Lodira’s body was wracked with pain. Her muscles were sore and stiff, and she knew exactly why even in her worn out, panicked brain that was tormenting her as minute crept through minute on the desperate ride. The calm she’d had in putting distance between herself and the horror began to return when she drew closer to the city when she realized how she looked. ‘Yet where can I go? I need My Prince… nobody else… safe with him…’ She had that one thought to cling to. Her hair flew high and wild in the wind behind her, were it not for her bloody appearance and haggard face, she might have been an inspiring beauty.

As it was, she was more like a horse mounted banshee. ‘Just a little more, just a little more, just a little more just a little more just a little more!’ She said over and over inside her mind until the city walls came into view. By then the horse was beyond weary and could rush no more.

The horse all but creeped up the dusty road and up to the gate, where horrified soldiers on foot rushed to the expensive mount and caught her as she fell. “Murder… house… Ulmin… help… Rasgen…” She drifted out her words in broken exhaustion, spilling it all in the arms of the brute, and fell completely unconscious just after hearing him shout to his comrades.

“Get a wagon’ere! An’a horse! Get to the palace!”

Prince Rasgen’s body responded to the morning sun, but he didn’t feel it. The warmth of his world was gone, carried away with the beating heart of Sobella. Still he could hear her proud, loving voice. “It’s your duty, my Prince.” So he rose from the bed, not with his usual vigor, as it was cold to him without her in it. But at least he rose from it without regret. He rang the bell to summon a servant, and a moment later the knock on the door told him they’d arrived.

“Dress me.” He said to the two young half elven women that came into his room. His voice had lost its boisterousness, and they looked at him with lowered eyes, and spoke with soft words.

“At once, my prince.” They whispered and went mechanically about their tasks, they were twins, looking and sounding exactly alike. The only distinction was… one was free, and the other was a slave. He watched while they selected his clothing and set about the business of getting him dressed.

“So which of you is the slave today?” He asked with a little half smile, and twin knowing little grins came up to him in turn.

“I am the slave.” Replied the one working his boots.

“And I am the free.” The other behind him answered in the same tone of voice.

“You know, one day there will be a prince who doesn’t find your little game amusing, and demands to know which one of you really slipped her collar and is a possession of the throne.” Rasgen remarked to them both, far from wrathful, his words were a gentle warning of caution.

The two half elven women offered sad smiles of their own, the one at his back slid a shirt she’d selected, over his left arm through the sleeve. But they answered in unison, “Prince of Pas’en, on that day, the free will help the slave to run, as neither of us want to serve a joyless house. For two hundred years your ancestors have laughed at our game, as you have in turn. Each of you has been able to laugh off the past picking of the lock, each of you has savored the mystery and tried to tell one of us apart, none of you have tried to hurt us. So we are both loyal. We will lie to that question every time, and laugh at it. But if we ever leave, it is because the laughter dies here, and if that dies, we believe the city will.”

Prince Rasgen gave a solemn nod and let the pair quietly finish their task. When he was fully dressed, they turned him toward a mirror. It was sharp black clothing with a bright green triangle at the left, and bright blood red at the right, both of which thrust down to share a common point above his silver belt buckle. His pants were of a similar style, solid of each color before changing to the opposite with a triangle thrusting out at points that met where the buckle did. “Excellent choice as always… but… I am just not in the mood to appreciate it.” He said, not really answering their statement in return.

They set the mirror aside and, standing together, they laid their hands together over his heart, and spoke together as they nearly always did. “I am sorry, My Prince.”

The show of affection from the twins was a rare one, and he accepted it in the spirit in which it was offered, covering their small, slender hands with his large, meaty left one. “Thank you.”

“Make her proud.” They said together, stepped away, bowed deeply, and departed from his presence.

“Make her proud… huh?” He said and looked at himself more closely in the mirror they’d set aside. His eyes had dark circles under them, but in spite of himself, much or little sleep, the advice rang true. ‘That is what she wanted. For me to continue to be the Prince she loved. So that is what I will do.’ He thought, and watched as his shoulders squared while the sense of resolve settled in his stomach.

He headed for the door and made his way to the throne room where the next few hours were spent being utterly bored. One thing comforted him in between judgements and proposals. ‘Loddy will be joining me.’ He thought repeatedly. The comfort of his old friend, first love, and sometime mistress was a welcome thought, but not without a pang. ‘Come off of it, you didn’t force Ulmin to marry a woman he couldn’t keep up with. But she could at least be more discreet too…’ It was an old internal monologue, and as always, it solved nothing as he resolved that there was no way he would stop sleeping with her. It didn’t stop the sense of guilt, but the sense of guilt didn’t stop him either.

The throne room continued its daily bustle, courtiers played at their games, conversing among one another, until a guard came rushing into the room. He cast his weapon aside in his haste, the clanking of his armor was so loud that it killed all conversation, trampling it beneath his heavy armored steps.

He rushed to a space a few feet before the prince and tore off his helmet. Placing it on the floor he bowed his head, huffing and puffing, breathing hard, he stammered out as fast as he could, “Prince… murder… Minister Ulmin’s country home… almost all dead… mas-massacre!”

Prince Rasgen shot to his feet, his fingers barely grazing his throne, “Ulmin? Hi-His wife…?”

“Th-The Contessa… she survived, she’s here! She’s…” The soldier coughed and hacked and lost himself to his gasping for a moment.

