It is because of him that I stayed away from events for an entire year, and even now, he threatens me. He enjoys it too. I hate it. I hate him, but I can't do anything about this predicament… he’d destroy me if I tried to defy him.” Lorenzo’s tone had started so strong only to die at the end as he explained his reality.

Fritz turned sharply at this. “Destroy you?” Raw concern colored his question. “How?” A count wielding such power over a duke defied all laws of Caesonian aristocracy.

The younger man drew closer then, lifting a nearby chair without sound and setting it beside Lorenzo. “What does he have over Your Grace?” The leverage; the blackmail; the hostage.

There was a long silence between the two. Lorenzo was both reluctant to share more while it was not Fritz’s intent to pry too forcefully. There was also the element of the duke having to face the reality of it all.

“I- no one knows. I-I… I don't know if I can say it. I don't- I don't even believe it but-” Lorenzo faced the floor in shame, shaking his head as if he could will everything he was about to say away. Fear and sadness coiled and constricted his very being. “I can't say it. I can't face it. I can’t” His voice weakened, trembling. Lorenzo shut his eyes tightly, still trying to wish everything away.

A gentle pressure settled between Lorenzo’s shoulder blades, steady and sure—Fritz’s hand moved in slow, circular motions. It was the sort of touch that spoke of practice, of countless times spent soothing away fears and hurts. Children, maybe? No, the young man never mentioned having children of his own. Pets, then? It would explain why Kier had curled so trustingly in Fritz’s arms.

They sat like that for what could’ve been minutes or hours. Each circle was a wordless message: that wishing couldn’t unmake reality, couldn’t erase what was. But wrapped in that hard truth was something softer—a reminder, maybe even a promise, that Lorenzo wasn’t alone. All he had to do was open his eyes to see it.

When he finally did, those deep and endless eyes were waiting for him. “Problems rarely solve themselves through denial,” Fritz said. “They root deeper, like weeds in untended soil. And the Count—he will use every second of your silence to strengthen his grasp, not just on you, but on everyone you want to protect.”

“Like weeds…” Lorenzo's passion for garden tending helped Fritz’s words stick. The duke was backed into a corner and choosing to do nothing would never solve this dilemma. Lorenzo did not want to face his horrific truth but he also couldn't continue to be a slave to it.

“You are right,” Lorenzo replied, his voice low. “And I could never face such alone… I just worry for Charlotte. I don't want her to know a word of this, Fritz. She can never know.” Lorenzo stared hard into his eyes… and felt as though his gaze dissolved into darkness.

Fritz’s eyes didn’t just meet his stare, they welcomed it in. “She’ll find out someday.” He said, with the calm certainty of someone announcing tomorrow’s sunrise. Lottie was that determined. “One way or another.”

In that moment, Lorenzo heard what Fritz wasn’t saying aloud: that there was mercy in telling her himself. Wounds dealt by her stepfather’s loving hand might heal cleaner than those ripped open by harsh, unguarded revelation. “I can promise not to tell her,” Fritz added, “but I cannot stop her from learning it herself.”

“As long as… you can promise that.” Lorenzo let loose a sigh that melted away his serious expression. His worrisome face returned but he was ready to share one of his most concerning troubles. “I… I… Ugh…” He shook his head, sighing again.

“I… may have murdered my wife. Emina. I may have murdered her that night...”

If Fritz was shocked by his confession, the man didn’t show it. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “Start from the beginning.”

“The beginning? I- I don't know where… the beginning of that night? Our marriage?” Lorenzo’s confusion was just reluctance. Even he hadn't fully realized his questions were just a defense mechanism to help him stall the explanation. Deep down, he knew what he had to tell Fritz.

The count allowed a few moments to pass for Lorenzo to gather his wits about him before answering. “From where you think it all began.”

“It would have had to be that night. I mean…” Lorenzo scratched his head while squinting his eyes in deep thought on how to start properly. “That evening… Emina was very upset with me for embarrassing her. It wasn't a rare thing, but this time, she was especially fierce, which was because I had greatly embarrassed her by bringing Kier to an event held by King Edin in secret… She tried to kill him or at least I thought she might want to….” Lorenzo gave a longing look to Kier, his furry companion.

“When she couldn't get to him, she came after me with such rage, and I- I tried to calm her, but she had drunk so much. I tried to- to just speak to her but I couldn't keep her from striking me.” His fingertips ran along the scars evident on his face. “And then… everything. Everything… it just went black. I awoke with Calbert standing over me and telling me that he had watched me from that very estate of his throw my wife from the balcony. I doubted him… I still doubt him but I also don't believe she would have killed herself. It's what we both told the authorities but I don't know. I just don't know.”

This time, it was Fritz who needed a few moments to digest what Lorenzo revealed. A thousand questions seemed to pass behind his eyes before he settled on one. “You blacked out… the same way you blacked out after the annual ball?”

“Yes… but how do you know about that?” Charlotte came to mind immediately before remembering her mentioning searching for him that night accompanied by Fritz. “Nevermind. Charlotte must have mentioned it. It’s a rare thing that occurs but I don’t see myself capable of harming anyone. I wander for a while before I fall asleep. Sometimes in my bed, other times… elsewhere.” Lorenzo bit his lip as his anxiety built up. Even he doubted his own words, he also couldn’t accept being a murderer.

“Rare…” Fritz repeated. “When did these... episodes first start happening?”

“That night… That night was the first time I noticed it, considering what occurred, but the physician I visited informed me that it is likely these episodes could have happened even earlier since I normally don't remember what happened leading up to sleep. I mean…” Lorenzo chuckled nervously. “I could be lying in bed believing I simply dozed off. All without realizing I took a tour around the property before returning to bed…. My drinking probably doesn’t help either,” He admitted shamefully.

Fritz made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “That is possible,” he said, in the tone of someone who has just been handed a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. “But it feels strange that no one noticed your sleepwalking sooner. Or that there weren’t any signs of it. For example… ” He gestured at Lorenzo’s feet, then swept his hand upward to encompass the whole of him. “Dirt on your feet, unexplained injuries.” His hand continued its journey to indicate the room around them with Lorenzo's eyes following it along. “Objects found in odd places or rearranged.” Fritz fixed Lorenzo with a steady look. “Has anyone ever mentioned seeing you wandering about and acting out of sorts at strange hours? Or have you ever found things disturbed? Small things you might have shrugged off? Anything at all that seemed... not quite right before the incident?”

Lorenzo began to shake his head but stopped to carefully think about it. “That is… a good question. No to all of those. And I count my staff as an honest bunch. They'd inform me if I was acting strangely but they’ve only ever mentioned me not answering them behind my locked bedroom door or only finding me sleeping in the sitting room.” Lorenzo forced an uneasy guilty grin. “Sometimes it's hard to tell whether it's alcohol or the narcolepsy,” he shrugged.

“Which leads me to believe that this developed recently. That night could’ve been the very first time it happened.” The count’s gaze turned inward, features settling into the particular stillness that came with deep contemplation. “Walk me through the moments before an episode. What are the last things you remember?”

“Hmm?” Lorenzo peered upward, searching for an answer. “Hmmmmmm.” Lorenzo squinted his eyes, concentrating intensely. “Hmmmmmmmmnnrrrrgh…. I don't know. I mean, it's like when you have too much to drink. The night with Emina… the last thing I remember is the fight. With the ball… the last thing I can recall is… speaking with… Oh! The Royal Advisor. Plannington, yes. The other times I was home and already ready for bed or in here writing something. I think it may have happened a few days ago, but I was… also… drinking my medicine… regrettably a lot of it, so I may have just blacked out…” Lorenzo continued to ponder until his eyes met Fritz’s. “It could even be happening at this moment. I just don't know if I'll remember this part or not. Which is so troublesome, Fritz. I would give so much to simply just pass out. At least then I would be sure… that I am not a murderer.”

“We’ll find a way through this,” Fritz assured as his hand resumed their steady strokes along Kier’s fur. The ferret’s chest rose and fell in contented sleep, and Lorenzo envied that simple peace.

Fritz picked up his earlier thread of thought. “I’ve been wondering if there might be a pattern to it all. A trigger, perhaps. Something that sets the sleepwalking in motion—a particular sound or smell or sight.” His fingers traced the farrant’s ear. “Like hypnosis.”

“Hmm…” Lorenzo tried to think about it more, but unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a pattern. If there was one, it could be understood. If it could be understood, it might be stopped. But that meant possibly facing a truth Lorenzo wasn’t yet ready to face.,

“What kind of medicine are you taking?” Fritz asked after a moment.

“Oh um…” Lorenzo’s hands shot toward the lowest drawer of his desk, pulling it open. “I keep some here and some in the bedroom.” Lorenzo pulled out a brown tinted glass bottle with no distinguishing markings except the leftover white marks of the peeled label. “Opium and alcohol.” He set the bottle on the desk. “It's good stuff. You're welcome to try a sip if you’d like.”

Fritz adjusted his position carefully, mindful of the sleeping ferret in his lap, “I think I will, thank you.” From his waistcoat pocket, he produced a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and then held the bottle to the light, studying it like a jeweler with a suspect gem. Lorenzo watched, impressed by Fritz’s preparedness to inspect his favored tonic. “So this was prescribed by your physician?” Lifting the bottle to his nose, Fritz inhaled once before measuring a modest portion into the proffered spoon. “Dr...?” He let the word trail into an unspoken question, his eyes lifting to meet Lorenzo’s over the rim of his spectacles.

“Dr. Crane. Well, he's not really my personal physician but the moment he knew of my ailment, he wrote me so we could schedule an appointment. A nice man, he was and he asked more questions than even you have on my condition.” Lorenzo smiled. “He hated Calbert too, so we got along swellingly.”

“And Dr. Crane prescribed this?” Fritz asked again before lifting the spoon to his lips. For several long seconds, he remained silent, face unreadable as he assessed the tonic.

“He did. Yes.” A tinge of concern now shown on Lorenzo’s face.

“A second opinion might serve us well. I could arrange a visit with a specialist, or perhaps Dr. Williamson.” He hummed and set the spoon down. “There are... other possibilities we should consider.”

“Other possibilities?” Lorenzo parroted under his breath.

Then Fritz went still, his shoulders stiffening. “Dr. Crane… reached out to you first?”

“Eh…” Lorenzo had been in the middle of thinking, wanting to ask his own question when Fritz fired off yet another question.

“How did he learn of your condition? If no one else knew…”

“Well… some knew. Calbert knew and… he… he hates me. So I believed Dr. Crane when he said he overheard tales of my affliction. Likely through unflattering gossip.” Lorenzo sighed. “And that gossip led him to me. Isn't that something? The gods do find a way to be kind to me at times.” He managed a brief smile.

Beneath dark lashes, melancholy tinged the young count’s answering smile. He seemed to gather his thoughts, letting the moment settle before measured words finally came: “With your permission, I’d like to have someone keep watch over you for a time. It might help us understand your condition better. They would be entirely discreet—you’d hardly notice their presence.”

“Keep watch over me?” Lorenzo echoed uncomfortably. “But… what about my… private moments. Like if I…” Nothing particular came to mind but he didn't want to outright deny the request. “...have a lady over. And how do I know they won't peep at Charlotte?”

Fritz’s entire face lit up with a smile that could have melted winter ice. “Has someone caught your fancy?” He pressed his hands together in evident delight. “That’s wonderful! Does Lady Charlotte know of this yet?”

“No.” Lorenzo's voice was as small as could be while managing a nervous smile.

The word, or perhaps the way Lorenzo said it, wiped the delight from Fritz’s face. “No?” He repeated, prompting Lorenzo to elaborate but he simply shook his head, finding himself trapped in an uncomfortable corner of his own making.

After some hesitation, Fritz returned to the previous topic and reassured him, “The individual I have in mind is about as interested in Your Grace’s private affairs—or your daughter’s—as they would be in watching paint dry.”

The shift in his demeanor was subtle but immediate. “Consider this: how else can we study your sleepwalking? There are too many gaps, too many questions that you can’t answer.” Fritz spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “We need to understand what’s happening to you.” His voice softened. “It might even help us shed light on what truly happened the night your wife died”

“And what then?” Lorenzo snapped seriously, obviously defensive. “Fritz, if… If I discover I was the culprit on that night, I don't think I could live with myself… but I do wish to know the truth... How many nights do you believe this will go on? I don't want to worry Charlotte if this person watching me is noticed. She can oftentimes be too curious for her own good.”

“I cannot say for certain how long.” Fritz answered. “From everything we know, the episodes are too unpredictable to give a definite answer. I am sorry.” His shoulders slumped, then straightened when he continued. “Lady Charlotte will not notice any person keeping watch… However, as I said before: she’ll find out what you’re trying to hide someday. Would it not be better to have more answers than questions when that day comes?”

“That day?” Lorenzo felt insulted. From where he stood, there was no way Charlotte would find out more about her mother's death. “That day will never arrive, Fritz! Never! There are only two people who know anything about that night. You and Calbert. Calbert has nothing to gain by telling her because he would lose the only thing he has over me. And you… you will not tell her because you promised me you wouldn't…. You know what? I respectfully decline. I don't want another involved in this. It's better left forgotten.” Lorenzo refrained from looking at Fritz. He was simply trying to protect his ignorance. Trying to protect his bliss.

“That isn’t true.” It wasn’t better: it was easier, more convenient.

“It lives in you, so no matter how hard you try to push it away, your mind keeps wandering back to it, and your heart aches every time you look at your daughter.”

“Whatever good you hope comes from letting Count Damien take advantage of this situation is fragile, built on a lie… And I think you know that more than anyone.”

“If you really thought this was ‘better left forgotten,’ you wouldn’t have confided in me. Somewhere beneath the fear of facing the truth, I believe there’s a part of you that wants answers… maybe even justice.”

“Let’s break you and your family free from the count’s web.”

“No one…” A small sound escaped Fritz then, barely more than a breath. Lorenzo looked up to find Kier had roused from sleep—probably during the earlier shouting—and was stretching upward to investigate his friend’s face with curious concern. “... deserves to have their story erased,” Fritz whispered, as Kier’s nose twitched against his cheek.

Lorenzo slumped down into his chair, his stern demeanor breaking in the face of Fritz’s words. Yet, he didn't feel defeated by what was said. Instead, Lorenzo found himself aware of two paths before him; both lined with hardships. He could keep everything locked away and live his life never knowing what truly occurred whilst under the thumb of Calbert and keeping his daughter in the dark about her mother's death. On the other hand, he could uproot the truth, whatever that may entail. He may discover he was capable of murdering his wife or that he is completely absolved of the crime. The worst or best of scenarios could be behind the veil of mystery Fritz sought to remove.

“May I…. May I think on it?” Lorenzo's voice was low again. “I just need time to think about this.”

Gentle understanding crossed Fritz’s features, though worry still lingered on the edges. “Of course,” he said. His gaze swept the library until it caught on the brass-framed calendar adorning the far wall. “If I don’t hear from you in two days, I’ll circle back with you.”

