Grief Will Drown You

I walk through the estate’s corridors with Duke Seldon’s sealed letter, trusting Mallory's glamour to last the rest of the day. At this hour, the windows are alive with colorful fish. I wave to the groundskeeper who is herding them back towards our coral gardens.  He’s swimming close to steer back the wandering stragglers.

I remember the first time I walked this hall. Ambrose told me the vaulted ceilings and towering white columns carved with coral, waves, and sea serpents were designed to intimidate and disorient, reminding every visitor how powerful House Threnos is. 

I’d laughed because I realized why Oriel chose a grand meeting room tied to this hall for our first encounter.

She’d wanted to intimidate me.

Ambrose had gone slack-jawed when I explained, nervously asking when I had met his mother and why I’d gone without him.

The memory fades as I notice the flurry of activity around me. I’m pleased to see the household is already moving on my instructions.

Servants bow as I pass, some of the maids and footmen greeting me while others politely lower their eyes and step aside.

I make sure to give everyone a smile. The kind that says everything is under control and nothing is wrong.

“Duchess, forgive me for the interruption,” says Ranulf, the head steward, while falling into step beside me, “The sketches you’ve been working on these past few weeks… I wanted to confirm the cancellation in case it was an oversight.”

Of all the orders that have gone out today, of course he would question this. He arranged every meeting with the artist and served as my liaison throughout the project. 

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

“O-Oh, I see.”

“Thank you for checking,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I appreciate your thoroughness.”

As expected, Ranulf takes the hint that I don’t want to talk about it and pivots to practicality.

“Whilst I’m here, would you like me to ask for the deposit back?”

“No. Let the artist keep the deposit as payment for all the time they’ve spent drawing.”

“That’s very generous, Duchess.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong. There’s no reason she should pay for it.”

“Excuse me then, I will get right to it.”

He bows, leaving me. I go on alone until I reach the knight stationed at the marble pillar by the portrait hall’s entrance. There’s always a knight stationed there and a few more lurking around. It’s the fastest way to get to the family’s private wing and a core security checkpoint.

At the sound of my footsteps, he straightens and angles his face toward me.

“Garold, how has your day been?”

“Can't complain, Duchess.” He grins wickedly. “I won a bet this morning.”

“Did you?” I raise a brow. “What did poor Warrick wager on this time?”

A spark lights in his eyes. “Bet me a week’s worth of cleanup duties that I couldn't land three hits on him before he touched me.”

“And, how many did you do?”

“I got five hits in before he did. Didn’t even give him the courtesy of stopping at three.” Garold shakes his head. “He’s furious. Absolutely, whiningly furious.”

“Make sure he pays up. We can’t have our honorable knights going back on their word, can we?”

“Already scheduled with the vice-captains,” he chuckles.

I don’t correct him about Mallory and Ronan’s new title change. No one will know about it for a while.

I hold up the letter. The parchment is naturally spelled to survive a swim or to be read in the water, without ink running or fading. It’ll safely make it to the Duke.

“I have a task for you. This needs to immediately reach Duke Seldon personally. I’d also like it if you could check in on our troops. Make sure they haven’t omitted any embarrassing injuries from their reports.”

His grin widens. “The frontlines, huh. I’ve been itching for some action.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I hand it over. He takes it and tucks it securely into his coat. “And I need you to watch Duke Seldon closely when he reads this. It explains that we're mobilizing in case we're called, not because we doubt his campaign. I need to know how he actually takes it.”

Garold’s humor fades. “You think he’ll take offense.”

“I think pride makes people hear things that were never said. If his expression doesn’t match his words, I want to know before it becomes a problem I can’t undo from here.”

His eyes sharpen. “I’ll watch him close and keep my ears open while I’m at it.”

“Try not to show off too much for the grunts.”

“No promises, Duchess. But I’ll tone it down if I do. I’ll make the preparations to head out today.”

“Are you taking Warrick with you?”

“You know it. Maybe it’ll help cheer him up a bit.”

I tease, “And give you a chance to turn one week into two or three?”

He innocently raises his hands, entirely unrepentant.

“Caught me.”

A small laugh escapes me.

He motions for a hidden knight to take his place. I watch him go until the next knight takes his position against the pillar, then I continue into the hall.

Paintings line both walls. Seven generations of Threnos ancestors watch down from gilded frames, the equivalent of almost three thousand years.

The Threnos’ family history.

Two more known generations came before them. There are no images, but their stories are passed down. They spent their entire lives working out how to survive down here, rankless and new to the kingdom, figuring out the spell work that would lay the foundation for their children’s survival. All to be safe from the brutal wars above.

The children they had came out stronger than their parents, able to transform the instant that water touched their skin, fitting in nicely with the other children of the kingdom.

It took me most of a decade, lots of swallowed water and near drownings before my body finally figured out what theirs had known. Even now, it's not instinct for me.

I relate to them.

I finally pass Beric and Oriel, Harbin and… Ambrose.

He’d added mine next to his. I told him mine was stupidly big and ornate, his parents were going to have a heart attack. He responded by adding even more portraits of me and of us. And then with Drisana.

I walk faster, heels clicking against the floor, desperate to get to the end. Drisana’s training room is only a few minutes’ walk from here.

But I stop cold as soon as I see our family portrait from the corner of my vision. My hands clutch the skirt of my dress as I bite my lip. We’d had it done recently.

My hair hadn’t cooperated that day. The stylist had spent nearly an hour trying to wrangle it into curls, pinning and muttering increasingly desperate threats to it.

When another curl sprang loose, Ambrose dismissed the stylist and stepped behind me.

“I’ll do it.”

Drisana had drawn out an excited, “Oooooh,” her violet eyes widening.

Ambrose slid his fingers through my hair. A flicker of his magic followed, cool against my scalp, undoing every curl the stylist had forced into place. One by one, the pins loosened. My hair fell down my back in soft purple waves, the way it usually does. Drisana had watched with wide, delighted eyes. She'd declared, quite seriously, that she liked it better this way.

The two of them spent the rest of the sitting trading jokes under their breath.

“I can hear you two,” I’d murmured and that only made them worse.

In the portrait, I’m genuinely smiling despite myself. My own violet eyes are bright. Drisana’s beaming so widely that the painter must have given up trying to make her look dignified. With her black hair and warm brown skin, she looks so much like Ambrose, who was supposed to be facing forward.

His eyes are on me instead.

I tear my gaze away and hurry toward the exit. The narrow heel of my shoe catches on my dress. For one humiliating second, the hall tilts. A hand grabs my arm, catching me before I fall.

Ambrose?

“Duchess, are you all right?”

It’s a knight. He’s looking away from me. My heart is racing, my face turning red. Mallory’s glamour will hide it, but it won’t hide the tears or the sound of my faltering breathing.

How am I supposed to keep this up when everything reminds me of him?

“Did you—” I croak out.

His face stays fixed on the opposite wall.

“No, Duchess.”

Without a word, he steadies me, then goes back to his position, pretending like he didn’t just prevent me from falling. I wipe my face, swallow away whatever this is and keep walking, slower this time.

I leave the hall and hear the training room before I see it—water striking tile in rhythmic bursts, followed by Drisana's laugh.