Prince Rasgen’s eyes were wide as saucers, he felt everything and nothing all at once as alarm rampaged through his body from head to toe. “She’s what, man! Spit it out!”

“She rode here, blood all over her… we’re bringing her to you now at her request. She’s unconscious now. She must have been rid’in for hours!” The guard exclaimed, any further words cut off by his immediate orders.

“Have her taken to my quarters as soon as she arrives, I’ll meet her there!” Rasgen shouted and pointed at a guard, “And you, fetch the healer and send him as well, and word to the chefs to prepare something for her to eat, and also send her something to drink!” Rasgen didn’t wait to see if his orders were followed, after all, there was no way they would not be.

Onimeus stared at the undead horses for what had to be the thousandth time since he’d watched his mistress raise them from lifeless bones, to unliving weapons. They stared back at him through empty eyes, the faint aura of dread that came off of them was slowly losing its hold on his instinctive fears as he grew more accustomed to their company. ‘I alone know what she will do… I alone have been entrusted with this knowledge…’ It left him a warm feeling to have her trust. As a result, he now made this isolated building on her massive estate, a regular place of pilgrimage. In the night while others slept, and in the dawn before others rose, he renewed his commitment by staring at blasphemy, heresy, and a denial of all that he believed… and doing nothing about it.

“What do you think are the odds of her return?” Onimeus asked the undead horses.

They stared back at him. They never said much, but he never minded, he said enough for them as well as for himself. “No, not good at all, but strangely enough, for the first time in my life I’m not worried about it. The mistress will come back.”

A grandfatherly smile formed within the confines of his broad, bushy gray beard, “You’re damn right I have faith in her, I was never one for faith, but somehow I just can’t see her failing to return. I mean it isn’t an invasion, she’ll say or do what will get her back, and despite the conspiracy against her, we’ll all become stronger for it.”

“Only one small problem…” He muttered as he left the undead horses behind, closing the door and making the long trek over the grounds to where the carriage was going to be rolling up any minute.

He looked up toward the distant rising sun when he planted himself on the steps in front of where the soldiers were busy practicing. The noise and shouts of soldiers clashing with shields under the stern words of Orcis and Lymestra were probably waking a few neighbors. If that didn’t do it, the smell of that much sweat, just might. It was enough to make the old man grin as he pictured the fastidious Starwatcher priests arriving and crinkling their noses at the stench they would have to pass by.

True to his predictions, the bright golden carriage was rolling slowly up the long stone path that wound its way up to the entryway to the estate where it finally stopped just in front of where Onimeus stood waiting.

Out of it emerged a man completely shrouded in a white cloth, only a thin white patterned screen allowed him visibility.

‘Just like I thought, arriving early enough to think to inconvenience the master or mistress of the house, but not so early that they themselves couldn’t sleep in at least a bit.’ Onimeus kept his derisive laughter to himself and wore a face that might have been carved of wood, serious, straight eyes and a firm upright stance reflecting his martial life. ‘Fools, if they wanted to take this house that way, they should have arrived hours ago.’ The derisive thought hidden securely in his heart, he approached and bowed deeply to the white covered man.

“I am Questioner Maleficarum.” A rough, almost raspy voice said through the cloth, the man within was clearly stooped by age, but accustomed to the aches of time, he moved with relative ease.

“I am Onimeus of Komestra, servant of the Duchessa. I greet you in the name of the stars and the fates they give us.” Onimeus spoke with deep formality and kept his eyes lowered in deference. “If there is anything I can assist you with, I am your servant for the duration of your visit.”

“Komestran… yes, your people make good slaves…” The raspy, rough voice uttered in a dismissive fashion that was accompanied by the equally dismissive wave of a hand. “I have been informed that the new Duchessa does not know of the obligations of the stars and her duty to follow the path of fate. While we understand she is from another land, we are somewhat concerned that her beliefs may spread and risk the balance the stars have given to us.”

“I… see, well that is a weighty concern…” Onimeus uttered in the gravest voice he could manage. “But how can I help?”

“We wish to question the residents of the estate, to determine if she has corrupted anyone with her beliefs. If anyone has strayed from the path, then we must correct them.” Maleficarum pointed to the breaking wheel on the back of his carriage.

“Not to worry, once any of the guilty have confessed and been corrected, we will heal their bodies at no cost…” Questioner Maleficarum explained, only to stop with surprise when Onimeus shook his head.

The old human stroked his beard absently while he explained his evident defiance, and he did so as comfortably as he could, the knowledge of his own guilt coiled around his heart like a hungry snake around a wounded bird, but it did not stop his answer, only strengthened his convictions in it. “The Duchessa is gone, away on an urgent mission for the Prince, she will be absent for at least a month, in that time, I know she would not permit such rough treatment of her possessions. Of course if you wish to ask the Steward or the Majordomo, I will take you to them. However, I can say with confidence they will only allow spoken questioning and no reeducation until the mistress’s return.”

“I see, well take me to them, slave. See what they have to say. None of the true faithful would bar the askings, knowing as they do the importance of accepting the decrees of the gods who watch at night.” Maleficarum waved a hand toward the entrance, inviting the slave to lead him into the home.

“Of course, Questioner, of course. Please, come with me, and we will see what the word and will of the Duchessa, answers you with.” Onimeus answered with a slightly submissive voice that, with his back to the Questioner when he turned away, hid the mocking smile that slowly spread out over his face.