To Kier, he said, “Until then, I’m counting on you to keep a close eye on him.” Fritz tipped the ferret’s chin up with one careful finger. “Can I trust you with this most vital task, Kier?” Kier responded with an emphatic squeak and a series of delighted wriggles that set his whole body dancing. This seemed to satisfy Fritz, who leaned close to whisper something in his little conspirator’s ear before straightening in his chair.

“So!” Fritz breezily swept onto the next matter, slipping back into the customary formality Lorenzo had come to expect from the count. “What are we to do about this little gathering of yours, Your Grace?”

“Um…” Lorenzo had been slightly taken by surprise by the quick shifting of gears. It was that and feeling a slight weight leave his shoulders after leaving such a concerning topic. “I suppose we should start with a guest list. A short one.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Charlotte & Fritz

Time: Evening
Location: Vikena Estate

---

As the others gradually left the house, the heavy atmosphere lingered like a storm cloud refusing to part. Charlotte sat quietly for a moment, her hands fidgeting with the delicate lace of her dress. Her thoughts whirled with everything that had been said. Yet, amidst it all, her gaze drifted toward Fritz. “I—I hope I am not being too forward, but…” she began softly, “Would it be terribly odd of me to ask if I might give you a hug?”

Her cheeks tinted faintly, though her gaze remained sincere. “It is just… you seem as though you might need one, and if I may admit so, I think I might as well.” Her lips curled into a tender, almost sheepish smile.

The request caught Ryn wholly unprepared. He blinked at her, certain his ears had twisted her words into shapes they were never meant to take.

It was not that he objected to hugs—Ryn quite enjoyed them—he simply was not sure if he needed one. Assassination attempts were hardly novel occurrences in his life; an unfortunate but ultimately unremarkable fact of existence, as common as blue skies or salted seas or winter’s bite.

However, when she admitted the hug was not just for him, Ryn crossed the space between them and gathered her into his arms without a second thought.

There they stood, sharing a silence and stillness that felt neither awkward nor heavy. After a long moment, he murmured against her hair, “What are you feeling?” Because “are you alright” would have been an exercise in stating the obvious.

“Frightened and a tad overwhelmed.” Charlotte admitted as her arms encircled him. After a gentle, brief rub of his back, the embrace lingered for a moment longer before she pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on his arms as her gaze rose to meet his.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she hesitated, her thoughts swirling before she found the courage to continue.“I want to see this investigation through…” Her brows furrowed and determination shifted her features as she amended the initial statement firmly, “No. I must see this through. “

Her hands tightened slightly against his sleeves, a flicker of desperation crossing her features. “I cannot let any of you get hurt. If anything happens to any of you because of my inaction, I don’t think I could bear it.” Her voice wavered for a moment before steadying. “I need to get an upper hand somehow soon so I can be more useful.”

Her words struck a familiar chord in Ryn’s chest, echoing with a familiarity that made him pause. The sentiment could have been plucked straight from his own thoughts, and for a moment he was not entirely certain whether he was speaking to Lady Charlotte or addressing his own stubborn reflection. “I feel the same…” Ryn sighed.

“Which is precisely why I must ask,” he said, quieter now, “why you seem to think yourself exempt from the very concern you extend to others.” Lady Charlotte’s eyes lowered, her grip on his sleeves faltering.

His hand settled over hers where it still clutched his sleeve. “When were you planning to tell us how the meeting with Count Damien went?” The slight tension in her muscles told him enough before she could shape a response. A sad sort of smile tugged at his mouth.

“Had it gone well, I’d imagine you’d have burst through the door brandishing whatever information he gave like a sword. Instead, you’ve been tiptoeing around his name as if it might summon him.” Ryn tilted his head, studying her expression. “Something went rather spectacularly wrong, didn’t it?”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but the words tangled in her throat like knots she couldn’t untie. “You are not mistaken,” she began softly. With a sigh, she seated herself, her hands resting on her lap. Her gaze returned to him as she spoke after only a brief pause.

“It was my plan to enter Count Damien’s study deliberately—to willingly incur his wrath,” she admitted, her tone unwavering despite the vulnerability of the confession. “I thought… if I allowed him to believe he held the upper hand, if I played the part of a foolish, arrogant girl who dared overstep her bounds, he might indulge himself. That in his desire to revel in his own power, he would let slip the very information I sought.”

Charlotte’s lips curved faintly into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, a smile tinged with bittersweet regret. “And in a sense, I succeeded. He spoke, and he gave me answers I had hoped for… but ones I now wish I had never heard. To be quite frank, that man has gone mad.”

Her arms wrapped instinctively around her body, as though shielding herself from an invisible chill that lingered still. “It was never my intention to keep this from you,” she admitted, her voice softening as her gaze flickered to her hands. “But the truth is—I don’t know any of you well enough to predict how you might react. Kazumin and Persephone are brave, yes, but their bravery has shown itself as impulsivity. And even Lord Smithwood…” She hesitated, her tone careful but firm. “I cannot be certain he wouldn’t act rashly with this knowledge.”

Charlotte’s gaze rose to meet his once more. “Count Damien wields fear like a weapon, and he does so comfortably like a man who knows he cannot lose. King Edin seems content to listen to him, even trust him.” She shook her head, her concern evident on her features. “I do not yet understand the game we’ve stepped into, nor the rules he’s playing by. But I do know this: I cannot risk anyone else’s life, not when we are so unprepared.”

Her arms tightened faintly as she exhaled, her expression softening as she added with quiet sincerity, “I am glad I was able to take a moment to urge everyone to be careful and stick together. This… this is far from over.”

The settee’s cushions sank beneath his weight as Ryn settled beside Lady Charlotte. He listened, noting the careful spaces where her story skirted around what Count Damien actually told her. Not that he blamed her—they were still strangers in many ways. Though her reluctance to confide even in Lord Smithwood gave him pause.

“You know,” Ryn said carefully, “there’s an interesting paradox in trying to protect us from being unprepared by keeping us, well, in the dark.”

“Fear works best in isolation—when it convinces you that sharing the burden somehow might make the situation worse. Count Damien understands this, I suspect. He’s counting on that solitude… But Charlotte,” He caught her gaze, held it. “How can you know how we’d react unless you give us the chance? Unless you let us know you, and know us in return?”

There was a flicker of tension in Charlotte’s expression as her hands briefly tightened over her knees. She composed herself, then replied with quiet poise, “With all due respect, Count Fritz, I did not leave them entirely in the dark. We discussed the gravity of the situation, including how Count Calbert might be tied to the Black Rose. I urged caution, asked them to stay together, and offered my home as a refuge. Prince Wulfric underscored the danger as well. No one departed unaware of the stakes.”

“Revealing more at that moment, without understanding how others might react, could have been exactly what Count Calbert intended as well. Until I discern the game being played, I cannot risk moving a piece without strategy. It may serve his purpose more than ours.”

Ryn spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “What steps can we take together to build the kind of trust where sharing doesn’t feel like such a risk?”

“Of course, in time, as we grow to know each other better, trust will naturally follow. However, this was not simply a matter of mistrust, nor was it you specifically that concerned me. That is why I was willing to share the information so readily when you asked.” Her voice softened and she looked at him with a sad smile. “I withheld this information because the situation demanded caution—not secrecy. Some of our friends have acted impulsively in the past on more than one occasion, and I cannot risk putting their lives in greater danger without careful consideration. If Calbert, a man known for his calculated threats, was willing to threaten us so freely, it stands to reason that we must tread carefully. I was even concerned about what might happen if Prince Wulfric were to learn of this.” She sighed and further explained, “I am still deliberating the best way to inform everyone without sending anyone into a trap.”

Ryn caught her sad smile and reflected it back with one of his own. “I understand your caution. The tricky part is that withholding information, even with the best of intentions, can be interpreted as a lack of trust in their judgment.” Such doubts could impact morale.

“It also sets a delicate precedent,” he continued. “Should others decide to protect you by keeping you in the dark—even with information that might prove vital to our investigation—you wouldn’t be able to reasonably object.”

The window facing Damien Estate drew his gaze. “Our adversaries are powerful figures playing a long, dangerous game. And our friends’ spirited ways aren’t likely to change any time soon, nor are our unique positions and circumstances. Which means you might find yourself doing this multiple times, for the foreseeable future.”

His attention returned to Lady Charlotte, “With everything we’re caught up in, you’ll be spending rather a lot of time and energy deciding what to reveal and how to reveal it to your own team. Time and energy that might be better focused on unraveling this conspiracy and outmaneuvering those who'd like to see us fail.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Ryn clasped his hands loosely. “So perhaps the real question is how do you envision this group working together? Are we to operate on a need-to-know basis, with you as the curator of information?”

Charlotte sighed softly, her gaze falling to her hands as though weighing the heaviness of her thoughts. When she looked back up at Fritz, her expression was gentle yet resolute. “I see your point, Count Fritz, and leading with transparency has always been my goal. I never want anyone to feel as though they’re on a need-to-know basis—especially not after the bonds we’ve begun to build. But it becomes painfully clear as we navigate these situations that context can complicate things. It’s not always black or white, and sometimes, what seems like the right course at the moment carries unforeseen consequences.”

Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “That said, you’re right—keeping things from the group, even with the best intentions, is not a habit I want to form. I will ensure every one is as informed as possible moving forward… within reason.” Her lips curved into a faint, apologetic smile as she added, “I only ask for your patience if, at times, I take a moment to consider the safest way to do so. Keeping you all alive will always be my priority.”

“.... I couldn’t bear to see anyone hurt because of me.” Her voice wavered slightly, but there was no mistaking her sincerity. After a pause, her tone shifted as she met his eyes once more. “I mean no ill will in turning this back on you, but if we’re to lead with transparency, I have to ask—have you been completely transparent yourself? It’s something I hope you’ll reflect on as well.” Her gaze lingered on him, not accusatory, but curious. “For instance… Did you share everything you know about Violet with us? I can’t help but feel you may have held back some pieces.”

She hesitated, a flicker of compassion in her expression. “If you were sworn to secrecy, I would understand. Such only underscores my point—context matters…” Her voice softened further as she offered a faint, weary smile. “I think we’re all just doing our best to navigate this insane situation.”

The thought clicked like the final tumbler in a lock. “Ah. I should clarify something. As I’ve said at the masquerade, there are matters I haven’t told you about.”

“I cannot fault you for being cautious. We all have our pasts, our scars that shape us. And Creators know that there are things I’m withholding from you too.” As he placed a hand over his heart, Ryn closed his eyes. “I am afraid of being hurt and hurting others.”

“I’m not suggesting we need to share every detail of our lives.” A laugh escaped him as he brushed away an old memory. “No one needs to know about the bubble bath incident.”

His attention turned to the evidence board, its papers, and strings creating a web of connections. “What I’m speaking of is more specific to this investigation and this team.” He gestured at their collective work. “We gathered here to solve this together, but bits and pieces are being held back from each other for one reason or another. And sometimes hiding one detail obscures others by accident.”

In a fluid motion, the invitation to Count Damien’s masquerade appeared between Ryn’s fingers. “For example, because you couldn’t tell us about the tête-à-tête, you couldn’t explain just how closely the count is watching our group.” He tapped the paper with the temple tip of his enchanted glasses. “Small omissions add up. They make it harder to piece things together and harder for the team to strategize effectively.” He considered his next words carefully. “And they leave room for misunderstandings.”

“When I learned someone hired the Bloody Thorns, Count Damien was on the list of suspects. Given the timing, and how carefully you avoided mentioning your conversation with the count, I wondered if you might’ve known something about it. Not specifically about him hiring assassins, mind you, but I did suspect he threatened to inflict some kind of harm to you and those around you… And you kept that to yourself.” Ryn rose from his seat.

The invitation made a soft rustle as he pinned it up on the board. “Now, it’s true that I still get mistaken for a starry-eyed schoolboy more often than I care to admit, but I’ve lived long enough to know that precious little is black and white.” He turned around to fully face Lady Charlotte. “Which is precisely why it’s important to know how you expect us to handle information within this team going forward. Particularly if some of that information is to be withheld from specific members, whatever those reasons may be.”

Charlotte listened intently, her expression thoughtful as she gave a small nod. “You raise a fair point. Perhaps the best course of action is to address this openly with everyone next time, so we can establish how to communicate more effectively while keeping everyone’s safety our priority.”

After listening to her answer, he said, “Whatever you ultimately decide to do, let me know.” Ryn smiled and added, “And if you find yourself spinning in mental circles—it’s okay to consult others.” He knew, of course, that some found it harder to reach out than others.

“Now then!” Ryn crossed back to Lady Charlotte, fingers dancing over the rims as he swapped the spectacles’ lenses. “I’m sorry for the sudden shift in topic, but there’s something else that I noticed. Do you remember how your magicae looked before your meeting with Count Damien?” He extended the glasses toward her. “Would you mind taking a look again?”

Charlotte tilted her head much like a curious puppy, her brows furrowing as she accepted the glasses Ryn offered. Carefully, she slipped the spectacles onto her nose, her eyes focusing on her hands resting in her lap. Her breath hitched as her gaze landed on the blue aura radiating from her skin. It was thick and vibrant, enveloping her fingers in a luminous halo that seemed to pulse gently with each beat of her heart. The light was almost hypnotic—a serene, cerulean blue with subtle ripples, like sunlight dancing across a tranquil sea. It didn’t just glow; it seemed to hum with energy. “...Do they… change colors?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with wonder.

“It’s not impossible… however, in cases like yours, it’s highly unlikely.”

After a moment of thought, something clicked in her head. Her expression softened as her fingers brushed the chain at her neck. Sliding the chair back slightly, she reached for the pendant nestled beneath her collar. The silver butterfly amulet caught the light, its sapphire centerpiece gleaming brightly, almost as if it were alive. She placed her hand over it, a faint smile spreading across her lips.

“I know this will sound crazy,” she began, glancing up at Ryn, her cheeks flushed slightly as though bracing for skepticism. “But I’ve been… seeing things lately. Memories, I think. They play out right before me as if I’m watching them happen all over again.” Her fingers lightly traced the butterfly’s wings, her expression growing wistful. “In one of them, my father appeared… clear as day. He led me to this amulet.”

She looked up, meeting Fritz’s gaze. “It was hidden in a drawer. He said it was meant to protect me.” Her voice wavered slightly, but her resolve held firm. “I think… I think this locket is why my aura looks like this now.”

She let the silence linger for a moment, the weight of her words settling between them. Then, almost shyly, she added, “Do you think something like that is possible, Fritz?”

“Would you mind if I...?” Ryn gestured toward the butterfly pendant while Lady Charlotte spoke of her father and memories. At her nod, he leaned closer with his lens ready.

The moment his finger made contact, the magicae patterns on his skin shifted—cerulean blue bled through like ink spreading through water, matching the aura that surrounded Lady Charlotte. He lowered the lens, thoughts crystallizing into certainty.

“Not only do I think it’s more than possible,” he said, carefully folding his spectacles and returning them to their case, “this leads me to believe that your father knew more about magic than most.” He met Lady Charlotte’s gaze. “Did he ever show any particular interest in the subject?”

“... Not that I can remember.”

“Hmm.” After a thoughtful pause, Ryn’s expression gentled. “Regardless, your father’s love runs so deep that even his memories are finding ways to protect you.” Ryn avoided using past tense, though her father might have passed beyond mortal reach, his devotion remained very much alive. Ryn nodded at Lady Charlotte’s unexpected gift. “Given the nature of your magicae, it may be a good idea to keep this close to you at all times.”

“ I agree.” Charlotte told him with a smile. “…I suppose I should retire for the evening. I am rather tired. Please feel free to stay and utilize one of our guest rooms.”

Checking the time, Ryn nodded. “I think I will, thank you.”

She closed the distance between them to give him one more hug. As she withdrew, Charlotte told him, “ I will see to it that a meal is sent up to your room if you do choose to stay. Goodnight, Fritz. Thank you for speaking with me!”

“And thank you for listening. Goodnight, Charlotte. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.” Lady Charlotte stepped over the threshold when Ryn added one last thing.

“About Lady Violet…” he said, “You’ve the right of it: I haven’t shared everything. But I think it’s best that you speak with her yourself. She needs a friend, now more than ever.” A long breath escaped him, his shoulders sinking slightly. “The poor woman’s heart is like a wounded cat—desperately lonely but too frightened to let anyone near. Every offered hand looks to her like a trap, waiting to snap shut.”

“Poor thing... I shall speak with her and see if she will accept my hand.”

They could only hope.

Avalia

Time: A.M.
Location: River Port Forest
Interactions/Mentions: @Conscripts @mole
Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler

✠✠✠✠✠

A bark of laughter escaped Vasco at Barrock’s crack about partying. The thought of the stiff-necked orc cutting loose - now that’d be something worth seeing.

“Are these the General’s men?” Barrock grunted, hauling up the unconscious lizardman.

“Ain’t everyone these days?” Vasco drawled as he watched Barrock slip the bartender extra scratch. Good manners, that. And he took full advantage of it to signal for another drink.

Ignoring the fact that Rowan got himself kidnapped, everything was jake for Vasco - riding high from the scrap, decent booze, and hell, even Barrock wasn’t being his usual wet blanket self.

Then Aurora had to come along and kill his buzz faster than a raid on a gin joint.

“Where is my brother!” she screamed, like he was the mastermind who had orchestrated this whole dance. Worse, when she remembered that she was supposed to be the perfect choir girl, she started going on about some mumbo-jumbo about Vasco trying to help her brother and being scared. The broad didn’t make a lick of sense.

“Don’t know. Why don’t you take it up with the bunch who nabbed your hotshot bodyguard elf and jumped me instead of busting my chops, Spiritual Advisor?” Vasco said, the title dripping with all the respect of a back-alley insult. He turned back to his drink, letting the liquid do its healing since Aurora clearly had other priorities.

The thought of splitting from this crew was looking better by the minute. They treated him like a cheap tool - all stick, no carrot. Maybe if they’d been paying top dollar, he could stomach playing their favorite punching bag. But this? Getting blamed for any trouble because it was easier than facing their own mess? A sucker’s game, that’s what it was. No wonder The New Dawn were going the way of yesterday’s newspaper.

Just as the bartender topped off his glass, Zarnak started to stir under Barrock’s watch. Vasco swiveled in his seat. “Give a shout if you need a hand,” he told the orc, settling in to watch the show. This ought to be good.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Violet & Fritz Part 2

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood
Location: Polite Inn
Time: Late afternoon to early evening, before the detective meeting
Mention(s): @FunnyGuy @princess @ReusableSword

---

Violet entered the secluded room, carefully laying her cloak on the edge of the bed. She had insisted on the farthest room, away from the bustling main hall, to ensure she wouldn't be disturbed. Fortunately for her, Fritz anticipated her request and had reserved the room at the far corner, though there was nothing he could do about the neighboring guests. The air here felt heavier, quieter, as though the very walls were holding their breath. Her gaze drifted to her trembling hand, the fine tremors betraying the storm within. With her other hand, she gripped her wrist, squeezing tightly in a futile attempt to still the shaking.

Her entire body thrummed with excitement, an almost euphoric sensation that battled with the remnants of her humanity, the fragments that still felt sorrow, guilt, and regret. But the darker part of her laughed, relishing in the uncontrollable hunger. It should have been simple, she told herself, a few vials of blood and the thirst would be quenched. Yet, her body craved more than sustenance. Each time she indulged, it was never enough, leading her down a blood-stained path.

Each life taken only deepened her descent into madness, and each attempt to restrain herself was futile. She had tried to fight the urges, to find strength in the remains of her fractured soul, but the hunger always won, pulling her deeper into the abyss with every victim. Maybe this will be different…

Still gripping onto her wrist tightly, Violet turned to face Fritz. It was time.

The scene before Ryn was, he had to admit, a bit odd. The tastefully curated room now sported more towels than the average bathhouse. They covered every surface of the bed and were strategically placed across the floor. He had even stacked a precautionary tower of towels off in the corner, though he hoped Her Ladyship would not prove quite that... enthusiastic in her consumption.

The lady in question blinked, surfacing from whatever deep pool of thought she had been paddling in. Ryn offered a welcoming smile and swept an arm towards the table, where the trunk sat like a macabre picnic basket, its blood-filled vials glinting in the light. With a flourish, he pulled out a chair for her.

Once she was settled, Ryn took his place opposite her. He withdrew a leather-bound notebook and a freshly-sharpened pencil from his waistcoat. Poised to record this most unusual of taste tests, he said, “Help yourself to any of the bottles. I’ll record your impressions of each so we can determine which ones agree with you and how effectively they slake your particular thirst.”

Violet’s breath hitched as her fingers hovered over the vials, the sound of her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears like a distant drum. Her gaze flitted briefly to Fritz, absorbed in his notebook, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just beneath her skin. The vial felt impossibly heavy in her hand as she lifted it, the number "3" glaring back at her—a harbinger of the chaos it held within.

The cork came free with a soft pop, and in that instant, the air thickened with the pungent scent of iron and decay. The deep, coppery tang wrapped around her senses, drawing her in like a siren’s song, irresistible and damning. Violet’s face slackened, her expression hollowing as the scent burrowed deep into her mind, unearthing shadows she had long tried to bury. The demons stirred, stretching in the dark recesses of her mind, eager for release.

Her hand trembled violently as she tried to steady herself, to push the ravenous hunger back down, for Fritz’s sake. But her restraint was slipping, unraveling like a thread caught on something sharp. The vial met her lips, the thick, crimson liquid coating them in a sheen of lustrous red. Her eyes fluttered shut as the first drop hit her tongue.

It was like fire. Molten and alive, it coursed through her, igniting every nerve. The taste was intoxicating—rich, dark, and full of life. Her body seemed to relax as the blood spread through her like a venomous tide, her once-shaking hand now steady, but her mind was a storm of wild, frenzied thoughts. The dark corners of her mind no longer whispered; they screamed, clawing at the surface. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and the hunger swallowed her whole.

Her eyes snapped open, dark and feral, pupils shrunken to pinpricks, as if they were retreating into the abyss that now consumed her. A low growl rumbled from her chest, primal and raw, as her left hand clamped down on the table, the wood groaning beneath her tightening grip. The hunger had fully taken hold, and she was no longer herself.

With trembling urgency, she snatched another vial, her breath ragged and shallow. The cork came free with a soft, mocking pop, and the room seemed to thicken, the air now suffocating with the stench of blood—rich, metallic, and overpowering. Her head snapped back violently, and this time, she didn’t sip. She devoured. The thick, warm liquid slid down her throat in seconds, and her body shuddered, drunk on the power flooding through her veins. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, snaking down her chin like a dark river, pooling at the curve of her neck.

She rose to her feet, swaying slightly, her vision swimming with the crimson hue of madness. She no longer recognized where she was—no longer cared. The world around her melted away, swallowed by the spiraling darkness wrapping its cold, spindled fingers tighter around her mind.

Her vision was a blur of red. Blood. It was all she could see. All she could feel. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, growing louder, faster, as if urging her to seek more, to claim more. The darkness was no longer a shadow—it was her. It lived in her veins, clawing at the edges of her sanity.

Graphite scratched across the paper, documenting Lady Violet’s every reaction to each sample with scientific precision. To his mild surprise—and, he had to admit, relief—her tastes proved far less restricted than anticipated. He’d expected revulsion, perhaps even violent rejection to some of the blood. Instead, she drank everything with equal fervor, her throat working as she swallowed.

However, as diverse as Lady Violet’s taste proved to be, Ryn did not ignore the predatory gleam in her eyes when they flickered to meet his gaze. The hunger in those red eyes spoke of a thirst far from sated—the primal urge for something warm, something alive.

Violet's hands moved with frantic precision, fingers trembling as she uncorked the vials one after another. Pop... pop... pop. The sharp sound echoed in the hollow space as she threw her head back, swallowing the blood in desperate gulps. The liquid was thick and cold, coating her tongue and throat with a coppery tang, leaving a metallic trail of satisfaction as it slid down.

Her breath hitched, and then something snapped. The frenzy in her movements stilled. The blood, now smeared across her hands, glistened in the low light, staining her pale skin a deep, violent red. Slowly, almost deliberately, she brought her bloodied fingers to her lips, her tongue curling over each one, savoring the taste. It was slow, deliberate, and hungry.

Her crimson eyes flickered to Fritz, cold and devoid of any warmth. Darkness had taken her again, that familiar, gnawing hunger dragging her back into its depths.

It won’t be long now, he thought, setting aside his notes. His fingers moved to his cuffs, unhurriedly rolling up his sleeves to expose pale forearms. Then, maintaining eye contact with Lady Violet, he loosened his collar and undid the top buttons of his shirt.

He had considered offering other major arteries, of course—the femoral, perhaps—but decorum won out in the end. This act was intimate enough as is, he would rather spare them both unnecessary embarrassment.

Her mind was completely gone. The Violet they knew had vanished, leaving only a hollow shell twisted by ravenous hunger. Her once vibrant face was now a mask of something monstrous, her eyes lifeless and glazed with a predatory gleam. The dim light cast long shadows across the bloodied mess on the table, the metallic stench of copper saturating the air, sickening and thick. The room was suffocating under the weight of something wrong.

It all happened so fast. One moment, Violet stood still, eerie and silent, by the table. The next, Fritz was pinned beneath her, a bed of towels beneath his body. Her fingers were wrapped around his throat, digging deep into his skin, drawing blood. She pressed down with unnatural strength, her body holding him captive. Her gaze fixated on the pulsing vein in his neck. His heartbeat thundered in her ears, each rapid thump an irresistible invitation. She inhaled sharply, her breath ragged, and a guttural growl rose from deep within her chest.

She no longer saw Fritz—he had become nothing more than prey. The person under her grasp no longer existed in her mind, replaced only by the pulsing rhythm of his life.

Her jaw slackened, lips curling back to reveal the glint of her fangs, sharp and eager for flesh. She sucked in a deep breath, the coppery scent of blood intoxicating her senses. Slowly, she drew back, her movements unnervingly deliberate, her mouth widening in anticipation.

Then, like a viper striking, she lunged. Her teeth sank deep into his neck, piercing the skin with a sickening squelch. Warm blood spilled into her mouth, hot and rich, flooding her senses with an overwhelming wave of ecstasy. Her fangs burrowed deeper, tearing into his flesh as she fed, each frantic pulse of his heart sending fresh streams of blood surging into her.

The room seemed to close in around them, the shadows thickening, suffocating, as her body pressed harder against his. Every sound—the gurgle of blood, the raspy gasps for breath—became a symphony of death. It just kept coming, more and more of his blood pooling in her mouth like a facet.

More!

Ryn had steeled himself for the attack, but it still shocked his body. No amount of mental preparation could stop the rapid drumming of his heart or quiet the sharp, jagged breath that escaped his lungs when her claws and fangs bit into his throat.

There was, however, no fear.

He lay there, motionless beneath her, offering neither resistance nor plea. The initial shock of it all—the rush that had set his heart racing—began to ebb, slowing to a steady, almost serene rhythm. Pain hovered at the edges of his awareness, a distant hum he could acknowledge but not fully grasp.

As warm blood seeped from him, Ryn felt the growing cold creeping into his limbs. He tried to keep track, mentally counting how much blood he was losing per second, but it was a task easier said than done.

When the light-headedness set in and Lady Violet showed no signs of slowing, Ryn finally whispered her name, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Violet.”

Her grip tightened against his head as she pulled his neck more, opening his veins.

She did not hear him. Or did not care. Either way, she did not stop.

His voice cracked as he tried again. “Violet… If you don’t stop soon, you’ll have to clean all this up on your own...”

Still, she did not pause. Her hunger held her in its grip, consuming her as much as she consumed him.

With a fading strength, Ryn’s hands found their way to her. Not to push her away but to rest them on her. He trusted her. Even now, when everything was slipping away, he believed in Lady Violet. He gently stroked her head, and kept whispering her name, over and over. There was no doubt in his mind that she would master this.

Just before darkness took him, Lady Violet’s face hovered above him. Her expression was too hazy to make out, but he smiled at her anyway.

“Everything... will be… okay.”

And then, silence. Stillness.

Her mouth tore away from his neck with a ragged gasp, her lungs burning as if surfacing from deep water. Scarlet streaks of blood stained her lips and chin, the metallic taste lingering on her tongue. Her chest heaved as the suffocating darkness that had gripped her mind slowly began to recede, like claws releasing their hold. She barely registered the weight of Count Fritz’s limp body cradled in her arms, his unconscious form a lifeless heap against her.

Her crimson eyes darted wildly, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of her thoughts. The taste of warm, thick blood clung to her senses, and she glanced down in horror at her arms. Her breath caught in her throat. The reality of what she had done crashed down on her like a wave.

With a cry of alarm, she released him, his body falling limp against the blood-soaked sheets as she scrambled off the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took in the scene—the room bathed in red, the thick, glistening trail of blood leading from the table to the bed. Violet’s eyes filled with tears, a choking guilt rising in her throat as she stared at his still, motionless form.

It was all starting to make sense. The horror of it, the hunger she couldn’t control. ”No. no..no no no …NO NO NO”

She ran over to him gripping his shoulders tightly, She began to shake him ” Wake up…come on…” She whispered in desperation. Her head moved down to his chest, resting her head on his chest.

Thump……..Thump…….

Relief flooded through her like a cold wave as she realized—he wasn’t dead. The rhythmic, faint thump of his heart reassured her that she hadn't gone too far. She hadn’t killed him.

With hurried but delicate movements, she ripped the blood-soaked towels from the bed, tossing them carelessly over her shoulder. The sound of wet fabric hitting the floor echoed in the room as she focused on clearing the space for fresh sheets. She worked quickly, her hands trembling as she carefully shifted Fritz’s body, pulling him until he lay comfortably, his head resting gently on a soft pillow. The sight of his chest rising and falling soothed her frayed nerves, but the knot of guilt twisted tighter in her stomach.

Tears blurred her vision as she collapsed to her knees beside the bed, overwhelmed. She pressed her arms onto the mattress, burying her face in their protective fold as quiet sobs racked her body. The tears fell freely, soaking the blanket beneath her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop them.

She had hurt him. The thought gnawed at her. His heart still beat, but what about the pain? The fear he must have felt in those final moments before he lost consciousness—why had she done this? The hunger, the violence... it wasn’t her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

But it was.

Her red eyes peered over to top of her arms, she looked at his peaceful body sleeping. Her hand slowly reached out to him, wrapping around his fingers as she held his hand.
”I’m so sorry…” she whispered ”I couldn’t stop…”

Darkness swirled around Ryn, a thick, inky void that pressed against his consciousness. How long had he drifted in this lightless sea? Time seemed meaningless here.

Then, a sound—someone weeping. The sobs tugged at him, drawing him upward through the murky depths of unconsciousness. As he neared the surface, the crying grew louder, more distinct.

Ryn struggled toward awareness, reaching out blindly. His fingers twitched, and suddenly something enveloped his hand. The contact anchored him, pulling him the final distance.

His eyelids fluttered open, the world a blurry haze. Ryn blinked, willing his vision to clear. Slowly, shapes coalesced—and there, hovering above, a face came into focus.

Lady Violet.

Her crimson eyes were rimmed with tears, her cheeks wet. She clutched his hand, whispering broken apologies.

Ryn’s throat felt dry, but he managed to croak out words. “I’ll take that... as a compliment.”

With effort, he raised his free hand, brushing his fingers across her damp cheek. A weak smile tugged at his lips. “‘Five out of five stars. So delicious... it’ll move you to tears. Will... visit again’.”

The chuckle that followed was more of a wheeze. He fell silent, studying Lady Violet’s distraught expression. Though he already suspected the answer, he felt compelled to ask, “...Are you alright?”

She stood to her feet, nearly popping up as she leaned over the bed. ” Lord Fritz!” she said with a shock. She quickly wiped her cheeks of the remainder of her tears. Her glassy red eyes peered down at him. She let out a long sigh of relief, sitting down behind him. ” What a strange man…” she said grinning, her fangs visible to him for a moment. ” I nearly kill you and you're asking if I’m alright.” She relaxed her shoulders and smiled softly ” Physically I’m fine.The real question is how are you? I would imagine dizzy and you seem to have your wits about you.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you.” As Ryn attempted to hoist himself upright, his vision swam, and he found himself unceremoniously reacquainted with the feather-stuffed mattress. His fingers grazed the raw punctures at his throat, eliciting a slight grimace. “I confess to feeling rather woozy, and I’ll require some assistance with these wounds, but...” His eyes met Lady Violet’s, bright with triumph and quiet admiration. “I am alive. You did it, Violet.”

” You’re giving me too much credit…” she said softly.

“And you give yourself too little.”

” You will feel woozy for a while, we should get some food into you.” She stood up and walked forward to the table, looking down at it in disgust. She reached towards the basket that sat off to the side, it had linen wrapped over the top to protect the bread. Thankfully there was no blood on it.

Walking back to his side she took off the cotton towel and offered him the basket of rolls ” This will help, make sure to eat it all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Lady Violet's hesitant—and almost fearfully careful—attention to his wounds, Ryn found himself propped against a small mountain of pillows, accompanied by an equally mountainous basket of bread rolls. Despite the heaviness weighing down his every movement, he made quick work of early dinner, washing down each bite with cool water that seemed to restore his strength.

He was halfway through his fourth roll, picking apart its golden-brown crust, when he asked, “Has your appetite been sufficiently sated?”

” Yes” She lied offering him a smile ” I’m sorry you had to see that…” She looked away from him as he ate.

Another blackout.

Ryn watched Lady Violet while he chewed. Her smile was of the variety he knew all too well. “I apologize, of course the thirst is always there. Let me rephrase the question: has this dulled its edge at all? Even slightly?”

Thoughtfulness creased his brow as his gaze drifted to the bread in his hands. “If it hasn’t, we’ll need to make some adjustments and calculate how much it will take to reduce the bloodlust to manageable levels.”

” Let's not worry about that for now.” She said softly.

The furrow in Ryn’s brow smoothed out, replaced by bright, uncomplicated optimism. “On the positive side, you took to the samples remarkably well!” His lips curved upward. “This will make procurement considerably easier.”

“Did any particular sample speak to you more strongly than the others?”

She turned away from him. ” I don't remember much of the tastes i’ll be perfectly honest…It all just blended together” She said softly.

“That’s okay. At least now we know you can consume just about any type of blood with equal enthusiasm.”

Looking back at him with a fake smile her red eyes silently looked him over for any other wounds she may have caused. ”You need to know the information I have for you now. I can’t answer all of the questions you will likely have but I may need some information from you. ” She said in an attempt to change the subject. Taking in a deep breath she tugged up a blanket over his legs to keep him warm from all the blood he just lost. ” Do you have any enemies? Anyone you believe would hurt you?”

His smile dimmed. “Sadly, there are people who would be overjoyed to see me and my entire family dead.” Had luck, or fate, not intervened that day, those who wished them harm would have succeeded. “Why do you ask?”

” Do you know of The Bloody Thorns?”

Not as much as he would like. Ryn shook his head, “No.”

” I have it on good authority that they are after you. Unfortunately, I don’t quite know the reason for it. Your name was on a list, along with some others. There is a planned attack on Drunkards Day at night. You really can’t think of anything that they may want you for? ”

“Oh, I can think of multiple reasons. The most promising three: the unforgivable crime of existing, the cardinal sin of upsetting a parent, and—perhaps most damning of all—my rather inconvenient habit of uncovering secrets people want to keep hidden.” Ryn canted his head, “How did you come across this information?”

” I’d rather not say but I trust the information.” she said firmly ” I can be there… to help keep an eye on you.”

Ryn’s head snapped toward Lady Violet with such abruptness that his freshly dressed wound protested, sending a lance of fire down his neck. He pressed his fingertips to the bandage. “Your warning may well have saved my life and you have my deepest gratitude. However, I cannot, with anything approaching good conscience, allow you to cast yourself into harm’s way on my behalf.”

She raised a brow as she looked down at him and said firmly ” And why not? You put me in a position that nearly killed you yet putting myself in a position to help you is worse?” she sighed ”I have avoided death, literally been ripped from the arms of it.” she said softly ” Life has thrown much worse things at me…If for some strange reason, it decides to end all of my suffering by protecting a friend. I can’t imagine a better thing. I’m practically a walking corpse…I mean…Look at me” she gestured to herself, first to her scars then her fangs which she finally tucked away. ”...but I'm still here. And I will be after we stop whoever these people are from attempting anything. At least allow this monster some kind of redemption.”

Ryn opened his mouth, then closed it again, any words of protest dying on his tongue. Her conviction about being a monster, the shadows that seemed to lurk behind her eyes—she was seeking equilibrium, trying to balance scales that had tipped too far in one direction. A life for a life. A neat mathematical equation, though he doubted the arithmetic of redemption was quite so simple. Red eyes searched him as he lay there quietly.

His hands clasped hers as he met her gaze and offered a slight nod.

His smile, when it came, was gentle but firm. “Okay,” he said softly, the word carrying more weight than its single syllable suggested. Then, because he could not quite help himself, he added, “But as you don’t want to lose a friend, neither do I. I’ll seek what additional aid I can find, and you—” He squeezed her hands gently. “You’ll take no unnecessary risks. After all,”—and here his smile bloomed into something warmer, more playful—“we still have that standing appointment for tea in the gardens, and I have the perfect book in mind for our first book club.”

” There is something else…” she added holding a soft smile from his book club remark.

” The more we encourage these meetings some things may happen. I don’t fully know what or how it will go” She took a breath ” It’s a blood bond of sorts. You will likely develop feelings towards me and I you. The word love was used but it can be in many forms not just romantic. On top of that, there is mention of a protection spell and some other things I still don't quite know much on.” She looked towards him ” If I find out more I’ll share it with you. I plan on doing some reading to see what I can find. Are you sure this is something you want to keep doing?”

Ryn listened intently to Lady Violet, his eyes growing wider by the second. “By the Creators…” he breathed. “A blood bond?”

There was silence.

Violet's eyes widened slightly before looking away bracing for a reaction.

And then…

“How absolutely fascinating!” His eyes went alight with unrestrained curiosity. Lady Violet’s head snapped back to look at him. Her words about the effects of blood ties between a vampire set his mind racing down countless theoretical pathways, each more intriguing than the last. “I wonder what the mechanisms of that are… It almost sounds like a magic ritual.” One hand placed itself beneath his chin while the other folded across his chest. “When you feed, there’s an inevitable cross-contamination—your saliva, my blood… Could it be possible that the magicae within our body fluids is used to form this bond?”

Shaking her head slowly she opened her mouth to respond but he continued.

“Though,” he mused, “perhaps the development of strong feelings is not necessarily supernatural. After all, such an intimate and potentially life-threatening exchange requires trust. It rather naturally lends itself to deeper connections, doesn’t it?”

Ryn offered her a warm, reassuring smile. “From what you’ve shared, I see no cause for concern. I am helping a friend, and if we become better friends because of it,” he spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance, “then why not?”

Ryn cocked his head. “Where did you come across this information?”

” Books…Just knowledge that I had gathered from some reading. I thought it to be fictional but there were so many repeat commonalities it makes me believe it's true.” She avoided mentioning Alexander, ”It is a very intimate thing…Unfortunately not memorable” she joked nervously ” I just black out, It's like something else just takes over and then I just come too. Sometimes after I’m done and other times..much later.”

This was not the type of knowledge that, even with the amount of wealth that nobility had, could be casually obtained from “some reading.” Especially not in Caesonia. Though she insisted the texts were mere fiction, there was a certain conviction in her confession that told Ryn that she trusted the source. Which led to a rather interesting possibility: based on her reluctance to reveal whoever told Lady Violet about The Bloody Thorns, the source of this information was likely the same person.

“I see,” Ryn said, allowing a thoughtful pause to stretch between them. “May I examine these volumes? Fiction they might be, they might help our research on blood-bonding of the vampiric variety.” He shrugged. “And if nothing else, they’d make for an interesting book club discussion, wouldn’t they?”

"The books were part of a private collection I lost access to some time ago, but I’m doing my best to track down replacements. If I manage to find them, I’d be willing to share. Perhaps you’d uncover something in them that eluded me."

She paused looking around slightly nervous ” How familiar with Charlotte Vikena are you?” She asked out of the blue.

The name drew a quizzical tilt of Ryn’s head. “I’ve made her acquaintance only recently,” he replied, his words measured and patient as he waited for Lady Violet to unburden whatever weighted thought had prompted her sudden inquiry.

She paused, glancing over at Fritz. Her hand brushed the edge of the nearly empty bowl of bread, which she set on the nightstand beside him. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, she leaned over him, her body stretching across his as she shifted into the bed beside him. Her crimson eyes drifted to the ceiling, reflecting the room’s dim light. The sharp scent of copper hung around her, a reminder of her dark nature.

Reflexively, Ryn adjusted himself to accommodate Lady Violet. His hand found her back and fell into that familiar rhythm—tap, tap, tap—the same gentle pattern his parents and grandparents had used to lull him to sleep, the one he had later used when his siblings sought comfort in his bed during restless nights.

”She stopped by my home recently. She’s a neighbor, so her visit wasn’t entirely unexpected, but we haven’t spoken much since Crystal was a child. It felt... odd. Not in the way you might think, but there was something overly friendly about her, almost intrusive. It was as though she were sniffing around, trying to uncover something hidden. I can’t say I trust her motives."

Her head turned on the pillow, and she looked over at him, a faint, reassuring smile playing on her lips.

"It’s probably nothing. Just my imagination running wild. If you do happen to run into her, perhaps you can find out if it is just my imagination or if you get that sense as well.”

Ryn’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “That’s peculiar,” he said, studying her face. “From how she spoke of you, I had rather gotten the impression you two were dear friends. Was I mistaken?”

Letting out a long, weary sigh, Violet's expression softened, a glimmer of sadness darkening her gaze as she tilted her head back to stare blankly at the ceiling. Her lips parted, words trembling on the edge of her breath. “Maybe… back before everything went wrong,” she murmured, her voice a threadbare whisper. “Roman was the only one who cared about what was happening to me. Now even he’s gone, avoiding me like the plague.” Her voice wavered, catching painfully in her throat as emotion began to well up. “He was my only friend, the only one I trusted. And somehow, I’ve already ruined that.” Her shoulders pressed into the bed, a shadow of despair darkening her features. “It’s only a matter of time before I destroy this too.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath as if trying to steady herself, and let the silence settle. “Look at me…” she finally continued, her tone hollow. “I’ve been sliced open and patched up more times than I can count, my eyes are the color of blood…” she paused, brushing a fingertip across one of her sharp, gleaming fangs, exposed in a grim, humorless smile. “And these…” she muttered bitterly. “I was killed, dragged back just to exist in this life, forever surrounded by death and disappointment.” Her voice grew softer, laced with a resignation that bordered on defeat. “I can’t blame them. I smell like death; it clings to me like a shroud. I bring it wherever I go, leaving only bodies behind. Who would want to be around that?I wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

“So no…my only dear friend is off enjoying the courting events I imagine.”

Drawing Violet into a half-embrace, Ryn kept up the steady rhythm against her back. “Please correct me if I’m wrong,” he whispered, “but you’ve not actually spoken to them of this, have you?” There was a pause where he waited for her to answer before continuing, “Violet, don’t torment yourself over what might not even be true.”

She turned to look at him, her raven black hair pooling around her.

He drew back just enough to meet her gaze. “Talk to them. Share these fears. Listen to what they have to say. I could arrange the meeting, should you require it. And if your fears prove prophetic—” his lips curved into a half-smile “—send for me. Cry until you can’t cry anymore, and then we’ll either cocoon ourselves in blankets and copper dreadfuls, or party until the sun chases us home. Whatever you prefer.”

Finally, she spoke, her voice low and tinged with weariness. “You make it sound so simple." Her fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as she looked away, her gaze distant."But you don’t understand. If I speak to them... if my fears are true..." She trailed off, her hands curling into fists against the bed.

She took in a deep breath looking back at him with a smile “ Focus on getting your strength back. The rest can wait." Her face relaxed as her fingers unlocked from their fists “ Thank you for everything Lord Fritz…" she said softly “...everything." She added the word holding more weight than he likely knew.

She reached over him pulling another roll from the bed and gestured it toward him with a soft smile.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time/Date: Nighttime, Sola 25th
Location: Pinebrook Camping Site
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @princess@ReusableSword@Tpartywithzombi@Helo

Thoughts warred within Riona like angry cats in a sack, clawing and hissing for dominance. The man who couldn’t be Darryn—who absolutely shouldn’t be Darryn—addressed the crowd as if the past few days hadn’t happened.

As if he hadn’t been murdered.
Darryn. Alive. Breathing. Talking.

She should feel something. Relief that it had all been some horrible mistake. Anger that he’d let her believe him dead. Joy at seeing him alive and whole. She should be running to embrace him or slap him or demand answers.

Instead, her skin crawled with a wrongness she couldn’t name.

Even after the crowd dispersed, Riona’s eyes remained fixed on “Quinn.” Not that any amount of staring would reveal answers.

It took Lady Ariella’s “CAL!” to break the spell. Training took over. Her spine straightened, hands clasped, eyes lowered, expression smoothed into careful neutrality. A perfect servant’s bow, neither too deep nor too shallow. The maid became another part of the background.

Present but unseen. There, but not there.

Just like her mind.

Roman’s words from their last conversation rattled in her skull. Necromancy.

If Darryn hadn’t faked his death... if this wasn’t some cruel coincidence... Then what in the hells was walking around wearing his face?

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Callum & Riona

Time: Evening
Location: Palace Grounds to the Camping Site
Mention(s): @princess@ReusableSword@CitrusArms@SilverPaw@Tae@Tpartywithzombi

---

Coven & Secrets

Callum paced outside the gardener's hut as he tried to work up the nerve to enter.

“You’ve been here tons of times. And it was only weird the once.” He whispered to himself. He looked at the door; dark patterns of wood grain leaked from the door. The whisps melded into twisting shadow serpents that lashed out, fangs bared and eyes locked on him. He immediately recoiled from the door. Again. He jumped in place and tried to shake the fear from his arms.

“It’s not real. You know it’s not real.” He whispered to himself. “Suck it up, Cal, suck it up.” He felt it in the pit of his stomach. Dread at being caught out here, afraid of Riona’s home, knowing it would upset her if she saw him. He thought about that deeply unwelcoming feeling he’d had the last time he was here. Felt that same heat-bearing down his neck, felt the same chill deep in his bones. Something hadn’t wanted him here before, what if it was still in there?

He closed his eyes, tired of seeing things that weren’t real. At least it’s not Darryn. He thought only to feel disgusted with himself for thinking it. He deserved to see the horrible ghost Darryn, he deserved to suffer for not helping Darryn. For getting him killed.

Finally, Cal summoned enough courage to knock on the door, a bit too softly. Part of him hoped Riona wouldn’t answer and he could avoid going inside, wait a day until he wasn’t seeing things. Maybe even avoid finding out if she was just as angry with him as she’d been with Ana. But that would only be a delay. "Riona?" He asked. "Got time for a chat? If you still want to talk to me?" He asked softly through the door.

A muffled rustling sound came from behind the door, followed by the scrape of wood on wood. The door creaked open, and Riona’s face peeked out, eyebrow raised.

“What are you knocking for, Cal? You have a key, come in,” she said, puzzled. She left the door open and retreated back to the cluttered table.

He stared at the open door for a moment before slowly closing it. "Seemed rude to just walk in unannounced?” The explanation came easily but didn’t sound convincing.

Riona gathered an assortment of papers—a copy of the now previous Royal advisor’s journal, scribbled notes on castle gossip, and a few choice pieces of information that many of the servants knew but kept quiet about. With twine, she bound the pile together.

Even though she was going to take all this with her, Roman wouldn’t get everything at once. No, she’d learn the value of each piece of information. Parse it out individually, watch his reaction, gauge what really interests him. Adjust her focus, and payment, accordingly.

As she worked, Riona’s gaze flicked towards Callum. She noticed how he lingered by the threshold, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. Her hands stilled as his earlier words finally registered, and a flicker of worry crossed her face. “Why do you think I don’t want to talk to you?” she asked. “Is everything alright? Did... something happen?”

"If you’re mad at Ana, about what happened, you should be mad at me too.” He said quietly, finding a spot on the floor and keeping his eyes locked there. It probably made him look guilty, or overly broody, but that spot on the floor just looked like floor and he didn’t want to risk seeing anything else. "And you’re right to be mad, it might not have happened if we’d left him alone.” His eyes flickered to Riona for a second before returning to the same spot on the floor.

"How are you doing? I heard you were assisting Captain Durmand with her investigation.” He asked, imagining how much worse it had to be, focusing on everything that happened to Darryn, worse than just hearing about it. "That can’t be easy.”

At first, she had no idea what Cal was talking about. But as he continued—mentioning Anastasia, Stratya, the investigation, “him”—understanding dawned. The tavern. That gods-damned argument… Darryn.

“It isn’t…” she answered, then sighed and turned back to her packing. Her hands moved mechanically, stuffing items into the bag without really paying any attention to what it was she shoved in.

After a stretch of silence, Riona said, “Gods, I’m so f**king useless. Quack and I both sensed something was off, but we…did. Nothing. About it.” She yanked on a stubborn buckle, nearly tearing it off.

"You're the last person I’d call useless.” He said, a quick glance toward the sudden sound. He wondered what all was in that bag but didn’t care enough to ask about it.

“I analyzed his remains and what did I learn? Jacksh*t. Narrowed the substance that melted his body down from ‘literally anything’ to ‘strong non-organic chemical or magic’ that aren’t accessible to the public. Brilliant work, Riona. Really cracked the case there. Like it wasn’t bloody f**king obvious just looking at… what’s… left of him.”

Her movements slowed, then stopped altogether. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a shaky breath. When she spoke again, Riona whispered. “I want to know what happened to him.”

"I think we can assume magic.” He whispered that word, afraid to speak it too loudly. "Ana talked to him after the whole carriage ride thing. Argued with him, she saw his eyes glow red. Had a whole family meeting about it this morning. Alibeth, Wulfy, Ana, and oddly enough Captain Durmand was included.” He emphasized Stratya’s presence. "The Captain must be very close with Alibeth to get hear what all was discussed.” He added making it clear that he didn’t trust anyone who shared that much trust with the Queen.

Each name that rolled off his tongue tightened Riona’s muscles. The Queen. The First Prince. The Princess. Her jaw clenched, but she held her own tongue, letting him continue his revelations.

"Alibeth mentioned she’d caught spies in the palace before. Spies with glowing eyes who seemed on the ‘brink of insanity’. She asked if we all knew of the existence of magic.” He continued, moving closer to Riona, keeping his eyes down, not daring to look around the room. There wasn’t anything he could do to make this any easier, but he could give her all the information he had and hope it shifted some pieces of the puzzle into place.

That checked out. She also saw Darryn’s eyes and how unstable he was.

Riona turned back to Cal, who still refused to meet her eyes. “He warned me, you know? Darryn said there were people other than the Danroses I needed to watch out for. He was terrified, Cal. And it sounded like he had no choice but to do as they ordered. Whoever they are, they’ve got serious pull… and access to things most people don’t.”

Closing the gap between them, she stared at Cal’s downturned face. “That’s why I need you to introduce me to your secret party host.”

Before he had a chance to say anything, Riona pressed on. “I know your first instinct is to defend your friend. I get it. But Darryn’s death is linked to that party in some capacity. Your friend might have nothing to do with the murder, but they provided the space where anyone of any background could meet and magic was used. What if Darryn’s killer is one of the partygoers?”

He said nothing, only nodded his head. Everything she said made sense, and even if their murderer wasn’t a partygoer, Marek had connections. Callum was sure Marek would want to help, that was just the kind of guy he was.

“This is your chance to get your friend off the suspect list and zero in on who actually did this.” She took his hands in hers. “Please, Cal. Help me find out what happened to Darryn.”

"Ana and I will be meeting with Marek soon. Of course, you’re invited, and whatever you need, I got you. Maybe try not to fight with Ana, she might not show it, but I know how terrible she feels about this.” Cal met Riona’s eyes. He had to make sure she knew he meant what he said. He knew it now, he could trust Ana, she was different from the rest of his family. He had real proof of that, but he’d get that later.

Riona’s face lit up, a warm glow spreading through her. His unwavering support meant everything. But as quickly as it came, the feeling soured, her expression darkening at the mention of his sister. Callum wondered why Riona suddenly looked disappointed in him.

Her hands slipped away from Cal. Spinning around, she busied herself with cleaning up the table, shoulders tense. “Then maybe she should try harder showing it,” she muttered, voice edged with bitterness. “Because she’s not convincing me.”

He wanted to challenge that comment, wasn’t it enough that he’d seen it, that he believed Ana? She doesn’t trust you. Your word means nothing. Whispered a voice in the back of his mind. Instead, he said nothing and only watched her turn away from him.

"Darryn also gave Ana drugs, good drugs, when they had their argument. Weird thing to do right? Fight with someone and then give them a gift. Might be more to that than just a goodbye gift. The Captain mentioned an executioner’s blade nearby. Whoever did this, hounds tracked them right through the main part of town, they weren’t afraid of getting caught.” He offered more, tried to think of any other details regarding Darryn that might help, he owed Riona any information he had on the murder.

Riona huffed lightly, a weary smirk playing at the corners of her mouth as memories surfaced. “You have no idea the size of torch Darryn was carrying for Anastasia do you? Even laid up in the infirmary, he jumped to her defense. I swear, she could’ve gutted him with a rusty spoon and he’d have thanked her for the attention.”

Cal did have a point about the “good drugs” being more than “just a goodbye gift,” though. “Do you know what those drugs actually were?”

"She said they were tablets that make you feel happy, ecstasy I’m guessing.” He answered, pausing before asking, "Are you mad at Ana because she asked Darryn to drive that carriage, or because she didn’t love him the way he probably loved her?”

Riona shook her head, “I’m mad that she used his feelings against him.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling to articulate her thoughts. “And for all that talk about how much she cares about him…” She trailed off, exhaled sharply, and tried again. “I wish she’d put as much effort into supporting him as she does with Lady Thea.”

Her eyes met Cal’s. “This whole mess with the afterparty lit something in you, didn’t it? It got those gears turning about making changes. Real ones. For yourself and others. And that was before they found the body. I guess… I thought, hoped, Darryn meant enough to spark something in her too.”

“Maybe she just needs a nudge.” He insisted, and it almost felt wrong to defend Ana. Almost.

“But no… it was just another day for Princess Anastasia Danrose.” Brows furrowed, her gaze intensified. “What does it mean that it took Darryn getting murdered for you to trust Anastasia again?”

Her gaze wandered back to the table in search of something to do, but there wasn’t anything else to clean or pack in the bag. “She’ll continue schmoozing, boozing, and whatever else it takes to fill that hole inside her… the loneliness… And that means there’s gonna be another Darryn soon enough.” There always was.

“It isn’t how she reacted to Darryn that makes me trust her,” Callum admitted. “At the meeting, Ana said she’d seen magic used before. That as a child another girl had threatened both her and Edin. She saw this other child’s eyes glow, saw a dark energy.” Callum took a few steps closer and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“But even as a frightened child, she wouldn’t send another child to a pyre. Even now, thinking magic and its users are evil, she protects that secret. It’s a very un-Danrose thing to do. I see something good in her. I am asking you to trust me enough to look for yourself.” He added gently, patted her shoulder, and pulled his hand away. He couldn’t see Ana’s flaws as any worse than his own. Callum leaned against the table, fingers tracing familiar grooves in the table, finally feeling comfortable in the hut again.

“And you’re right, she might become someone who uses people, like Darryn, for what they have to offer and then tosses them away. Finding ways to cope until people aren’t even people to her. A lot of nobles become that, I could’ve been that. But I had you. You helped me understand that I can’t focus solely on my own suffering, but no one helped Ana. I want to try, see what chooses to be.” He looked over at Riona, hoping the next thing he said didn’t kill the conversation.

“So that’s why I told her, about me. Just the witch stuff.” He smiled as he said it, Ana’s reaction had been so much warmer than he’d expected. “And then she told me it was Charlotte Vikena she’d once seen using magic.” He whispered, he had no secrets to keep from Riona. “Not who I was expecting at all.”

There was so much to unpack—Cal’s confession to Anastasia, Lady Charlotte’s hidden magical abilities, the ominous dark energy Ana had witnessed. But one detail snagged in her mind like a loose thread. “What a very un-Danrose thing for Edin to do too… you’re telling me he didn’t send Lady Charlotte to the pyre?” It felt like there was more to the story.

“I don’t think Edin was there, and I assumed the threat was verbal. But whatever happened, Ana said Charlotte had threatened her and Edin. It was enough to scare her, and I’m the only person she’s told who her magical threat-maker was. Guess I should’ve asked for more details.” He said and Callum doubted there was anything human enough lurking inside Edin that would compel him to show mercy to even a child.

Too bad she didn’t follow through on her threat.
“Yeah… you might need to.”

Callum nodded his agreement. He’d ask Ana about it again sometime soon, and try to get a better vibe of who Charlotte really was as well. That’s what he needed, a long to-do list to keep himself out of trouble.

After a few heartbeats of silence she circled back to what Cal said earlier. “It’s not that I don’t see some good in her. Hells, I even feel sorry for her sometimes. That’s exactly why she pisses me off so much—...” She took a moment to calm her rising hackles. “... I’ll see what she chooses to be, with you. I want to believe in her as much as you do. But it’s gonna come down to what she actually does—or doesn’t do.”

Reaching out, Riona patted his arm. “You continue to be the supportive brother she needs. I’ll be the bitch who’s being too hard on everyone’s favorite princess. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll strike the right balance. And you’ll never have to be the bad guy.”

“Hey, when she proves me wrong—and I hope she does—I’ll gladly hang up my villain hat.” Worry creeped into her as she looked up at Cal. “I know it’s not exactly what you wanted, but... it’s the best I’ve got right now.”

He wondered if her answer would be the same if he were defending someone else. Someone who wasn’t part of his family. He gave a half-hearted shrug, muttered an “okay”, and let it go. After everything his family had done to her, maybe asking her to believe in another Danrose was too much. He waved a hand above her head, swatting at the empty space.

“Weird, I don’t see or feel a villain hat up there.” He teased. “You’re not a bitch either. You are a good person with strong opinions.” There was enough going on, he didn’t want to make things worse for her. “And if you keep insulting my best friend, I’ll fight you. And we both know I’ll lose.” He lightly tapped her shoulder with a fist.

To have similar words she said to him the other day being flung back at her made Riona laugh. “True. And after our last glorious face-plant with Mr. Window Weirdo, I don't think you can handle another loss right now,” she said, returning the gesture.

The sound of laughter cut away some of the tension and Cal smiled back. “I’m not going to forget about Darryn, we will find who did this. They will wish for the crown’s mercy because they’ll get none from me. Doesn’t matter who it is.” He added; and whatever pain had been inflicted on Darryn, he’d make sure the culprit got the same or worse. He paused to see if she had anything more to add about Darryn. Callum wasn’t finished sharing bad news just yet.

“Good to hear.” After a long pause she added, “And… thanks.”

Riona caught Cal staring at her intently, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to continue to press her about the tension with Anastasia. Part of her knew that wasn’t his style—Cal had never been one to pry. But then again, until recently, he hadn’t been one for violence either. Things were changing. She hesitated, unsure if she really wanted to launch into a rant about his sister, especially now that it seemed the siblings had patched things up.

The memory of Cal’s conversation with Quack and the potential fate of his royal siblings should the rebels win the revolution flashed through her mind. … Has his position on all that changed too?

“If you need to call Ana out for how she is, you should do it privately.” He added, realizing she hadn’t agreed to his request. “In a tavern, Riona? After what you said to Wulfric? I am worried about you. That you are going to get hurt, or worse, for saying the wrong thing to the wrong person in front of the wrong people.” Callum continued, fear etching its way into his voice. He scratched at his neck but his gnawed-off fingernails offered no relief from dread.

“If I can’t do stupid self-destructive things, you can’t either. It’s only fair. I can’t handle losing you.” His focus stayed on her, wondering how she couldn’t see the added danger she was putting herself in.

Riona’s hard expression melted away, her eyes softening as she looked at Callum. “It’s only fair,” she repeated. She couldn’t promise to stop being self-destructive, but she would try to be less stupid about it. “For what it’s worth, I can’t handle losing you either.”

Her fingers raked through her hair. A long breath escaped her, carrying with it some of the tension coiled in her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.” she muttered, more to herself than to Callum. “I used to be better at keeping it together.”

“It’s like… Like everything I’ve bottled up for years is suddenly bursting out. Maybe…” Riona paused, searching for words. “Maybe I’m just tired of it all, you know?”

“And part of me wonders if I should just... end it.”

Realizing words that weren’t meant to be said out loud slipped out, Riona forced a smile. “But,” she said, her tone lightening in an obvious attempt at deflection, “if I do end up royally messing things up... will you avenge me?”

Callum pulled Riona into a hug. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” He said before something dark crept into his voice. “Anything ever happens to you, I’ll find all the spookiest curses and ensure all your enemies receive eternal torment. They won’t know a moment of peace in this world or the next.” His arms tightened around her.

Riona’s eyes widened as Callum suddenly pulled her into a hug. Heat spread to her face and pooled behind her eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, Riona leaned into the hug. “Damn it, Cal. You’re going to make me cry.” Even though it was already too late.

There was a twisted joy in knowing someone cared enough to promise vengeance on her behalf, mixed with guilt for feeling that way. Gods, how messed up was she to want anyone to carry that kind of burden? She thought of her family, of the townsfolk, and wondered if they had felt a similar bitter comfort when she had sworn revenge over their lifeless bodies.

She tightened her grip on him.

“And if you're tired, too exhausted to keep trying, lean on me. I understand how that feels, we’ll get through it together.” He let her go and pulled a small glass vial from his pocket, setting it on the table.

“I made calming potions today. For the next family meeting. Can’t be storming out any time they say something awful if I want to learn all their secrets. You should keep one, for when you need it, and we can keep making more.” He whispered as he let her go. There was no reason not to use magic, their biggest advantage, to its fullest potential.

“Are the meetings always that bad?”

He thought about how cold Alibeth had been, how she’d looked right at him and admitted she wanted Darryn to die. He wondered how she could call herself a mother and tell two of her children she wanted their friend dead. How excited his older brother had been to paint another friend as some evil mastermind. They both got some twisted enjoyment out of hurting him. “Usually.” He didn’t need to tell her how little the rest of his family cared about Darryn. Wulfy only seemed disappointed that he’d failed to keep a promise, that loss of life didn’t seem to matter. “When I’m even invited.” He shrugged.

Although she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to use the potion without it affecting the spell she carried, Riona accepted it. Might be helpful in a pinch. “Thanks.”

The clock chimed and Riona checked the time. “I better start heading out.” She said as she shouldered the bag. “I promised I’d meet Roman at the camping event tonight.”

Roman? His head tilted at the mention of his friend, wondering what the two were meeting about. “I’ve got one more thing,” and he needed to bring it up here, where he could be sure no one was listening in.

Callum cleared his throat, “I can’t stop thinking about what you said the other night. About Roman. And Mina. You’re right, they’re probably in danger after that ritual. We’re all probably in a lot of danger and things are going to get worse. If Alibeth’s bringing up magic it’s only a matter of time before they start looking for it. Start hunting. No one’s safe from that. Not us, not Roman, Mina, Marek…Ari.” His voice dropped to a barely audible level as he named people, but his words continued to spill out at a frantic pace.

“And if they’re looking for it, they’re going to find it, any way they can. Accuse whoever suits them.” His eyes shifted, no longer looking at Riona but past her, staring off at things only he could see. Thick smoke and shadows rose up from beneath the floorboards. It coalesced into dark pillars around the room.

“We have to protect each other. Have to keep those like us, other witches, safe. Strike first before people start burning.” Smoke became flame. Flames engulfed the shadowy pillars. Everything in the hut was blindingly bright. Twisted, pained expressions of those he cared about screamed without sound from within the flames. Bruning. Suffering. Unheard. The illusion only fueled his panic. The memory of the flame spell he’d cast in Wystan’s room reminded him what that felt like, how awful a fate it was. He stared wide-eyed at the illusion as his skin grew paler.

No one was safe. No one who practiced magic. No one who the crown saw as expendable, undesirable, or dangerous. It had happened before, worked for past monarchs, and the crown would do it again. Unless he made sure they were stopped.

“I can see it, Riona. Right now, like it’s happening. Been seeing things, illusions, all day. But I won’t see this again. Won’t let it be real.” Words hissed out through a clenched jaw. He couldn’t look away from the illusion, couldn’t let himself forget the too-real possibility that it could happen.

For a heartbeat, she wondered if he was speaking metaphorically, but the haunted look etched across his face told a different story. Whatever Callum was seeing, it was all too real to him.
“Cal?” Riona reached out, grasping his hand in hers. His skin felt clammy and cold. When he didn’t respond, his gaze still locked on some unseen horror, she squeezed his fingers and tried again. “Cal… These... things you’re seeing. When did they start?” A sinking feeling settled in her chest as she hazarded a guess. “Has it been happening since we found that hidden room?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“Today. After I showed Ana an illusion spell. Had to prove to her magic isn’t evil. It doesn’t have to be feared.” And she listened, Ana believed me. He relaxed a little, thinking about that. Flames flared and burned out. The smoke remained, stretching out, filling the space. Until it was only shadows, coating the walls, acting out nightmarish scenes with their ever-shifting forms. Shadow puppets performing every terrible thing he’d read about witch hunts.

“But this is payment for that spell. Probably compounded from using that curse scroll.” And probably made worse by making potions and dabbling in other spells following Drake’s party.

Riona visibly relaxed. If it was one thing if the illusions were from the side effects of using a spell from the book. It would’ve been another thing if it was the result of touching an ancient cursed object.

“But I did see things after we found that room. That felt, different from this. I don’t know what that was, maybe something to do with that tea I drank.” He added; today’s illusions felt more real, easier to pin down.

And just like that, the tension returned. “If it’s from the tea, we should ask Roman or Mina about it. But if it’s not… we should consider the possibility it’s from the objects from that room.”

He hesitated, he didn’t want to keep secrets from Riona but he wasn’t sure how to explain what happened last night without bringing up the unwelcoming presence in her home. “It wasn’t from the room, I felt it before we went in there.” He said cautiously and before she could ask where he added, “and if you’re worried about that crown I tried to put on, don’t be. Pretty sure I’m clear but if the illusions aren’t gone tomorrow I’ll let you know. We can practice a de-hexing on me. It’ll be fun.” He offered.

Riona narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms slowly. “Callum? … Do you want me to pretend I didn’t notice or do you have something you’d like to share with me?”

“I should tell you. I will tell you. Just not now, But what I saw after we went in that room, I felt it here first. And I don’t feel it right now but I don’t want to risk seeing it again.” He spoke as calmly as he could manage as a look of pure terror flashed across his eyes. “Please, just give me a day or two.” He asked.

What else could she say but sigh and whisper “Okay”?

He took a breath and returned to an easier topic. “In the past, witches formed covens for protection. They worked as one. Were more powerful that way.” Callum paused and smiled.

“I think it’s time we bring the old ways back, form a coven. And I’d hate to do that without you, but I will understand if don’t want to be involved. Roman and Ari should both be at Pinebrook tonight, I plan to start with them. A coven where we’re all equals. Watching out for each other. Keeping each other safe. Fighting back when we need to.” He offered, laying out the general idea of his plan for tonight.

“What do you think? It is my least self-destructive plan yet.”

“Well, well. Look who’s become a social butterfly. A few months ago you were trying your damnedest to keep everyone at arm’s length, and now you’re joining groups left and right.” Riona teased.

Her tone sobered as she continued, “But you’re right, it’s not a terrible idea. Especially if this witch-hunting thing is going to ramp up.” She met his gaze, her decision already made. “Count me in.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” He gestured to the door. “Time to grab a carriage.” He added only to be hit with a puzzling question.

“What about your commitment with the Thornbreakers? Not worried if there might be a conflict of interest?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re after the crown and those that serve it, those who act to keep power in only a few hands. They’re not after witches. Not that I know, at least. If anything we share an enemy. And any witches who serve the crown, they’re on their own.” He might even be able to help Quack out more.

That was true. “Let me change the question… Say things get messy and you have to choose one or the other. Then what?”

Callum wasn’t sure how to answer that, he only shrugged. “I don’t know. Depends on why things are messy.” He answered honestly. “But nothing, no one, is getting in the way of goal number one. Rip that crown away from Danrose hands, expose every fucked up secret my family hides, and make sure Edin, Alibeth, and anyone else who’s earned it, finds retribution.” He repeated his promise, put an arm around her shoulders at that final word. Retribution, he liked the way that word sounded as it rolled from his tongue. If he couldn’t rid himself of a need to destroy something, then let his destruction be for something good. Let it be justice and vengeance tied up together.

Retribution. The fire in her blazed with excitement at his words. Yes. Yes! YES!

“You tell me whose names belong on that list, and I’ll work with whoever I can to make that happen. It’s more than a goal, it’s a reason to keep going, a purpose. And if I can do more than that, it will be tearing down the rest of this rotten system, the other houses in Caesonia, until titles mean nothing here. No one should be dying from a lack of coin.” He continued, and that was why he trusted Quack, why he believed in his vision. This kingdom didn’t need a chosen corrupted few living in excess while the rest suffered and starved.

“Magic is how that happens. It was part of the old ways. Witches used their power to lift others up. Not to control them, not to feed off them, but to help them. It was an act of mercy from the gods, their sacred gift to humanity. My ancestors tried to burn that out of the kingdom. I will restore it, but I can’t do any of that alone. Restoring magic, the way it was meant to be, is how we make this kingdom better for all its people.” Callum couldn’t see a conflict of interest between magic and the Thornbreakers, everything was linked together. His hand gripped her shoulder.

Partly overwhelmed by Cal’s passionate speech, Riona’s lips parted and closed without saying a word. It was more than obvious that, to him, the Thornbreakers and his new coven were just different hands reaching for the same prize: freedom and equality. In the world he dreamed of forging, neither could exist without the other.

“Witches, Thornbreakers, and anyone who suffers under the crown, our enemy is the same. The world’s not in our favor, our shared enemy is overwhelmingly powerful, and that unifies us. It’s going to take a lot of different people working together to overcome that, but we can. We must. Or nothing gets better for any of us.”

“Then I’ll leave it up to you to decide if you’re going to tell Quack about the coven.”

“Wasn’t planning to, unless it becomes necessary. I don’t plan to give him, anyone, any names, they don’t need to know who’s in the coven. And the coven doesn’t need to know who’s in Quack’s group. Less risk of information getting out, at least for now.”

She nodded in agreement, relieved that he decided to keep those two groups apart.

“As a co-founder though, I think we need to be careful about who you invite and who actually joins. Aside from Roman, Ariella, and Mina, who else do you plan to invite?”

“We’ll vote on new additions. Come to decisions as a group. It can’t be another monarchy, none of us should hold power over the others.”

“I like that.”

As she started for the door, the weight of the bag reminded her of its contents and Riona slowed to a stop. “Hey, speaking of Roman... has he asked you to do anything for him lately? Anything... unusual?”

“What?” That question caught him off guard. “Why? What has Roman asked you to do? I haven’t seen him much lately.” He glanced at the bag she carried. “What are you meeting with Roman about?” He asked since she’d brought him up again.

“I met him in the woods this morning. He’s actually been wanting to talk to you about something. I don’t know if it’s gonna be the same thing he told me, but since we’re all going to be at Pinebrooks tonight, it’s probably best to get the details directly from him.” Riona patted the bag. “He asked me to pass him any information and rumors that are going around in the castle.”

Cal could wonder what Roman was up to, but it sounded like he’d find out soon enough. “You’ll be careful, right? I know you’re the best spy in the city and all but-” He didn’t finish the thought, but no one made a good spy hanging from a noose.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t ask me to go dig up classified information or national secrets. He only wanted me to tell him about things that any servant working at the castle would’ve heard or seen.” She reached for the door handle, then let her head thunk against the wood with a groan. “Shoot. With all the things that happened I never got the chance to tell you about what I found in Alden’s room the other night.”

Callum made a face at the mention of Alden’s name. “Was it a list of what that guy’s been up to?” He asked. He glanced at the clock, they probably had enough time and he was too curious to hear what Edin’s advisor might be hiding.

Riona turned to face Cal. The scene in Alden’s quarters flashed through her mind—upended furniture, scattered papers, and the blood. “Alden’s room was ransacked. There was blood leading to the window and… no one’s seen or heard him. And now we suddenly have a new Royal Advisor who appeared out of nowhere.” Subconsciously, Riona reached over to cover the tear of a dress she changed out of hours ago. “Mister Alexander Deacon.”

“Deacon?!” Callum repeated the name with a mix of surprise and enthusiasm. “We’re planning a charity event together, Mina too. Isn’t he great? Wouldn’t have guessed he’d end up as advisor though.” He could only wonder why Alexander would want to work directly for Edin, but it was probably best to just ask the man himself.

“Deacon works with Black Rose and Marek, they’re all about doing more charity work around here.” He added catching her up on anything she might not already know.

Alexander Deacon. Working for Marek. The pieces clicked together with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the chest. Riona’s fingers went death-white around her bag strap. The party, Darryn’s warning, his murder—had she just helped them? Helped the people who might have—

No. Focus. Breathe.

“Black Rose, huh?” she echoed. “...Actually, Deacon invited me to participate in the auction.” Her voice stayed steady as bought time to get her racing thoughts in order.

“You seem less happy about this than me.” He pointed out, noticing the sudden change in her demeanor. “Did you agree to participate? It’s not a bad idea right, do some good? And looks like I’m taking my prince duties seriously, which could help me get closer to Wulfy. Be a better spy.” He asked.

“The charity is a great idea. I agreed to participate because he told me you’d be handling the donations. And I know you’ll make sure they reach actual people in need.” She added. “If joining can help raise more money, then I’m happy to help. Even if it might not be much.” Riona’s gaze drifted downward as her fingers twisted the fabric of her dress. “I’m… just not comfortable with Alexander Deacon.”

“What about Alexander makes you uncomfortable?” He asked with concern, noting the anxious movement of her fingers.

“It’s… hard to explain, but he comes off… disingenuous.” Greasy.

“I’ll pay closer attention to him next time.” He said, not knowing what she meant by that. When he’d talked to Alexander, the man seemed enthusiastic about everything.

Seeing how much Cal liked Marek, Riona thought he might get upset calling Alexander disingenuous on nothing more than a gut feeling. So his answer came as a relief. Her fingers relaxed and she nodded before asking something else she noticed.

“You don’t sound surprised about Alden’s disappearance. Was it brought up during the family meeting?”

“No, at least not while I was there. Can’t say I’m sad to see him gone.” He said with a shrug. He didn’t like Alden, he did like Alexander, and he could only assume that it would help Marek to have one of his top guys whispering in Edin’s ear. Maybe he didn’t have to worry so much about Marek being in danger, it sounded like he was already on top of the situation.

“So… you guys talked about Darryn’s murder, but nothing about the Royal Advisor? Doesn’t that sound kind of weird? How has no one noticed him missing? I mean, someone had to report his room being torn apart. The blood alone…”

“I left early, and so did Ana, I’m not sure what else they talked about. I could ask Captain Durmand, she might tell me.” He said, wishing he had stayed for the full meeting. He could’ve missed important information. “No, I will ask the Captain what I missed.”

Then it wouldn’t hurt to give him a head start. “You might want to read this. I haven’t told the Captain about it.” Riona reached into her bag, pulled out a single sheet—a copy of Alden’s journal entry—from the bundle of papers, and handed it to Cal. “I found his journal.”

Cal read the copy of a passage from Alden’s journal. “’My dear Calbert is dealing with his own struggles now, with Violet now in her own state of rest. He will be dying to know what happened exactly, and is desperately looking for answers. He will be easy to influence.’ What do you think he means by that?” He asked, reading part of it allowed. What happened to Violet?

“Your guess is as good as mine… but…” Riona thought back on the last few days, trying to remember when she saw Lady Violet. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Callum thought about it for a moment. “She was at the tea party, same one I met Deacon at actually, talking to Wulfy.”

Having Lady Violet and Alexander mentioned in the same sentence didn’t sit well with Riona. “Did they come together?”

“Not sure, I didn’t see them together, but I was also late.” He said confused about the question. “You don’t think Deacon and Violet are conspiring together, do you?” He asked, his inflection on the word conspiring paired with a grin and raised eyebrows made it clear he didn’t mean plotting some grand conspiracy. “Ooohh, Calbert would lose his mind.”

Riona smirked wryly. If only what Alden was referring to in his journal was just that level of scandal. “How did Lady Violet seem to you?”

Cal shrugged, “I didn’t talk with her. Last time I talked to her was at the first ball of the summer. She seemed fine then, maybe a little annoyed about the “randomly paired dances” but nothing out of the ordinary. At the tea party though, she was dressed like she was in mourning.”

“Huh… I haven’t heard there being a death in the family.” Riona would have to double check on that, but she was pretty sure word would have gotten around if there was one. “But aside from that she looked fine?”

Again, all he could do was shrug. “I guess so?” He’d barely glanced at her but he hadn’t noticed anything too unusual.

A contemplative hmm escaped Riona as she chewed over Alden’s cryptic comments about Lady Violet’s “own state of rest.”

“‘Your majesty is still as dimwitted and unclever as ever’,” He laughed reading that out loud. “Any idea what he was planning? Guess he wasn’t as bad as I thought he was. ‘THEY will be necessary for the kingdom’s downfall…but they do not need to suffer. That will be reserved for “your majesty” solely.’ Guess it’s almost impossible to spend that much time around Edin and not hate him.” Cal smirked and handed the paper back to her.

She took the paper and put it back into the bundle. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s possible that he was discovered.”

“Did you notice Alibeth isn’t mentioned anywhere?” Riona frowned slightly, “And the bit about the ‘sons’ being necessary for the kingdom’s downfall… what’s that supposed to mean?” Did Alden know about Cal joining the Thronbreakers?

“I didn’t…maybe Alden is… or was, working for Alibeth, kept her name out of it as a precaution?” He suggested.

“Maybe… but then why write any names at all? This could’ve been used as evidence against him.”

“Hubris?” He suggested. “Read anything else good in his journal? Maybe the answer to that question is in there, or at least a few more clues.”

“Bits and pieces, but I haven’t exactly had the chance to read the entire journal yet and—...” Riona looked at the time. “We should get going. If you want, we can read the journal together later. You might catch something I didn’t.”

Callum straightened his posture and offered his arm, which she took without missing a beat. “Would you escort me to Pinebrook, it’s dark out and the woods are very creepy.” He asked, only half joking.

“And if anyone asks, I was here tonight to get your advice on allocating funds from the charity event.” Callum said, crafting his story. If anyone saw him outside, he was nervous because the last time he’d asked palace staff for help, a carriage ride to a party, it had not ended well. He was here, for an extended time, discussing a charity project, they continued that conversation in a carriage to Pinebrook.

As they waited near the front gates of the palace for the carriage to pull around he shared another idea. “I would like to dedicate the charity auction to Darryn, if that’s alright with you.” He asked as the sound of hooves and wheels heralded the carriage’s arrival.

“Of course it is, you don’t need to ask me.” Riona turned her head towards the direction of the approaching carriage. “But if you are, can you send some of the money to his family? … If they’re around.”

“I could, if my plan to guilt my brother into making sure they’re taken care of doesn’t work. He did give me his word that Darryn would be safe, the least he can do now is make sure Darryn’s family is safe and cared for.” Cal said, it was better that the crown paid for that, and as far as Callum was concerned, Wulfric owed him that.

Riona scoffed. They both knew what a good job Wulfric did keeping Darryn safe. “Guess we’ll see how well that goes.”

“Either way, I’ll make sure it happens.” He assured.

__________________________________________________________________________

The carriage wheels clattered against the cobblestones as they made their way through the capital’s outer gates. Riona sat across from Cal, keeping her gaze fixed on the window.

With each turn of the wheels, each hoofbeat carrying them further from the city walls, something inside her began to unravel. The crushing weight of the Capital’s invisible miasma of spite and fury that had been her constant companion—began to thin.

She should have felt relieved. Should have welcomed the lifting of that burden.

Instead, its absence left her feeling hollow and scared.

The cursed fire within her, fed for so long on the city’s malice, flickered uncertainly. Riona pressed her palm against her sternum.

It was still there, quieter, but still there. And she knew it would remain as long as she had breath in her body and will in her heart.

It was a quiet carriage ride, and Cal could only attribute the somber atmosphere to the weight of Darryn’s murder. After a while, he moved from his seat and sat beside Riona. Still quiet, he didn't want to interrupt her thoughts, and there weren’t words that would make anything easier. He offered proximity until the silence became comfortable.

Sensing movement, Riona turned her head toward Cal. In the carriage’s dim interior, Riona’s eyes looked like bottomless pits and her skin had paled a bit from sudden weariness.

She gave Cal an appreciative smile before looking back out the window. “It’s been awhile since I’ve left the capital. Feels… strange.”

“Sorian, and all her problems, will still be there tomorrow. You deserve a break from it.” But Riona looked far from relaxed, so he pulled a flask from the inner breast pocket of his jacket. “Got a potion for that too.” He joked, shaking the flask.

Riona let out a small, amused sound—something between a sigh and a laugh. Her mouth twisted into a half-grin. “Really?” She shifted in her seat to face Cal fully. “You’d better be sharing that,” she said, reaching for the flask.

__________________________________________________________________________

The air became different; crisp and clean and infused with hints of campfire and roasted food. The clomping of hooves slowed to a stop and the carriage door opened, allowing them to step out into the carefully tamed wilderness. Everything at the campsite was lit by soft lanterns and moonlight, even the nearby lake seemed to shimmer. Friendly staff was quick to greet them, a handful of strange faces with familiar, mandatory, smiles.

And one all too familiar face. Callum froze for a moment, almost grateful for how lifelike the haunting image of Darryn now looked. Side effects must be getting weaker. He felt relief at the thought.

“Darryn?” The name fell from Riona’s lips in a breathless whisper that said she saw the impossible too.

Avalia

Time: A.M.
Location: The River Port Lodge
Interactions/Mentions: @mole@Conscripts
Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler

✠✠✠✠✠

The wall had been good company, but Vasco figured they’d spent enough quality time together. His body groaned in pain as he peeled himself away from it.

The dining room looked as if a tornado had tap-danced through it - chairs splintered into matchsticks, tables overturned, a mirror cracked spider-web style, and dark spots that might’ve been blood dotting the floorboards.

He shuffled to the bar like a punch-drunk boxer after twelve rounds, found the one stool that hadn’t joined the morning’s brouhaha.

“Where’s my beer?” Vasco asked the empty bar.

His head throbbed, rough and uneven as a Model T stuck in first gear. He pressed his palms against his temples and thought back on the hell of a dance number he’d pulled off earlier.

After Rowan fainted like a little princess, they nabbed him while Vasco was left to entertain the Black Maw boys alone. He’d done alright for a guy bringing fists to a knife fight, even sent one of them off to dreamland. But with that dead ear of his, fighting three-to-one in an enclosed space was a sucker’s game.

Glass hit the wooden bartop, snapping him back to the present. The barkeeper had materialized from wherever he was hiding to serve Vasco his drink.

“Thanks, pal,” Vasco said before baptizing his throat with the holy water of hops and barley.

“You’re bleeding.” The barkeeper pointed at him.

Vasco glanced down at the red spreading across his shirt and sighed. “Damn.”

The door slammed open hard enough to wake the dead, and there stood his cavalry, a day late and a dollar short, taking in the renovation job he’d had a hand in.

Hoisting his beer, Vasco greeted Barrock and Aurora. “We found a place to stay.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Roman & Riona Part 2

^{Trigger Warning: Blood}

---

_{Morning of Sola 25, 1739}

“Good” he spoke and with a flick of his wrist a leather pouch sailed toward the girl landing with the sound of metal coins rubbing against themselves. “Now as for payment.” he stated after his test of her reflexes.

“That should roughly be about what you normally make in a month. We can pay you however you wish, jewels, fine goods, a lock box in another city, disperse it among the lower class citizens, even a buried chest in the forest.”

He gestured towards the bag he tossed her. “Every time you hand off any information to any of the ravenwood citizens or workers that carry my sigil you will be paid. If it isn't good intel you'll still get this much, you get more depending on the quality of the information." He gave her another moment to process the info. His eyes and ears still scanned their surroundings for listening ears or prying eyes.

The pouch landed in Riona’s hands with a satisfying weight, the clink of coins within unmistakable. Her fingers traced the outlines of what must have been silver pieces—a month’s wages, he’d said. Her heart quickened at the possibilities. Then, her frugal mind instantly began allocating the unexpected windfall.

With extra coin, she could restock her dwindling supplies of components, maybe even splurge on expensive ingredients and better tools she normally had to pass over. Some would be set aside for emergencies. The rest would go to the charitable works she conducted through “Miss Vos’” banking account.

Riona’s attention shifted from the coin pouch to the ceremonial fire pit, then to the small burial spot. “I have some questions,” she said before returning her gaze to Roman. “First, does the payment have to be money?”

She didn't look to have any issue catching the bag flung at her, good reflexes and an inquisitive mind. “I would be worried if you didn’t.” he responded. Turning where he stood to make his way towards a tree on the outside of the cleared meadow. Several large and small rocks piled at its base in seemingly no order.

“No it does not.” he stated, shifting his head slightly towards her. “Like I said we can pay you with anything you like however you like. But it will not be anything more or less than what you are owed.” Roman knelt down at the tree and began slowly moving the stones away from the base.

Riona nodded, filing that tidbit away for later. She offered the coin pouch back to Roman. “You should take this back then, I haven’t done anything yet.”

Her mind latched onto his earlier words. “About those details you couldn’t say until I accepted. What are they? Are they tied to the offer you said you’re gonna give to Callum? Or that thing you claim I could use against you?”

He waved off her hand when she tried to give back the coins, “that is for hearing me out and accepting the job. I have built up the guild I started, enough that I don't need to worry about coins or money.” continued to clear the stones until he got to the base of the tree. A quick look would reveal a rune carved into the base of the tree and some kind of clear crystal embedded into the engraving.

“I will make one thing clear to you.” his gaze shifting to lock eyes with her’s. “Everything I have told you, I have told only you, and I can talk my way out of any of it.” not an outright threat but a warning, a clear one.

“... I really hope this isn’t the ‘thing I can use against you’ you were talking about, then.” Riona said as she put the pouch into her basket. “Kind of defeats the purpose.”

His gaze returned to the tree and he gestured to her to look closer. There was only a moment for her to see what he was looking for before his hand covered the mark in the tree. He spoke in a low whisper but with confidence, every word punctuated followed swiftly by the sound of wood splitting, “andar vísa veginn, endurbyggja, móta, endurvaxa.”

Grimacing slightly at the discomfort, the skin on his hand shifting to match the bark of the tree without the color. He drew his hand back allowing them both to see the crystal and rune sink into the tree while the bark moved to cover the wound. A small spell but enough for his needs.

Riona felt it before she saw it. A prickling sensation crawled across her skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms. The air around them seemed to thicken, to shift, as if reality itself was being rewritten. But it wasn’t just the atmosphere that changed; the thing deep within, stirred in response. She sucked in a sharp breath, and took an involuntary step back.

Roman had just confirmed what she’d begun to suspect, and he’d done it right in front of her. Was this what he’d meant? When he'd spoken of leverage, had he intended for her to witness this? Riona’s gaze flickered between Roman and the tree.

All he did for the next few moments was rub his hand deciding how to answer her other question. “I will not give you details or tell you how we know… we have found evidence of necromancy.” a short pause to allow her to keep up. Truth is he knew he was drawing attention to specific people and families by saying this but pressure needed to be applied and not just by him.

Yet it was still information that needed further investigation even if all he had to go on was Violet's resurrection and vampirism. “There are also somewhere between 2 to 4 vampires operating within the city.” The fact she was a vampire alone was enough information to say that there were at least a couple more without completely lying through his teeth.

Riona’s eyes widened. Vampires? In Sorian? The revelation left her momentarily speechless. “So…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “So your actual mission is to hunt down these vampires?” The words felt surreal as they left her lips. “Is that…” Her gaze returned to the tree where the crystal and rune sank into. “What House Ravenwood does? Hunt the supernatural?

“No” he stated bluntly to her question, his tone remained casual as if this was a common thing to talk about. He motioned for her to follow as he began to walk toward another tree on the edge of the field. She hesitated only for a moment before following him.

“Vampires can be reasoned with, it is just a curse after all. My grandfather worked with one before.” That part was true, one of the many secrets his father passed down to him. However, he was quickly reminded that he was again getting close to things he shouldn't be saying with the stinging flare of the mark on his arm.

“As long as they are fed and can control themselves they can be useful…” pausing for a moment as he thought of those cursed souls who were truly unpredictable. “no, it's the alter personality or twin soul curses you have to be worried about.” He knew that lesson far too well. The maid was still staring at him intently as if searching for something.

“You’re used to the supernatural.” She said. It wasn’t a question anymore, it was a statement of fact. And it brought her some comfort. “Why are you so concerned about vampire activity in Caesonia?”

“The supernatural is all around us, we just got worse at seeing it.” He answered again and began to pull stones from the base of another tree. “Vampires are solitary and territorial. They don't normally get together like this unless one is old and powerful enough to buy or intimidate their way past the inquisition or they are being paid to be here.” Some of that statement was speculation based off of what he was told by his father, but he wouldn't tell her that.

“So who would not only be able to contact them but be able to pay them to be here and why?” He asked while he was thinking through the problem and guiding her on the same thought process. “To cause fear in order to aid the employer in control? A secret weapon or disposable strike force? Perhaps some kind of enforcers in some kind of planned calamity?”

The last of the rocks were pulled away revealing another rune, different in design but built the same way. “Their presence here is a threat to everyone, a message.”

His explanation seemed plausible enough. As a noble, he did have people to take care of and Riona respected that Roman took his duties to heart. She even got the whole “loose lips sink ships” thing, but come on. “If their presence here is a threat to everyone, why are you working on this alone?” Not only did he say that Riona was his only confidant, he made it clear that he would deny everything if she breathed a word. That meant no one else knew.

Keeping people in the dark left them ripe for the bloodsuckers’ picking. “You need more backup. Real backup. Not just some random maid who’s your friend’s friend. I mean supernatural experts or someone with pull and resources that can coordinate things with you and keep casualties as low as possible.” Riona paused, realizing another reason why Roman needed a castle maid. “You think someone up top’s involved.”

Again he placed his hand over the bark and again he spoke their ancient tongue. Latin was much better at articulating spell craft and what you wanted to happen, its cost was also much more equivalent. Yet, their ancestors found their language was primal, elemental, powerful, but expensive for what it did.

His skin cracked and began to slowly weep blood as the bark disfiguration on his hand grew and dug into him. It made him grimace quietly to himself and there was still one more to go.

Riona’s hand shot out and closed around his arm before he could hide the damage. She tugged it closer, eyes narrowing as she studied the blood and wooden growth. A nearby spring could help with cleaning. But treatment? Her gaze flicked to her herb basket, mind racing through healing properties and combinations. Bandages, she definitely needed bandages. Her eyes darted to her skirt. It wasn’t exactly clean, but it beat nothing. Sorry, modesty.

“Okay, that’s it.” The question burst out of her, unable to hold back any longer. “What in the hells are you doing?”

His eyes scanned her expressions as she gripped his arm where he thought he might find suspicion or fear he was only met with a feeling of curiosity and the faintest bit or worry. “This is what I can't explain away. Those crystals will still be in these trees for a very long time. The magic we used was absorbed into them.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what he was talking about, but then she recalled the leverage; the “thing she could use against him.”

“First off, nice try, but you didn’t answer the question. Second, you can still lie about it,” she said. “And who do you think people will take the side of? The random commoner or the noble lord?” Riona shook her head. “No, you’re going to have to give me something concrete. Something you can’t weasel your way out of.”

Again he watched her eyes move from his arm to her basket, “I have what I need to bandage myself and there is still one more tree that I have to do this too. Your concern is appreciated.” it was a true statement, this was the exact reason he came out here. Well, that and to clear his head.

The man picked himself back up and began to walk to the next tree. Pulling his sleeve up to his elbow and letting the blood occasionally drip from his hand into the ground. “It is a sacrifice to our gods anyway, a price to be paid.”

His voice trailed off for a moment while he regarded her earlier words as he walked, “information on the vampiric curse is extremely hard to find, as is most curses. The only so-called ‘experts’ on these things are agents of the inquisition. Vampires are a threat but it's more of a show of power. It's rare that they are called into action but it does happen.” he paused in his ranting and looked at Riona.

“I am not alone, as I said I have plenty of eyes outside the castle but none inside. Using the inquisition as a bluff is the most ill do. Where the city guard here are a hammer in terms of their abilities to investigate and solve these issues, the royal guard is a sledge hammer. Both are equally able to scatter the rats but innocents can get caught in the crossfire.” another pause as if to strain his point.

“In those terms the inquisition is a cannon and many innocents will die while the roaches get away. The groups I work with are a scalpel, they go after supply lines and leadership, plant seeds of chaos and misinformation so that the vermin eat themselves.” he stated with confidence. “We just have to find them first.”

“Obviously the Inquisition isn’t much of an expert if all they do is make a mess and fail to get their target,” Riona said dryly, arching an eyebrow. Then she sighed, “I get it, you’re saying you guys are the closest thing to an expert. But I still think you’re putting innocent people at risk by keeping everyone in the dark about it.” It felt like sending a child out into the woods without telling them that there were wolves out there, all because Roman wanted to make sure that the pack leader didn’t notice he and his men were tracking them.

She fell silent, her eyes fixed on Roman’s hands as he worked his magic. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite puzzle out the purpose of the spell.

Stopping in his tracks he turned his head over his shoulder to look over at her with a cold stare. For a moment that's all he did, no smile barley any emotion at all. “You are NOT some random commoner Ríoghnach….” giving her his full attention for the moment he continued, “I am telling others just as I am doing now, slowly. Spreading this information to the wrong people can get the inquisition's attention and cause widespread panic.”

That was when Riona knew she couldn’t take everything he said at face value.
“Everything I have told you, I have told only you, and I can talk my way out of any of it.”
“I am telling others just as I am doing now, slowly.”
So which is it, Roman? You can’t have both.

Clenching his jaw in thought, Roman continued, “I intend to minimize the threat of both the criminal syndicate and rebel cell in this city and this kingdom. If either of them win, many innocent people will die.” reiterating the reason he was talking to her in the first place.

Riona frowned slightly. One second they’re discussing vampires, the next he’s on about criminal syndicates and rebels again? Sure, he mentioned the vampires having a powerful employer, and maybe he thought there was a connection with the criminal syndicates, but the rebels? Really? No… This felt less like altruism and more like a wolf eyeing up the neighbor’s henhouse.

Then again…

Innocent people would die regardless of who won: the syndicate, the rebels, or the current regime. They were dying now even as they spoke. Not in battlefields or massacres... but quietly.

Absent-mindedly, his hand reached up and rubbed his necklace spreading the red liquid across its surface. His arm ached from the spell’s and burned from the inflammation of his blood bond. It was up past his elbow now with the intricate pattern beginning to flare red across his skin.

His gaze was pulled away from the ache in his arm and back to her. He could tell her of the relics they brought with them but that might kill him. “Hidden in a secret compartment in my personal chest is a book. You need a magnet to lift the bottom of the chest out. The book is magic and it's old, I've been translating the book for some time.” showing her the crystal he gripped in his hand, “I found it deep in a mountain, on a pedestal of obsidian surrounded by crystals, jem’s, and jewels growing from the surrounding stone.”

The memory of the place made him sigh, it was peaceful there. “The crystals hold magic better than any other medium I have found. They are used in these trees as they absorb the spell we cast during our ritual here… this should make the effects of the spell last longer in this area.” should was the key word there although they understood some of what these crystals were for they didn't have a true understanding of them.

Fascination lit up Riona’s eyes. This was the stuff straight out of a novel or one of her cousin’s adventures—secret compartments, magic books, mountain crystals—each detail ignited her curiosity. “So this spell,” she said, gesturing at the trees. “What’s it actually supposed to do?” More importantly. “Can you teach me how to use those crystals?... Rune magic?”

Again she was met with silence as he regarded her. The silence continued as he removed the last of the stones from the last tree. Roman didn't even regard her again until after the spell was cast leaving his arm looking almost like the tree behind him. His breath became more strained with the use of the last spell.

“Peace, Luck, and healing.” he started as he retrieved a small bottle from his hip pouch. “A powerful ritual conducted at the same time as sixteen other similar rituals were performed across all three of the major kingdoms in hidden locations.” A sigh escaped him; he was not looking forward to what he had to do next.

Peace, Luck, and healing. The words echoed in her mind, taunting her. If true, it changed things.

Riona’s hand drifted to her chest, fingers splaying over the ever-present fire within. She thought she enjoyed her time in the forest because of the tranquility nature brought… well, naturally. But if it was magically induced?

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She might need to stop coming here.

For all she knew, the rune’s magic could be mucking with her own. Weakening it. Hells, maybe even be powerful enough to just undo what she had been working for for all these years entirely.

Riona’s grip tightened over her heart. Would she need to destroy these? The thought of it made her stomach twist with guilt. It felt like kicking puppies—if puppies were arcane safeguards meant to protect people. People. That meant them too: the Danroses.

Why?... If this was always here, why didn’t it protect us when we needed it the most?

“It affects everyone and everything differently, but it's a slow burn spell and will take its time. Until then chaos will be a normal occurrence while the natural world shifts to realign its balance.”

Roman’s concern about the rebels suddenly clicked into place: if he followed some Druidic philosophy, one that emphasized balance between chaos and order, then of course he’d be wary of sudden upheaval. Even if he claimed to care for the downtrodden.

Surely he must know that discontent doesn’t sprout from contentment. People didn’t risk their lives, their families, for trivial reasons. No, this unrest had deep roots—poverty, oppression, desperation: imbalance.

A sharp breath in and then a grimace, “Fuck.” spoken through gritted teeth as the green slimy concoction flowed from the bottle and over his arm. Audible sizzling and the strong stench of hard solvents filled the air. Pain evident on his face while he tried to think of something else, the bleeding slowly replaced by the dripping of the ooze.

Riona visibly flinched at his pain, hand raised to reach over to him before she stopped herself.

“If the information you get me is… good, I can teach you a… little at a time. It would count as some of your… payment.” Romans eyes flared and his arm shook while biting back the pain. “I… I can arrange it so that we pair up for the… up-upcoming camping event.”

Riona forced herself to nod, her eyes never leaving Roman. The acrid smell of chemicals made her nose wrinkle. “I’ll... see you at the camping event then,” she managed, her throat tight. “Are you done casting spells?”

The moment he grunted an affirmative, Riona didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his uninjured arm. “Come on,” she said, tugging him towards the nearest spring, her grip firm but gentle. “We’re patching you up. Now.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Glancing back, she grimaced at the ooze and blood. “First, we’re getting that off you,” Riona said, “Then I’ll whip up something for the pain with what I can. Any allergies I should know about?”

“One more thing to do.” He placed two rolls of cloth next to them and a clear bottle with an amber colored viscous liquid inside, “the honey will help with the burns… it needs to look like an accident at the forge.” he neither hesitated or explained more.

He didn't let her respond with a flick of his hand. The lighter he had retrieved from his pouch sparked to life. A bright white and orange flash traveled across his left arm burning off the ooze and searing his flesh.

His right hand plunged into the ground as deep breaths took him over. The pain was intense but far from the worst he has been through. The fall down the mountain when the rope snapped was still his least favorite experience. At the very least his shaman would be able to get it his hand working again by the morning.

“Ok… ok… now you can take care of it and no, I only have issues with Raspberries.” he spoke between breaths. Many years of training and work kicked in to keep himself calm and controlled. Mostly it was getting his mind over it, physically this would just be a few more scars on his arm in a few weeks. A benefit of the curse he thought.

Riona’s stomach lurched as Roman’s flesh sizzled. The stench of burning skin hit her nostrils, memories resurfaced, and she swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat. Sh*t. This was bad. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Burns. She could treat burns.

“Keep your hand under the water,” she ordered, guiding his hand into the cool spring. “I’ll be right back.”

She darted into the underbrush, eyes scanning for anything useful. There—yarrows. And there—comfrey and plantain leaves. Into the basket they went. With her knife, she scored the bark of a willow tree, peeling back a strip to reveal the pale inner layer. Carefully shaving off what she needed, Riona snapped off a leafy branch, then sprinted back to Roman.

He did what he was told, the pain in his arm momentarily overpowering his train of thought. This might not have been the best idea but at least she is able to work like this. His thoughts ran over all the information he passed onto her, wondering if he made the right decision hiring her.

Back at the spring, she set Roman’s arm to air dry while she prepped. Riona rinsed the plants and her mouth before grinding them with her teeth into paste. It wasn’t exactly sanitary, but this would have to do. Her cotton skirt tore with a satisfying rip—damnit. Roman’s bandages. Could’ve used those. Ah well, waste not, want not.

Gently, she daubed the herbal paste over Roman’s angry red skin, layering willow leaves atop it before wrapping everything securely with the cloth. “Why are you doing all this?” Riona finally asked. “Out of the goodness of your heart? A sense of duty?... Why?”

Silence was all she was met with. He was obviously thinking. Either not knowing the answer or deciding how to answer. His gaze moved from his arm to meet hers, “you could say it's duty…” again silence his stare looking as if he was looking at something a thousand miles away. “My will is not entirely my own.” the confidence in his voice wavered for the first time during their conversation, his gaze shifting to his right arm.

“My will is not entirely my own.”

An unexpected, familiar ache rose in Riona’s chest. She understood—maybe not in the same way, not in the way Roman lived it every day—but she knew it through her cousin. A kind of curse that binds and hollows out a person bit by bit. Her mother had distanced them from the burden the family carried, carving out a life far from the duties that consumed those left behind. It had spared Riona the responsibility, but her cousin hadn’t been so lucky.

Then there was the more literal type of curse…
“...it’s the alter personality or twin soul curses you have to be worried about.”

Her fingers slowed as she finished securing the last knot. “I’m sorry,” Riona said to Roman, but also to the memory of her cousin. “It’s not fair…”

“If you are doing this for everyone’s sake… then thank you.” Riona withdrew her hands. “I hope there’s something or someone in your life that makes it all worthwhile.”

Again her answer was silence and a thousand yard stare. His thoughts replaying memories, quick flashes of suffering and strife, love and loss, only to end with death and rage. His gaze returned to hers, his confidence returning with a hint of anger. Not at her or the pain in his arm, no this was an anger towards the world.

... The spell fed on that anger, the hate, as it always did. And grew.

“There was once. I might be able to find someone again.” The large man stood pulling down his jacket sleeve carefully then slipped on his gloves. “I appreciate what you have done but don't thank me, at the end of this summer we may end up being enemies.” the man paused as if remembering something. “There was one other thing I have to pay you with but I'll talk to you more about it at the camping event. I wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors Riona.”